The Inheritance of Exile by Susan Muaddi Darraj

Author:Susan Muaddi Darraj
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Notre Dame Press
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Costumes

The day my father was robbed was the worst in our lives. “Only so far,” my mother warned. “There are always things worse in this life.” But this made nobody feel better, not Baba and not me. Actually, this is when I remember first feeling that I hated her.

Baba came home very late that night. We didn’t realize how late, though, because it was the night before Halloween. I was leaning, excited, against the kitchen table where Mama had set up her sewing machine. While a tub of okra and tomato sauce simmered, and a pot of peppermint tea lazily boiled on the stove, I attentively watched Mama stitch sequins and ribbons to my costume. I had finally convinced her to let me dress up like Madonna, even though she refused to budge on letting my belly show. My lacy shirt would remain firmly tucked into my long, slim black pants, which would themselves peek through my ruffled babydoll skirt. It was Madonna “on a winter’s day,” Mama said firmly. But at least she’d promised to let me smudge black liner around my eyes. “Kohl,” she nagged. “Your Madonna got that from us.” I didn’t mind the nagging as long as her hands stayed busy on the machine, finishing off what would be the best costume of any sixth-grader in the neighborhood.

When I heard the doorknob jiggle and the click of the turning key, I rushed to the door, jumping at Baba to get a kiss before Mama beat me to it. His kisses were unparalleled—he would grab the lucky one in a bear hug and plant kisses on her forehead and cheeks, then swing her around the living room, legs barely brushing the coffee table. I always made sure it was me, and Mama had to wait her turn and settle for a demure kiss on the lips.

But he made no move to touch either of us that night, only held up his palms. “Move away from the door,” he said. I looked up at him carefully, seeing the cut on his cheek and the dried blood on his cracked lips. He seemed dazed and weary, and I was suddenly frightened deep inside. Behind him was a giant of a man, carrying his hat in his hands and wearing a blue uniform that glittered with badges and pins. His face was pale, and his red hair and white complexion made him look like a corpse, the life and vigor drained out of him, next to Baba, with his disheveled black hair and his skin the color of almond shells.

Mama stood behind me, demanding to know, in her horrible English, what was going on. Baba invited the officer to please sit down, and did he want any coffee? He did not, and I think that was a good thing since Mama seemed unable to make it at that point. She stood, her eyes never leaving our guest, and demanded again to know what happened.

Baba asked me to go upstairs to my room, and I knew better than to argue.

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