Huda and Me Read online

  I have the evidence. I would have enjoyed the Middle Eastern travel experience, had it not been for my airline travel ban. I told them I couldn’t hear the announcements! I know Akeal will look after you. He’s a worthy comrade.

  Safe journey.

  P.S. – The plan is set. Your siblings will join me at 16:00.

  Dr K.

  I can feel my mouth hanging open but no words come out. Huda speaks before I can.

  ‘Okay, don’t be annoyed. I was worried you’d blow it. Although I did mean to tell you about this once we were on the plane and I … I kind of got excited and forgot, I suppose.’

  ‘You and Mr Kostiki had another plan going this whole time?’ I splutter.

  ‘Well, kind of.’

  ‘Why would you think I’d blow it?’

  ‘Coz you’d have done that face you’re doing right now. You’d have walked around sweating and acting strange in front of Aunt Amel. I couldn’t risk it. It was enough you worrying about our own mission.’ She jabs her finger at my head.

  My mind races back to Huda checking the letterbox this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago. ‘You’ve been writing notes to each other?’

  ‘Yeh, every day. Mr Kostiki knows everything. He knew Aunt Amel was fibbing when she told him I was sleepwalking that night I ran to his house.’

  ‘How’d he know?’

  ‘Coz he remembered Mum telling him last year that I’m the only kid who always sleeps right through the night, like a dead person. And also, because he used to be a sleep doctor and he said I didn’t show any of the classic signs of somnambulism.’

  I can barely understand what she’s saying.

  ‘So, anyway, we worked out a plan. You don’t need to worry about a thing, Akeaw.’

  My sister grabs the note from my hand and stuffs it into the side pocket of her bag. As if that’s that. As if I don’t have a million questions. But before I can ask a single one of them, she nudges me with her elbow. Her eyes are wide. Like she’s seen a ghost from the past.

  ‘Check it out!’ She points to a massive yellow-and-red building, with golden arches.

  There, on the other side of the world, is McDonald’s.

  ‘What the heck?’ I say despite myself. ‘I thought this place would only have kebabs and sheesh laham.’ My tummy rumbles.

  Huda leans forward and taps the taxi driver on the shoulder, and not in a polite way. I call tell she’s starving too. ‘Excuse me, ya zalami? McDonald’s, please.’

  I like the way she mixes up her Arabic and English.

  The taxi driver glances over his shoulder. ‘No.’

  Huda flinches and turns to me. ‘Maybe he didn’t understand my Arabic.’

  She taps him on the shoulder again.

  ‘Sorry, mister. I mean can we please stop and get a burger and some fries?’ She motions her hand to her mouth like she’s eating something and pretends to chew.

  This time the driver looks at her in the rear-view mirror for what seems like too long. ‘No. Not good food.’

  Huda blinks her eyes a few times, trying to understand how he could say no.

  Then he leans over to the side, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as he rummages through a plastic bag on the front passenger seat.

  He finds what he’s looking for and passes it to Huda. It’s a Lebanese wrap, wrapped in plastic. It looks like the ones Mum sometimes makes me for school.

  ‘You hungry, you eat zis. Better.’

  Huda takes the wrap and gently sits back. She looks at me. Then looks at the wrap. And then she slowly takes off the plastic. She stares out the window as McDonald’s gradually disappears behind us. Finally, she bites into the wrap. She chews slowly at first, not knowing what to expect.

  ‘Oh, it has labni in it. Yum.’ She licks a bit of the thick, white yoghurt off her lip and bites in again. ‘And cucumber. Ahhhh, fresh.’

  My stomach rumbles so loudly that she actually hears it. She passes the labni-and-cucumber roll over to me. The taxi driver watches us through the rear-view mirror. I can tell from just his eyes that he’s smiling.

  I take a bite and it tastes like home – just like the rolls Mum makes me at breakfast, or the ones I find in my lunchbox. Sometimes she puts a bit of mint in them too. I chew slowly and remind myself of how good it feels to be cared for. Better than any burger in the world.

  The traffic begins to speed up as we approach an intersection. A man in a soldier’s uniform with a big gun and a funny black tilted hat stands in the middle of the road. He’s skinny and tall, and he flaps his arms all over the place. He’s trying to tell four directions of cars who can go and who needs to stop. But he looks bored, like he’s annoyed and really doesn’t care. He’s not one of those people who love their jobs, I can tell that for sure.

  I can also tell that the gun is a rifle because I saw one like it on an African safari show. But this one just dangles from his shoulder down to his knee, like it’s an old shopping bag and he has no idea it’s even there. He flaps his arm at our taxi, wanting us to hurry up and pass. I wish our taxi driver would go a bit faster, because the last thing I want is to irritate a man with a gun, who hates his job.

  As we drive past, Huda pokes out her tongue at the soldier. I choke on my roll and begin to cough. White-and-green bits spit from my mouth and onto the back of the taxi driver’s seat. It doesn’t help that we’re now zooming down the highway with the wind from the open window hitting me in the face.

  Huda looks at me and rolls her eyes. ‘He would never shoot a kid, Akeal,’ she says smugly.

  I turn around just in time to see the soldier standing there in the distance as we zoom away. The traffic is banked up all around him, but he’s still. Watching us. Our driver turns the corner and the soldier disappears.

  Huda knows what’s coming before I can speak. ‘Oh come on, it was just a bit of fun! Lighten up!’ She waves her hand at me as if she’s shooing away a fly and looks out the window.

  ‘No, that was really irresponsible. He could’ve shot us if he’d wanted to.’ I hand her back the roll. I don’t feel like eating anymore.

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic. Soldiers don’t just shoot people for no reason! You’ve gotta do something really bad, like run over his foot.’ She takes two more big bites and finishes the roll, but still won’t look at me.

  ‘We’re not in Australia anymore. We need to respect the customs of this country,’ I try to explain to her.

  Huda scrunches the gladwrap into a ball and squeezes it in her fist. ‘You’re boring. You sound like my teacher,’ she grumbles.

  The taxi driver turns into a little street and pulls the car over. Now I want to yell at my sister because he’s going to throw us out for almost getting him killed. He turns around and hands me the envelope with the address on it.

  ‘Wasalna.’ He points to a small white house with a brown flat roof across the street. It has two windows at the front, with black metal bars running across them. There’s no garden at the front, just the road, but to the side of the house I can see a huge yard with a massive tree that has low-hanging branches. Perfect for climbing.

  Huda looks at the house. Then she looks at me.

  ‘What he say?’ Her voice is suddenly very high-pitched.

  I can’t believe what I’m about to tell her.

  ‘He said we’ve arrived.’

  Both of us sit frozen. In only a few steps, we’ll be safe and looked after again. And we can tell Mum and Dad everything.

  The taxi driver interrupts my thoughts. He’s still looking at us. He rubs his thumb into his fingers: Where’s my cash?

  ‘Oh, you want to be paid! How much?’ I unzip my backpack and rummage to the bottom of the bag.

  ‘One hundred thousand lira.’

  ‘One hundred thousand lira?’ I’m in shock. That’s probably all the money we have.

  ‘Just give it to him, Akeal. Who cares, we’re here!’

  After almost getting shot by the soldier, I don’t need the taxi driver to
do anything crazy, so I pull out a thick roll of green notes. There are probably one hundred notes held together by a rubber band. I hope he’ll accept it as enough.

  His eyes bulge when I shove it towards him. His eyebrows are like little arches that jolt up ready to touch the top of his head. I shake the bundle of notes for him to take it. But instead of grabbing the whole thing, he uses two fingers to carefully pull out only one of the notes.

  ‘Enough,’ he says.

  ‘Well, that’s a bargain! Thanks, mister!’ says Huda. She opens the car door and jumps out.

  ‘Shukran very much,’ I tell the driver.

  ‘Allah maak,’ he says warmly. He smiles. I don’t know why, but I feel like giving him a hug.

  Meeting Jido and Tayta

  I step out of the car and into the little street. Tiny stones and dust fill the air as the taxi drives away. The road is uneven, with potholes and cracks. Huda is ahead of me, standing in the garden to the side of the house. She’s looking up at the big tree. She picks something from one of the low-hanging branches and then turns to me, smiling, lifting her hand into the air.

  ‘Mulberries!’

  Huda tosses the berry into her mouth and reaches for more, and I notice that the small white house sits on a corner. On one side, beyond the mulberry tree, lies another house. On the other, beyond another small road, green land stretches as far as the eye can see. The green stops when it reaches mountains far in the distance. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  I walk over to take it all in and I notice a small river running a few metres away. It sits lower than the road and I could’ve easily missed it. I look further up the side street. The narrow river snakes itself up and around through the farmland. I wonder if this is the river my mum told me about – the one she would swim and play in with her brother as a kid.

  Before he left, Dad told me his family lives in another town, a long distance from Bar Elias. He explained that the first time he ever came here, he saw two of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen: this town, and Mum.

  Huda’s voice interrupts my thoughts, but she’s not talking to me. I quickly walk the few steps back to the house and into the yard to see what she’s doing.

  She’s sitting on a bench under the mulberry tree with an old man. He’s wearing a grey abaya dress with a white keffiyeh over the top of his head. It drapes down past both his ears. He’s short and a little stumpy with a big pot belly. He reminds me of an Arab version of Santa Claus, but without the beard. I know I haven’t met him before, but at the same time I feel I know him. He sits leaning forward on the bench, resting his hand on a rake. He’s tired. I spot a pile of leaves a couple of metres away.

  Huda notices me and waves for me to come over. Her legs are too short to reach the ground, and she’s swinging them back and forth under the bench. Her hands are tucked under her thighs and her backpack is a few metres away, chucked on the grass. It’s open and a pair of doll’s legs stick out. I can tell she’s comfortable and happy sitting there in the sun with this old man. She always seems to make friends easily with older people.

  ‘Akeal, this hotel is so cute. I met this gramps when I was pinching mulberries off the tree.’

  I walk over to the two of them and he looks up at me. His eyes are so familiar.

  Huda keeps swinging her legs.

  ‘I can’t really understand what he’s saying, and he doesn’t know what I’m saying either, but I like the guy,’ she says.

  ‘As salamu alaykum.’ I say hello politely.

  ‘Wa alaykum as salam.’ His voice is soft and smooth. It has a kindness to it. It reminds me of my mum’s voice. And then it hits me. It’s so obvious. His eyes, his voice, his warmth. We’re sitting in his garden. He’s my mum’s dad. He’s my jido.

  I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back. I can’t help but want to impress him. ‘Ana ismi Akeal,’ I say, putting my hand on chest. Then I point to my sister. ‘Haidi ukhti Huda.’

  He smiles and nods politely. He doesn’t know who we are. Huda has no idea who he is either. We’re all silent for a minute, just looking around at the blue sky, the leaves and the garden.

  ‘We should go, Akeal,’ Huda says eventually. ‘We have to find Mum and Dad.’

  I shake my head at my sister. ‘We’re not going anywhere. This isn’t a hotel, Huda. This is exactly where we’re meant to be.’

  My little sister opens her mouth to speak but stops. She crumples her nose and scrunches up her lips at the same time, almost like fish-lips. The penny is finally dropping.

  I lean in and kiss my grandpa on the forehead. His movements are slow, but I can tell he’s a bit startled. I suppose I would be too if a random kid came up and kissed me.

  ‘That’s our grandpa? This is his house?’ whispers Huda, but she points right at him.

  Grandpa looks confused and glances around the garden again. He seems to decide he’d better get on with gathering the leaves and leans on the broom to lift himself off the bench.

  ‘Let me help you, jido,’ says Huda.

  When he hears the word jido, my grandpa’s eyes narrow for a split second. Then he looks at me in a way he didn’t before. He looks at Huda, who is already sweeping the leaves off the path that stretches around the yard.

  ‘Jido?’ my grandpa asks. He chuckles.

  I stand beside him and put my arm around his shoulder. He’s pretty much my height. I always wondered if people shrink when they get older, and now I know the answer. He smells like perfume, but not the type Mum wears and not even close to the aftershave Dad puts on. But it’s a strong perfume, so deep it feels thicker than air going into my nose. I like it. I like being next to him. It reminds me of the way the mosque smells on Fridays.

  ‘Imak binti Hend?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, my mum is your daughter Hend.’ I nod so hard my head might snap off.

  ‘Min Australia?’

  ‘Yes, we’re from Australia.’ My cheeks hurt, I’m smiling so much. I want him to know how happy I am.

  And then he laughs again. But differently this time. He brings me into his arms. I rest my head on his wide, soft chest. I feel like I’m sailing through the big blue sky on the fluffiest cloud. He pats my head and tells me he’s missed me. I don’t know how he could have missed me, but I’ve missed him too. So much.

  The quiet doesn’t last as long as I’d like, because I feel Huda wrap her arms around the both of us. She’s laughing. And Jido is laughing. And then I’m laughing too. We’re all laughing but not saying anything. It feels like a dream.

  Through chuckles, Jido takes Huda’s chin in his hand and looks at her. ‘Mitil Hend.’

  ‘Really, Jido? I look like my mum?’ she says proudly.

  Grandpa has tears in his eyes. He smiles and nods gently.

  Then he turns to me. I think he’s going to say something special. But he frowns slightly and surprises me by speaking a little English.

  ‘Mum Dad know come?’ He points to the sky and then to the floor.

  Back to reality.

  ‘Um, not exactly.’ I’m sure he doesn’t know what not exactly means, so I shake my head. He does that squintyeyed look at me again.

  ‘Well, Jido,’ Huda cuts in, ‘it’s kinda a long story. First we had Pineapple Head come, and then she was super mean and Akeal had to clean chicken poo and I had to scrub the—’

  ‘Okay, okay, Huda,’ I say. ‘I think we can go into details later.’

  Jido is still smiling, but not as much as before. He’s silent now. I can tell he knows this isn’t a planned trip, but he hugs us again.

  ‘Have you seen Mama and Baba by any chance?’ says Huda in a high voice from underneath his armpit.

  He pulls away from us and shuffles a few short, slow steps onto the pavement towards the house. Huda and I stand in the yard, not sure what to do. From over his shoulder, Jido waves for us to follow.

  I don’t want to believe we might see Mum and Dad again. I don’t want to be disappointed if they’re not here.
/>   He leads us to a wooden door on the side of the house. It looks like it’s about one hundred years old, and it creaks as he turns the knobs and swings it open. I can’t see much of the room from outside because it’s dark inside. I hold my breath and take a step in. My sister clings to me from behind.

  Standing in the dark room, with her back to us, is my mum. She’s doing the dishes in a little sink. She puts a clean wet plate on the dish rack and reaches for a pot. It’s not really a kitchen – just a sink, a tiny stove and a small bench.

  My eyes adjust and I glance around the room. There’s a bed on one side with someone in it. I know the person isn’t Dad, because I can hear them softly snoring. Dad doesn’t snore softly. And he’s not that thin. Jido sits on the end of the bed and starts to rub the person’s feet gently. I see it’s an old woman. My grandma. She’s lying on her back, a loose white scarf around her head.

  Huda tugs at me from behind. I grab her hand and pull her into the room. She squints her eyes to adjust to the light too. And then she sees Mum.

  ‘Mama.’ My sister’s voice shakes. Tears fall in giant globs from her eyes.

  Mum pauses and lifts her head, as though she’s not sure what she heard. Then she returns to scrubbing the dishes.

  ‘Mama,’ says Huda again, her voice weak. I’m still holding her hand, and I feel her go floppy and worry her knees might buckle.

  Mum lifts her head again and slowly turns around. She sees us standing in the light of the door. The pot falls to the floor, the sound clanging loudly through the small room. Mum grips the bench with one hand and clutches the other to her chest. For a moment, she just stands there, without saying a word. She looks more tired than I’ve ever seen her before, but her eyes are also bigger than I’ve ever seen.

  I think I expected this moment to be different. I think I expected Mum to react like she does when we step in the door after school – smiling and asking us how our day was. Instead, it looks like she’s seen a ghost.

  Huda and I walk towards her. Mum still doesn’t move. My sister still sobs. But despite it all, Huda lifts her arms and touches the hand Mum is holding to her chest.