One Secret Summer (10 page)

Uncle Raageh took them home. It was almost one in the morning by the time they pulled up outside the flat in Simmering. From
the way her mother hustled her out of the car and up the steps, leaving the two men to talk alone, she knew she was in for
a lecture from her as well. She followed her into the sitting room, unsure as to how much more she could bear. But her mother
surprised her. ‘Niela,’ she said, turning to her, gesturing to her to sit down. Her voice was soft. ‘This is not the way to
go about it.’

‘Go about what?’ Niela was confused.

Her mother slowly unwrapped her veil as she sat down. She patted the space next to her. ‘I know this is hard for you. It’s
hard for all of us. Especially your father. It’s not easy, you know … a man in his position. You’ve shamed him, and in front
of his brother, too.’

‘But I haven’t done anything!’ Niela cried, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. ‘All I did was—’

‘Lie. You lied to us, Niela. Is that not enough?’

‘But only because you won’t let me
do
anything. I’m not allowed out of the house! I can’t make friends. I can’t go anywhere, meet new people, get on with my life—’

‘Niela, Niela. In time.
Y’ani
… you want everything
now
. It won’t work that way. Not with your father. I should know. I’ve
been married to him for twenty-five years. There are other ways to get what you want. It doesn’t always have to be a confrontation.’

‘What d’you mean?’

Her mother regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Niela, you’re nearly twenty years old. I know things haven’t worked out the way you
wanted – the way we wanted. But that’s life. We have to make another life now.
You
have to make another life.’

‘How? How can I when I’m shut up in here all the time?’

There was silence for a moment. Then her mother turned to her, taking her hands in hers. ‘Niela. There’s been an approach
…’

Niela stared at her, her heart tightening. ‘What d’you mean, ‘‘an approach’’?’ she asked fearfully, disengaging her hands.

‘It’s a distant relative. On your father’s side. He’s—’

Niela jumped up from the couch. ‘No!
No!
’ Panic rose in her throat. She couldn’t believe her ears.

‘Niela—’

‘No!’ She backed away from her mother, almost knocking over the small side table that stood between her and the door to the
corridor. ‘I won’t do it! I won’t!’

‘It’s only an approach, Niela. He’s a very respectable man. He lives in Germany and—’

‘You can’t make me!’ Niela almost screamed the words. The door to her brothers’ bedroom opened. Korfa and Raageh’s heads appeared.
She swept past them, tears blinding her, and pushed open the door to her own room. She flung herself down on the bed, past
caring what her father or anyone else thought. She couldn’t believe it was happening to her. They were arranging to marry
her off!
She
– of all people! She who’d had dreams of going to university, taking up a profession, choosing her own husband if and when
the time came. Now they were preparing to hand her over to a complete stranger – never mind the fact that he was a distant
relative! What had it all been for? The exhortations to do well in school, to study hard, the trips to Europe and the future
that she’d grown up thinking was hers?
They’d never stopped her from doing
anything
back home – so why now? The questions went round and round in her head until she thought it would explode. She heard her
parents arguing in the sitting room; heard the opening and closing of doors, the sound of her mother’s voice, pleading with
her father. She heard her mother’s words, ‘there’s been an approach’, swelling and receding in her mind the way conscious
thought expands and contracts in the last few moments before sleep – and then she slept, too exhausted to think or dream.

NIELA

Vienna, October 1992

If she’d thought, even for a split second, that she could talk her way out of trouble, Niela was sadly mistaken. Overnight,
she’d become a prisoner in her own home. She was forbidden to leave the house without someone accompanying her. With Korfa
and Raageh at school and her mother in the kitchen, there was no possibility of escape. She lay in bed all day, too stunned
to think.

One morning, about a week after she’d been caught, Saira came into the room. She pulled back the curtains briskly and turned
to Niela. ‘It’s time to get up,’ she said, lifting the counterpane from the bed. ‘We have some news for you. Hamid will be
here on Saturday. It’s time to prepare yourself.’

Niela stared at her. Her mouth had run dry. ‘P … prepare myself ? Uma … I can’t do this. I
can’t.
Don’t make me, please. I beg you.’

‘Niela, stop being so dramatic.’ Saira regarded her calmly. ‘And stop thinking only of yourself.’

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ Niela began to cry.

Saira clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she always did when irritated. ‘What are you talking about? You
have done this to yourself. No one is doing anything to you. It’s for the best, Niela. Everything will turn out for the best.’

‘No … it won’t. I don’t want to be married, Uma. Why is Abba doing this to me? Why do you let him?’ she sobbed.

Saira regarded Niela for a moment or two, then sighed. She sat down heavily on the edge of Niela’s bed. She reached across
and patted Niela’s hand awkwardly. ‘He’s afraid.’

‘Afraid? Afraid of what?’

‘Of the future. Of what’s going to happen to you. To us.’

‘Uma … this isn’t going to be for ever.’ Niela lifted her tear-stained cheek to look around the room. ‘We won’t always be
here.’

‘Oh, Niela. You’re so young. You’re naïve. What’s going to change? We’re exiles now. We can’t go back. This is it.’

Niela stared at her. ‘No. No, it’s not,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Things will change.’

‘Your father is nearly sixty, Niela.
He
cannot change. He cannot adapt, not like you children. His life is over. Yours is just beginning.’ Her mother looked at her
almost fondly. ‘Do you really think your father would marry you off to someone unsuitable? Someone who wouldn’t care for you?
He will make the right choice for you. For us. Trust us. Everything will turn out just fine. You’ll see.’ Saira got up slowly.
‘Now, dry your eyes and wash your face. I want you to get up. Your future husband is coming this weekend. There are things
you need to do. Get dressed. We’re going into town.’

There were things about her mother that still had the power to shock Niela into silence. She followed Saira in mute astonishment
as she led her through the maze of trams and buses that took them to Meidling, a district of Vienna that Niela had never seen
or heard of – until now. How had Saira found it? This was a different city to the one she’d come to know. Here there were
no coffee shops or smart, expensive boutiques. The buildings had none of the opulent glamour of the 1st Bezirk where Ayanna
lived, or even the modern apartment blocks of Simmering. Here the buildings were run-down and industrial-looking, the streets
were narrow and crowded, made even more so by the makeshift kiosks and market stalls that lined the roads. Nigerians, Ghanaians,
Turks, North Africans … and Somalis, too. Her mother moved from one shop to another with ease, stopping to chat with someone
at this stall, tasting fruit at that one, exchanging a bit of gossip with a woman in a headscarf who smiled fondly at Niela.
‘Don’t you recognise her?’ Saira asked,
prodding Niela in the ribs. ‘From home. Mrs Qureisha. No, you don’t remember her?’ Niela shook her head, bewildered. How had
her mother found out about Meidling, and why hadn’t she said? Saira chatted excitedly to the women who owned a fabric shop
halfway down the street. Yes, she was about to be married, Saira said, looking proudly at her only daughter. The women smiled
at her, equally proud. ‘He lives in Munich,’ Saira said, pronouncing the word with some difficulty. ‘A good man. A relative
on my husband’s side.’ They nodded knowingly.
Yes, a good match. So difficult these days. The young girls … their heads get filled
… They looked from one to the other.
What can we do? So far from home. You can’t control what they get up to
. Saira’s grip on Niela’s arm confirmed that her own daughter would do no such thing. Niela listened to them, her head swimming
with fear.

The flat was cleaned, swept, polished and cleaned again. For two days, Niela and Saira did nothing but dust and wipe, making
sure that every surface was spotless, every square inch gleaming. Niela threw herself into the task as a way of distracting
herself from what was about to come. She watched herself going through the motions of getting up, getting dressed, getting
on with the day as if she were watching someone else. Saira’s food preparations began – sacks of rice appeared in the kitchen,
along with bags of onions and cartons of chopped tomatoes. Hassan came home on the Thursday before Hamid’s arrival with bloodstained
packets of meat that he’d crossed town to the best halal butcher to get. Korfa was recruited to help him cut it up; Niela
walked past, a lump the size of an orange in her throat, making it impossible to speak. One of Saira’s friends from Meidling
arrived on the Friday … from the tiny kitchen came the smells and sounds of home. Uncle Raageh appeared that night for supper.
He was unable to look Niela in the eye. Hamid would be staying with him, as was the custom. Niela ate supper that night alone
with Saira and Mrs Qureisha, listening to the sound of the whisky bottle being opened and closed as Hassan and Raageh celebrated
the upcoming match. She went to bed with tears in her throat. Saira’s awkward attempts to placate her had failed. She lay
in bed that night, unable to sleep or think of anything other than the fact that her life, as she knew it, was over.

Hamid Osman and his sister Fathia were ushered deferentially into the living room. Niela was seated alone in the dining room,
separated from her parents and the two visitors by the bookcase that divided the small room. She caught the briefest glimpse
of a short, rotund figure dressed in white as they passed. Korfa and Raageh were in their room – after the introductions had
been made and the business of marriage had been concluded, they would be called to come forward and eat. She could hear the
sister’s high, nasal voice. Her heart sank. She’d overhead her mother telling Mrs Qureisha that at least Niela wouldn’t be
alone for the first few years of her marriage. Fathia Osman had recently joined her brother in Munich,
al-Hamdulillah
, thanks be to God. Much better for Niela to have company, someone to talk to. After all, Hamid was a busy man,
al-Hamdulillah
. Well off. His own businesses. Niela would lack for nothing. She’d listened to the two of them in the same state of stunned
silence.
Munich. Germany. A husband. A sister-in-law
. The facts paraded themselves one after the other.

She looked down at the material of her dress. It was black with gold embroidery. Saira and Mrs Qureisha had chosen the fabric.
Niela hated it. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her heart beating wildly in her chest, wishing she were anywhere
but in the dining room of the small flat in Simmering, waiting to meet a man she’d never set eyes on who would take her somewhere
to begin another life. She felt the nausea of fear in her
stomach every time she thought about what it would actually
mean
. A husband. A wedding night. Her stomach twisted itself into knots. Her mother had made light of her objections.
What’s to fear? He’s a good man, Niela. He will look after you. We know the family. It’s all for the best
. What hope did she have of persuading them otherwise? What objections could she possibly make?

‘Niela?’ Her father’s voice penetrated the veil of fear. She looked up. He was standing in the opening beside the bookcase.
‘Come. Hamid is ready to receive you.’

She stood up. There was a faint ringing in her ears as she followed her father through to the living room. She saw Fathia
first. A round face, head covered with a lacy white scarf; small, dark eyes that darted from right to left as she scrutinised
Niela up and down; small mouth, pursed lips indicating pinched displeasure – Niela took in the details automatically. She
let her gaze slide off the woman and brought it to rest on Hamid. He was short – shorter than Niela. And fat. His skin was
dark and gleaming, bursting with good health. A beard. Flecks of grey amongst the tight black curls. Niela’s whole body shrank
from him. He was smiling at her and nodding his head. She dropped her eyes and looked at the ground. Her father was speaking;
there was a corresponding laugh from someone. Saira murmured something to Fathia – yes, all was as it should be. Their daughter
was pleasing to him. Negotiations had been successful; Hamid had delivered his side of the bargain. They began to discuss
the wedding. All was well. No one asked Niela anything. She stared at the ground. Her eyes were smarting but she stubbornly
refused to lift them. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing her tears.

The
aroos
– the wedding – was planned for the following week. There was no time to waste. Hamid had a string of important business
meetings to attend; better to get everything over and done with as quickly as possible. Niela would return to Munich with
them as soon as the two-day celebrations were over. Hassan brought out a bottle of whisky and carefully poured himself,
Raageh and Hamid a glass, as was the custom for men. Saira and Fathia sipped at the sickly sweet lemonade Saira had prepared
that afternoon. Niela remained silent throughout, willing the whole thing to be over, longing to escape to her room.

Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t stand it a second longer, Hamid stood up. He was tired; it had been a long day.
He thanked Hassan and Saira for their daughter’s hand and their hospitality. The speech had the formal, rather stilted qualities
of a successful business transaction. After it was over, Hamid and Fathia left with Uncle Raageh, and Niela and Saira were
left alone. ‘Come,’ Saira said to her when the menfolk had disappeared downstairs. ‘I want to show you something.’ Niela followed
her mother into her bedroom. There was a suitcase on the bed. Saira opened it, revealing yards and yards of the sheerest,
finest silk in a dazzling array of colours and patterns. Niela remained mute. ‘It’s for you,’ Saira said, holding up a piece
of pale lilac silk. ‘For your
guntiino
. It’s the custom, you know. Three changes of outfit. Mrs Qureisha will sew them for you. Niela, will you stop looking so
glum,’ she admonished sharply. ‘This has cost Hamid a fortune, you know. Try to show a little gratitude.’