Gravel Heart(67)
He made a face and turned towards his sister, who made a face with him and then they exchanged smiles. It was their way of telling me that I was being bossy, laying down the law when it was not called for. I remembered how my father used to be with his rules and prohibitions and I said no more. They did that sometimes, looked at each other and turned against me. I could not resist the feeling that Saida had rejected me at such moments, but I tried not to be hurt and reminded myself that I was a newcomer in her affections. In any case, Amir was nearly eighteen years old by then, quite old enough to go and sing with a band on a Saturday night if that was his choice, and he would be singing in the same band as his teacher, Maalim Ahmed Eddie. When he came home in the early hours, he knocked on our bedroom window and I unbolted the door for him. It had gone really well, he told me every time.
In the months that followed, Amir became a regular singer with the band, rehearsing several evenings a week and sometimes doing two or three sessions over the weekend, playing those British and American songs that he loved so much. He still came home in the early hours and knocked on our bedroom window for me to let him in while Saida pretended to be asleep, not wanting to know how late it was, not wanting to hear in case I complained. Apart from the lateness of the hour, which was worrying because it was irregular and somehow unsettling, there was nothing to complain about, I persuaded myself. Amir’s attendance at school for those last few months was normal, and he made enough effort to hold his own and complete his examinations. He did not pretend any enthusiasm for the schoolwork but he did what was necessary. After the examinations he was finished with school, he said with a swagger. He was now a singer with a band. It was not, in any case, that he was spurning any brilliant academic opportunities.
The regulation assigning all school-leavers government employment for minimal pay was no longer in operation. There were no government jobs left. Amir was earning a little from his share of the band’s fees so he had money coming in. I offered him some work at the market stall but he said no, he needed the time for rehearsals regardless of the meagre return from the band. Some nights now he did not sleep at home, and some mornings he did not bother to wake up until it was time for lunch, yawning and laughing at himself for sleeping so late. His clothes smelt of smoke and alcohol, although I could not smell alcohol on his breath. I talked to Saida about him and only succeeded in annoying her.
‘He is wasting his life,’ I said. ‘He was such a nice boy. Something will go wrong.’
‘What do you mean, wasting?’ she said, although she knew what I meant. ‘There is nothing for him to do otherwise, except sell okra in the market for you. Let him play in the band, what harm can it do?’
‘He could turn out to be a musical genius but I hope not of the lawless short-lived kind,’ I said, making peace, knowing how protective she was of Amir. ‘And here I am, trying to interfere with his growth. But I don’t like this business of him not coming home some nights. I worry about him and I cannot make myself not care.’
Saida nodded silently and we left it there for a while. In the end I said something to Amir, and when I did so he too nodded silently at first and then he said that he understood why I would worry about him but there was really no need. He only stayed overnight when they were playing at a wedding or an event like that which was far to get back from, especially when there was nothing to rush back for, was there? He would try to warn me beforehand if he could but it was that kind of business. It often ran late. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bring shame to your house,’ he said, smiling, and I thought he was mocking me.
For a while after that conversation, Amir stayed away on Saturday nights but came home the other nights of the week. Saida and I tried to restore our previous ease together, asking about the band’s fortunes, flattering Amir’s singing, but the joyfulness was diminished. We were all more watchful now about what could not be said. I started to feel a mild sense of foreboding.
Perhaps I was just worrying about money, I told myself. The Housing Department had returned the house we lived in to its owner, who was now talking about the accumulated unpaid rent of years. Several other previous owners of houses had appealed successfully to get their properties back, after offering money as goodwill and doing a bit of grovelling. When the landlord spoke to me about the rent, I told him to be reasonable. Where did he expect me to get that kind of money? It was his right to ask for the back rent and mine to delay and negotiate but it was a worry. I had many reservations about the landlord, who was a Hadhrami rumoured to have acquired several of his properties by lending money to the owners and then demanding the house when they failed to meet the repayments. He had now moved his main business to Dar es Salaam, where he had invested in a drinks manufacturing factory and was apparently making a fortune. He left one of his sons behind to run the dry-goods shop in Darajani, which had always been the visible face of his many commercial interests. The landlord preferred that we should leave, in which case he would forgive part of what he was owed and then put the house out for rent at current prices.
These worries about the rent caused me real disquiet. Saida’s Norwegian job was over and I did not earn enough as a clerk in the Water Authority to feed all of us, let alone have anything over for the back rent, and I was not sure if I had enough of the law on my side without having to pay for it. I also knew that the landlord had the money to arrange for our removal if he really wanted to. I told Saida we should sell the jewellery my mother had left in my safe-keeping. She had given it to me as a way of insuring me in case of need. Saida said no, we would get a pittance for the gold bracelets. We should just hang on and manage. Until life returns, I said, and she smiled because that was what I always said when things looked bleak.