by H M Sealey
“It’s not fair.” I say. “But I think I stopped believing the world was fair twenty years ago.” I want to ask whether she thinks Baraq will come after us, but I daren’t. I don’t want to hear the answer. Nor do I want to give away information concerning Family Matters.
We don’t say anything else, instead we stare at nothing, lost in our own misery.
The van eventually stops and the back doors are thrown open. I recognise the uniforms now, they’re the security personnel at the Rainbow Centre and they neither greet nor acknowledge us before signing the forms and escorting us up, back onto the sickeningly familiar campus.
The smell hasn’t changed, that cloying mixture of body odour and cheap disinfectant and even cheaper cooking. It lodges at the back of my throat and that same old nausea rises. Outside the flags still fly, unaware that I ever escaped.
“Well, my goodness.” Ms. Chalmers stops in the corridor and passes her smug gaze over both of us. “I’m so glad you’ve come back to us. I hear you both need urgent psychiatric evaluation.”
“We’re not mad.” River says, although there’s no power in her voice. “And you know we’re not.”
“Police report says different sweetie. The police report is damning. But it’s all right, there’s plenty of medication that will help you.”
The threat of medication is too much for River, I’ve never seen her break before. She gives a long, desperate scream before launching herself at Ms. Chalmers. She can’t do anything of course, her hands are still restrained behind her, but she manages to knock Miss Chalmers to the ground before the security officers drag her away, still screaming that one long, jagged, broken note that chills me. It’s the sound of pure despair. I’ve never heard it close up before.
“Please!” I beg. Normally I wouldn’t beg these people for anything, but the sound of River’s cry rings in my ears and tears my heart. “Let me talk to her!”
Miss Chalmers gives me a frosty smile.
“I don’t think so Skye. You have an appointment with Doctor Tarporley. He’ll decide what to do with you.” She reaches forwards and brushes the half-inch of hairgrowth of which I’m so proud. “Once this is shaved off again.”
~
Elsie
The niqab is hot and uncomfortable but I don’t complain as I walk at Baraq’s side into the white building. Everywhere people speak in Arabic and I understand nothing at all. It’s like being in another world, maybe Hell, where strange, alien men stride around, long robes – what Baraq informed me are known as thawbs – beneath ordinary doctor’s garb. It’s unnerving, like two realities are touching, but I’ve been here quite long enough to have stopped hoping this is all a nightmare and wondering whether I’ll wake up soon.
I stick close to Baraq and keep my eyes focused on the floor. My dress is so long I think I might trip over the hem as I move. But nobody really notices me and Baraq quickly locates Tariq ibn-Jack.
I asked about his name. My real father must have had a different name although women stopped taking their husband’s name when they married at least thirty years ago. Most straight couples don’t marry anyway.
“Tariq is the name he chose when he accepted Islam.” Baraq informs me. “His own father’s name was Jack and ibn simply means son-of. He honours his father as all Muslims do.”
I wonder what his original name was. I never knew. Gran barely told me anything. I do remember Grampy Jack though, although he died when I was nine.
Tariq is lying in a hospital bed, wires attached to every part of him, his head lolls as if its too heavy for his neck, a tube inserted in his mouth seems to be breathing for him, making him look as though he’s half man, half machine. Some science-fiction monstrosity. The faint beep of the monitor beside the bed keeps track of his heart.
The doctor explains his condition to Baraq and although I don’t understand the words he uses, I understand the seriousness.
I approach the bed and reach out my hand to touch his, this strange, dying link to my lost past.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper as softly as I dare. “I wish I’d been able to know you.”
He doesn’t turn his head, he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Fresh tears bubble up in my eyes. I look up into Baraq’s strong face.
“Take me home.” I plead. I need to go back to something that’s mine, even if Gran’s not there, I don’t want to remain in this alien world a moment longer than I have to. I feel like a fish stranded on the beach, gasping at the unfamiliar air and longing to be tossed back into the sea.
We don’t stay in the hospital to witness Tariq’s death. I don’t think I can bear to watch him slip away and Baraq is nervous that my inability to speak Arabic may give me away. I walk with him to his car and wait until the door is closed before I wrench off the niqab and sob.
“Put it back!” Baraq sounds horrified. “You’re not safe yet.”
“I don’t care!” I sob. “It’s a stupid law anyway.”
“Just put it back, for both our sakes.”
But I don’t. I just carry on sobbing and Baraq lets me. He doesn’t start the car and risk moving out of the carpark though.
“I have nobody now.” I sob. “Nobody at all.” I know I’m feeling sorry for myself but I’m past caring.
“What about your friend?”
“Missy only cares about Family Matters.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“What would you know about anything? You have your family!” I want to scream, to rage, I want to smash a window. How could he understand?
“Just take me back now!” I demand. “Get me past the border on this side. Please.”
“Elsie, if you genuinely want to go back then I will help you, but please be patient. This afternoon I’m taking Missy to try and find Dai. If I keep crossing and re-crossing the border even the most stupid guard will become suspicious. Give it a few days.”
A few days? “Why is Missy more important than me?” I wail.
“She’s not, but she’s an escaped slave whereas you have your free papers and the security of a Muslim father. Missy’s position is more precarious.”
“I’m not waiting!” I sob. “I don’t want to stay here. I have nothing.”
For a few minutes I give way to a deluge of tears, cross with myself for what I know is only self-pity and aware that I must seem deeply ungrateful for all the help and kindness Baraq’s family have shown me. But what I feel inside is panic, and the panic is so acute I can hardly breathe.
As the tears recede like the tide, I become aware that Baraq is staring at me, a new sort of intensity in his eyes.
“What?” I say, blinking back the tears.
“Elsie.” His voice is low, tender. “I…..I don’t know whether I should tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
“You have…..you have a brother.”
I nod. “Josh. I sort of remember him.”
Baraq closes his eyes and leans back on the headrest.
“I met him. Two days ago. In the Border.”
Suddenly I’m bolt upright, the panic shoved aside.
“Josh! You know Josh! How do you know it’s him!”
I stare at Baraq, half elated, half suspicious. How can he possibly know about my brother? I barely know about my brother.
“Elsie.” He doesn’t look at me again, I wonder why not. “Josh was sent to a Rainbow Centre. He escaped with a…..friend of mine who brought him to see me.”
“Through Family Matters you mean?”
“Yes. Through Family Matters.”
“And it was definitely him. Joshua Kessler?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he? Is he somewhere near? Does he know about me?”
To my surprise, a tear escapes Baraq’s eye. “He…..he was arrested and taken back to the Rainbow Centre.”
“But that’s okay!” I say. “I mean, it’s good. When they let him out I can see him! Which one have they taken him to?”
“Elsie,�
�� Baraq’s tears don’t stop flowing. “Josh has been in a Rainbow Centre for twenty years. They don’t intend to let him go, not ever.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Rainbow Centres are there to help people. To rehabilitate them. They’ll help him, then let him go.”
“No they won’t Elsie. Rainbow centres are prisons. The inmates are political prisoners.”
I screw up my eyes as if I’m trying to block out reality. “He must have really warped thinking then! He must be totally unredeemable! A Nazi! They can’t let evil people out -”
Baraq slaps me and I gasp with the shock.
“Your brother did nothing to earn his torture at the hands of that country you seem to love so much! And if you’d been older, you would have been in a Rainbow Centre with him, You’re just damn lucky Bibi managed to convince the authorities that she could bring you up as a true believer but it must have torn her soul to watch you espouse anything good about that regime! Don’t you dare think that your brother ever did anything to justify his imprisonment!”
To my amazement, Baraq explodes into proper tears. He slams his fist into the dashboard.
“It’s my fault! I waited too long to try and get you out of the country. I should have protected you both. And your mother!”
I stare at Baraq, at the deep lines in his dark skin and his beard.
In an abrupt, angry moment of terror and realisation, I tug the locket up from beneath my clothing and open it up, almost snapping the chain in my hurry.
The man looking out at me is young and handsome. The man who broke up my family.
“It’s you.” I whisper, wondering why I didn’t see it before.
Baraq covers face with his hand.
“I….I wasn’t going to tell you. I thought…..you were happy to have found Tariq. But Elsie…...your mother loved you so much, her only wish was that I should find you, reunite her children. And I’ve tried. I came to find you once.”
I stiffen in my seat, my face still hurts where he hit me.
“Gran reported you.”
“At my insistence.”
“What?”
He tries to take my hand but I pull away.
“Elsie, your Gran was already working for Family Matters back then.”
“Don’t lie! Gran only got involved because you came sniffing around, trying to get her to break the law.”
“Bibi would never have admitted what she was doing, even to you. Especially to you, since she was terrified you would be taken away from her and questioned. The authorities were getting closer back then. So we decided that if she gave me up, then that would throw everyone off the scent.”
“No.” I’m crying on the outside but inside I feel like a volcano ready to erupt and throw all that white hot magma I keep safe inside me into the air. “That can’t be right. Gran only started to do that stupid Family Matters thing when mum’s body was found. She told me!”
Baraq falls silent for a moment. “She told you a slightly more acceptable version of the truth Elsie. I suppose she reasoned it would be better for you if she seemed like a confused old women driven by emotion. But she wasn’t. She was strong. Clever. Principled. I wanted her to come with us to America but she said she had work to do. Your mother was so fond of her, and Bibi treated Susanna as if she was her own daughter. But your Grandmother was working for Family Matters long before I ever was.”
I don’t think I can bear this. “You….you wrecked mum’s marriage.” I throw the accusation at him. “She was with Tariq, not you.”
“Tariq helped to murder a man, but he wasn’t happy and he wasn’t kind. I picked up the pieces after he was arrested. That’s all.”
“Liar!” With a herculean effort I hold the lava back.
“I’m not lying. I took care of you and Josh, your mother and your Grandmother. We were a family. You were Rachael, but it was recommended that any biblical names should be changed. Bibi chose Elsie because Josh called you El anyway, and Bibi said…..” He begins to cry again. “She said that Josh would still know you. You would still be his El.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” I say. “I don’t want to know that my whole family were warped thinkers. If Josh is judged dangerous enough to merit life in a Rainbow Centre then he’s bad. You’re bad!”
On impulse I throw the car door open and leap out, letting my legs carry me across the carpark. I need to get away. I don’t care where. I don’t care about anything but leaving this man and his cruel stories as far behind as possible.
~
~ Twenty Four ~
Elsie
I run as far as I can until my lungs become too painful and I have to stop. When I do I lean against the wall, tears blinding me, my heart so tender it feels bruised or even broken.
When the emotional storm starts to fade I begin I take note of my surroundings. I’m in what looks like an old shopping centre although several of the shops are disused, there are big, concrete tubs which once held flowers but are now a tangle of hardy weeds. From my position I can see a shop with a coloured canopy and big wooden crates outside and what I think is a street café. There are men slouched at the tables.
Now that I can think a little more clearly I begin to consider my options. I need to get back to the Border. I’m aware that Old Britain and the BSI have a treaty, and I refuse to believe in the scaremongering about the people here. If I ask politely for help, I’m sure they’ll offer it.
Taking a quick breath I walk in the direction of the café. My dress is perfectly respectable even if my hair is uncovered.
Even before I’m halfway across the square when I realise there are at least six pairs of eyes on me. I feel slightly uncomfortable but I push past that discomfort, remembering how scary Tariq appeared when I first saw him. All my life I’ve learned how white people are naturally racist, the fear I have right now, it’s nothing more than deep seated, unfair racial prejudice. I admonish myself firmly for entertaining such thoughts, reach the closest table and smile at the young men.
“Excuse me?” I begin. “I’m lost. Do you think you could help me?”
One of the men turns with a grin and speaks, but I don’t understand the words. I wasn’t good at Arabic at school.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
The man laughs and the others join in. I don’t like the expressions on their faces very much.
“English?” He says and I nod.
“Yes.”
“Whore?” He asks with an interested smile that makes his eyes look manically bright. I wonder if he’s taking drugs.
I step backwards to find myself completely hemmed in by the men.
“Of course not.” I reply with indignation. Then I yelp as a hand rests on my backside. “Get off!” I turn to hit away the hand and another one makes a grab for my breasts. Before I can escape there are hands everywhere. “Stop it! I just wanted some help!”
The men laugh, I can feel their hands sliding up beneath my skirt and I can’t stop them. Somebody grabs my wrists and restrains me, another pushes his hands through my hair and all the while there are fingers everywhere, forcing themselves underneath cloth and against my skin. Nobody would dare to do this in Old Britain. Men have been sued for an accidental touch before now. “I’ll sue!” I shout out the most effective threat I know. “I will…..this is sexual harassment!”
This response causes my attackers to roar with laughter. The one with his face closest to mine shakes his head.
“Wrong side of the Border for that.” He tells me, running a hand between my legs and causing me to yelp in shock.
Then the hands stop and I realise that my hair has been pushed to one side, exposing my brand.
“Abed!” I hear the word spoken and I recognise it, I’ve heard it before though I don’t know where.
“She’s a slave.” At least those words are in English.
“No.” I say, I’m not.”
The hands start to move again, this time with more aggression. They squeeze my
breasts and slip down between my legs again and I can’t hit them all away.
“Please!” I cry. “Please don’t…..”
But nobody cares. I don’t understand? Ms. Wittering said only white men are aggressors, but these men are terrifying, they barely even look at me, and they’re laughing, like it’s all a game. One man acting like this I can understand, but a whole group of men, in broad daylight? Encouraging each-other? Just as if this behaviour is normal?
There’s a screech of tyres and a pick-up truck emblazoned with the BSI flag stops in the square. Even then the assailants don’t stop, not even when several other men in some sort of uniform climb down from the truck and speak in voices so hard they terrify me. I just sob, I can’t find any words to protest. I can’t understand anything anyway.
It takes me a few moments to realise that nobody is touching me any more. I slowly look up into the big, bearded features of a man I don’t recognise who looks down as though he despises everything I am. He throws a few, sharp words at me and I shake my head.
“I….I don’t understand.”
The man squats down.
“You’re being arrested.” He tells me in heavily accented English.
“W – what? But I was only asking for help.” I point at the men who are now lounging at one of the tables again and looking deeply amused. “They attacked me.”
The big man sighs as if I’m a stupid toddler.
“You’re uncovered and unaccompanied. What were you expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting to be assaulted!” I say with a little more fire.
“If you don’t want to be assaulted, then don’t behave like a whore.”
“I didn’t behave like a whore and even if I did, it’s not a reason to be treated like a piece of meat!”
The man chuckles. “On your feet girl.”
He takes hold of my upper arm and hauls me up. “Public immorality carries a dozen lashes. Speaking English the same.”
