by Ruth Dugdall
Outside they could hear Uncle Jak starting the van, the engine hesitating as if too tired to begin travelling so late, and then it slowly pulled away. Amina tried not to think about Reza and Safiyya being driven over the border to another country, to Germany, or to ask herself if she would ever see them again. Instead she kept her head bowed respectfully, though really she was studying her surroundings and wondering if this could be a place to call home.
The kitchen was small, with the back door leading directly to the yard where the van had been parked. It was pleasantly cluttered with steel pans and herbs hanging from string on door handles, and there was a lamb tagine slowly charring on the burner that smelt of cumin and garlic. Amina’s mouth watered for the tastes of home, though she wasn’t sure that Auntie was from Kabyle, and the few words they had shared had been French, not Arabic, so she couldn’t place her accent. Auntie dressed in a Western way, so her clothes gave nothing away either. Now she had taken off her flowered apron, Amina saw she was wearing a black top advertising Beauty Asiatique.
Jodie had noticed too. “What this place, Auntie?”
“This here the beauty salon we run from the front of the house,” Auntie said. “I’ll show Amina tomorrow. She’ll be working there so I can spend more time with Fahran.” She did not say where Jodie would be working.
Auntie busied herself setting out bowls for the two girls, and one for the boy too, who had still not spoken though he had not left to play in his room, either. Amina smiled at him, and he looked at her with his one good eye, as they set about eating their food. His bandage was very clean, even though the day was almost done, so it gave no clue as to what was behind it. It did not seem to bother him though, and he ate hungrily, licking his lips and smiling so cheerfully that the bandaged eye was soon forgotten. Amina reached a hand to give him a gentle tickle and he gave a surprised laugh, so she tickled him faster until he doubled in a fit of giggles. Auntie whipped around from where she was busy washing pots at the sink and gave Amina a glare. “Eat your food, girl. Then I’ll show you your room.”
When Jodie raised her eyebrows and gave Amina a warning look, she understood; Auntie did not want Fahran to get close to the girls. Or maybe she did not want him to play too physically because he was sick. Either way, Jodie’s eyes warned her that she should not encourage him.
She finished her stew, peering around at the hallway beyond the kitchen, which was brick-floored, narrow and long. Along the walls were red and gold hanging charms, and on the kitchen door was a hand-drawn picture that said, Mama et Papa. The picture was of a round woman with a red scarf scribbled around her head, and Amina saw from the swirly crayon hair, the purple dress, that it was Auntie, alongside a stick-figure that she guessed was Uncle Jak but bore no resemblance. Fahran must have drawn it, and Amina wondered if he went to school. He seemed to be the right age for it, but that would surely only be possible if Uncle and Auntie had papers, at least for the boy. During their journey, Jodie had told her that they could apply to be naturalised, but first Uncle Jak needed a job contract, and he hadn’t established enough links for that yet. How long they had been in Luxembourg, she wasn’t sure, but Jodie said it wasn’t very long. Amina wondered if Fahran made the same journey she had just travelled? How could a child so young survive that?
Fahran finished his food and left the table, burying himself in Auntie’s softness, his face pressed against her t-shirt, but his dark hair was sticking up and the bit of his face he did reveal showed his good eye, wide and alert. He was watching Amina.
“Bedtime now, habibi. Be a good boy and go up to your room. I’ll be up when I’ve seen to the girls, to tell you a story.”
Jodie and Amina’s empty bowls were taken from them, and they were each given a glass of water and a white tablet.
“This medicine will help you feel relaxed. You can take your water upstairs, if you like.” Amina swallowed the tablet with a mouthful of water and wanted to finish the drink straight away, she was thirsty from the spices, but it was best to do as Auntie suggested. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”
She led the way along the hallway, past a narrow table with a light, draped over the light was a red scarf with gold thread woven through it, another scarf was pinned along the staircase railing. Up they went, to the next landing, passed a closed door where Amina guessed Auntie’s own bedroom was. The hallway’s red walls, the colourful scarves and trinkets, the smell of spices. It felt safe and Amina allowed herself to relax a little.
At the end of the hallway was an open door, and inside Fahran was lying on a mattress on the floor. Though the room was small it had been painted a pretty shade of blue and there were a stack of soft toys and plastic cars on the carpet. Fahran was lying on his stomach, and seemed to already have fallen asleep.
After checking on her boy, stroking his hair and giving him a gentle kiss, Auntie took a key from the pocket of her apron and said to them, “Come, follow me. You are at the top.”
Amina looked at Jodie and together they went up the final flight of stairs. The key wasn’t for the first closed door though, that opened freely and then they were on a landing that was so narrow that Auntie had to turn sideways, and it was dark too. Amina felt the floorboards were wonky, open wooden slats that moved as she placed her foot. This was not a proper level, but some kind of attic or roof space.
She pressed her body softly against Jodie’s back, for comfort, as Auntie found the key deep in her apron pocket, opening up the door that was smaller in height than even Amina. It was a surprise that Auntie could even make it through, and she looked uncomfortable, stooped in the attic room, blinking as if she had forgotten what it looked like in there. Jodie too could not stand fully upright, but Amina was small enough to walk easily. The blessing, the thing she noticed first, was the small window, at floor level, but offering light and a view of outside. It didn’t look like it opened, but Amina was still counting her blessings, she so desperately wanted this new life of hers to be a good one and for Omi’s sacrifice to be worthwhile. The cost of harraga had been great. Omi had sold the vineyard, and though the burned grape vines were worthless, the land itself was shaded by the mountain and had good soil. It was their only asset, sold secretly and quickly. When Samir came back down from the mountain or returned from Paris, he would discover her gone, and the land sold. Omi would be in trouble, there would be consequences. But she had told Amina to leave, to be safe.
The attic room had two mattresses on the wooden floor, each with a blanket thrown on it. There was also a bucket, and Amina knew immediately that this was their toilet. A wooden crate served as a small table, and on it was a carved hand-held mirror that was so much like her mother’s she wanted to hold it to her chest. That was all the room offered, yet with Jodie alongside her, Amina felt it might be enough.
“Thank you, Auntie,” said Amina, offering the woman a smile.
Auntie accepted the thanks with a nod and a quick slick of the eyes over her body and face. Then she said, “I think you’ll do very well, Amina. You seem a nice well-raised girl.”
This made her happy. She could write and tell her mother this, when she found a way to send a letter. Her mother would be pleased.
“Settle now, and sleep. You have had a long journey.”
Auntie left and Amina tried not to hear the key being turned into the lock. Jodie threw herself down on the mattress nearest the window and said, “I take the bed with the view, okay, long-face?” She then picked up the mirror and studied her reflection. Neither girl had washed for three days and Amina hadn’t been to the toilet since they left Spain. She looked at the black bucket in the corner, but couldn’t bring herself to go. She thought things were supposed to be more civilised in Europe, not less. She contented herself by going to the window.
Lying on Jodie’s mattress, side by side, both girls looked out of the low window. They saw the road, with cars, the tall houses opposite and, to the right, a church spire. Not like the rounded mosque with its smooth white walls in
Tizi Ouzou, this was like a stone dagger inserted into the sky, sharp and serious. Amina could not imagine praying in a temple as spikey and unwelcoming as that.
“What country you think this is, Jodie? Is it Paris?”
Jodie made a dismissive sound, and Amina though she might spit if they were outside. “No, not Paris. Not anywhere in France. This here Luxembourg, Uncle Jak said.”
Amina tried the word, found it difficult.
She had never even heard of this country that was now her new home. She placed her bag of belongings at the foot of her mattress, wishing again she had been able to keep her wooden box and wondering who had it now. Someone, surely, would have rescued it from the cave on the beach. She thought about emptying her belongings onto her bed though she would have preferred to do this alone. Jodie was already lifting the few items from her bag and placing them in a line on the floor.
Amina opened the bag, hoping that nothing had been damaged by the journey. Inside, folded so neatly, was a beautiful corn-yellow Kabyle dress that she hadn’t seen in her haste when she opened the box on the beach. But now she could see that this was a gift, and a very precious one. Omi must have been embroidering the neck and hem secretly when she was asleep, and it would have taken many hours. The threads were intricately beaded and made from bright silks, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The gift made her want to weep.
Jodie was watching. “Where you think you going to wear that dress, Amina? To the local nightclub?” She laughed, but on seeing Amina’s stricken face she stopped and frowned. “I’m sorry. It is very beautiful.”
Amina put her face down so Jodie couldn’t see her tears, and unpacked the rest of her possessions. There was also her cotton nightdress, a comb that had once been her grandmother’s and had a piece of coral in the centre, a precious stone bought with the first harvest from the vineyard. Then she saw a pink soft blanket that was folded small at the bottom of the bag. She lifted it and raised it to her face, breathing deep.
“Your baby blanket?” asked Jodie.
“My sister’s.” Amina felt a pain around her ribs, her heart swelling with longing for her family. She breathed steadily until the pain eased. You’ll see them again, she promised herself. When you are educated and rich. You will go home and show them what you have achieved and Omi will be proud.
Something hit her head, made her flinch. Jodie had tossed her own comb at Amina. “No daydreaming,” she said, and it sounded like a warning. “We have to do what we can with what we have, not disappear into dreaming. Okay?”
Amina agreed, though she didn’t know why dreaming was bad. She just knew that Jodie was wise, she knew things, and she resolved to do exactly as she said, then she wouldn’t go far wrong.
“What do you think of Auntie?” Amina asked.
Jodie touched her teeth with her tongue, something, Amina had come to realise, she did when she was thinking. “She made us a good meal, and this room has been recently swept. So, it seems that she will treat us well. I think she wants us to like her, and that’s good for us. We should try and please her because women often have the power in situations like this.”
“Like what?” Amina asked, sure she was missing something. “In what situation could a woman have power, Jodie?”
“This situation, us, being here in the house. Auntie will have to say that we are her children, to everyone else we must look like a family. It is the woman who must spin the tale, if it is to be believed. But this is dangerous for both her and Jak, it could attract talk. We won’t be allowed to leave, not to walk freely about. People may be watching.”
This was not a surprise for Amina, who was not supposed to go anywhere without a male chaperon, but Jodie sounded annoyed. It must be different in her village. Jodie lifted Pizzie’s baby blanket and put it around her own shoulders, which Amina didn’t like but she didn’t stop her.
“Let’s hush now, Amina. I’m half-dead from travelling and I need to sleep.”
Amina wanted to ask more, she had so many questions, but she knew that Omi would tell her that if your friend is honey, don’t eat it all at once. And so she lay down and closed her eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring some answers.
Despite her exhaustion from the journey, Amina found it hard to sleep. Instead she thought of home, and wished she was there. Jodie snored like the friendly boar kept as a pet at the tavern in Tizi Ouzou. All the children would pet the boar, laughing as it enjoyed its daily drink of beer, straight from a bottle like a baby. That must be different now. “Algeria is not an Islamic state,” Samir had told her once. “Muslim, yes, but not Islamic. Not yet. But one day soon it will be so. Allah wills it.”
It was just before the vineyard was set on fire, and though no-one was ever blamed, Samir said it was an act of god. Would the same thing happen to the tavern, and would they still keep the boar as a pet if the bar was shut? Amina shook her head, trying to free these bad thoughts that could not be answered just by wondering. It was best that she didn’t think about home, it made her sad, and Jodie was so relaxed in her sleep that Amina felt sure that everything was going to be just fine, and the mattress beneath her bones may be thin but it was bliss after sleeping in the van, pressed up against the sides as it rocked across Europe.
The following morning, Auntie unlocked their room early, when the sun had not yet risen, but Amina comforted herself that at least this meant they didn’t have to put up with the stinking bucket as the day warmed and the air in the small room became thick with dust. Amina couldn’t help but think of her home, of stepping out with bare feet into the canopy of olive trees, calmed by the call of the dunnocks, occasionally spotting a small brown head as they jumped from branches.
Auntie led them to the floor below and showed them the bathroom. “A shower each, yes? But quickly, everything costs money here and you too skinny things won’t take more than two minutes to clean your arses.”
Omi would be shocked at Auntie for using such a rude word, she would never say such things. But this was Europe and so things were different here, and the water was like rain, soft and cleansing. In the lukewarm shower, Amina let her hair go slick and straight, the water run through it until it squeaked. The blessings did not end, as her dress that was filthy and torn from when she jumped into the van was gone and Auntie had placed on the chair a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, both black. They seemed to Amina to be the softest, most modern clothes she had ever worn, but the leggings clung to her skinny legs and made her feel silly, like a scrawny kid. The t-shirt was too big and fell shapelessly to her waist. She didn’t mind this so much, but when she saw Jodie in her red dress, also from Auntie, she realised what was possible. Jodie’s fat stomach and wobbly thighs, her rounded chest, all looked beautiful in the tight cotton, but also made Amina blush. She assumed that Jodie had a different uniform because she was prettier than Amina, she would have looked skinny and silly in the red dress.
Jodie tugged at Amina’s t-shirt. “This is no good for you, Amina. We’ll have to ask Auntie for a thread to bring it in at the waist or you’ll never find a boyfriend.”
“I don’t want a boyfriend,” Amina quietly answered. “I want to go to school.” But the logo on her t-shirt did not mention any school. Just like Auntie’s own t-shirt it said: Beauty Asiatique.
Clean and dressed, the girls made their way to the ground floor, where Auntie was waiting. She looked both girls over and nodded her approval. Then she asked them to fetch their prayer mats. They formed a line in the hallway, faced East, and prayed together. Amina was glad when Fahran put his prayer mat next to her. He sneaked a smile at her, but he still didn’t speak.
For breakfast, the girls were allowed to sit in the kitchen, where Auntie had put out tea and bread, a baguette that seemed half full of air and hardly dented Amina’s appetite, a packet of cheese slices that tasted like plastic. Amina wanted to ask what was wrong with Fahran’s eye, but Auntie seemed preoccupied, checking her phone regularly as if waiting for an important message, so she
thought she’d better stay silent.
Once they had each eaten a small piece of bread and one slice of cheese the plate was whipped away and Auntie ate the rest while telling them what their jobs would be for that day. “Work is important, for both of you girls. It is how you pay for this here food, for the roof over your heads. Once you have paid for that, then the money will come to you, as your wages.”
Wages! It was magical word, and Amina wondered how much this would be, and how often they would receive it. But neither of these questions were answered.
“You,” she said to Jodie, “will be picked up soon by Jak and Malik. But Amina, she has nicer manners and will stay with me.”
Despite what Auntie said about her manners Amina felt that it was because she was too gormless and girlish to leave the house. Of course Jodie would get a better job, she was prettier and sophisticated.
“And so,” Auntie thumbed Amina, her mouth still full of bread as she spoke, “we’ll train you up to work in the shop. You be nice and happy for the customers, and make sure everything is so clean, Allah himself would be amazed. Okay?”
Amina hadn’t seen the shop yet, and was nervous about dealing with customers, but she nodded eagerly. She wanted Auntie to know that she was willing to work, but there was a question that could not go unanswered. She thought of Pizzie and Omi and took a deep breath.
“Please, Auntie, what about school?” she asked, tentatively.
“The shop will teach you everything you need,” said Auntie. “You learn maths, from working till. You learn science, from the beauty products we use. And you learn languages from the customers. What more you think you need?”
