The Tears of Dark Water (54 page)

She went about her duties with a spring in her step, going down to the river whenever she could. Sometimes she saw livestock in the distance—herds of goat and cattle and camels pasturing in the meadows. Other times she saw only trees and fields and sky and clouds, an uncluttered Eden that had appeared almost overnight, as if God himself had touched the earth and brought forth new life.

Jamaad kept her busy with chores. She cleaned the house, washed and mended clothing, prepared meals, drew water, and fed and watered the milk cow that Najiib had bought them before departing the last time. When she had a moment to herself, she thought about her conversation with Ismail. “Qosol,” he had called her. It was the nickname Adan had given her when she was a little girl. She had loved to laugh. It was a part of herself she longed to recover. How glorious to be free again, to run with the wind and sing with the birds and delight in laughter for the pure enjoyment of it.

Every third night, she climbed the
higlo
tree and checked her phone for messages, but her Inbox was always empty. She understood Ismail’s silence, but it disappointed her. Before the attack they had been so close, sharing everything.
Soon
, she assured herself.
I will see him again soon.

Then one afternoon when she was sweeping out the living room, she heard noise in the village. She felt the cold prick of apprehension. She had hoped to have some warning of Najiib’s homecoming. She had asked Jamaad every day for news, but the woman had shooed her away, saying: “He’ll come when he comes, child. That is how he protects himself.”

Yasmin hurried to veil herself and went to the gate to wait for him. When the truck turned into the courtyard, she saw with relief that he had brought only two men this time. They would sleep in the yard, which would make it tricky to reach her phone. But if she was fortunate, the night would be dark and she would make no sound. She said a silent prayer for cloud cover and greeted her husband.

That evening after her work was through, she went to her room and prepared herself to receive him, burning incense and anointing her skin with rose oil. He came to her like a wraith, moving from the shadows into the light. She looked into his eyes, hoping to see tenderness, but she saw only need. He took her without a word, satiating his lust, and then disappeared as quickly as he came.

She covered herself and lay back against the bed, trying to make sense of his silence. Was he angry because she had yet to conceive? Or was he troubled by something else?
Both
, she decided.
He’s mad at me, and he’s mad about the war. AMISOM is taking back towns left and right. Before long they’ll recapture Kismayo and deprive the Shabaab of its primary source of income. Then Najiib will have nothing left but killing.

Yasmin lay quietly, thinking he might return for a second act. But time passed and she didn’t see him again. He had his own bedroom on the other side of the house. He probably planned to sleep there. She snuffed out the candles and turned off her lantern, plunging the room into darkness. Then she went to the window and pulled back the curtain, looking outside. She didn’t see or hear his men.
Subhanallah!
she thought.
They’re sleeping in the backyard in the shelter Najiib built for the cow.

It was then that she heard a shuffle of feet. Adrenaline shot through her, but she made no sudden moves. She let the curtain fall back into place and hid her guilt.

“What are you doing?” Najiib asked, his face invisible to her.

She kept her voice steady despite her pounding heart. “I wanted to see the stars.”

“What good are they?” he asked, taking her by the arm. “All that matters is here on the earth.”

He dragged her to the bed and climbed on top of her, pressing his work-hardened hands into her. She felt a shock of fear. It wasn’t lust guiding him this time. It was rage.

“Please,” she begged softly. “You’re hurting me.”

But he didn’t seem to care. He forced himself upon her, driving her into the mattress and taking his fill of her in a way that sent shards of pain through her body. She knew not to cry out or resist. Instead, she bit her lip until she tasted blood. She gave him what he wanted by the sheer force of her will, holding out for the moment when he would leave her alone.

At last, he rolled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her silently. She wanted to cover herself, to hide her shame, but she knew it would only provoke him. He began to speak, and his tone cut her like a knife. There was no kindness in it, only malice.

“When I took you in, I promised to show you the righteous path. All I wanted in return was a son to teach the ways of
jihad
. You have failed me. You have become an impediment, just like your father was. He thought we should make peace with our enemies. He was a fool. The only way to make peace with a viper is to kill it. If I were less benevolent, I would divorce you. But you are good to Jamaad. I will keep you for her sake. But I will no longer tolerate your empty womb.”

He stood up, pulled on his pants, and vanished into the darkness.

Yasmin didn’t move, just stared at the ceiling, her heart paralyzed by disgrace. Eventually, she began to weep. The tears ran down her cheeks and moistened her pillow. She cried until the wave of anguish abated, and then she went to her bureau, putting on her black
abaya
and headscarf. She had no use for self-pity. What Najiib had done to her, he had done. Nothing could change it. But she wouldn’t be his next casualty. She would survive until Ismail came. And then she would leave this life behind.

She stretched out on her bed and tried to rest, but her body was too sore for sleep. She lay half awake, dreaming of the life she would make with her brother in Kenya. They would live in hiding for a while, using assumed names and trading on the favors of their relatives, until Najiib died or forgot about them. Then they would go into business together. They would borrow some money and start a restaurant. She was a talented cook, and he had a level head. They would make it work.

Somewhere in the midst of these musings she drifted off to sleep.

She woke again in the middle of the night. She opened her eyes and listened intently. The house and the yard were still. She moved to the doorway and looked down the hall toward the living room, breathing to steady herself. She couldn’t see much in the gloom, just the dim outline of furniture. She waited a full minute, her senses on high alert. When she heard nothing, she walked to the front door on the balls of her feet, a shadow among shadows, her body wrapped in black.

She waited again at the door, looking and listening. The sky was mostly clear, but there was no moon. She slipped out of the house and crossed the yard to the
higlo
tree, hoisting herself onto a limb and traversing the wall with the agility of a leopard. She dropped to the ground with barely a sound and retrieved the phone. In the text window, she typed:
He’s here with two men. Don’t know how long.

After sending it, she sat down among the roots of the tree, uncertain what to do. One minute passed, then two. She looked across the river into the dark heart of the desert. It was the middle of the night in Kenya. Why would Ismail be awake? She decided to wait fifteen minutes and then go back to bed. With Najiib in the house, it was all she could risk.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her hand. His message read:
Good. Are you ready?

Her heart began to race.
I am. What should I do?

Do you trust me, Qosol?

Of course.

His reply took her breath away.
Then you must run. Go to Dadaab. Hooyo is alive. She is a nurse in the Dagahaley camp. Find her. She will know what to do.

In the moments that followed, time lost all meaning for Yasmin. She didn’t notice when she started crying or understand why she stood up and went to the riverbank, dipping her fingers in the flowing current. She registered nothing beyond the raw delight and trepidation inspired by his words.
Hooyo is alive? Ismail found her? But Dadaab is so far. Why is he not coming for me?

At last she concentrated long enough to write:
Is there no other way?

No
.
You are strong, Qosol. You will make it.

She thought of the foodstuffs she had already secreted around the house. Walking to Dadaab was a desperate gamble, but it was possible if the rains held.
Okay
, she typed.

Don’t wait
.
You must go tonight
.

She narrowed her eyes, unsettled by his urgency. If she had another day, she could complete her preparations.
Why not tomorrow?

Go now. There is no time to waste
.

She looked up at the stars, trying to discern the time. She saw Scorpio hanging low in the sky to the southwest. That meant it was early morning. She wouldn’t make it far before the sun rose, but Ismail had given her no other option.
All right
, she wrote.

There is something you must do first
.

What?

You must hide your phone in his truck.

The request confused her.
Why?

I will tell you when I see you. Make sure he can’t find it.

Okay
, she agreed
. Please pray for me.

I will, Qosol. Go now. Find Hooyo. See you soon.

Soon
, she typed through her tears. Then she turned away from the river, secreted her phone in her underwear, and scaled the
higlo
tree again, blocking out all thought of the ordeal she would have to endure to make it out of Somalia alive.

It took Yasmin only twenty minutes to gather her belongings, but it felt like half a day in the liquid suspension of her fear. She moved through the house like a spirit, collecting everything in a laundry sack—dried goat meat, dates and nuts, a sturdy blanket, a tub of antibacterial ointment, a pouch of bandages, and two pairs of sandals. She gave thought to taking the Quran, but the book was heavy and she had memorized most of it. The words in her heart would guide her steps.

She was about to step out into the yard when she heard something near the gate. She stopped cold. The night was so dark that she couldn’t see a shape, just a faint shadow, but she knew the sound in her ears—the crunch of rubber soles on dirt. She watched in terror as the shadow advanced along the wall, making its way toward the
higlo
tree. Her mind began churning out questions:
Is it one of Najiib’s men? Did he see me? Why is he awake?

The shadow reached the tree and disappeared beneath the canopy. The sound, however, continued—crunch, crunch, pause, crunch. Yasmin waited anxiously, taking shallow breaths and peering into the branches. Finally she saw the shadow again. It turned at the corner of the yard and followed the wall toward the back of the house.
He’s inspecting the wall. I need to move quickly.

Yasmin counted to three and then tiptoed toward the truck parked by the gate. She took out her phone and climbed softly onto the step. Thankfully, Najiib had left the window open. She reached into the cab and placed the unit beneath the passenger seat, giving it a shove with her fingers. She stepped down and went to the gate, grabbing an empty water jug and slinging it over her shoulder with the laundry bag. Then she made her way to the
higlo
tree.

The traverse took longer than usual with her load, but she didn’t make a sound. After climbing down, she walked to the river and followed the bulrushes into the night. She looked at the stars to orient herself. She saw Draco in the north and Virgo in the west. It was fitting. She would flee the Dragon and trust the Maiden to guide her to Kenya.

She made her way along the Juba until she reached the beach she had seen from the eddy where she drew water. After years of studying the river, she knew where its banks were wide and its current calm. She doffed her clothes and put them in her sack, then waded out into the cool water, holding the sack on top of her head. She had considered a number of escape routes, but always she had returned to the same thought:
Najiib will expect me to follow the river, not ford it. He doesn’t know that I can swim.

She felt the water swirling around her legs, tugging at her as it flowed downstream. When she was waist deep in the river, she pushed off and swam with her right arm even as she balanced the sack above her. The current swept her south toward the bend and Najiib’s house. She thrust with her legs and pulled with her free arm, knifing through the water toward the far shore.

As soon as she felt mud between her toes, she walked into the reeds, dried off with her
abaya
, and then dressed again. She filled her jug with fresh water and set off into the desert at a steady gait. She reached a stand of trees just as the sky began to lighten. She searched the shadows carefully and watched the ground for snakes. Many creatures hunted in the trees. To some she was prey.

The sunrise happened suddenly, turning twilight into day and sending slanting light through the leaves. A few birds took flight when she passed beneath them, beating the air with their wings. Soon, she emerged from the thicket and headed out across the desert again. In time, she stopped to take a drink of water. She looked back at the village, but she couldn’t see it through the trees.