The Locust and the Bird: My Mother's Story by Hanan Al-Shaykh

Author:Hanan Al-Shaykh [Al-Shaykh, Hanan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs
ISBN: 9780307378361
Google: VCjrsTS06hgC
Amazon: B002M41TYS
Publisher: Anchor
Published: 2009-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

‘You Lead Her This Way and That … Do You

Expect Me to Resole Her Shoes Every Day?’

AT THE END of the month I waited for my period, and waited. When there was no sign of it I became paralysed with fear: Muhammad would accuse me of disloyalty and leave me, and aside from that I did not want to have a third child with my husband. Had God heard me when I’d lied to the Haji about my dream of baby Mustapha?

But although it was unwelcome, my pregnancy gave me the strength and courage to deal with Ibrahim. I came up with a variety of ruses to escape from the house without Khadija. I’d take Mother with me, leave her with a relative and then make my way to Muhammad. Sometimes I’d send a message to my brother Hasan’s wife, asking her to stop by and take me to the dentist; but as soon as I was in the street I would abandon her and run to Muhammad. I even managed to take Khadija along with me to the cinema, where Muhammad was to meet us.

Khadija agreed despite her best instincts. She sat there in a panic, weighed down by the thought of the domestic duties she’d abandoned, especially since Ibrahim was so demanding and unpredictable that she lived in fear of his temper.

Once inside the cinema, I left a seat vacant beside me and Muhammad came and sat nervously in it. All I wanted was to go back to the ease of our past meetings. I couldn’t rejoice that I was sitting in the cinema next to Muhammad; I felt only weary and dejected. It was as though what had happened was merely the first breath of wind in what would soon become a cyclone. I panicked, lifting my hand to draw Muhammad’s head to mine, but found myself touching my headscarf instead.

Afterwards Khadija didn’t want to talk about the film. We had to speed home because she was terrified Ibrahim would arrive before us. And she was right to be afraid.

When he came home he grabbed her shoes and inspected them. He blamed me for their dishevelled state.

‘You lead her this way and that,’ he shouted at me, ‘just like the shuttle on a sewing machine. Do you expect me to resole her shoes every day?’

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