The Zanzibar Wife

by Deborah Rodriguez

  “How so?”

  “I mean with the girls. I cannot date the Zanzibar girls. Their parents would never allow it.”

  “Because?” Because you’re a gigolo? she thought.

  “Because I am not Muslim.”

  “So you’re a Christian?”

  Kanu shook his head. “I am not much of anything. My father is a Muslim, my mother is a Christian. But me? I have seen too much in this world to put my faith in anything beyond what I can use to put food on the table tomorrow.”

  “I hear you. But then again,” she said with a chuckle, “you never know.” Rachel stopped under the halo of a dim streetlamp, squinting to get a better look at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Listen, I have to ask you something.”

  He flashed a practiced smile and placed his hands on his hips in a pose that must have paid off in hundreds of tables of food in his life. “Anything you want. I am here for you.”

  “Kanu, really?” She shook her head.

  “You know I am very good at making a vacation more than just a spice tour or a snorkeling excursion. I know how to make special memories.”

  “Please, just cut the crap. I am not on vacation, and I think I may need your help.”

  He dropped his arms and stood up straight. “Okay. So what is it?”

  Rachel pulled Miza’s map from the pocket of her khakis. “There is a girl,” she explained. “In this town. She needs my help.”

  Kanu took the map from her hands and held it up to the light. “Somebody needs help? No problem. I am like a superhero.”

  Rachel had to chuckle. “I’m sure you are. And a superhero just might be what I need. Do you think you can get me to this village?”

  “I will take you, of course!”

  “Good. And one more thing. I’m not sure what I’m looking for when I get there, but whatever it is, it might not be easy.”

  “Easy? Who said things had to be easy?”

  “Nobody ever,” she agreed. Gigolo or not, Rachel was impressed by the young man’s confidence. They continued down the twisting alleyways. She had no idea what direction they were going in, or how far they had gone. Every street seemed the same, each one lined with ancient buildings behind massive wooden doors, every one shuttered tight for the night.

  She arrived at the hotel worn and disoriented, grateful for Kanu’s presence. She stood back as he pounded on the heavy front door with his meaty fist, and listened as the locks were undone one by one. As the right half of the domed entryway swung open, she stuck out her hand. “By the way, my name is Rachel.” They shook. “Please, come in so I can pay you,” she said as she crossed the threshold. Then she noticed the disdainful eye of the hotel worker standing on the other side of the door.

  “No,” Kanu said from outside. “There are some things I offer that money cannot buy. I will see you in the morning.” And he was gone.

  34

  Ariana woke to the sound of footsteps, the squeak of sticky rubber soles coming up against newly polished floors. Her eyes remained closed, her body achy from the night spent in a hard chair. Miza had been given a room, as well as something to help her relax and sleep, though she had only agreed to it after both Ariana and Hani’s father convinced the head nurse to allow them to spend the night by Tariq’s side. The nurses seemed to be hopeful about his recovery. His vital signs were strong, and it might be only a matter of time before he came to, they said. Miza did not want him waking to an empty room.

  She stretched her arms high above her head and straightened in the chair. At first she thought she was mistaken, but as her eyes adjusted to the light it was clear she was not. In the chair across from her, where Hani’s father had dozed off under an avalanche of snores the night before, sat Hani himself, his chest pulsing up and down in the rhythm of contented sleep. Ariana smoothed her messy hair and ran a finger under both eyes, not daring to attempt more lest he wake. How beautiful he looked, dappled by the tiny rays of sunlight peeking through the hospital blinds. So innocent. So pure. So good. She sat frozen in place, watching him as he wallowed in the last of his morning dreams. But at his first stirrings she jumped from her chair and tiptoed toward the door. She wasn’t ready to let him see her like this. And she certainly wasn’t ready to have a conversation like the one that was bound to follow.

  “Where are you going?” she heard him ask just as she reached the threshold, his voice scratchy with sleep.

  “Hello,” she answered without turning around.

  “Hello back. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.” She looked back toward him, one hand remaining on the door handle.

  “Your friend Rachel got off fine.” Hani yawned and checked his phone. “She should be in Zanzibar by now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And your father?”

  “He had to go back to Bahla. There were things he needed to take care of.”

  Ariana nodded. “Your father is an interesting man.”

  Hani nodded as he rubbed his eyes.

  “He was very impressive last night. Did he tell you about Tariq’s other wife?”

  Hani laughed as he shook out his legs. “Yes. He can be quite a force, even without his magic.”

  “I can see that.”

  They remained for a moment in an awkward silence that filled the distance between them, both grateful for the arrival of a nurse coming to check on Tariq. She looked at his monitors and plumped his pillows, scribbled something down on a chart.

  “So I guess you will be going back to Dubai soon,” Hani said once the nurse left, closing the door behind her.

  Ariana nodded slowly, her eyes focused on the window behind Hani’s head.

  Hani cleared his throat. “Look, Ariana—”

  “I really should go check on Miza,” she claimed as she once again reached for the door handle. But no sooner had she pulled the door halfway open than she felt it being pushed closed again. Hani stood behind her, his breath warm on her neck.

  “Please, Ariana. Let me talk.” He rubbed his face with the palms of his hand. “I am very sorry for the way I have treated you. I don’t know what happened to me. It’s like my head got turned around backwards.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. Trust me. I was the one who said things I should never have. Everything’s just been so crazy during the last few days.”

  Hani shook his head. “There are no excuses for the way I behaved.”

  “Seriously, Hani. I mean what I say.”

  “As do I.”

  She again reached for the door handle.

  “Please, Ariana, don’t go.” He placed his hand on top of hers and together they retreated, hand in hand, into the silence of the room, their eyes focused on Tariq, his presence a welcome excuse to not have to look at each other.

  It was Hani who spoke first. “So what are we going to do? Spend the rest of the time we have together apologizing to each other?”

  Ariana laughed a little. “That would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would be. So maybe there are more important things to talk about.”

  “Like what?” Ariana’s heart seemed to jump a little at his words.

  “Like this?” His eyes turned down to the two hands still clasped together between them. Ariana pulled hers back with a little jerk.

  But Hani wouldn’t let go. Instead he took hold of her other hand as well and planted a kiss on each of them before placing them against his chest.

  Ariana stood open-mouthed, for once at a loss for words.

  Hani led her by the hand to the chair he had slept in, still warm from the weight of his body, and pulled the other up beside it. “You are so quiet. Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him with a little smile. “Just thinking.”

  Hani nodded. “I have been thinking as well.”

  Ariana nodded and began to twist a strand of her long hair around one finger.

  “
Tell me what you’ve been thinking,” Hani pleaded.

  “You go first,” she insisted.

  “Okay.” Hani took a deep breath. “So, you know I have many businesses I am involved with. Enough to keep me busy all of the time.”

  “Yes, that seems to be the case.”

  “So, here is what I am thinking. If I only worked on these businesses, and stayed away from the magic, then would you then be willing to give me, give us, a chance?”

  “Oh, Hani,” she gushed. “I know now that I could never ask that of you. It’s a part of who you are. That would be like asking a tiger to give up its stripes.”

  “But neither could I ask you to put yourself in the middle of something you and your family are so opposed to.”

  “Well maybe it’s high time that my family and I step out a bit from our comfort zone, and open our minds to something different.”

  Hani laughed. “Can you imagine? A holiday meal with our two families, together? Just think about how that might go.”

  Ariana laughed as well. “My mum would probably not set foot within a six-yard radius of your dad. And my father would no doubt spend an entire week praying in the mosque afterwards.”

  “And my father would not be able to keep himself from sharing stories that would surely scare the life out of both of them.”

  Their conversation came to a halt as a janitor entered to empty the wastebasket.

  “Okay. So maybe not,” Ariana continued once the man was gone. “I’m just so confused, Hani. But I keep coming back to something Rachel said, about making choices and controlling our own destiny, about taking responsibility for our own lives.”

  “That’s funny. I just had a talk with her about the complete opposite. About how we must leave ourselves open to the things we cannot understand.”

  “Huh,” Ariana said, trying hard to imagine Rachel’s side of that conversation. “But think about it for a minute,” she said. “Maybe life isn’t about being one way or the other. Perhaps the answers we are looking for come from everywhere—our faith, our brains, and our hearts. Listening to just one of those may not be enough in every situation. Do I make any sense?”

  Hani sat back with a satisfied smile. “Of course you make sense.”

  Ariana smiled back. “This isn’t just some crazy notion?”

  “There is nothing crazy about it.”

  “You don’t think I’m being foolish?”

  “You are the least foolish person I have met. In fact, since the first time I saw you, I thought—”

  “Okay, enough, Hani.” Ariana laughed. “Now you’ve gone completely too far.”

  She suddenly stopped, as from the corner of her eye she saw a stirring from under the sheets of the hospital bed. And there was Tariq, eyes wide open, with an odd little smile of his own that made it seem as though he’d been following their conversation all along.

  35

  “We’re going on that?” The tiny motorbike purring under Kanu’s legs looked no bigger than the old Huffy Rachel used to cruise around on as a kid.

  “Sure. Why not?” He revved the engine, as if to prove the bike’s worthiness.

  “What if we run into trouble? What if we need to get out of there fast?”

  “My bike is as fast as a cheetah.”

  “And what will we do if we need to take the girl with us? There’s no room for three on that thing.”

  “I know people. I have friends everywhere. One word from Kanu”—he snapped his fingers in the air—“and they will come running.”

  “But what if—”

  “Relax. Hakuna matata.”

  “No hakuna matata. I’m serious.”

  “It’s okay, Rachel. I have this handled. Trust me. And here, put this on. It is the law.” She took one look at the black helmet he’d unhooked from the handlebars and burst out laughing. Bad Girl, it declared in sparkly silver gothic lettering splashed across a pink love heart.

  And they were off, Rachel on the seat behind Kanu with her arms wrapped around his rock-hard six-pack in true biker-chick fashion as if it were something she did every day. She wore Miza’s kanga tied around her neck, flapping behind them like a flag carried into battle. As bumpy as the ride was, a bike was clearly the way to go, especially given Kanu’s agility at dodging the dogs and cats and goats and donkeys—not to mention the pedestrians—who all seemed to think the road belonged solely to them.

  It was nearly midday before they reached the village, the shadows from the wiry palms short and stubby, reminding Rachel of half-burned candles on a birthday cake. Kanu pulled over at the village square, the bike skidding to a stop on loose gravel. He rested it against a tree and stretched his sinewy arms and legs while Rachel retrieved her camera from the backpack. Nothing in the place seemed at all familiar to her, but then again, she thought, why should it? The road they stopped on did resemble the one in the picture a bit, but honestly it could have been any road leading into any little village—sandy, bumpy, empty. To her right a tall plume of white smoke curled toward the sky.

  “That is the village kitchen,” Kanu explained. “For people who don’t have a place to cook in their homes.”

  To Rachel’s left sat two cars that looked as if they’d been parked there for years, their sunbaked roofs curling with peeled paint. Beyond that was a low white building with a green tin roof.

  “And that is the mosque. Does it not look familiar to you?”

  Rachel shook her head. “No. But he does.”

  Kanu followed her gaze to the man sitting behind the tables heavy with fruit, the orange wall behind him gleaming in the light.

  “Jambo!” Rachel yelled as she trotted toward the stand. The fruit vendor responded with a sweep of his arm across the tables, a gesture of offering of all he had for sale. “Do you remember me? From the other night?” The man raised one eyebrow in puzzlement. Rachel waited as he and Kanu had a quick exchange in Swahili.

  “What did he say?” she asked anxiously.

  “I asked him if he knows you, but he does not.”

  “With the camera,” she insisted, holding the Leica up to her eye, hoping to jog his memory. The man shook his head. “Ask him if he knows anything about a girl showing up here recently,” she urged Kanu.

  As Kanu finished his question, the fruit seller pointed a dark finger toward a cluster of houses near the shore.

  They continued on foot down the rubbish-strewn road toward the heart of the village, past simple homes made of unpainted bricks, their windows covered with newspapers and faded cloth, past a few shops shuttered for the noonday break, past more cows than people. Rachel suddenly yanked Kanu’s arm.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “That’s it! The house. The one in my photo!”

  She quickened her pace, Kanu hustling to keep up.

  From the outside the house was quiet, the only movement coming from the laundry stirring gently on the line. Rachel was almost at the open front doorway when Kanu grabbed her shoulder. “Stop,” he advised, his eyes darting from side to side. “Let me check it out. You go wait by the trees. If there is somebody here, they will be less suspicious of me than of a mzungu.”

  “A what?”

  “A white person.”

  Rachel watched as Kanu called hello through the doorway. A woman in a purple turban appeared with a small child on one hip and an annoyed look on her face that melted into a smile the minute Kanu opened his mouth. They exchanged a few words Rachel could not hear, but when Kanu returned to her side he seemed sure there was nothing amiss in that house.

  “Just a woman and her children,” he assured Rachel. “Her husband was not home.”

  “But what did you say to her? What did you ask?”

  “Oh, this and that. Just enough for me to look around at what was behind her back. You know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “Just a little conversation. It is what I am good at, talking with the ladies.”

  “Apparently so.” Rachel paused to g
ive the house one last look. “Come on, let’s keep going toward the water.” But they had barely taken two steps when Rachel turned back.

  “Now what is it?” Kanu asked.

  Rachel pointed toward the front of the house.

  “What? What is it?” His forehead was wrinkled with confusion.

  “Under the window. Can’t you see?”

  Kanu moved in closer. “What is it I’m looking for?” he yelled back over his shoulder.

  “Shhh! Here,” she whispered as she reached his side, pointing down toward the ground. “The lion.”

  Kanu cocked his head and squinted into the dirt. “Ah. So there is a drawing of a lion. So what does that mean?”

  Rachel looked down at the fresh outline etched deep in the sand. “It means that Sabra is here. And in trouble.”

  Kanu raised his eyebrows. “A lion means trouble?”

  “It does. Just trust me.” Rachel had to laugh, listening to herself. Here she was, tossing all logic into the air and instead taking her cues from a crazy dream and a bizarre set of photos that seemed to come out of nowhere. What was the matter with her?

  “Okay,” Kanu said. “So now what?”

  “Now we go down to the water.”

  The turquoise sea was dotted with women squatting in a low afternoon tide that seemed to stretch out for miles, the rainbow of colors of their clothing making them appear like flowers rising from the shimmering ocean. Rachel stood at the shoreline with one hand shading her eyes, squinting to make out their faces. But the women remained hunched over the rows and rows of little sticks supporting their harvest, their images reflected in the water as if they existed in two worlds at the same time. “I’m going out there,” Rachel said to Kanu as she handed him her backpack and bent down to untie the laces of her boots.

  “I will come with you,” he insisted as he kicked off his sandals.

  “I’m good, Kanu. Believe me, I’ve done way more dangerous things than this in my life, all by myself.”

  Kanu stood looking at her for a moment, as if trying to figure her out. “Well, okay. But be careful of the rocks. And the shells. And the fish,” he warned as he parked himself under a shady palm. “I will be here if you need me.”