Adama Read online

  She used to bring them milk every evening. Her family kept three cows on the grounds of their home, and Noura’s mother would milk them, churn the milk and give whatever they did not need themselves to the neighbours, Hisham’s family among them. One evening he was in his room, in the grip of Emile Zola’s Nana, when he heard a knock on the front door. He did not so much as stir, knowing it was just ‘the neighbours’ daughter’ as usual and that his mother would open the door for her like she always did. But the knocking continued without anyone opening the door, intruding more and more upon Hisham’s absorption in the novel. He dragged himself to his feet, grumbling, “All right, all right,” and quickly opened the front door with the intention of returning straight to the book. But when he set eyes on Noura he felt as though he were seeing her for the first time. He stood where he was, neither moving nor taking his eyes off her, as she lowered her gaze and shyly bowed her head.

  “Is Auntie Umm Hisham there?” she stammered in a near-whisper. “I’ve brought the milk.”

  Hisham stepped aside from the open door, letting her pass. “Come in,” he said, “she’s inside.”

  He had no idea whether his mother was in or not, but he wanted Noura inside. She entered with her head still bowed and went past him, knowing her way perfectly well. He could not stop himself from watching her as she went, his attention fixed on her buttocks, which trembled with every movement, her tripping way of walking making them sway all the more. ‘God, she’s so fetching and so pretty! How could I not have noticed that before?’ he marveled to himself as he followed her inside the house. When Noura got to the kitchen, Hisham’s mother was just coming out of the bathroom, drops of water still sprinkled on her face and hands. She greeted Noura and took the pail of milk from her after glaring at Hisham, who quickly left the kitchen and headed off to the little garden of the house. He wanted to see Noura when she went out. A few minutes later he overheard his mother saying goodbye, telling her, “Give my regards to your mother,” and then Noura appeared, making her way to the front door. Hisham leaped up to the door and quickly opened it before she got there.

  “Thank you,” he said and smiled gently as she passed through.

  She looked at him. Their eyes met, and then she, too, smiled, cheeks burning, before abruptly looking away and scurrying outside. Hisham went out after her and watched her as she hurried nervously away, dropping the empty milk pail and rapidly picking it up again without looking round. When she got to the turning that led to her house, she looked back; once more their eyes met, and once more she swiftly turned her face away before disappearing around the corner, and as she did so it seemed to Hisham that she had smiled again, and he felt the burning heat of her cheeks.

  He began to look forward to her visits impatiently; whenever the time approached, he would go out into the garden, making up some excuse or other if he happened to bump into his mother, as it was not something he usually did. As soon as he heard the knock on the door he would quickly open it and feast his eyes on Noura before she disappeared inside. She had become like the breath of life to him, and he had become addicted to her; he had to see her at the same time every day. It became so that the sound of the call to prayer at sunset had a particular effect on his feelings, because it was always after this that his beloved would come. Even his friends in the gang noticed how keen he was to leave before sunset with enough time to get back home before the call to prayer. All of them commented on it, but only Adnan and Abd al-Karim knew the reason for his behaviour. His mother had also noticed that he was always in the garden just before sunset; Hisham detected a certain suspicion in her eyes, but she said nothing; she still saw him as that little boy, far above doubt, whom she knew how to bring up, and not one of the ‘rude’ young people she had always warned him against mixing with.

  Noura, of course, noticed his interest in her, and every day on her way out she would give him a fleeting smile. With each day her smile got wider and her gaze bolder. One day he plucked up courage and wrote the words ‘I love you’ in big letters on a small piece of paper, which he thrust into her hand as she scampered out of the house. She took the paper, quickly hid it in her hand and went out, almost stumbling on the way. His heart pounding, Hisham hastily shut the door behind her instead of going out to watch her vanish around the corner as he usually did. In a sea of mixed emotions and intense anxiety he waited for the next day to come. What did she think of him? Would she regard him as crude? Would she be angry and tell her father or mother? His heart raced at the thought. That would be a disaster; he wouldn’t be able to deny a thing, as she had ‘material evidence’ in his own handwriting. Her parents would be furious and would tell his parents, and he would lose his father’s trust and break his mother’s heart ... No, she wouldn’t do that, he told himself. She used to smile at him herself and she had taken the piece of paper; she must feel the same way about him, or she wouldn’t have taken it.

  The next day came and the time of her usual visit approached. At sunset the muezzin made the call to prayer, but another half hour went by and still there was no knock at the door. Hisham was overcome by fear and worry. Perhaps she had told her parents after all, and they had forbidden her to come? His mother would not give him a hiding like she used to do, but he would lose her for good, and his father would be sure to give him a severe dressing-down and hold him in contempt ever after. And then suddenly, just as Hisham was sinking in anxiety, there was a knock on the door. He went and opened it quickly, and there she was before him in all her femininity. She flashed him a smile, then turned and went inside, leaving him leaning against the door in relief. She had come and she had smiled. He stayed put, waiting until she reappeared on her way out. When he opened the door for her she made her exit without looking at him. Once she was outside, she glanced at him and said quickly, her face ablaze, “I love you too.”

  He shut the door and leaned against it again, smiling and exulting like the master of Heaven and Earth together.

  28

  Hisham’s relationship with Noura began to develop after that; he took to writing her florid love letters, which he would slip into her hand on her way out, or would wait for her outside and pass them to her there for fear that his mother might see him. Noura herself began doing the same thing. She would drop her replies on the floor as she left the house or slip them into his hand if she had a chance. Hisham preferred to receive her replies directly from her, because it allowed him to touch her soft hand. Her letters almost burned with love, even if he did find fault with their poor style and weak use of language; but none of that mattered when the words had been written by his beloved’s own hand. He was too besotted to be able to hide his feelings, and wanted to be able to share the joy of this first love in his life with someone. He told Adnan, who warned him against the relationship and asked him to end it immediately, and Abd al-Karim, who got all excited and asked Hisham to tell him more details about his encounters with Noura.

  To this day he could remember the taste and heat of his first kiss from her lips – the first kiss of his life. When Noura came to the house that day, his mother was out visiting one of the neighbours to congratulate her on the birth of her new baby. As always, Hisham let Noura in and she headed to the kitchen with just her usual smile, neither of them saying anything to the other. Without her being aware of it Hisham followed her into the kitchen. She put down the pail of milk and turned around, calling, “Auntie Umm Hi –” but stopped the moment she saw him immediately behind her. Noura’s face flamed crimson, and she dropped the letter she had been intending to slip him. He snatched it up and thrust it into his pocket as she left the kitchen. He swiftly caught up with her in the hall and took her hand. She tried to wriggle away, but he gripped her hand tighter until he could feel that fire erupting from her body. He pulled her to him as she whispered nervously, “No, it’s wrong ... it’s wrong, Hisham ...” But in the state he was in he was neither able nor willing to tell the difference between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. He felt her hand trem
bling violently in his own, like that bird he had bought for a quarter of a riyal, and with every shiver of her hand his heart pounded. He led her to his room and she followed, hesitating and stumbling as she went and still saying over and over, “It’s wrong, it’s wrong ... this isn’t allowed,” but he did not hear her. They went into his room and he locked the door behind them and took her to the bed. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and then sat down beside her, his hand still holding hers. Several times she tried to slip away from him, but he did not let her go and eventually she gave in and remained sitting there silently, her head bowed and blushing so deeply she looked as though the blood was ready to burst from her cheeks.

  “I love you,” he said passionately, gazing at her wide-eyed. “I love you, Noura.”

  She remained silent, her head lowered, but then in a barely audible whisper said, “I ... I love you too.”

  He released her hand, reached for her black veil and began pulling it off her head, but she held on to it. He took her hand again and started squeezing it gently, then brought his face close to hers and gave her a quick kiss on her still burning cheek. “It’s wrong ... wrong,” she said, leaping up, but he drew near to her again, still holding her hand and pressing it softly. He reached for her veil with his other hand gradually lifting it without any serious resistance on her part. Her shiny, oiled, black hair appeared, cascading down either side of her face with a perfectly straight parting in the middle. Quite tenderly he began touching her hair, which was so soft and extravagantly anointed that he felt as though his hand were sliding through it. He came closer still and sensuously smelled her hair, then reached out and felt the softness of her cheeks. His hand slid down to her delicate chin and, cupping it in his palm, he raised her head to look at him. Noura’s eyes were lowered, her lips trembling. Gently, he brought his face close to hers and touched his lips to her own. Instantly he felt as though he had been burnt by a red-hot coal. She jerked her face away, repeating, “It’s wrong, this isn’t allowed,” but he took hold of her chin again and once more their lips drew near. He wanted a real kiss, a kiss like the ones the actor Kamal al-Shanawi gave the Egyptian film star Shadia in those films on television every night. He planted his lips on hers and felt her trembling, burning; reaching out, put his arm around her and began gently feeling her back. He pressed his mouth more firmly to hers until he felt their teeth bump together and the embers of her lips burn more fiercely. They remained like that for a while, though for how long he could not tell. Time stood still and they were immersed in total silence.

  Suddenly he heard the front door open. His mother was back; it had to be her, his father never came home from seeing his friends earlier than an hour after supper. Their fevered lips parted as he quickly let go of Noura, his heart racing anew. Noura jumped from the bed, grabbed her veil and hurriedly covered her head while Hisham sat down at his desk, snatched a book and opened it at random.

  “Quick, go into the kitchen,” he told Noura, speaking quickly, nervously. “I’ll tell my mother you just came a moment ago. Go on, hurry!”

  Noura raced off to the kitchen, stumbling on her way. Hisham pretended to be reading, and after a short while he heard his mother seeing Noura off in her usual way:

  “Goodbye, and my regards to your mother.”

  A few moments later his mother looked round his bedroom door. “How long was Noura here?” she said straight away.

  “Good evening, Mother,” he answered, looking up with feigned indifference and trying to make his reply sound as natural as possible. “I don’t know. Less than a minute, maybe. I opened the door for her and then came straight back to my desk. Why?”

  His mother did not utter a word, but stood there looking at him long and hard. Then at last she went away, muttering something he could not hear, and Hisham was left alone, steeped in the memory of the little firebrand who had been in his room.

  29

  Salim, Saud, Abd al-Aziz and Abd al-Karim were all playing Plot as Hisham and Adnan sat nearby in a corner of Abd al-Karim’s sitting room talking about the last picture Adnan had painted, which he had called ‘Freedom’. It was of a giant man bound in chains, raising his hands to the sky; one of the links had begun to break and around the man there were smaller faces of men and women with different expressions, looking at the giant and screaming, the men’s clothes in shreds and the women’s hair hanging dishevelled over their faces.

  Adnan had been Hisham’s best friend since they shared the same class in the first year of primary school. Their parents were friends from the same city; after years of travelling all over the region they had all come to Dammam in search of a living, and the friendship between them had been passed on to their sons.

  Adnan was talking to him, but Hisham was thinking about something else and not taking anything in. Why didn’t he invite Adnan to join the organisation? He was sure Adnan would accept, if not as a matter of principle then for the sake of his friend.

  “Hisham ... Hisham ... Are you there? Lucky Noura!”

  Hisham caught the teasing tone of Adnan’s voice. “Look, Adnan,” he said, as though waking from a dream, “I want to see you in private. I’ll drop by your place tomorrow afternoon. It’s of the utmost importance.”

  Adnan was taken aback, but agreed without hesitation. “All right,” he said, “as you like. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  They both fell silent, while the cries of their friends around them got louder and louder as the excitement of the game mounted. Eventually they finished playing and threw the cards aside as they got at each other for mistakes made during the game. Afterwards they all sat talking and joking with one another and drinking hot tea in a loud general hubbub. Then Abd al-Karim raised his voice, asking the others to be silent.

  “Quiet, everyone. Quiet, please.”

  The talking stopped as everyone looked at Abd al-Karim, who put on a stern expression.

  “You all know Nasser’s going to give a speech tonight,” he said. “What do you say we meet up and listen to it together?”

  He looked at the others, expecting a response. Hisham and Adnan nodded in agreement without saying anything; Saud turned down the suggestion, saying he had some things of his own he had to see to; and Abd al-Aziz promised he would try to come if he managed to finish some chores. As for Salim, he said he was not very keen but would endeavour to be there for their sakes.

  “At any rate, we’ll be here, and everyone’s welcome to come,” said Abd al-Karim. “And our neighbour Ibrahim al-Shudaykhi will be here too,” he went on after a short pause. “He’s a passionate Nasserite and ... an atheist.”

  Abd al-Karim fell silent again, smiling and looking round at the others as he tried to make out the effect of this last word on them. No one gave the slightest hint of any reaction except Salim, who said in astonishment, “An atheist! You mean he doesn’t believe in God? God forgive me.”

  “Yes,” said Abd al-Karim. “He doesn’t believe in anything that can’t be proven scientifically.”

  Everyone had been expecting this reaction from Salim, who was the most devout one among them and the most conscientious about performing all the religious obligations. Often when they were playing cards or chatting in the evening he would get up when the muezzin made the call to prayer, face towards Mecca and pray, then come back smiling and say, “So, have I missed anything?” and pick up where he had left off. Salim could imagine and accept anything except the idea that someone did not believe in God wholeheartedly.

  “If God doesn’t exist – Heaven forbid! – who created the universe? How did Heaven and Earth come about?” said Salim, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow.

  “Just like that. By coincidence, evolution. Everything’s based on Nature. It’s creator and creation at the same time. That’s what Ibrahim says,” said Abd al-Karim in a calm, offhand manner, as he slurped his tea and looked Salim in the eyes.

  “Rubbish, rubbish,” repeated Salim. “Every creation must have a Creator, and the Creator can
’t have been created. Nature is a creation, so it must have a Creator; it can’t be both Creator and creation simultaneously.”

  “So who created God?” asked Abd al-Karim, taking another sip of tea.

  “I told you: the Creator wasn’t created. You’re trying to get us into which came first, the chicken or the egg. Anyway, what you’re putting forward is an odious line of argument, in fact, one that was expressly forbidden by the Prophet, peace be upon Him, precisely because it leads nowhere. The Prophet told us to reflect on God’s signs and His creations, not on God Himself. God simply exists. And He manifests Himself in His creations and through His messengers and His prophets.” There was a moment’s silence before Salim went on. “Does this friend of yours Ibrahim deny them, too?”

  Abd al-Karim laughed. “He doesn’t believe in the one who sent the prophets, so how do you expect him to believe in them themselves?”

  “Almighty God, forgive me,” said Salim, grimacing and shaking his head, “Almighty God, protect me. I was thinking of coming along tonight,” he continued, jumping to his feet, “but if this infidel friend of yours is going to be here, I’d prefer to stay away and find something better to do. Plus I don’t like your pal Nasser or his speeches. Wasn’t the defeat enough, you idiots? I don’t like that man! He’s a communist,” he added quickly, and headed to the front door.