Part 22 (2/2)
Imad said, ”It's late, we should go to bed. Good night, Bea, don't worry, it'll be OK. I'm glad I'll see you tomorrow.”
”Good night, Imad, I'm glad, too.”
I hung up, thinking of gardens among flames, but not Baba's cursed part, only the green beauty. Imad was becoming one of my gardens. I went to him when I felt sad or worried, and he made it right. We had studied so many words for love in Arabic, he and I, across our cla.s.sical poetry. Shouldn't I then love him, too?
I put the cordless phone back in its place, then tiptoed quietly to the children's room, where, sure enough, Nisrine was wide awake in the dark. She rose when she saw me; the two of us moved like light back to the kitchen.
Nisrine spoke first. ”I talked to him, Bea.” Her voice was clear and full; she was no longer distracted, no longer forgetting Arabic. ”He did something for me. He fought, because he loved me.” I felt a familiar cold. He had fought, and we had done nothing.
But, he had fought Baba.
I asked, ”What will you do?”
All night in my head, I had been making plans: to talk to him, tell him how he must help Baba. Or better, not to talk. Never to talk again- ”He wants me to leave,” Nisrine said.
There was a moment of silence.
”He says if I run away, he'll find me a new house to work in, so I can send my child money.”
He was a young policeman.
He had fought for the woman he loved; it seemed now, he could do anything.
I had come to the kitchen to make a plan with Nisrine that involved not talking to Adel, not leaving with him.
”What about your child?”
”I'll be in a new house. I'll send him money.”
Her eyes were so bright. In her voice was so much clarity. All it took was someone who stood up for her to bring it back. For so long, I had been trying for Nisrine to stay.
She said, ”Don't you have your lesson tomorrow? I'll slip out with you, when you go to your lesson.”
”Tomorrow?” It seemed so soon, tomorrow. Couldn't she wait a bit? Then I thought, It's not soon, if Baba's in trouble.
”He said tomorrow you should meet him?”
”He'll wait for me on the corner.”
”He'll find you a new house?” She had her contract, her hidden pa.s.sport.
”He'll find a new house.”
”He won't bother Baba again?”
Why would he? She would be gone, he would know where she went. She could ask him to intercede, if Baba got in more trouble, she could talk to him.
What would Madame say if Nisrine left? But, Madame wanted Nisrine less now than ever. Baba and I both wanted her. The children wanted her.
Nisrine said, ”I'll slip out just after you. We won't go together, so you don't get in trouble.”
Despite myself, I was beginning to believe in this plan, even though it was sudden. Already, I missed her.
Adel had done something. The wrong thing, but still. If I helped her, would that mean I had done something for her, too?
”Make him help Baba, you have to.”
She nodded.
We needed a solution.
She had talked to Adel, fixed things. I had been wanting to fix things.
”OK,” I said, feeling the craziness of it all, the dark night, ”tomorrow.”
It was only after we'd hugged, said good night, and I'd slipped back into bed beside Lema that I remembered: Madame with my bag in the hallway.
You don't have to do that. I'm in charge of her. I can buy her a big bag.
My bag, with Nisrine's clothes, stashed high up in our closet where she couldn't get to it, placed there by Madame, who had complained for so long, but now didn't want Nisrine to leave.
LOCKED IN.
THE NEXT MORNING after she found my bag, Madame was not talking to me. She locked the door even though we were all at home, and hid the key to keep us in and strangers out. She blamed it on Baba's revolution. ”He angered a policeman,” she said, not mentioning Nisrine. ”There's no telling what will happen.”
I was supposed to meet Imad in the afternoon, before his interview with Security, and Nisrine was supposed to run away to Adel, so we both woke early to prepare. I tried to take the garbage down to the street, but the door was locked.
I waited, holding the garbage, while Madame hunted and hunted for the key, not talking to me. Finally, she said, ”Put it back, Bea. It doesn't stink. It can wait.”
”Put it back?”
”Or throw it off the balcony, someone will pick it up.”
”It'll land in the street.”
”Someone will pick it up.”
”I could just take it down to the corner.”
Madame sighed. ”Leave it, Bea. Eat your breakfast. We'll take it when I find the key.”
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