A House Without Walls

by Elizabeth Laird

  She beckoned to Saba.

  ‘Coming, Mama,’ said Saba, and she followed the woman through a doorway and out of sight.

  ‘No!’ I tried to shout. ‘Don’t go! Don’t you know me? Take me with you!’

  Then I woke up. I was in my damp bed, the smell of mouldy canvas in my nostrils. I’d been thrashing about in my sleep. My blanket had slipped off, and I was cold. Baba was already up. I could hear him coughing. It was time to start the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘You must go to your aunt today,’ Baba said as I got the breakfast ready. ‘I’ll be out till this afternoon.’

  It had been several days since I’d been at the house. I braced myself to face Aunt Zainab as I brushed specks of dried mud off my coat. There was no point in doing anything about my muddy shoes. They’d get dirty again as soon as I stepped outside. Anyway, hers would be just as bad.

  I heard voices inside as I knocked on the door. Aunt Zainab took a while to open it.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Baba’s out today, Aunt. He asked if I could be with you.’

  ‘Well, you can’t.’ She turned away. ‘I’m going out with my sister. You can’t stay in the house on your own.’

  ‘Who is it?’ called out Um Salim, coming out of the kitchen. ‘Kifek halik, habibti? How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’ The sight of her kind face was as good as a hug.

  ‘And how did you manage in all that rain?’ she went on. ‘I thought of you in that tent, you know.’

  ‘They were perfectly all right,’ Aunt Zainab broke in scornfully. ‘Yasser made quite sure the tent was a good one. The way he fusses over you all . . .’

  ‘We were fine, Um Salim, thank you. Uncle Yasser is very kind,’ I said, avoiding Aunt Zainab’s glare.

  A car horn sounded outside.

  ‘The taxi’s here already,’ said Aunt Zainab. ‘I’m sorry, Safiya, but you’ll have to go back to the tent. Just stay inside and don’t open the gate.’

  Behind her, Um Salim was frowning.

  ‘A bit risky, isn’t it, Zainab? A young girl on her own? Why don’t we take her with us?’

  My heart leaped with excitement. It had been so long since I’d been anywhere that the thought of an expedition, however small, was thrilling.

  ‘Oh, but that’s . . .’ began Aunt Zainab.

  ‘Think about it.’ Her sister was smiling at me. ‘I’m sure Safiya knows how to make herself useful. She can help with carrying the bags if we get time to go to the market. Anyway, the poor child must be fearfully bored, stuck around here all day with nothing to do.’

  Nothing to do, eh? I thought. Only mountains of clothes to wash, all the meals to cook and endless mud to sweep out of the tent.

  Aunt Zainab shrugged.

  ‘Well, I suppose so. But for heaven’s sake, Safiya, go and retie that hijab. It’s all over the place.’

  ‘Sorry, Aunt.’ I flushed with embarrassment. ‘There’s no mirror in the tent. I . . .’

  ‘Come here, habibti,’ said Um Salim. ‘Let me do it for you.’

  Aunt Zainab was patting her pockets.

  ‘Where’s my phone?’ she said. She went back into the house to look for it.

  Um Salim untied my hijab, smoothed my hair back and retied it. The feel of her soft hands fluttering around my head was so lovely that I almost wanted to cry.

  Behind us we could hear Aunt Zainab clattering around, looking for her phone.

  ‘You’re a pretty girl,’ said Um Salim, studying my face with her head on one side. ‘You should look after your skin. Use moisturizers.’

  My hand flew involuntarily to hide my teeth.

  ‘Oh that!’ she laughed. ‘You’ll get braces to correct them one of these days.’

  Moisturizer? Braces? I thought. You must be joking, Um Salim. We can hardly afford to eat.

  Aloud, I said, ‘Where are we going?’

  She looked surprised.

  ‘Didn’t Zainab tell you? Our niece is getting married. There are parties every day this week. We’re getting facial treatments done today. We’ve already had our hair roots seen to, nails lacquered . . .’ She held her hands out to me, palms down. ‘Do you like this shade of pink?’

  Before I could answer, Aunt Zainab was back.

  ‘Under a tea towel in the kitchen,’ she snapped at her sister. ‘You might have been more careful. You were the one doing the drying up.’

  She locked the door behind us and swept out to the taxi. Um Salim winked at me behind her back.

  ‘Don’t take any notice,’ she whispered. ‘Her bark is much worse than her bite.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Aunt Zainab made me sit in front of the taxi beside the driver while she and Um Salim sat in the back and gossiped about their niece.

  ‘I’m surprised they found anyone to marry that girl,’ Aunt Zainab said. ‘The way she carries on! Gave the whole family a bad reputation.’

  ‘She’s just high-spirited,’ Um Salim said. ‘She’ll settle down once she’s married.’

  Those sisters! One was like a cough drop, the other like a chocolate.

  As soon as we were off the bumpy track and on the tarmac road into town, I stopped listening to them. I’d been stuck moving between our tent and Uncle Yasser’s house for so long that everything looked interesting, even the sight of two ragged little girls playing a clapping game outside a makeshift shack. Were they refugees from Syria? I longed to stop and talk to them.

  I looked eagerly at the shops we passed: a hardware store with coloured plastic bowls piled up outside, a toyshop with dolls wrapped in glittering cellophane, a patisserie with piles of cakes and pastries in the window. I was like a thirsty person drinking my first glass of water at the end of a long, hot day.

  We’d only gone about a mile when I spotted Uncle Yasser’s truck. It was parked outside a large building with big double doors open at the front. A man was running out, holding heavy water bottles by their handles, one in each hand. He heaved them up on to the back of the truck then ran back inside for more.

  So this was Uncle Yasser’s water bottling plant! The taxi had slowed down behind a bus that had stopped to pick up passengers. I tried to see into the gloomy space beyond the yawning entrance, but all I could make out was the glint of steel pipes and the blue gleam from stacks of water bottles. The man ran out again with two more heavy loads.

  This must be what Tariq did all the time! I could see why he got so exhausted.

  Aunt Zainab leaned over Um Salim to point something out to her.

  ‘See that guttering hanging down? Storm damage. The place eats up money.’

  Malik! He must be up there somewhere, working on repairs. I craned my neck to look, but the taxi was overtaking a big truck that blocked my view.

  A few minutes later, we were in the centre of town. There wasn’t much to see. Azraq was a small place, with low-rise buildings set back behind rough unpaved forecourts beside the busy main road. Heavy trucks were pulled up off the edge of the tarmac, and others rumbled down the main street. Everything was a dull brown colour, layered with the gritty dust that blew in whenever the wind was strong. Now the rain had turned the dust to mud.

  The taxi driver pulled up in a side street, and we got out.

  ‘Don’t dawdle, Safiya,’ Aunt Zainab said over her shoulder, pushing open a glass door on which was stencilled a picture of a woman with flowing blonde hair, pouting scarlet lips and eyelashes sticking out a mile. Perfumes of Paradise, Beauty Salon was written underneath in curly, frosted writing.

  I followed the sisters up a narrow staircase into the little reception area, and was half knocked out by the heady scent of cosmetics and perfume.

  ‘Safiya! Don’t just stand there! Come in properly and shut the door behind you,’ barked Aunt Zainab.

  A woman with a cloud of thick, curled hair was coming out through a bead curtain.

  ‘Ladies! Welcome.’ She turned to
me. ‘And has this young lady come for a treatment too?’

  ‘No.’ Aunt Zainab took off her hijab and shook out her own hair. ‘Safiya, sit there, and don’t get in Um Khalid’s way.’

  She pointed to a chair by the door. The beautician’s eyes swept past me as if I didn’t exist.

  She thinks I’m a servant, I thought, clenching my fists on my lap.

  Um Khalid held open the door to the treatment room.

  ‘It’s facials today, isn’t it? Come through. Fatima is ready for you.’

  The door shut behind them and I was alone. There was a pile of magazines on a low table beside me. In Damascus, we used to swap our favourite magazines at school. Auntie Shirin thought they were silly and had never let me buy them. Sometimes, though, I’d managed to borrow one and sneak it home to read. I’d loved the gossip about my favourite film stars.

  I was soon so engrossed that I didn’t hear Um Khalid coming back, but as she started fussing around her desk, tutting with annoyance, I looked up.

  ‘Where is it?’ she was muttering. ‘I had it a minute ago.’

  A paper had fallen on to the floor. I darted forward to pick it up.

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ I said.

  She looked surprised.

  ‘You’re educated? I saw you looking at that magazine. You can read?’

  I flushed.

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘You’re not their servant, then?’

  ‘Abu Fares is my father’s cousin.’ I said stiffly.

  ‘Ah!’ Her face cleared. ‘The lawyer from Damascus!’

  That put me on my guard. What had she heard about us from Aunt Zainab? Nothing good, I was sure. But she was smiling.

  ‘People say he’s a good man. One day, inshallah, all this trouble will be over.’

  As she turned back to the desk, the loose sleeve of her robe caught on a pile of papers and swept them on to the floor.

  ‘There I go again!’ she said, exasperated. ‘Everything’s gone wrong today. My laptop’s given up on me, and I’ve got to do all this paperwork by hand. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s sorting out figures.’

  Her mobile buzzed.

  ‘Yes, of course, Abu Mohammed,’ she said in a syrupy voice. ‘Your invoice will be settled today. No, really. I promise.’

  She put the phone down and started picking up one piece of paper after another as if she was despairing of getting them in order.

  ‘Would you like me to help you?’ I asked impulsively.

  ‘You?’ she looked surprised. ‘But you’re only – how old are you?’

  ‘Nearly thirteen. I – I was top of the class in maths at school.’

  She looked at me doubtfully.

  ‘But I don’t know you! What if you make mistakes?’

  I flushed.

  ‘No. Of course. I’m sorry. It was cheeky of me. It’s just that I’ve always loved working with figures.’

  Her phone rang again.

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course. Today!’ She rolled her eyes at me. ‘My – my assistant is working on the accounts now.’

  She put the phone down.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  I shivered with excitement.

  ‘Safiya.’

  ‘Well, Safiya, you’ve got yourself a job. Take off your coat and sit down here, at the desk.’

  She plunged into a load of explanations, then went off and left me to it.

  I sat frozen in panic. What if I screwed it all up?

  Come on, Safiya, I told myself. You were top in maths, remember?

  Once I’d got started, it was easy. I loved making my brain work again. The room was deliciously warm, and there was even music from some of my favourite films. I hadn’t heard any music for ages and hadn’t known how much I’d missed it.

  I’d just finished adding up a long column of figures when Aunt Zainab and Um Salim came out of the beauty room. Aunt Zainab stopped dead when she saw me sitting at Um Khalid’s desk, a fresh glass of mint tea beside me.

  ‘Safiya! What do you think you’re doing?’

  Um Khalid fluttered out behind her.

  ‘Oh, Safiya’s wonderful!’ she gushed. ‘You’ve no idea how grateful I am. My accounts are nearly done already! She must come again tomorrow. I’ll send a taxi for her. There’s a whole backlog of stuff that needs dealing with.’

  I watched Aunt Zainab’s face, holding my breath.

  ‘It’s out of the quest—’ she began.

  ‘Why not?’ interrupted Um Salim. ‘If she’s making herself useful, of course she should come.’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ Um Khalid looked out of the window. ‘Your taxi’s here. Till tomorrow, Safiya. So lucky that you came today.’

  I danced out to the taxi feeling like a prisoner whose cell door had been thrown open.

  ‘You didn’t lose any time pushing yourself forward,’ said Aunt Zainab disapprovingly as the taxi overtook a convoy of military vehicles. ‘I hope you didn’t make a nuisance of yourself. Um Khalid’s got a soft heart. People take advantage.’

  But her voice had lost its usual sting. I stared boldly back at her in the car mirror.

  ‘I wasn’t a nuisance, Aunt. Her laptop’s broken. She hadn’t paid her suppliers for weeks. People kept phoning up about their invoices not being settled.’

  Aunt Zainab grunted as if she was unconvinced, but before she looked away I saw in her eyes a flash of something that might have been respect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Baba was home when I got back to the tent. He sniffed at me suspiciously.

  ‘Where have you been? You’re not wearing perfume, are you?’

  He was going to need careful handling, I could tell.

  ‘Aunt Zainab and her sister took me to the beauty parlour in Azraq. They go there all the time.’

  You can’t object to that, I thought.

  ‘Well, if you were with them . . .’

  ‘I was. The owner, Um Khalid, she’s really nice, Baba. All her accounts and stuff were in a muddle and I helped to sort them for her.’

  He was losing interest. I raised my voice, willing him to look at me. ‘I loved going there, Baba. I haven’t been anywhere at all since we came to Jordan and that was months ago. It’s so boring, stuck here all the time. Even just going to Azraq was a treat.’

  He looked startled.

  ‘Well, yes, I see. I’m sorry, habibti. I hadn’t realized. We’ll just have to hope that your aunt takes you out again.’

  He got out his phone. I had to pull him back.

  ‘The thing is, Baba, Um Khalid was really grateful. She wants me to go back tomorrow and help her do an inventory of all her stuff.’

  ‘With your aunt?’

  ‘N-no. On my own. She said she’d send a taxi for me.’

  He was shaking his head before I’d finished speaking.

  ‘Now, Safiya, you know that’s quite out of the question. Let you go in a taxi, to a place I don’t know, to a woman I’ve never met? What are you thinking of?’

  I stood my ground.

  ‘There’s nothing bad about Um Khalid. Ask Aunt Zainab. She goes there all the time.’

  ‘Then get her to take you with her next time she goes! You must see that I can’t possibly let you go on your own.’

  ‘Baba!’ I had crossed my arms over my chest, but was afraid I looked aggressive, so I dropped them again. ‘Listen, please! Aunt Zainab won’t take me if she can help it. She doesn’t like me one bit. She only let me go because her sister persuaded her to.’

  ‘If Zainab didn’t want you to go again, she probably knows it’s not a respectable place. That’s enough, Safiya. Stop this now.’

  ‘If you could only ask her yourself!’ I pleaded. ‘Don’t you see? I’m trapped here, all day, every day. It was so great today. I actually used my brain. It was like being back at school. Don’t just leave me here to rot, Baba. Please!’

  He didn’t answer at once. I held my breath. At last h
e sighed and said, ‘It is hard for you, I know. All right. I’ll speak to Zainab.’

  He picked up his briefcase and began to open it. I didn’t move.

  ‘What’s the matter now?’ He was starting to look angry. I dropped down to sit beside him.

  ‘Baba, Aunt Zainab’s at home and Um Salim – that’s her sister – is with her. You – you could ask them straight away. Aunt Zainab’s much more likely to be helpful if Um Salim’s still there.’

  To my relief he laughed, half amused, half exasperated.

  ‘You don’t give up, do you? All right, Safiya. But you stay here. I don’t want you hovering around me while I hear what the pair of them have to say.’

  It seemed like ages before Baba came back. I was tempted to creep up to the house and listen outside the door, but the thought of being caught was too horrible.

  ‘That sister of Zainab’s is a very charming woman,’ he said, coming back at last and shuffling off his shoes at the entrance to the tent. ‘She likes you, habibti.’ He patted my arm. ‘And so she should.’

  ‘Yes, Baba, but what about . . .’

  ‘This beautician woman? Um Salim was at school with her. A respectable family. The husband has a business in Zarka.’

  ‘So does that mean I can . . .’

  He nodded.

  ‘I don’t see any harm in it.’

  I flew at him, flung my arms round him and hugged him tight.

  ‘But –’ he gently pushed me away – ‘I need to meet her first to see for myself. And as for going on your own in a taxi, that’s impossible.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again. I’d won one battle. The next one could wait.

  ‘So can we go tomorrow, Baba? She wants me there in the morning.’

  ‘All right, habibti. And no need for a taxi. It’s only a mile or so into town. We’ll walk.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I didn’t sleep well that night, and by the time I woke up my confidence had oozed away. I looked all wrong for a beauty salon. My clothes were nearly worn out, my fingernails were chipped and my hands were red with doing the washing in cold water. Even kind Um Salim had noticed my bad skin and my sticking-out teeth.