Empire of Mud

by James Suriano

  Fata was a very nice woman, but I also could tell she hadn’t lived outside the comforts of wealth. It likely never occurred to her what my family had been through. My stories of Mohamed were gossipy musings she fretted over and thought about, but they didn’t move her life in one direction or the other.

  “I’m sorry—but no.” It was final.

  “Thank you for listening.” Emotion bubbled in me. Finding a way home felt impossible. Minrada hadn’t resurfaced, and even if she had, I had nothing to offer her. I went back to cleaning.

  “When are you sending Ruka back?” It was a flippant question that struck me with epic force.

  “I’m not. She has work to do here with me.”

  “But I can’t pay you both.”

  “One salary is fine.” I didn’t have an expectation of payment any longer.

  “It’s not just that. Khalid gets a cut for each of you. I’ll have to give him more of your wages to cover Ruka.” She looked at me like this might change my mind, but it didn’t.

  Spite

  A week passed. Things felt as though they were settling, which gave me an uneasy feeling that trouble was close. Each day, I had looked for Minrada at the park at the usual time the nannies gathered.

  This morning, as I approached, I saw her looming figure. She was taller than the other women, and her clothes were always a step above what the rest of us wore. When I got closer, I noticed her appearance had changed. She lacked the coy sarcasm she normally steeped in.

  “Nice to see you,” I offered.

  “You still owe me.”

  “I gave you everything I had.” I’d wrongly expected polite decorum from her.

  “The album got lost in the flood. I need another form of payment.” Her voice carried an air of despondency.

  I didn’t have anything else. The clothes she wore today were worth more than all my possessions combined.

  “Do you ever want to get back to Balapitiya?” she asked.

  Of course I wanted to see my home again. The mention of it alone made me long for it. But Minrada’s threats felt empty now. It might have been because the house I worked in with Fata and Jaseem was actually what I had come to Dubai expecting.

  “What does Fata have that would be valuable to me?” she asked.

  “I took something from Mohamed because he was an awful man. Fata and her family are pure sunshine. I would never—”

  “Ha. They have you. That’s how they’ll keep you here forever.”

  “It was a mistake to seek you out again,” I said. “You’re a miserable woman.”

  I was explicitly aware of the heads in the park turning toward me when I said that.

  Minrada leaned into me; I could smell her acidic breath through her hiss. “You will die here.”

  Although her words shook me, I held a stern composure.

  …

  The walk back to the apartment felt heavy. The sun beat harder, and the road pushed back against me, striking though my sandals like a hammer against my heels. The muscles in my neck clawed at the back of my head.

  That night Fata summoned me. “Shula, do you have any other clothes?”

  I looked down at my uniform. “No.”

  “Come.”

  I followed her into her closet. There was a section of hanging dresses and abayas that were thick with beads and colorful waxed stitching. She pulled out a black dress. It had multiple layers of sheer fabric with gold-and-white teardrops dripping from the neck and over the arms.

  “Try this on.” She held it up to me.

  She hung it in front of the dressing bust and left the closet.

  I pulled off my uniform and let it fall at the feet of the abaya. When I slipped it on, it was soft and effortless, the fabric titillating my skin.

  “How does it fit? Can I come in?”

  “It’s—”

  She was behind me, adjusting the many layers. “I think we need to make it a little shorter. Otherwise, it looks wonderful.” She stood back and looked me over once more, then walked out.

  I changed back into my uniform and left it hanging perfectly. “Fata, what would I need something like that for?”

  She was typing on her laptop. “Abdullah has invited us on his boat for a cruise. He specifically requested that you attend as well.”

  “Abdullah?”

  “The owner of the company Jaseem works for.”

  “Mohamed’s father?” The dress I had floated in a second ago was now repugnant.

  “Yes. Adbullah called Jaseem to his office today. He said everything has become unmanageable, and he needs to reel this all back in before the news gets wind of it.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I wanted nothing to do with this.

  “Does Ruka have to come?”

  “No, I was hoping she would stay here with the girls and my mother.”

  The mention of her mother watching my daughter gave me a clue as to the seriousness of this event.

  The Boat

  Fata, Jaseem, and I said nothing as the elevator descended to the lobby.

  The car waiting for us at the curb of the building was Mohamed’s. I looked at Fata for assurance that this was right.

  “Just follow me,” she said.

  Jaseem walked around the car and got in behind Mohamed. Ousha was in the front seat. Fata sat in the middle and I sat behind Ousha. Light music was playing: an echoic, tinny Arabic melody. The doors closed by themselves, sealing us in. The mood inside the car felt like children being called by their parents after they’d done something wrong.

  Abdullah’s house was only minutes away and surrounded by gates taller than two grown men. Each gatepost was topped with a crystal that picked up the light of the sunset and fractionated it across the walls of the home. The gates opened, and we advanced into the circular driveway and under a portico. At each door, a man appeared to open and usher each of us out and position us so that we faced a short stack of stairs leading to an archway door we could have driven through. The glass above the doors was covered in fancy brushed metal crescents; the doors brandished handles the size of a small person and must have taken the entire day to polish. The four men led us up the stairs and into the first layer of the house. A corridor wrapped the outside of the home like a protective membrane. Our footsteps echoed and the servants made no attempt to engage us. They guided us through the house until we stepped outside on the half-moon tip of the island, which Abdullah had covered in palm trees, furniture, coves of light, winding hedges, and bubbling fountains.

  At the end was the jewel of the property, his towering gray yacht. We stood at the white curving plank, with pinpoint lights illuminating from within, connecting the place where we were standing to the boat. Ousha took Mohamed’s arm and boarded first. When they turned the corner and were out of sight, a booming voice greeted them.

  Fata had made me practice a greeting in Mohamed’s language for Abdullah. She said he wouldn’t expect me to speak Arabic, but he would expect a greeting. From there, Fata would translate anything I needed to know.

  Fata took Jaseem’s arm and they stepped onto the path.

  Two of the servants stepped closer to me, slightly ahead. When it was time, they both bent forward, arms straight out, inviting me to board the boat.

  I rounded the corner, unsure what to expect.

  Abdullah stood at the top of the boat as if he were heading up an official delegation with his contingent stationed neatly behind him. His white robe was lined with the matte-gray color of the boat. Each of the people standing behind him complemented the colors of his clothing and the boat. It was his portrait of power. He immediately made eye contact with me, and his fleshy face gave a welcoming smile. His arms opened. To his right, a woman shimmered in a gray sequenced abaya playing off of the yacht’s hull.

  “Shula. I’ve waited so long to meet you.” Abdullah’s Sinhala was precise, the way a professor in my country might speak.

  “Hello, it’s an honor to meet you,” I said in Mohame
d’s language. My words were shaky. His personality pulled me close, but my body never touched his.

  “This is my wife, Cynthia. We’ve been together fifty years. I plucked her out of London the day she was born,” he said, again perfectly in my language.

  She radiated hospitality and shook my hand.

  I was the last guest to arrive, and when our introductions were over, one of the servants lightly touched my shoulders, turned me toward the back of the boat, then gestured to a photographer, who was set up and ready to take pictures. As soon as Abdullah moved deeper into the boat, a spin of activity swirled behind him. We followed him to four round pods of seats, each with a low table in the middle. The men who had shown us out of the car had multiplied and were now seating us and taking our drink orders.

  There were several other couples I didn’t recognize. Mohamed and Ousha were seated with Abdullah as well as a man I assumed was Mohamed’s brother, who was understood to be the heir to his father’s business. I sat next to Fata. She made conversation with the others in our pod, while I watched Ousha. I knew, from our conversations in the kitchen and when she was intoxicated, that she hated Mohamed and his father. The way she interacted with polite deference, intense smiles, and affectionate touching of Mohamed was an act of betrayal against herself.

  “Once Abdullah has his words with his sons, we’ll all rotate until everyone has an audience with him,” Fata said.

  “How does he know how to speak Sinhala?” I asked.

  “Abdullah is a smart man. One doesn’t build a fortune this big without brains.”

  Jaseem seemed nervous; he’d sip his cocktail and then look at the ground. Fata did the talking for both of them.

  It was time to move. We went to sit with Abdullah and Cynthia. Fata sat very close to me, and Abdullah began to talk.

  “I’m so glad you’ve all come to join me for dinner on the boat,” Fata translated. “We’re here to discuss many important things. The most important is my appreciation for your loyalty and being my extended family. I value each and every one of you incredibly.”

  The way he looked at us couldn’t have felt more sincere. His eye contact was long and interested, and his arms swept over our presence in generous arcs. Even though I understood the words through Fata’s translation, it was the melody of his voice that made me swoon. I felt like he could entrance anyone.

  “He’s telling us about how successful his business is and we’re all a part of that success.”

  Abdullah looked at me and spoke. Fata backed away so I could make a full connection with him. His words moved toward me. “You’re the reason all of us can come to work, to have our beautiful children cared for. Shula, you’re as much a part of all this as anyone. And when one of us is rewarded, we all will be.”

  Abdullah put his hand out. One of his employees handed him a box.

  “Please come,” he told me, and I stood up.

  The guests at the other couches had been directed to look at what was happening between us. Abdullah had activated something inside me, and I bowed slightly to him. I wanted to please him. He pushed the box forward and opened it.

  I was facing Cynthia so I heard her burst of breath, along with a word I didn’t understand. Inside was a necklace: blue sapphires surrounded by diamonds; there were at least twenty of them. It looked like something our head of state might wear. “Whenever you look at this, you’ll remember our journey together.”

  I started to raise my hand to reject the gift, but Fata cut in quickly. “Shula, you must accept it.”

  I heeded her warning, knowing this necklace was the price of my life.

  Abdullah handed it to Cynthia, who stepped behind me and attached it. Then Abdullah put his hand forward and I kissed it. Everyone on the boat erupted in applause and words of praise for Abdullah. They looked at him as though he had saved the world from all its troubles, and he accepted it like a humble servant.

  After a few minutes, we were ushered to the next deck up, which we entered through a set of spotless glass doors. The deck was encased in transparent walls. A glass dining table was set for all of us, the chairs a clear Lucite with subtle gray lines. There were name cards written in Mohamed’s language, except for mine, which was written in my language. The details of the boat staggered me, and the weight of the necklace grounded me into the architecture of Abdullah’s world.

  I sat between Fata and Ousha. Fata squeezed my leg under the table. It made me feel as though she were trying to keep one of my feet in reality.

  Deep-red wine was poured. Mohamed delivered a toast. Halfway through it, he looked at me.

  “He’s saying he’s delighted you’ve come back to work as part of his family, especially after the tragedy you suffered of losing a child,” Fata said.

  I watched Ousha; the sting of putting us so close together was hers to bear, not mine. She and I both knew the truth. But Ousha had been inhabited with the spirit of this moment, which was joy, at any cost. As long as I was with Fata, I could shoulder the rest.

  Transitory Additions

  We were deep into the night when Cynthia announced that we would try to do this again. “After all, family should be together regularly.”

  “Thank you for translating. It must have been annoying,” I told Fata when we entered the apartment.

  She pulled off her vermeil scarf and spun it around the coat rack like a diligent spider. “We all had a job there. That was mine.” In the safety of her apartment, she had returned to the person she was before the act we’d all been conscripted to. I reached for my neck to see if the necklace was there or if it had been a prop that would crumble with no more density than a painted brittle palm leaf.

  “You understand what happened, yes?” She kicked off her shoes. A purple stain had taken hold under her eyes.

  “Abdullah bought and sold us.” It was a saying left over from our days when slave owners lived on our island and had bolted collars around our necks.

  She blinked several times at me. “Yes, but there were things he said when it was just us sitting next to him. I didn’t want to tell you while we were there. I was afraid you might get too emotional.”

  “What things?” I couldn’t imagine what else he could have said.

  “You must go back.”

  “Home?”

  “No. To Mohamed’s house. You’re to go and work for him and Ousha. That’s what he was saying. He’s welcoming you back to his family. He wants to restore honor to everyone.”

  “No.” I felt like someone had run away with all the air in my lungs. “Even if I could stomach it, I can’t bring Ruka into that.”

  “There will be provisions for her. She’ll stay with us. Jaseem and I have to do our part too, to right the wrongs.”

  “But we didn’t do anything wrong.” Abdullah’s view of the world burrowed under my skin.

  Fata put her arm around me. Over the weeks I’d been here, she hadn’t been anything but gracious, but she’d never been this personal.

  “I’m sorry.” She patted my back, then went to her bedroom.

  I went to our room; Ruka was asleep. I knelt next to her mattress and ran my hand over her hair and kissed her forehead. I’d deliver the news to her tomorrow morning. Someday this necklace would buy what Khalid had promised, when we returned home.

  …

  I felt Ruka nuzzle into me. It must have been morning. She always woke with the sunrise, whether or not she could see it. I didn’t open my eyes, and I was back in our small room in Sri Lanka. It was still dark; the sun hadn’t broken through the slits in the walls. Mewan was at my feet. I soaked in the moment of my whole family being together in a familiar place.

  “Where did you go last night?” Ruka’s voice shuffled through the darkness and into my ears.

  “A very rich man had a party.”

  I felt her fingers on my neck. Before they were gone, the light clicked on. Ruka honed in on my neck. I’d forgotten; I’d slept with the necklace on.

  Her eyes went wide.
“What is that?”

  “A bribe. To make sure I do what I’m supposed to.” I knew she wouldn’t respond, but I waited anyway. “Ruka, I have to go back and work for that man, Mohamed. You’ll stay here with Fata and the girls. I won’t be far, just down the street. I can see you every day.” I was speeding up my words, hoping to explain what I didn’t want to be true.

  She just looked at me funny, as if I were lying to her, and then she went to the door. “But isn’t he mad at you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. His father told him to do it.”

  She accepted the answer. Parents were all-powerful in her world. “As long as I can see you every day.”

  Ruka didn’t know what Mohamed had done, and I’d never tell her. Those were things that should never be inside an eight-year-old mind.

  Her eyes were still on the necklace. “Do you think I could wear it sometime? Just around our room?”

  “I don’t know. If Fata or Jaseem ever saw me without it, they might become angry.”

  “Well, okay. Whatever you say, Mama.” She flitted out of the room, in her best mood.

  …

  It was decided that Ruka would go to school with Fata’s daughters. A translator would be provided for her at Abdullah’s expense. It was part of the grand bargain to reshape reality into what he desired. The reality where his son wasn’t a drug-fueled murderer who slept with and tortured other men and where his daughter-in-law wasn’t chasing the memory of another man. The world created was of orderly marriages and family bonds as strong as sapphires.

  …

  The next day, I approached Mohamed’s house. The car was parked in the same place. I saw the window curtain pulled aside, as it had been the first day I arrived. Mohamed and Ousha opened the door for me with bright faces and clear eyes. Their looks made the acid in my stomach feel like it had leeched into my abdomen and burned through my organs. The air felt full of static. My mind rose above my body, because my body was screaming for me not to advance.