* * * *
Later that same evening, as the sun sank below a grove of coconut trees, she looped her hand through his arm and, side-stepping the bleached bones of a beached blue whale, they crunched down to the harbor, where, seated on rusty metal chairs on a red sand floor, they examined the simple hand-written menu in a thatched-roof shack perfumed by frankincense. Lulled by the swell of the ocean crashing on the rocks and lit by paraffin lamps glowing softly, surrounded by large ironware pots bubbling over glowing charcoal, they feasted on crabmeat stew, piled up high in scallop shells, spiny lobster tails and swordfish, in a piquant lime and green chili sauce, caught that morning by the flotilla of bright blue fishing boats now lazily bobbing at anchor, and quaffed black tea spiked with cloves, cinnamon sticks, and cardamom. They laughed as they swatted wildly at buzzing insects, attracted by the flame of the lamp. And then on to a selection of traditional Somali dishes, sourdough pancakes and camel meat kebabs rounding off the entire sensory touch of genius with thick wedges of killer dessert dripping with syrup.
“What a glorious evening, and it’s a heavenly change from unprocessed food.” Tamsin felt as if she’d been dealt a royal flush as Luca puffed gently on a hubble-bubble of flavored tobacco.
Then, lured by showbiz vibes, they tracked down the teahouse where a svelte young woman vocalist draped in a sequined splash of color, wearing a stylish hijab and tons of makeup, swayed and uncorked a volcanic torrent of sound that earned her a foot-stomping round of applause, a bleating, golden-horned goat and several proposals of marriage.
“Quite a pop princess!” Tamsin giggled. “I bet she’d be a wow on ‘The Voice.’”
Seventy-two hours later, after they’d plundered the weird and the exotic of Bakaara market and witnessed the sobering legacy of the extremists—bits of suicide vests, explosive devices, the remains of decapitated corpses hurled to the ground and sprinkled with just a fistful of sand—Luca and Tamsin headed home with their precious cargo. Matters had gone seamlessly, although a few more palms had to be greased.
In Milan, the undertaker took charge and, driven by Maurizio, they followed the cortege on its slow journey to the cemetery. Luca stared unseeingly at the rain-spattered countryside. Mindful of his parents’ long-held agnosticism, there was no religious service and they were laid to rest in a prime-site plot opposite the Leopoldo mausoleum. With Luca gripping her hand and marooned in introspection at the graveside, Tamsin, feeling that she truly had a future with him, softly recited John Donne’s poem “Death Be Not Proud.”
* * * *
What Tamsin had glimpsed in Mog and so shocked her prompted her to want to join the fight against FGM.
“Dr. Kadi! Well I never! Who’d have guessed?” Tamsin jumped up and hugged the middle-aged woman who, for the past twelve years, had been the Heriot’s family doctor, and indeed that of almost every inhabitant of the village, following the retirement of her predecessor. She looked at her with new eyes.
Kadiatu Kamara, or Dr. Kadi, as she was invariably called, was a regal, calm mother of four, with a bellyache of a laugh, who had twenty-seven years’ experience as a general physician in Italy. Originally from Sierra Leone, she’d met her Italian husband, an engineer, at a party in Freetown where he was supervising road-building works, and it was love at first sight.
“Our Luca tells me you want to do some voluntary work with my special patients.”
“If you’ll have me.”
Dr. Kadi beamed and her eyes, the size of walnuts, fastened on Luca, who was uncorking a bottle of Leopoldo estate Chianti. “Now, how can I say anything but welcome with our major benefactor breathing down my neck?”
Tamsin’s eyes widened. She’d absolutely no idea Luca was heavily involved as a donor.
“I have to say, the work’s really rather mundane, such as organizing the paperwork and computer records, making appointments and the like. Nothing taxing. So what’s your availability?”
“Once a week—preferably a Monday—is my best day, and I’m afraid that’s the most I can offer at the moment.” She hoped it wasn’t too little.
“Perfect! That’ll take up the slack, as it’s precisely the day my other two volunteers can’t manage.” Dr. Kadi continued briskly. “Now here’s the nitty gritty. I have a discreet little place, separate from my main consulting room in…” She mentioned a rundown back street in a town not far away. “From the outside, you wouldn’t give it a second thought and indeed, you’d probably miss it.”
Luca said somberly. “That’s exactly how we want it. Dr. Kadi had to hive off the FGM consultations from her main practice only last year, owing to the hate mail and death threats she received from parts of the immigrant community—we suspect predominantly male-generated.”
“Now, you’ve told your wife to be strong as the cases can be gruesome?”
“Try me. I’m not at all squeamish, I can take it,” Tamsin said loftily.
* * * *
Famous last words, Tamsin said grimly to herself as she logged in the patients who rang the bell of the anonymous-looking doorway. One shy twenty-six-year-old Sudanese, walking with a cane, rattled off a number of minor ailments, then lowering her voice so that Tamsin had to strain to hear what she said her eyes filled with tears. “I beg and pray that you will return to me my clitoris.”
She listened to horrifying stories of crude genital butchery by local older women or even the local male barber, usually without any form of anesthesia, wielding non-sterile devices such as scissors, razors, kitchen knives, pieces of cut glass, and even sharpened stones and fingernails, on girls ranging from a few months old to puberty. One cutter in a single session used the same knife on thirty girls.
“The younger a girl is when it’s done, the less she can resist,” Dr. Kadi said, tightlipped. That day she’d seen three women. Last week, eight. Word of mouth meant that more women were plucking up the courage to consult her.
Many had their vaginas almost entirely sewn up. Others had undergone infibulation, the most extreme cutting when the inner and outer labia were razored off with the vagina, leaving only a pinhole. One woman confided in Tamsin that she was five when her grandmother pinned her down for FGM and then at fifteen, on her wedding day, the cutter came to open her up to receive her husband’s penis. Another told her that she’d almost died giving birth to her child, owing to having undergone the ritual. All suffered from a multiplicity of FGM health complications that would need reconstructive surgery or other medical intervention for the rest of their lives—chronic back pain, mobility problems, bladder infections, kidney infections. Several were on dialysis and one had just had a transplant operation while another, a woman from Mali in her mid-thirties, riddled with leaking fistulas, was in a very bad way.
“Why is it done?”
Dr. Kadi sighed. “Sadly, it’s cultural, rather like foot binding was in China. For centuries, women aimed for the three-inch golden lotus foot because it was deemed elegant and erotic and a means by which a girl from a poor family could attract a rich husband. The practice gradually started to wane only about a hundred years ago, and it was actually the Communist government that introduced and enforced a strict ban in 1949.” She poured herself another cup of coffee and added two spoonfuls of brown sugar. “In the same way, the communities that carry out FGM regard female genitalia as ugly and dirty, and cutting’s done because it’s thought it makes a girl more attractive and thus more marriageable, that it enhances male sexual pleasure and prevents women from being unfaithful.”
“But oddly enough, it seems to be backed by cut women themselves who inflict it on their daughters and granddaughters. Isn’t that illogical?”
Dr. Kadi sighed. “That’s the big mystery. Unfortunately, they honestly believe they’re helping their daughters, that they’re doing all they can for them. What mother doesn’t want the best for her child? You can’t tell them they’re harming them or they’ll get upset, back out and switch off. So I try to educate my patients. I am tactful. I explain carefully why they’re i
n such bad shape, why it must stop, why they mustn’t take the next generation of little girls abroad to be cut, or indeed”—she lowered her voice—“have it done here…”
Tamsin’s jaw dropped.
“In this country alone, thousands are at risk. Yes, they aren’t safe, since it’s performed illegally within immigrant communities in Italy, other European countries and in America, yet seldom has anyone been prosecuted.”
“And then…?”
Dr. Kadi’s face broadened into a smile and she crossed her fingers. “I’m so glad there’s the glimmer of hope, a start to a happy ending. They sob and sob, but at last they understand and set aside the money they’ve scrimped and saved for cutting, towards their darling girl’s education.”
* * * *
Re-hanging Patrick’s paintings round the workshop, Tamsin realized the door hadn’t closed on her yearning for a baby. That night as they lay against the pillows. he recognized the look in her eyes and braced himself.
“I thought you’d passed on that for the time being. This isn’t a good idea right now. In another three months, we’ll be celebrating our first wedding anniversary, cara.” He cupped a hand under her breast. “Let’s baby talk again then.”
How could he tell her that he, the great I am, was terrified of becoming a father, terrified he would let his wife and child down?
“Will you really be any readier in a few months’ time?” she demanded, sitting up and folding her arms about her.
He paused and said testily, “Don’t push it.”
“What’s your problem?” Her eyes welled up. “Come on, give me one valid reason. It’s not as if we have to save up or can’t afford it.”
His gestured wearily, refusing to open up to her. “It’s not me who has a problem, it’s you. You go on and on and on, even though we agreed to wait.”
“You suggested that,” she corrected tartly. “I don’t remember agreeing, but I did cool it.” A little.
“Well, don’t rush me. Don’t test me because, as they say, it takes two to tango. Subject closed. Let’s move on from this.” And with that, he kissed her and got out of bed to make himself a cup of coffee. And then I’m going to fuck you senseless.
It bloody well isn’t, Tamsin told herself grimly. She was more resentful than ever that her attempt to penetrate that heartland had failed. It was almost nine months since they exchanged vows. She’d be cuddling their little one by now, had she become pregnant on honeymoon, as she’d wanted. She saw no earthly reason why she should wait any longer, but Luca was invariably ultra-careful…
* * * *
Tamsin emptied the pile of condoms out of the bedside table drawer and laid them in serried ranks on a table. Then, stilling her trembling fingers, she plunged in a darning needle. The pinpricks were minute, the perforations virtually invisible. At best, she reckoned, the condoms would split entirely during lovemaking, something that was always possible, at worst they’d stay intact but leakage would occur. A dummy run with tepid tea some days earlier had produced encouraging results.
“You seem a bit tense,” Luca remarked that evening. “Will this take your mind off whatever it is?” He bent to kiss the hollow between her breasts.
“That feels so good.” For a few moments she resented the sexual hold he had over her. “I’m in the midst of a tricky commission,” she said, the white lie tripping off her lips. “But it’ll be a tour de force when it’s done.”
“Darling, you’re a genius. I’m so proud of you.” He tangled his fingers in her hair splayed across the pillow. “And so proud you’re helping Dr. Kadi.”
She felt a momentary stab of guilt mingled with a huge, absolute certainty that what she was doing was best for them both.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Very. We seem to be getting it together,” she murmured, and took his cock in her mouth.
“I hate to admit this, but I think you may well be right.” She has seen sense, he assured himself, not without satisfaction, deeply relieved he’d rectified the out-of-control oscillation in space.
* * * *
Wreathed in smiles, Dr. Kadi confirmed her suspicions. “I knew you were pregnant when you threw up in the clinic the other day. And the news is…I’m pleased to confirm you’re about six weeks gone. So remember, it’s important you take good care of yourself. A child is a joy.” Much advice about nutrition and antenatal care was dispensed and leaflets pressed into her hand. “And don’t hesitate to call me if you feel out of sorts. It can be an anxious time for a new mother, but I’m sure your Luca will be very supportive and won’t disappoint.”
Tamsin hoped so too, although something like a sharp blade sliced through her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find another volunteer before too long.”
Dr. Kadi nodded. “Not to worry. One of Fabio’s parishioners is looking for work experience and I imagine she won’t pass up the chance.” Dr. Kadi must have sensed her anxiety because she reached over and patted her hand. “It’s natural to feel nervous, but stay calm and look forward to that wonderful moment when you hold your precious bundle in your arms.”
It was, Tamsin thought, not so different from buying a new car. Decisions, decisions. After some indecision or, as she preferred to call it, cool calculation, she resolved leaving it another fortnight before breaking the news to Luca. That would give her time to plan what to say and how and when and where. The “who” was never in question. That evening, her smiling decline of a glass of wine had him raising speculative brows, as had her heavier breasts the night before.
* * * *
“Do you want me to collect the anti-malaria pills for you from the pharmacist?” she asked a couple of evenings later, aware he’d popped in to see Dr. Kadi earlier that day for a prescription, as he was due to fly to Vietnam. He was standing by the window gazing out, and turned round. The look on his face made her flinch.
“Oh, I’ve picked them up.” He felt as if his insides had been shredded. “And picked up something else besides that I would have expected to hear from you first.” He paused, then went on in a tone of rough reproach. “She congratulated me on the baby.”
“Well yes,” Tamsin said, moving over to kiss him and shrinking as he averted his head. “I was just about to say. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“You ought to have told me immediately. Why didn’t you?” He felt numb. A terrible, indefinable fear squeezed his heart.
Tamsin hesitated, then continued slowly. “I know, I know. Sorry. I know I ought to have said something sooner but I just…wanted to wait a while to make sure everything was all right.” This isn’t quite working, she realized.
His eyes were stony pebbles as he jingled the coins in his pocket. “How considerate of you! We agreed to leave it a while. So…how do you think this came about?” His eyes narrowed.
“Oh come on, Luca, this isn’t the Immaculate Conception. A faulty condom, a split condom. These things happen.” Something in his expression scared her.
“Then”—she felt a light touch on her cheek—“we need to talk. I will, of course, support you if you feel you…” He stopped, then added quietly, “How shall I put this? If you decide the time’s not right.”
She exhaled deeply, her eyes flashing. “It works for me. Go on, say it, say ‘abortion.’ I’m not terminating the pregnancy, if that’s what you’re implying. We’re talking about a life. I want this baby.”
“I want our baby, too, but not now.” The notion that she’d been planning this while peace between them had broken out angered him. “I presume it is mine?”
There was silence. A silence so intense you could hear them both breathing.
Tamsin reeled, her voice rising three octaves. “You’ll find out soon enough, you lowlife. How can you ever say such a thing? Think such a thing? You know I’d never be unfaithful to you. Don’t try and dodge responsibility.”
He rushed to recant, bowing his head as if in supplication. “Forgive me, I’m very sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. That was cruel
and out of order.” He fought down a sickening attack of nerves. He tried to describe how he felt when he lost his parents but the words drowned in his brain.
“It’s the best thing in the world to be a parent. There’s nothing more to be said but to welcome it.”
“Only if both parents choose to bring it into the world. I did not. You made the decision for both of us.”
“I shall leave you, then.” Her eyes smarted.
“I thought I’d made myself clear. Go and Ruby may find herself cut adrift.” He swirled the cognac in his glass. What he really meant was that he couldn’t let Tamsin walk out of his life, that he would be lost without her, but it was coming out all skewed.
“But there’d be nothing for me here. You can’t expect me to stay in this charade of a marriage,” Tamsin cried, turning and twisting the huge diamond, watching it dazzle in the play of light and feeling she’d never be happy again.
Luca’s dark eyes focused on her for a moment, then he half closed them, banking down his emotions. He begged to be held in her arms, to have her soothe his wounds, to reassure him he would be the best daddy in the world, to be that baby she loved unconditionally. Yet he could not bring himself to say it. This was the self he had schooled himself to keep hidden. I’m a coward. “I’m condemned,” he murmured heavily
Tamsin blinked rapidly. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” She reached out and touched his shoulder and felt him shudder.
He shook his head, feeling as if he were oxygen starved. “I can’t.” He wished he could be different, be the man she wanted. But he was helpless, like a bird covered in lime.
She looked at him sadly, then, pushing past him, stumbled upstairs and flung herself down on the bed, her heart in pieces.
* * * *
“Look, Tamsin,” Dr Kadi said triumphantly “There are your fraternal twins, a boy and a girl.”
Alchemy (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 13
