Leila Aboulela - The Kindness of Enemies

Shamil, in what must be a farewell custom, handed out pieces of cotton cloth to the beggars and servants. He seemed reluctant to leave. The fervour of his men, the excitement of battle had not yet reached him. He was giving pieces of silk to his wives when Chuanat burst into tears. She took the baby from him and, overcome, had to be helped indoors by Ameena. Sweets for the children, and Shamil was now in front of them both. Anna could see the fringes of black fur around his collar and sleeves. He was more distant than he had been that day on the roof, but his sadness weighed him down and bobbed him towards her. Alexander was cheeky enough to demand his extra guest’s ration.

‘You are right, young prince,’ said Shamil. ‘I owe you two coloured creams instead of one.’

In imitation of the other children, Alexander bent and kissed his hand. Thank God Madame Drancy didn’t see this, thought Anna. Shamil turned to her now, looked straight into her eyes. ‘Anna Elinichna, Princess of Georgia, I have no gift worthy of you. I am not a rich man.’

She remembered her rude refusal of the dried figs, opened her mouth but there was nothing to say.

‘So instead I will send you a dream.’

Later she would wonder if she had heard him correctly. Later when she waited for the dream and rebuked herself for waiting for the dream and marvelled that she was waiting for a dream. Later she would doubt that she had heard him correctly. He must have meant something else, a weakness in his Russian, a misunderstanding. But she was almost sure he had said it. ‘I will send you a dream.’ And then it was all over immediately, the individual and collective farewells, the melancholy air, the mixture of anxiety and loss. He turned and leapt on his horse. The chanting rose like cheers. He gathered speed and cantered towards the gate. Joined now by the other men, he galloped towards the outskirts of the aoul. The portal was too low for him to ride through and yet he didn’t slow down his pace. At the very last minute, to the thrill of the crowd, he pitched himself low over the horse’s side. Once through the first portal, he stood up on the stirrups of the speeding horse, and again, this time with Alexander gripping her hand, swung himself to the side of the horse just in time to pass under the second entrance. The chants grew louder as the riders, crouching low over their saddles, followed him out of the aoul and into the distance of the lowlands.

‘Madame Drancy, you certainly missed a show of equestrian skill today.’ Anna was flushed from the cold. She stood by the fire rubbing her hands. Madame Drancy, bent over the Imitation de Jesus-Christ, looked up at her with tears in her eyes. ‘If Imam Shamil dies in battle, we are completely lost.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If he is killed, they will cut our throats. Zeidat said so.’

‘To frighten you, I am sure.’

‘I told her I would rather die than live here the rest of my life.’

‘And what did she say to that?’

‘She flew into a rage. But I am not afraid of her. If she wants me to despair, I will not.’

Anna felt the familiar soberness creep up on her, the duty to bolster Madame Drancy. ‘You are right, we must not despair.’ She sat down next to the governess. ‘Tell me about your book. Have you been thinking more about it?’

Madame Drancy was planning to write about their kidnap and captivity. Sometimes when she could get hold of ink and paper, she scribbled down notes. But a carefully drawn map of the compound had been confiscated by Zeidat and there would have been dire consequences had not Chuanat intervened. ‘It is always on my mind,’ Drancy said. ‘I am constantly recording all that I see and hear so that I don’t forget. Remember that pit we saw when we went for our walk?’

It had been a large empty pit and they had speculated about its use.

A faint expression of glee crossed Madame Drancy’s face. ‘There is a woman in it now, a young woman with a baby in his cradle.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘She killed the murderer of her husband. Her punishment is to stay there for four months. After which she will be promptly married off.’

The marriages of widows was a subject that fascinated Madame Drancy. ‘I have never been in such close proximity to a people so different from me. It is a marvel.’

A marvel. For a person to send another a dream would indeed be a marvel. Anna waited a day, a week. She slept better than she had ever slept before but in the morning there was nothing to remember, only fragments of sights and sounds, poor in quality, nothing wholly formed, nothing distinct.

Shamil’s absence meant reduced rations at mealtimes, all of which were poorer quality. There was also no response to requests for an extra blanket or for a coat for Alexander when it started to snow. Shamil’s absence meant longer visits from Chuanat and her baby, Ameena showing off her talent to sing, egging Drancy on for more descriptions of Paris, insisting that Anna teach her the difference between the mazurka and the quadrille. His absence meant that when the sound of gunfire echoed around the mountains, Chuanat would cry, Drancy would cross herself and no one would want to talk. His absence meant no protection from Zeidat. She banged into the room one morning brandishing a copy of the Russki Invalid.

‘Read this!’ She pointed at a paragraph. It was an article about Queen Victoria granting sums of money to the Crimean War.

‘See,’ said Zeidat. ‘This is proof that such big sums of money do exist. If the Empress of England can pay millions so can the Empress of Russia. You were her lady-in-waiting. She will pay if you ask her.’

Anna wondered if Zeidat was serious or merely bluffing. ‘The empress will not be fooled into paying such exorbitant sums.’

‘Well, your family can. Today I spoke to the mother of a man who has been to your estate in Tsinondali. Such riches and trees and gardens. With all this evidence I will put pressure on Shamil Imam to raise the ransom to sixty thousand roubles. And his naibs will support this. See if they won’t!’

‘Do you understand these figures you are talking about? No one has so much money.’

Zeidat stabbed the newspaper. ‘It’s right here.’ She sat down cross-legged on the floor and lowered her voice into a whisper. ‘Listen, Imam Shamil wants his son back but we’ve been hearing reports about Jamaleldin. What good is a man who drinks wine and dances with half-naked women? What kind of fighter will he be? I cannot say this to my husband but I am telling you now, woman to woman: what use would Jamaleldin be to us? I say better a larger ransom than such a son.’

Anna tried to hide her dismay, to sound calm and confident. ‘My husband will not be able to raise sixty thousand roubles.’

Zeidat folded up the newspaper. ‘You think I am an ignorant tribeswoman, don’t you? You think I can’t think and I don’t know. But I do. Your husband married his sister off to none other than the Prince of Mingrelia — so tell me that you are poor!’

Anna sighed. ‘The Prince of Mingrelia is an honorary title. It does not mean he is wealthy. You might find this hard to believe but I am telling you the truth.’

‘The truth,’ Zeidat snorted. ‘The truth is your husband is not eager to have you back. Unlike you, he is completely Westernised. He has acquired all these Russian tastes and you were unable to keep up with him.’

‘How dare you talk about my private life!’ She stood up. ‘Get out of here. At once.’

It worked. Zeidat did leave the room and later Ameena tossed the words out in passing, as if they were not poison, as if they did not turn the day inside out, ‘She’s jealous of you. That’s why. She knows what’s on Shamil Imam’s mind. If the ransom isn’t paid, he will keep you for himself.’