Wednesday, 18 October 1995
To think that her great calamity a year and a half ago had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. The thought of it made her laugh within; she could not have planned it had she tried. What a blessing it had been, she thought, thinking once more of that hopeless school, those incompetent teachers, those absurd weeks and months. Oh, how fortunate she had been.
This is what Satya told herself in her waking hours, anyway. At night, she still sobbed at the thought of it, shuddering at the memory of the worst days of her life. She liked to tell anybody who would listen that she had put it all behind her, but that was the biggest lie of all. It was not behind her; it was simply out of her reach.
When her fellow freshers mocked her for her dedication to her law degree already, she held these thoughts at the back of her mind. They only saw her disappearing into the library to work through her reading lists; they did not wonder why. They would never ask about her lost months: the black hole, as she called it. There would be no time, or reason, to ask about the empty space within that had to be filled with something. Their derision demanded no intricate narrative.
Satya glanced back at her silent companion shyly, wondering where all these words had come from; wondering what had driven her to speak, though they had never spoken before. Half an hour ago she had promised herself that she would not wail and sob now; that the time for that had passed. She had not come to university to revert to those childish ways, she had told herself, to drown in her sorrows, to wander back in time to repeat the same mistakes over and over. No, the library had called once more: it was her refuge at times like this, down in the basement amongst the rows of books on steel shelves illuminated by that lily-white fluorescent glow. Those books would sustain her, she had tried to tell herself, though she knew it was not true. Now her recollections of last night weighed heavily on her mind, causing her to wince, muttering her self-reproach.
The bass had been thumping for hours, but now the music had a slower, reclining rhythm, something a bit like soul perhaps, but a pale imitation of it. Immature’s latest was rotating on the record deck, turning jumping hip-hop dancers into sliding, creeping characters. Satya loathed this modern take on rhythm and blues, but she had heard worse. Her fizzy intoxication had numbed the need to deconstruct each excruciating moment. She would just dance, her way, for herself, not to impress, nor seduce, nor to be seduced. She would dance because she was there, the distorted music causing her mind to bend in circles.
Shutting her eyes, she had motioned across the dance floor, taking in the imagined sights of California, the broad boulevards of Los Angeles and a summer heat so alien to the cold Yorkshire night outside. She would have remained five thousand miles away had it not been for that smell, her private space invaded. When she reopened her eyes, she had discovered a young man dancing around her, thrusting his hips towards her, forcing her away from the crowd of rotating bodies. She hurried to hide from him in a corner. He had been on the vodka and coke too and saw in her flight not rejection but an invitation. With a swagger, he had arrived beside her and was soon sitting down on her left.
‘What’s up?’ he had asked, rivetted by the sight of her.
She had stared back at him briefly, just long enough to catch the stench of his breath again, but she did not reply. Instead, she stood up, roared straight through the middle of the crowd, dividing torsos with her outstretched arms, and flung herself through the double exit doors. Out there, she had crouched down against a brown brick wall and breathed deeply. The air was chilly, but beads of sweat had formed on her face, and her back felt moist. She dreamed of a glass of pure water but instead found that young man standing before her once more. Painfully, she dragged herself to her feet, looked at him for a second, and then twisted, leaning one of her shoulders against the cold brick wall. Averting her eyes from him, she stared up the street and wished herself to the other end.
‘What’s your problem?’ he asked, seizing her elbow so harshly that her whole body pivoted back against the wall, his jaw soaring close to her eyes. ‘You’re…’
‘I’m what?’ she thundered, flinging his hand back at him and ducking away.
‘You’re a stuck-up bitch,’ he sneered at her, his fetid lips chasing hers, ‘You’re not all that, you know?’
Retreating away from him, Satya had glared at the student momentarily, taking in his fat biceps bulging out of the sleeves of his shirt, his closely shaven head, and his studded eyebrows. It was with regret that she knew his name, encountering him daily as he emerged from his flat across the corridor from hers, perpetually boasting of his latest conquests.
‘Do you think I care?’ she cried back at him, unnerved, ‘I didn’t come to university to find a boyfriend.’
‘So just sleep with me then,’ he snorted, leering at her with eyes wide open.
When her fist hit his cheek and stung him, it was an accident, but she felt no remorse. If she had contemplated her actions first, she could not have done it better. As she sat on the closed lid of the toilet just seconds later, locked into a cubicle, trying to still the querulous palpitations in her heart, she insisted that it was what he deserved. He had had that coming for weeks, she told herself; she just had no idea that it would be left to her to put him back in his place. She had done the right thing, she had told herself, standing up for every young woman in her hall who had had to endure his unwelcome advances daily since September.
By this morning, though, she was no longer so sure. In a mere twelve hours, she had metamorphosed in reverse from the beautiful butterfly of the dance floor, through an itching chrysalis of a hangover, back into a squirming larvae to be stamped flat. By eleven o’clock, she had transmogrified into the butt of everyone’s jokes, her feelings set aside.
Back in the moment, her confidante was gazing at her, as if to read her mind. Satya tried to recall her name; she had only learnt it a moment ago, examining her upside-down library card on the edge of her desk, but she had forgotten it already. It was a peculiar approach, but something had drawn her to her. Perhaps it was the whites of her eyes, her bright teeth behind her smiling lips; perhaps it was her flawless dark brown skin, her disarming rounded cheeks.
In her own secluded corner with a book clasped tightly in her hands, Satya had been pretending to focus on the penultimate and most complicated chapter on competition, macro-stability and the challenges of global trade. It was all illusion, for these days her eyes never remained on the printed page for long, but would wander past a column of books instead towards that young African student who always shared this space with her. Something about her had captured her, calling her away from herself.
Satya had been shy to talk to her at first, but she knew that she must; she was silent, but she begged her approach. Slowly, she had risen to her feet and ambled over to her, stopping at her side moments later. ‘Um, excuse me,’ she had mumbled timidly, ‘but can I talk to you for a minute?’
Glancing up at her surprised, the stranger left a sentence half complete in her notepad, but her eyes did not dismiss her. She had even smiled at her as if they were old friends, turning in her seat to face her. But Satya knew nothing about her; it had been a mad yearning, a strange compulsion.
Out in the courtyard now, the quiet that descended drew on both of them. Though the sky above them was a rich azure blue, it was not warm out here and shivers rippled up and down Satya’s arms. Perhaps the cold did not bother her companion, her smart dark grey jacket insulating her from its touch, but beneath her own delicate kameeze she sensed its every bite. Now she pondered what had driven her to approach the stranger in the library, to act on impulse alone.
‘You know, I’ve seen you looking at me for days now,’ began the young woman suddenly, observing her from the other end of the bench, ‘I was starting to get paranoid. I was starting to wonder what was wrong. I guess I know now.’
‘Something pulled me towards you,’ she replied anxiously, ‘But you’re right, aren’t you? I know nothing about you at all. What was your name again?’
‘Faduma,’ she replied. ‘And yours?’
‘I’m Satya,’ she said, smiling. ‘Are you Somali?’
‘I’m from Somalia originally. I’ve lived here since 1991. Nearly five years.’
‘That’s amazing. Your English is very good.’
‘Do you think they’d let me study law if it wasn’t?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘So you know something about me now,’ smiled Faduma.
‘Actually, I already knew a little. I believe you have a kind heart. I’m certain you’re a blessing. In truth, I only know what I’ve seen and heard and felt within. When you speak, it’s with such intelligent beauty that I regret every word I’ve ever spoken in my life. When you speak, it’s with this quiet voice, carrying such noble humility as to strike me dumb. The way you carry yourself: it calls into my soul. Yes, all of this spoke to me. Was I wrong to approach you?’
‘Not necessarily, but you ought to say mashallah.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Satya.
‘It means your praise is mistaken. I’m no saint.’
‘Compared to me, you could be. I’m sorry if my approach has troubled you, but I needed to talk to someone.’
In the library, Faduma had gazed back at her kindly, lifting herself from her place as if she had considered it her duty, nearly taking her by the hand. ‘Come for a walk with me,’ she had murmured like the deepest of friends. ‘You look unhappy. Come.’
They had ascended the stairs, surfacing by the photocopiers, and crossed in front of the check-in desks, passing back through the intimidating security gate. They had wandered on in silence until they saw the sun again, inhaling a breath of fresh air as they emerged. Squinting as her eyes readjusted to the light, she had no idea why she was out here now—or what had driven her to approach her—and she found herself lost for words.
Somehow, Faduma had stolen her attention weeks ago. Was it that smooth stretch of pale blue fabric that covered her hair, ears, neck, and shoulders, pinned tightly beneath her chin? Or was it her face that seemed to shine like a lantern? Or was it her appearance: those smart suits she wore, those long flowing skirts, those elegant blazers? Or was it just that she sat near her, in the same place day after day? Or was it some distant, forgotten memory, or some strange dream at night, or a rendering of her imagination?
They had wandered on towards that bench in the courtyard, sitting down beneath a mature silver birch tree away from the student chatter and tobacco smog. When Faduma had smiled at her kindly, Satya had felt compelled to release all that she held inside. It had seemed like the right thing to do. It had seemed like the only thing to do. Now she wondered.
‘Do you mind?’ Satya asked her abruptly, ‘Do you mind me talking to you?’
‘I don’t mind,’ she replied, ‘I just wondered why you were telling me. Our deeds are between us and God, aren’t they? Why tell a stranger?’
‘I feel like I know you. Does that sound odd?’
Faduma smiled at her reticently. ‘You wouldn’t have moved me from my essay notes if it wasn’t true,’ she replied. ‘Some people say it helps to talk. Perhaps it’s their dhikr. I don’t mind if you tell me what’s bothering you. I can listen, but I can’t promise it will help.’
All that had happened last night and this morning agitated her terribly, and thoughts of it drew her eyelids over her irises, rendering her blind. Every instant of the past week haunted her now, causing her to sob within, regretting each moment of existence.
‘Is it such a crime to believe in love?’ she wailed. ‘I want more than what’s on offer. I want an ear and to be an ear. I want someone to show affection to and to show affection to me; I want to nurture and be nurtured. Yes, this is what I seek: someone with a humble heart; a respectful spirit.’
When Satya reopened her eyes, the friendly stranger was watching her intently, her gaze fixed upon her. ‘We all want more than what’s on offer,’ she replied, ‘but that’s just human nature. We always think we deserve more. But God doesn’t change the state of a people until they change what’s in themselves. What we actually deserve is nowhere near what we really deserve. We don’t deserve anything really, actually. It’s all just what we want and desire. If you want it, you have to work for it. You have to work for the best of things. Worthless nonsense is always free.’
Amongst these friends of hers, grumbled Satya, she felt like nothing. To them she was a child: stupid and useless. And in their company, somehow, she agreed with them. To be accepted as one of them was impossible, she feared, for she was not one of them. ‘We’re completely different,’ she murmured feebly, ‘for we reside in different worlds.’
‘And you and I too,’ came her companion’s smiled retort. ‘I’m sure you’d consider me boring too. I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t go to the pub, I don’t dance, I don’t listen to the latest pop songs, I don’t have a bunch of friends. In fact, I don’t really know anyone here. I’m just a loner, but I don’t mind. I have my faith, I have God on my side, I have my life and liberty. It’s more than I could’ve had. And so I just study and pray. I’m grateful for what I have, even if to others it seems I have nothing.’
‘This is what drove me to you,’ whispered the miserable one, ‘you don’t seem to care what people think.’
‘You’re right. Why should I?’ The Somali woman reflected for a moment. ‘And why do you?’
‘I don’t know, but it consumes me. Closing my eyes each night, I find myself with these tingling thoughts: no one will tolerate my philosophy on life, but plenty are prepared to force theirs on me. Plenty are happy to talk about me and meddle with my emotions, and hurt me too. So all of a sudden, for the first time in months, I’m thinking of somebody I thought I’d left behind. I don’t want to think of him now, but I can’t help it.’
‘We all have these dreams, my friend.’
Dejectedly, Satya gazed at the young lady in the lovely blue headscarf, studying the neat folds in the fabric, observing the gentle persona her eyes seemed to reveal. ‘I suppose this is what drove me here this afternoon. I suppose this is why I approached you.’ Shaking her head mournfully, her eyes fell on a granite slab by her feet, too embarrassed to glance back at her now.
‘If I could forget the past, I would. He was no one to me and I to him, but he keeps on coming back to me, as if his soul is stalking me. Whenever I try to move on he returns. I wish these thoughts would leave me, but they grow stronger still.’
When her words ceased, Satya found her companion with moist eyes, that benevolent smile of hers diminished. ‘Do you think you’re alone in mourning for the past?’ asked Faduma dolefully.
‘I disturbs me,’ she replied.
‘Why?’ she probed sullenly, ‘Is your past like mine?’
‘I left someone behind I wish I didn’t.’
‘Me too.’
‘I want to go back and make things right.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘The other day, I thought I’d ring him, but…’
‘Someone special?’
‘A friend.’
Satya sighed and glimpsed at her companion. ‘I’m worried he’ll tell me to get lost. I’m worried he won’t want to know me. And, well, it’s just such a risk. I’m hurting, but I have to think of my family. It’d hurt them more. I don’t think I could risk it.’ She wondered if she could understand. ‘But, the trouble is, I’m thinking about him constantly. And I’m just starting to think sometimes you need to take a risk or two. Take a risk and you might regret it, but only for a while. If you don’t take the risk at all, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Don’t you think?’ Satya tried to see her reaction. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘You have luxuries I don’t,’ replied Faduma forlornly, ‘you have a place to go back to, a person to find. If I could go back, I would. If he was there to find, I’d run to him. My door is closed. Perhaps yours is open.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s what I’m thinking. Maybe getting in touch with him will help give me closure. Maybe that’s what I’m really after.’
Satya let out a weary sigh; locked in her unending depression, her studies had already become of little interest to her. Sometimes it was a strangely relaxing pursuit that kept her mind from wandering, but only rarely. In her mind, she was only ever thinking of one thing. But then was it simply a name caught in her head; not a person, just a name, swimming in her mind, day after day without end? Perhaps her companion was right, she thought, but this only caused her gloom to intensify. She felt so utterly disheartened; so lost, so confused. In desperation, her head was spinning; it was as if her sanity was leaving her once more. Only her dreams occupied her now.
