The Sound of Language (18 page)

“But won't that be expensive?” Layla asked, peering into the kitchen as she heard Shahrukh's laughter. He ran past the open doorway with a sweet in his hand.

“The Danish government will pay,” Tasnim said. “You need a small-business loan, it's quite simple.”

“A loan? You mean borrow money?” Raihana asked. “That doesn't sound right.”

“You're not in Kabul anymore. Here everyone borrows money to make their life better,” Tasnim said.

Azhar brought their food out and went back into the kitchen to play with Shahrukh. As the women ate, the topic swiftly changed to the latest Hindi movies and what Azhar had brought back with him from his most recent trip to India.

After they left, they found Kabir at the Qadir's café smoking a cigarette and drinking Turkish coffee. While Layla talked with Qadir, Raihana stood in front of a clothes store, window-shopping.

Clothes hung on the glass wall of the store and at the center was a green Afghan wedding dress. Could she be ready to wear a wedding dress again? She was getting used to the idea of getting married, especially after the incident with the boys. A part of her wanted the security that marriage and a man by her side offered. That was a good reason to get married.

There were beautiful
salwar-kameezes
hanging by the wedding dress. Raihana wished she had the money to buy pretty clothes. She had been saving up ever since she came to Denmark, wanting to go back to Afghanistan. There was nothing to go back to, she knew that now, and she knew she couldn't go back. This was her home; it had become her home. She had made friends, Afghan, Indian, and Danish; she had become someone here.

And what was there to go back to? Aamir was dead. She had always known, but she had hoped so desperately. Kabir had called his friends in Pakistan just a few days ago and confirmed that Aamir was dead. He had done that for her.

A small hand pulled at her
kameez
and she smiled when she saw it was Shahrukh, licking a lollipop. “Raihana Chachi,” he said and then grinned. “Catch me,” he cried out and ran from her. Raihana ran behind him. When she caught him he shrieked with laughter and then laughed even harder when she tickled him. His lollipop fell from his mouth, but he didn't care.

“Tickle me again, Raihana Chachi,” he insisted, giggling.

Raihana was breathless with happiness as the vibrant body of a child wrapped up against hers, warming her all the way to her soul.

Right then, Raihana decided she would marry Rafeeq. He had proposed and she would say yes and she would have children, a family, and a life.

She hugged Shahrukh close to her as he caught his breath.

She kissed him on his hair and left Afghanistan behind.

SIXTEEN
ENTRY FROM ANNA'S DIARY
A Year of Keeping Bees

23 JULY 1980

My daughter gave me this beautiful poem about bees by Emily Dickinson. She read it on a trip to Istanbul and she sent me a torn page from a book of poems, along with a postcard.

THERE IS A FLOWER THAT BEES PREFER

There is a flower that Bees prefer
—
And Butterflies
—
desire
—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird
—
aspire
—

And Whatsoever Insect pass
—
A Honey bear away

Proportioned to his several dearth
And her
—
capacity
—

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture
—
Or Rhododendron
—
worn
—

She doth not wait for June
—
Before the World be Green
—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind
—
be seen
—

Contending with the Grass
—
Near Kinsman to Herself
—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun
—
Sweet Litigants for Life
—

And when the Hills be full
—
And newer fashions blow
—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy
—

Her Public
—
be the Noon
—
Her Providence
—
the Sun
—
Her Progress
—
by the Bee
—
proclaimed
—
In sovereign
—
Swerveless Tune
—

The Bravest
—
of the Host
—
Surrendering
—
the last
—
Nor even of Defeat
—
aware
—
What cancelled by the Frost
—

J
ulie always came to Denmark for a week in July. Gunnar and Anna would rent a summer house and stay there for two to three weeks. With the bee season in full swing in the summer, it was hard to get away. So it was nice when Julie came to visit, because when she came, Lars, Maria, and the grandchildren came—and that one week in summer became a family affair with the kids running around the house and Lars and Julie arguing over everything under the sun.

Without Anna, Gunnar hadn't wanted to rent a summer house, but both Julie and Maria insisted. Lars didn't care one way or the other but his wife had convinced him that it would be good for Gunnar.

Julie flew to the Århus airport, which was an hour-and-a-half drive from Skive. Gunnar liked going to pick her up alone because then they got time together before Anna monopolized every conversation.

“So, I have a boyfriend … I'm telling you because it could be serious,” Julie said as they drove out of Århus.

She was such a delight, his little girl, all grown up now. He remembered her blond pigtails and shining blue eyes. Now she was tall, almost as tall as Lars, who was six feet two inches. Julie complained it was hard to find men to date because of her height. “Men are intimidated by tall women. They want a petite woman, not a Viking,” she would say to Anna, who would tell Julie she got Anna's grandmother's genes and she should be proud of them.

Julie had the prettiest face. Gunnar knew that he would think that even if Julie were not his daughter. Everyone said she was beautiful, that she could be a model with her looks and height. Julie sneered at the idea.

After studying journalism in Copenhagen she had taken a job with
jyllands Posten
in London and then several years later she started working for
The Times.

Gunnar was very proud of his daughter. “Learned English without any extra help and now she writes articles for newspapers in English in England,” he told anyone who would listen.

Anna, of course, couldn't understand why Julie wouldn't live in Denmark. “We want you to be close; you can come and visit us often, we can come and visit you,” she would say and Julie would respond, “But that's what I want to avoid.”

Gunnar didn't know why Anna and Julie had a tough time getting along. He and Lars got along just fine; hell, he and Maria got along better than Julie and Anna had.

“So how are things with your Afghan girl?” Julie asked as they neared Skive.

“Good,” Gunnar said. “I invited her and the family she stays with to come to the summer house.”

“Will they come?” Julie asked.

Gunnar remembered how Kabir had looked at him. “The man doesn't trust me. Not me specifically; he doesn't trust Danes.”

“It happens,” Julie said. “Refugees often feel resentful of their host country.”

“Why? They get money, a place to stay, why should they be resentful?” Gunnar asked.

“Because we give it grudgingly,” Julie said. “No one makes their life easy. They are shunted from refugee camps to asylum centers and then when they think, ah I'm out, we ask them to learn Danish before they can go and find a job. No, no, we say spend three years learning Danish and then after that you can start looking for a job.”

“Learning Danish in Denmark is necessary,” Gunnar said.

“Sure it is,” Julie agreed. “But can't they learn the language as they work, make real money? An electrician, does he really need to know how to speak in Danish to fix wires? Does a construction worker?”

“Yes,” Gunnar said. “How will they understand what needs to be done?”

Julie was flustered. “Well, yes, they need to learn some Danish; why do they need to be fluent?”

“I think it's important. For example, I don't want someone who doesn't speak Danish to work on the construction of my house,” Gunnar said. “Danish is vital in Denmark, Julie. No way around that one.”

“Oh like all the Poles we've been hiring to do odd jobs in Denmark speak fluent Danish,” Julie said.

“Poland is part of the EU,” Gunnar said and then added, “I wouldn't want the Poles to work on my house either.”

Julie sighed. “But after they learn Danish do they really become Danish?”

Gunnar looked at her, puzzled.

“Do people accept a brown-skinned Muslim as Danish if he speaks fluent Danish?” she said.

“But they're not Danish,” Gunnar said. “They're from wherever they are from.”

“My point exactly, no matter what they do, they are never perceived as Danish,” she said vehemently.

“How can you be so anti-Danish? Danes believe that immigrants should have a job when they live here, not live off welfare.”

“Are you okay with a Dane living off welfare?”

Gunnar nodded. “Sure, he's a Dane, that's his right. But people who come from the outside have to find a job. That's why Christina sent Raihana to me, to learn something and get a job afterward.”

Julie smiled. “And has working with you been a real job for her?”

“Yes, it has,” Gunnar said. “She is competent with the bees. But she won't go out without protective gear.”

“She's scared of getting stung?”

“Another two or three years and that fear will be gone,” Gunnar said.

“Their summer house?” Kabir asked for the hundredth time.

“Yes,” Layla snapped. “But like Raihana said it isn't theirs, they are renting it.”

“You want us to go all the way to Vorupør? And what will we do there?” Kabir asked.

“We don't have to go,” Raihana said wearily.

“I want to go and so should you. Once you finish school you will need a job. It is good to have Danish contacts,” Layla said.

“And he said we all could come?” Kabir asked once more.

“Yes,” Raihana said. “Look, they are nice people. They have children Shahrukh can play with.”

Kabir shook his head again.

Layla glared at him. “Fine, we'll go alone. I'll ask Walid to drive us or maybe we can ask the Danish man to drive us.”

“They don't want us there,” Kabir said. “I can't see how this will be a good thing.”

“If you don't try, what will you find out? Nothing,” Layla said. “It will be good for Shahrukh. It's good for us to know some Danes.”

“I don't know—,” Kabir began.

“Okay, I will phone Walid and …,” Layla said.

Shahrukh came into the room looking at his parents with impish eyes. Raihana picked him up and took him into the dining room so that he didn't have to hear his parents arguing.

“Suiten,”
Shahrukh said to Raihana. He was hungry. He spoke more Danish than Dari. Poor Kabir!

“How about a banana?” Raihana asked in Dari, pointing to the banana in the fruit bowl on the table.

He nodded eagerly and Raihana peeled the banana and tore off half for him. He walked around the dining room and kitchen as he ate, peeking into the living room once in a while.

When Layla came into the dining room ten minutes later, the banana was all but a sticky memory on Shahrukh's hand and Raihana was wiping it with a wet cloth.

“I didn't mean for it to cause a fight,” Raihana said.

Layla waved a hand. “He's just being pigheaded. We'll go; he said he'll drive us. He can get directions from the Internet for the address the Danish man … ah … Gunnar gave you.”

Raihana smiled. “His daughter will be there. She lives in London; she's a journalist.”

Layla nodded, impressed. “So she's a smart girl.”

“I think so,” Raihana said. “Gunnar is very proud of her.”

“And how about the daughter-in-law; you think she'll like that we come there for a day?” Layla asked.

“That's her problem,” Raihana said and kissed Shahrukh on the nose.

Kabir had finally agreed to visit with the Danish man and his family so that Layla would stop nagging. Allah, but that woman knew how to nag. At least there was peace in the house now after the fireworks in the afternoon.

“I spoke with Rafeeq on the telephone yesterday,” he told Raihana after dinner as they sat to watch a new Hindi movie.

“He's very concerned about your accident,” Kabir continued. “He worries about you going to Gunnar's house.”

Raihana's resolve to accept Rafeeq's proposal weakened slightly. “Gunnar didn't throw the stone at me.”

Kabir raised his hand. “He doesn't want you to stop working. He's just concerned. He even talked about you starting your own beekeeping business.”

“Tasnim said the same thing,” Layla said. “She said the Danish government gives loans.”

“First become a citizen,” Kabir said. “First pass
Prøve i Dansk
3 and then dream big dreams.”

“She's learning so fast, she'll be speaking fluent Danish in another year,” Layla said.

“Yes, it must be our good influence,” Kabir said.

“Must be,” Raihana said and laughed.

“So have you decided what to do about Rafeeq?” Layla asked.

“Yes,” Raihana said. “It's yes.”

“Well then,” Kabir said, clapping his hands together. “What made you decide?”

“I don't know,” Raihana said. “I see Shahrukh and I wish for my own children. I lost my baby and …”

Layla gasped. She had never heard about a baby. A dead husband, yes, but a dead baby? That was news. “When? When did you lose the baby? How old was the baby?”

“It wasn't born yet. It was all that traveling across the mountains, coming into Pakistan,” Raihana said. “I saved my life from the Taliban but I couldn't save the baby.”

Sensing the conversation was of a feminine nature, Kabir snuck out for a cigarette.

“How far along were you?” Layla asked.

“Four months,” Raihana said. “Aamir was so scared. He kept saying what a bad world to bring a child into, so he sent me away first, so that I would be safe. He was going to come along as soon as he could. I wish I had stayed in Kabul. I wish I hadn't left him alone like that.”

“And how would that have helped? They would still have killed him and you might have lost your life too,” Layla said.

“And would that have been so bad?” Raihana asked.

“Yes,” Layla said. “That would have been horrible. We would not have met. You would not have learned about beekeeping, seen a new country, eaten rye bread, married again, done so many things. Life is precious. Don't think it's nothing.”

“I know,” Raihana said. “But still, somewhere inside it seems pointless. People killing each other and just when you think you are safe …”

“Forget about those boys; the Danish man and the police will take care of them,” Layla said. “You think about your future. You think about Rafeeq and getting married. How about this September?”

Layla was one of the bravest women Raihana knew. She so easily talked about the future, about moving on —and Layla of all people knew there was nothing easy about moving on. Layla had lost Shahrukh's older brother to a stray bullet in Afghanistan and that had convinced Kabir to leave Kabul. Layla had told Raihana about it just once when Raihana had first moved to Denmark.

Nothing could be worse than losing your child, yet Layla was a positive person who was forcing change on Kabir and making a dignified life for herself in a cold and white country. Layla didn't talk about going back like so many other Afghans. She didn't hate Danes or Denmark. She wanted to get to know Danes, even though she was not entirely comfortable with them. She wanted to have Danish friends, even though the other Afghans laughed at her because they couldn't imagine Danes interested in being friends with an Afghan.

“September sounds good,” Raihana said and then because she knew Layla liked to talk about clothes, she added, “I saw this wedding dress at the bazaar, it was beautiful.”

Layla started to list the best places to buy clothes and what jewelry Raihana could wear. And as they made their plans, the past shed away just a little more.

“That bitch,” Anders said as he paced Karsten's room. Karsten's mother had gone to Århus and they were alone in the house. Not that it mattered when she was there. She sat in front of the TV with a beer and a cigarette and didn't care what Karsten did anyway.