Read Online The Cry of the Dove: A Novel by Fadia Faqir - Free Book Online
Authors: Fadia Faqir
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grey eyes I wondered how many women he had slept with. The couple in the Nescafe ad, after days of borrowing coffee, smiling over dinner tables, near misses, still had not kissed.
`What do you do for a living?' he asked, stretching his legs and showing his sensible shoes.
`I am assistant tailor,' I said.
`Oh!'
He must be thinking how boring. `I also do part-time degree in English' That put some warmth in his eyes. `I taken an elective in Sociology and I to write a paper about the homeless. I don't know how get references on that. In the cathedral close the homeless scavenging for food. I still ten days to write it.'
`Your tutor could help you.'
Dr John Robson, my tutor, was distant, was busy; his eyes were always focused on something other than my face.
`Talk to the homeless.,
'About homelessness?' I asked. Imagine me: dark, immigrant, with minimum wage, asking the tramps, `Why do you sleep rough?'
`Yes' Jim smiled and sipped the last drop of his whisky.
Unintentionally I pulled my skirt down, then blushed because of the wrong direction of my hands.
The night we drove out of my country was very cold, a cold that penetrated the spine and froze the breath. I was wearing my flowery dress, my pantaloons and plastic shoes. When I started rubbing my hands together, Khairiyya, who was concentrating on the road, said, `Wrap up with the shawl!' I wrapped my shoulders with my mother's black shawl and looked through the window at the distant lights. We drove by whole villages that were made up of just a few lights in the distance. My country was a string of tens of lights followed by darkness. The smell of wood burning in braziers filled the night air. My mother would be spinning under the kerosene lamp in her mud house; my father would be looking at the sky anticipating rain; and she ... and ... ? I was being smuggled out of the country. I held my cloth bundle tight. Whatever I did from then on, wherever I went from then on, I must not think about them.
I began warming up to this ageing man with grey eyes. We were both pulling our tummies in, holding on to our youth. `Why do you come on your own to the pub?' he asked while running his thin finger around the lip of his glass.
`I don't have any friends," I answered. I was lying. I had Gwen and Parvin.
`You must have been living here for years. How come you don't have friends?'
I spend most of my time the shop working,' I said then with both hands I tucked my frizzy hair behind my ears.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
In the reflections of the whisky glass on the table I saw the actress's shadow turning round on the quay, smiling to the lieutenant in defiance of the whole village. I watched the film with Parvin in one of our rare meetings. In the fake flames Jim looked kind and welcoming like a hostel with basic amenities; a hostel full of other people's belongings and warm breath. A roof above your head; a man's cool shadow
He put his glass on the mat and said, `Do you have a car?'
No.
`Can I give you a lift?'
I hesitated. Through the flames of the fireplace I saw her smiling at me, then my mother stretched her arms to me, Miss Asher slapped me, Minister Mahoney blessed me, then Elizabeth shouted at me, then mist trickled down the cold window panes. `Yes,' I said.
I wrapped my shoulders with my mother's black shawl and walked through a congregation of his friends. They cheered. He smiled and said, `Ignore them!'
Khairiyya looked unreal in her grey dress and white collar; her silver glasses, which were tied to a leather cord, were hanging around her neck like a necklace. She drove as if a jinni was pulling her with his almighty force.We drove on in complete silence. Layer after layer darkness began to lift. Noura would be in the House of Perfume, entertaining customers; the other inmates would be looking at the barred window and dreaming of seeing the sky; and she would be crying and crying for me. At the end of the horizon I could make out green-brownish hills, some
`What do you do for a living?' he asked, stretching his legs and showing his sensible shoes.
`I am assistant tailor,' I said.
`Oh!'
He must be thinking how boring. `I also do part-time degree in English' That put some warmth in his eyes. `I taken an elective in Sociology and I to write a paper about the homeless. I don't know how get references on that. In the cathedral close the homeless scavenging for food. I still ten days to write it.'
`Your tutor could help you.'
Dr John Robson, my tutor, was distant, was busy; his eyes were always focused on something other than my face.
`Talk to the homeless.,
'About homelessness?' I asked. Imagine me: dark, immigrant, with minimum wage, asking the tramps, `Why do you sleep rough?'
`Yes' Jim smiled and sipped the last drop of his whisky.
Unintentionally I pulled my skirt down, then blushed because of the wrong direction of my hands.
The night we drove out of my country was very cold, a cold that penetrated the spine and froze the breath. I was wearing my flowery dress, my pantaloons and plastic shoes. When I started rubbing my hands together, Khairiyya, who was concentrating on the road, said, `Wrap up with the shawl!' I wrapped my shoulders with my mother's black shawl and looked through the window at the distant lights. We drove by whole villages that were made up of just a few lights in the distance. My country was a string of tens of lights followed by darkness. The smell of wood burning in braziers filled the night air. My mother would be spinning under the kerosene lamp in her mud house; my father would be looking at the sky anticipating rain; and she ... and ... ? I was being smuggled out of the country. I held my cloth bundle tight. Whatever I did from then on, wherever I went from then on, I must not think about them.
I began warming up to this ageing man with grey eyes. We were both pulling our tummies in, holding on to our youth. `Why do you come on your own to the pub?' he asked while running his thin finger around the lip of his glass.
`I don't have any friends," I answered. I was lying. I had Gwen and Parvin.
`You must have been living here for years. How come you don't have friends?'
I spend most of my time the shop working,' I said then with both hands I tucked my frizzy hair behind my ears.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
In the reflections of the whisky glass on the table I saw the actress's shadow turning round on the quay, smiling to the lieutenant in defiance of the whole village. I watched the film with Parvin in one of our rare meetings. In the fake flames Jim looked kind and welcoming like a hostel with basic amenities; a hostel full of other people's belongings and warm breath. A roof above your head; a man's cool shadow
He put his glass on the mat and said, `Do you have a car?'
No.
`Can I give you a lift?'
I hesitated. Through the flames of the fireplace I saw her smiling at me, then my mother stretched her arms to me, Miss Asher slapped me, Minister Mahoney blessed me, then Elizabeth shouted at me, then mist trickled down the cold window panes. `Yes,' I said.
I wrapped my shoulders with my mother's black shawl and walked through a congregation of his friends. They cheered. He smiled and said, `Ignore them!'
Khairiyya looked unreal in her grey dress and white collar; her silver glasses, which were tied to a leather cord, were hanging around her neck like a necklace. She drove as if a jinni was pulling her with his almighty force.We drove on in complete silence. Layer after layer darkness began to lift. Noura would be in the House of Perfume, entertaining customers; the other inmates would be looking at the barred window and dreaming of seeing the sky; and she would be crying and crying for me. At the end of the horizon I could make out green-brownish hills, some
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