Read Online Hope & Other Dangerous Pursuits by Laila Lalami - Free Book Online

“Give me back my money.”
    The judge looked offended. “I know your type,” he said. He put his palm on her back and pressed her toward the door. She stiffened. He withdrew his hand and looked at her with those small, challenging eyes. “Go, before I change my mind.”
    Halima felt her knees tremble. A knot had formed in her throat, and she tried to swallow it. Why wouldn’t he give her the children? This judge had been taking bribes for years; there was no reason to think he wouldn’t come through this time. But what if he didn’t? How could she trust him? She couldn’t trust him, just as she couldn’t trust her mother or the sorceress. “Give me back my money,” she said, her voice trembling. The judge’s eyes opened wide and his lips parted in an expression that was halfway between anger and disgust. He slipped his hand in his pocket and threw the money at her. As the billfold fell to the ground, a few bank notes separated from the rest and floated down. Halima dropped to her knees and clutched them with both hands. The judge grabbed the back of her jellaba and pushed her. She drove her elbow into his gut with all the force she could gather. He bent over in pain, his arms folded over his stomach while Halima stepped outside, a fistful of bills in her hands. The gate slammed shut. Behind her, the yard was already quiet; the judge had gone back inside. She put the money away in her purse and rubbed her bottom with her hand. A Mercedes came noisily down the deserted street, its horn blaring, and the driver turned to look at her, a grin on his face. She ignored him and started walking.
    A FEW DAYS LATER Halima took the bus downtown to her janitorial job, where she cleaned the offices of Hanan Benamar, a translator who specialized in immigration documents. Halima had gotten the job through the center where she’d taken literacy classes, and where a big banner, which she was able to read at the end of the yearlong program, proclaimed in red block letters: Work for Your Future—Today. So far, the only use she had gotten out of the classes was that she could now read the rolling credits at the end of the soap operas she watched every night.
    Halima knocked on the door twice before inserting her key and letting herself in. She pushed the gauze curtains to the side and opened the French windows, letting in the fresh air. She took in the view of the city, which was dominated by the King Hassan mosque, the three gilded balls of its minaret shining in the morning sun. Halima began emptying the trash cans. She was mopping the mosaic floors dry when Hanan came in. “Sabah el-khir,” she said. She dropped her briefcase on one chair and her jacket on another.
    â€œSabah el-khir,” Halima said, forcing herself to be cheerful as she said hello.
    Hanan wore a dark pin-striped skirt and a white buttondownshirt. Her hair was blown straight, her eyelids darkened with gray eye shadow, her lips a flattering red. I could have been her, Halima thought, as she did almost every time she was in Hanan’s presence. I could have been her, had my luck been different, had I gone to a real school, had I married someone else. She wondered now whether Hanan thought the same thing of her and had given her the job only out of pity.
    Hanan shuffled through her papers while Halima went about her work. When she finished cleaning up the receiving room, she put the mops in the kitchen cabinet and washed her hands. “I’m done,” she announced, and put her jellaba on to leave. Hanan didn’t hear, busy as she was staring at her papers.
    â€œLots of work?” Halima asked.
    â€œMe? Oh, yes,” Hanan said. “As long as people want to emigrate, there’ll be plenty for me to do.”
    Without realizing it, Halima slid into the chair opposite Hanan. She thought about her brothers, Tarik leaving one morning when she was still a young girl and Abdelkrim following