by Monia Mazigh
“Thank you for your invitation. My mother is Canadian, my father from Saudi Arabia. My parents divorced when I was three years old, and I’ve lived here ever since with my mother. This is my last year at university. For a long time I didn’t consider myself a Muslim, but in the last few years I’ve begun to take an interest in my Arab heritage. I discovered the Muslim faith and accepted it. Sally and I attend the same lecture, and I have nothing but admiration for her fervour and her piety, and that’s why I wanted to meet her.”
Sally had returned to the room carrying a tray. She listened to Sam attentively, and his poems rushed back into her mind, touching her deeply. Fawzia was in seventh heaven — this lad had surprised her. Could he be the gift of heaven she’d implored for her daughter?
Then all at once, Mr. Ali stood up and broke his silence. “And why not continue this interesting discussion in the dining room?”
Off they went, as if they’d already formed a family. The savoury meal that Fawzia had prepared awaited them.
30
Louise gradually forgot her adventure with Ameur as she grew closer to Lama. The two became inseparable. In Lama Louise had found not only a friend but also a confidante, someone she could turn to in need. And Lama slowly forgot her conflict with her mother. She had discovered in Louise a modern, independent young woman who understood her religion not by way of tradition but as a spiritual search for a more balanced life.
The two would meet regularly after classes. They talked about their studies, their professors, their plans for the future, and about their problems. Their friendship helped them come to terms with their mothers, with their heritage, with their immediate circle. Louise spoke of Ameur but no longer wept. In her faith and in her friendship with Lama, she found the courage to overcome her grief. Her relations with her mother gradually improved; Louise no longer saw Alice as an obstacle to her religious beliefs, and rediscovered her support and love.
To avoid seeing Ameur, she had stopped attending meetings of the Muslim Students Association. He would only remind her of how naive she had been, how vulnerable. Louise was grateful to him for having brought her to her new religion, but she resented him for his weakness and cowardice. She could not forgive him for having dropped her in the name of tradition and custom. His appearance, his face, his honeyed words, his advice to her — all had combined to convince her that he was the ideal man, the perfect balance between material life and her new spiritual identity as a Muslim. But her budding love had blinded her: she did not notice how the weight of tradition had caused Ameur’s spine to bend.
Lama did her best to explain to Louise that Ameur’s change of heart was the result of something too powerful to resist, something few people could withstand. “It can happen with marriage, with the birth of a child, or the death of a dear one. We go back to the beginning,” she explained, looking Louise straight in the eye as if to convince her of the validity of her theory.
Louise fell silent for an instant, then replied, “Do you think I’ll also have a ‘back to the beginning’ moment? After all, I’ve rejected everything my mother taught me. Do you think I’ll be like her one day?” She smiled sadly, her questioning gaze awaiting Lama’s reply.
Her friend answered without missing a beat. “That’s a good question, but only time will tell. For the time being, just drink tap water and let everybody else drink from the spring.”
The two girls burst out laughing. They were seated on a bench in a small garden at the centre of the campus. A halo of fresh green leaves barely covered most of the trees. Spring was settling in and the sun’s rays had shaken them from their winter inertia, flooding them with comforting warmth. As they were chatting and laughing, a girl wearing a niqab strode by briskly. Lama and Louise looked at each other and fell into an embarrassed silence.
Louise was first to break it. “Are you ready to dress that way?”
Lama shrugged. “Not on your life. I can’t even bring myself to wear a headscarf, so it’s not likely you’d ever see me wearing a niqab. Nope, it’s just not my style,” she said, with an angry edge to her voice. “What about you?”
Louise sighed. “At one point I was toying with the idea of wearing a headscarf, but I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to be a good Muslim, wanted to feel secure . . . but I wasn’t ready, it wasn’t a step I was prepared to take. Maybe one day. But the niqab? No…I don’t understand it. I have plenty of reservations on the subject, and mostly plenty of questions.”
For Lama the niqab symbolized discrimination against women. “Look, with it on you can’t work, you can’t go out to eat . . . you’re not free, period. It’s a way of dressing that comes from certain particular regions, but when you get right down to it, it’s still the weight of tradition that holds us back.”
Louise seemed a bit less intransigent. “Did you see the girl who just went by? I think she’s a student here. Wouldn’t that prove that she’s like us, that she can study and maybe even find work one day? It’s her choice, after all. Shouldn’t we try to understand her?”
Lama was losing patience. “Okay, I respect her choice, but I can’t understand it. Never, never would I dress like that,” she repeated, as if to convince herself once and for all.
To break the tension, Louise joked, “And if you decide at some point to return to the spring for a drink, will you put on your veil?”
Lama shook her head with a laugh. “My theory only applies to other people. Me, I’ve been vaccinated.”
31
Emma was becoming accustomed to Mrs. Bibi’s idea. It came up every time they met. And it wasn’t a simple idea any longer; it had become a project. A project that had now taken on concrete form with one of Mr. Bibi’s companies, in the shape of a formal application and a possible hiring date. Mrs. Bibi was jubilant; everything was turning out exactly as she had planned.
Ezz Bibi, who normally mistrusted his wife’s suggestions, found the idea attractive. The problem with most of her ideas was that they involved substantial expenditure, but this time that was not the case. Samia truly wanted to assist this woman by finding her work and improving her situation. And the suggestion had come at exactly the right time. One of the employees of a company belonging to Mr. Bibi had returned to Egypt to look after his ailing mother; a replacement had to be found. Ever cautious, Mr. Bibi had been taking all the time he needed to find the best candidate, and he hadn’t found anyone so far. He asked for more information about Emma.
Emma’s feelings went from incredulity to curiosity and from interest to hope. She told her mother, who was happy that her daughter would be closer to her, geographically speaking, and that she would have a job worthy of her university diplomas.
As she prepared her CV, Emma was startled by what she’d accomplished. Ever since her separation she had turned inward, had forgotten who she was in professional terms. But the prospect of moving to Dubai brought her back down to earth and reminded her that life must go on. Sara could feel the change in her mother: she was more optimistic, and most of all, she laughed more often. Both of them were preparing themselves mentally for a departure that looked more and more plausible every day.
Emma did everything she could to convince herself that there was no difference between Canada and Dubai, and that Dubai would be better for her and her daughter. Her job there would make it possible for her to buy a car, to live in an attractive modern apartment, and even to return to Canada for visits. All she’d heard about the exploitation of foreign workers, about racism towards people of certain nationalities, about corruption and the absence of democracy didn’t bother her terribly. She wasn’t out to change the world, she told herself; rather, she was looking for was a comfortable, peaceful life, a place to bring up her daughter and to forget all she’d been through.
As she gradually drew further away from everything that bound her to Canada, Emma felt at peace with herself. It was a long and trying exercise — after all, she had spent many years here
. Everything seemed to be pulling her back: her daughter Sara, her failed marriage, her lengthy and laborious studies. Everything called out, loud and clear, that this was the country where she belonged. So to break the hold Canada had on her, she began to think only of Dubai. She visualized herself in that cosmopolitan city, going to work every day, winning the respect of her colleagues, driving her daughter to a private school, visiting the shopping centres, going to the beach with Sara, making friends. Now it was a matter of waiting for her contract and her visa.
She knocked on her friend Jeanne’s door. Ever since the episode with the matches, the two women had come to know one another better, and it was a friendship that proved beneficial to both. They could not have been more different in character: one was an extrovert, the other an introvert. One had learned to live her life by overcoming misfortune; the other was still torn between past and present. They had both learned from their misadventures and supported one another.
Jeanne suffered from asthma and had reared her two daughters alone. Her first husband had beaten her. At the time she was so ashamed that she didn’t say a word to anyone and suffered in silence. But one day she had had enough, and she walked out with her daughter. She never saw her husband again. A few years later she met another man, a “real gentleman,” as Jeanne liked to describe him when she told Emma the story. He was well-mannered and treated her and her daughter well. So Jeanne decided to rebuild her life with him, and she gave birth to a second daughter. But this “gentleman” had one shortcoming: he didn’t like to work. He slept during the day and spent the night carousing. The breaking point was not long in coming. Jeanne had shown her second husband the door. The two girls paid a high price, but Jeanne did her best to bring them up well.
Emma adored Jeanne’s ability to laugh at her own misfortunes, to look them up and down and not to view them as the end of the world. Emma’s patience impressed Jeanne, who hoped that one day she could develop such patience herself. The two women spent hours in conversation while Sara and Jeanne’s two daughters played together. Everyone forgot their hardships. All that counted was the happiness of the moment.
32
Today Mrs. Bibi positively glittered. She wore a black dress embroidered with tiny semi-precious stones that she’d bought some time ago but had never worn. In truth, Mrs. Bibi was always beautifully dressed and perfectly groomed, but on this occasion her elegance had risen by a notch. Why? She had won her wager and was intent on displaying the fact to everyone, beginning with Emma, the prime subject. Her intention was to proclaim the good news herself — Emma was now officially hired as a computer expert in Mr. Ezz Bibi’s firm. What had begun as a caprice was a reality, and what a reality it was!
She was proud of herself and proud of her handiwork, born of her compassion for Emma. For the first time in her life she had contrived to bring happiness to someone else at the same time as herself. It was a new kind of happiness, not the self-centred pleasure of buying fine things and dressing in the latest, most expensive fashions. She awaited Emma’s arrival impatiently.
That day Emma decided to leave Sara to play at Jeanne’s house while she went to Mrs. Bibi’s for her tutoring session.
Lynne and Mona were making good progress. Their marks had steadily improved. At first they didn’t really trust Emma; in fact, they had underestimated her. Behind her back they made fun of the way she dressed, of the slightly lost expression on her face. But as time passed the two girls had to admit that they understood math better, that certain concepts were clearer, and that they could actually solve mathematical problems. So gradually Lynne and Mona had changed their attitude, stopped their childish behaviour, and begun to look on their tutor with respect, even with admiration. The idea that Emma might not be there next year to help them with their math worried them.
Emma paused in front of the Bibi house. The signs of spring were visible everywhere. The grass was still yellow but it was slowly recovering after the recent disappearance of the snow. The bare-branched trees were displaying their first buds, which stood upright in defiance of the cold and ice. An air of renewal permeated the atmosphere, driving away the smell of winter’s accumulation of rot and refuse.
Emma rang the doorbell and Mrs. Bibi opened, a broad smile on her face. In comparison with Samia’s elegant dress, Emma’s clothes make her look like a cleaning lady, but she let nothing show. She looked around for her two pupils.
Mrs. Bibi announced, “You can begin a bit later today. The girls can wait.”
Her hostess led her towards the small reception room. Emma thought back to her first visit and how badly she had wanted the tutoring job. Today things were different. The job she wanted was not tutoring the girls but the one Mrs. Bibi had promised her, in Dubai. Emma was concerned. Why did Mrs. Bibi want to talk to her?
She didn’t say a word. Her stomach was churning, but she breathed deeply to conceal her apprehension. She repeated silently, as if to reassure herself, Well, if I’m not accepted over there, I’ll still have a roof over my head and food to put on my table. It’s not the end of the world.
The tiny Swarovski crystals on Mrs. Bibi’s dress all but dazzled Emma. They drew her eyes to them as they reflected glints of light back onto the walls, the pattern of reflections shifting with Samia’s every movement. Octagons replaced hexagons and then vanished in a wild whirl, lending force to the festive look in her eyes. Radiant, she gestured to Emma to take a seat.
“I’ve got good news for you. My husband tells me that in a few days you’ll be getting an official answer to your application for a job in his company.”
Emma pinched herself. She wanted to shout for joy, but no sound came from her mouth. She sat there on the velvet loveseat, transfixed, asphyxiated with delight. Finally, after a brief silence she managed to say, “Is it really true?”
Mrs. Bibi burst into laughter. “You know very well I’m not joking. Ezz confirmed it yesterday on the telephone. In a few weeks you’ll be in Dubai.”
Emma had a long list of questions, but she had the feeling that the moment was not right. She stood up and, not knowing exactly what she was doing, kissed Mrs. Bibi on the cheek.
Taken by surprise, the older woman didn’t know quite how to respond. Then, without any great display of emotion, she responded in kind. “A thousand mabruk, Emma. I’m so happy for you.”
Emma, overcome with a happiness that suffused every inch of her body, thanked Mrs. Bibi and her husband. Still laughing, Mrs. Bibi summoned her two daughters, who were quick to appear.
Stunned by the announcement, Emma followed the two girls into the adjacent room, which they used as a study. Her mind was far away and she hardly knew what she was saying. How she wished for the hours to fly by. She wanted only to hurry home and savour the wonderful news.
33
Emma couldn’t keep her eyes off her watch. She could barely contain her impatience; the minute hand was moving too slowly. Soon the taxi that would take her and Sara to the airport would arrive. Two large suitcases stood poised in the vestibule. She had attempted to cram all she owned into those two cases — books, toys, clothing — everything folded and carefully packed. Her furniture was gone, all donated to the Salvation Army, returning whence it had come.
She would preserve her memories of Canada in her mind. It would be impossible to forget those years, from her first days in Montreal in a dormitory room to today, perched on a stool in a nearly empty house that would soon open its doors to another family, give shelter to other children, witness the unfolding of other lives. She would always remember the sleepless nights in the university computer centre as she put the finishing touches on her session projects. Nothing could remove from her memory the days following her marriage to Fadi: how happy she had been, how confident in the future, how proud of her life. She would never forget her joy at Sara’s birth, nor the pain and the tears that followed her divorce. The conflicting feelings collided deep inside her; she coul
dn’t drive them entirely away. Childhood memories tumbled over those of her life in Canada. She sat there staring out into space while Sara skipped rope in the kitchen.
Emma glanced out the window just as a glossy black car pulled up in front of the house. The taxi! The time had come. Emma stood up, double-checking her papers. Her passport, her daughter’s passport, her work visa, everything was right where it should be. Sara stopped skipping and tucked the rope into a pocket of one of the suitcases.
“The taxi is waiting. Time to go,” Emma exclaimed, as she adjusted her headscarf.
Slowly she opened the door and pushed the two suitcases onto the stoop. The driver, a husky man in his fifties with dark skin, got out of the car and came up to Emma. “Salaam! How are you, madam?”
“Salaam. I am fine, thank you,” Emma replied. She was a bit startled to hear the driver greet her in the Islamic manner. It could only have been because of her headscarf that he recognized her as a Muslim, and he’d surely intended to put her at ease.
It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and the trees wore their full coat of green. Jeanne was smoking a cigarette as she watched her two daughters splashing in an inflatable pool on the front lawn. The driver carried Emma’s suitcases to the car and placed them one after the other in the trunk. Emma waved to Jeanne, who walked over to say goodbye to her neighbour. Two worlds of sadness met as they fell into each other’s arms.
“You’ll send us a card from Dubai, promise?” said Jeanne with a motherly smile.
Sara was looking at her young neighbours as they bobbed in and out of the water, laughing and sputtering. A few leaves floated on the surface of the pool. Sara felt like staying to play with them.
“I will, for sure,” stammered Emma, her throat constricted with emotion.
Jeanne broke into nervous laughter that finished with a spasm of coughing. Then, with a kind gaze, she watched Emma and Sara climb into the taxi. Jeanne and her daughters waved goodbye, and Emma and Sara followed suit. The driver took his seat and then the car drove off.
