kitchen window, away from me.
‘ I don’t want to think about this, Paul. I prefer not to
live with it in my mind every day. I have a life to live. As
Palestinians we have to put this behind us and live ,
because we can’t afford to spend every single moment focusing on
the tragedy and death that is around us, inside
us.’
She drank
from her wine, her reddened eyes on mine over the fine rim of the
glass. Her mascara was smudged.
I broke the
long silence. ‘So is that why Hamad did what he did? To revenge
your father?’
Aisha glared
at me, placing the wineglass on the table with agonising slowness,
her eyes on me as she pushed her chair back. She turned to hook up
her coat. My chair rattled as I leaped to my feet. ‘Where are you
going?’
‘ I don’t need this. You don’t need Daoud lecturing you, but
I don’t need you questioning me, either. You just go ahead and
believe what you want to, listen to what you want to. I will not
be interviewed by you. I’m going home. Goodbye,
Paul.’
I was
incapable of movement, shocked by the realisation of my own immense
stupidity and crassness. I saw her chin pucker again as the light
caught the side of her face, but she didn’t look back as she closed
the door gently behind her. The kitchen was quiet, apart from the
soft background grumble of the wood burning in the stove and the
electronic tick of the wall clock. It ticked four times before
resolution rescued me from stasis and I ran out after her. I caught
her opening her car door, about to get in. I called across the road
to her as I stood at the bottom of the steps that led up from the
road to the garden: ‘Aisha.’
The tears
were streaming down her cheeks as she turned to me, shouting, her
face contorted and her voice echoing down the dark
street.
‘ Fuck off,
Paul. Fuck off and creep about in the garbage of someone else’s
life. Leave mine alone.’
I was still
standing there ten minutes later when a truck full of red-painted
gas bottles drove past, blaring an ice-cream van jingle out of the
speakers mounted on the cab. The gasmen waved at me, but I didn’t
wave back. I shivered in the cool of the evening. I blundered back
into the house. For the first time in years, I felt utterly alone.
I sat in the kitchen and drank my wine, listening to the tick of
the clock and replaying the conversation, twisting the knife in the
wound just so I could feel the pain of it.
A little
later, I drank hers too, matching my lips to the lipstick mark on
the glass. It tasted waxy.
TEN
I didn’t see
Aisha for the next three days. She sent messengers down from the
Secretary General’s office with arrangements for interviews or with
information I’d requested. The magazine was coming together and we
were preparing to send it to press by the end of the week – I just
had to get the final pages signed off by the Ministry. I took the
printouts up to Abdullah Zahlan, who liked them but suggested I
show them to Aisha for the Secretary General’s approval.
There was a
heavy crystal paperweight in the shape of the Al Aqsa Mosque on
Aisha’s desk and a furry toy monkey with big, dopey eyes sitting on
the top of the cabinet by the wall. She had a visitor, a veiled
woman with whom she was chatting animatedly. She barely looked up
at me, her voice cool.
‘ Thank you,
Paul. Just put them down on the side table there and I’ll return
them to you this afternoon.’
I bit my
tongue and went back downstairs, stopping halfway down the dingy
staircase to smack the gloss-painted wall with my fist. I sat at my
desk, calming down and gazing into my screen for a couple of hours.
I’d been spending my time drinking with Lars, missing Aisha’s
company but keeping myself busy socially rather than having to sit
down and think about what a total idiot I’d been. I felt guilty
about prying into her life and about hurting her with my stupidity
and selfishness. She had been kind to me, amused but tolerant of my
ignorance and
‘ I don’t want to think about this, Paul. I prefer not to
live with it in my mind every day. I have a life to live. As
Palestinians we have to put this behind us and live ,
because we can’t afford to spend every single moment focusing on
the tragedy and death that is around us, inside
us.’
She drank
from her wine, her reddened eyes on mine over the fine rim of the
glass. Her mascara was smudged.
I broke the
long silence. ‘So is that why Hamad did what he did? To revenge
your father?’
Aisha glared
at me, placing the wineglass on the table with agonising slowness,
her eyes on me as she pushed her chair back. She turned to hook up
her coat. My chair rattled as I leaped to my feet. ‘Where are you
going?’
‘ I don’t need this. You don’t need Daoud lecturing you, but
I don’t need you questioning me, either. You just go ahead and
believe what you want to, listen to what you want to. I will not
be interviewed by you. I’m going home. Goodbye,
Paul.’
I was
incapable of movement, shocked by the realisation of my own immense
stupidity and crassness. I saw her chin pucker again as the light
caught the side of her face, but she didn’t look back as she closed
the door gently behind her. The kitchen was quiet, apart from the
soft background grumble of the wood burning in the stove and the
electronic tick of the wall clock. It ticked four times before
resolution rescued me from stasis and I ran out after her. I caught
her opening her car door, about to get in. I called across the road
to her as I stood at the bottom of the steps that led up from the
road to the garden: ‘Aisha.’
The tears
were streaming down her cheeks as she turned to me, shouting, her
face contorted and her voice echoing down the dark
street.
‘ Fuck off,
Paul. Fuck off and creep about in the garbage of someone else’s
life. Leave mine alone.’
I was still
standing there ten minutes later when a truck full of red-painted
gas bottles drove past, blaring an ice-cream van jingle out of the
speakers mounted on the cab. The gasmen waved at me, but I didn’t
wave back. I shivered in the cool of the evening. I blundered back
into the house. For the first time in years, I felt utterly alone.
I sat in the kitchen and drank my wine, listening to the tick of
the clock and replaying the conversation, twisting the knife in the
wound just so I could feel the pain of it.
A little
later, I drank hers too, matching my lips to the lipstick mark on
the glass. It tasted waxy.
TEN
I didn’t see
Aisha for the next three days. She sent messengers down from the
Secretary General’s office with arrangements for interviews or with
information I’d requested. The magazine was coming together and we
were preparing to send it to press by the end of the week – I just
had to get the final pages signed off by the Ministry. I took the
printouts up to Abdullah Zahlan, who liked them but suggested I
show them to Aisha for the Secretary General’s approval.
There was a
heavy crystal paperweight in the shape of the Al Aqsa Mosque on
Aisha’s desk and a furry toy monkey with big, dopey eyes sitting on
the top of the cabinet by the wall. She had a visitor, a veiled
woman with whom she was chatting animatedly. She barely looked up
at me, her voice cool.
‘ Thank you,
Paul. Just put them down on the side table there and I’ll return
them to you this afternoon.’
I bit my
tongue and went back downstairs, stopping halfway down the dingy
staircase to smack the gloss-painted wall with my fist. I sat at my
desk, calming down and gazing into my screen for a couple of hours.
I’d been spending my time drinking with Lars, missing Aisha’s
company but keeping myself busy socially rather than having to sit
down and think about what a total idiot I’d been. I felt guilty
about prying into her life and about hurting her with my stupidity
and selfishness. She had been kind to me, amused but tolerant of my
ignorance and
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