Yiza Page 8

  Yiza woke in the night. The woman wasn’t in the room any more. There was a chamber pot beside the bed. A small lamp gave out a dim light. She hopped down onto the floor and walked up and down, up and down. The room had two doors. Both were locked. There were some biscuits on the bedside table, next to the lamp – two coated in chocolate, two in melted sugar. She didn’t touch them. But she drank all the water in the carafe.

  She climbed onto the windowsill and opened a window. Icy air streamed in. Her chest was wet with sweat and the cold stung her skin. She couldn’t climb down into the garden, it was too far down, and everything below was black. She quickly shut the window again. She would have liked to take the biscuits out to the greenhouse so that Arian could eat them – he would have enjoyed them. The window looked out over the valley. She thought she could see the lights where the supermarket was, but she wasn’t sure.

  She looked under the bed. It was too dark to make anything out. She listened. She pulled the covers off the bed and lay down on the floor. She couldn’t sleep, and sat on the chamber pot. Her hand smelled of the cream the woman had rubbed into her. The woman had scrubbed her fingers with a brush. She had cut her nails and dipped her hands in scouring powder and scrubbed them again, this time with an even stiffer brush. But her fingers hadn’t come clean. The nails had been cut down to the quick.

  She fell asleep on the chamber pot and toppled sideways, and the contents spilled over the wooden floor. She crawled into a corner of the room and wrapped herself in the bedcovers and fell asleep.

  She slept.

  And woke as the man picked her up and carried her to the bed. He stood there for a while before lying her down on the fresh, white sheet. She was happy that the man was holding her. He smelled like her uncle.

  Yiza had breakfast in bed. That was what the woman wanted. She wanted to watch her eat. She wanted to look at the pale little face and the black hair, which was short now and gleamed like satin. And she wanted to look at the starched white shirt, the sleeves and the little collar with the embroidered edges and the mother-of-pearl buttons down the chest. She placed a little bed-table on the covers in front of her, on top of it a tray with a cup of tea and a bread roll cut in half and spread with butter. She had realised now that her darling didn’t like sweet things. She scattered the crumbs onto the windowsill outside.

  Come here, she said, look, she said, and showed her the sparrows. One of them looked at Yiza with his tiny all-black eyes.

  When Yiza was well enough that she didn’t have to spend all day in bed, the woman took her by the hand and led her out into the hall and along the hall to another room.

  The woman said: Five! Five minutes! This will only take five minutes! She counted on her fingers. One, two, three, four, five! Five!

  She led her to a chair, pressed her into it, stroked her hair and smiled, making the lines show on her face.

  This room was filled with furniture. Yiza had never seen furniture like this. It smelled of hot spices in there. The windows were hung with curtains, they were dark and heavy. The woman leant over Yiza and wouldn’t let go of her hands. Yiza tugged, but the woman wouldn’t let go of her hands. Yiza whimpered, but the woman wouldn’t let go. Yiza dug her fingernails into the woman’s thumb. The woman cried out, let go of Yiza’s hand, put her thumb in her mouth and slapped her in the face with her other hand.

  Yiza put her hands over her eyes. She started to breathe faster and faster. The woman leant over her and said she hadn’t meant to do that, unlike Yiza, who had quite deliberately bitten her hand. There were footsteps in the hall. Things bumped against other things, a door was opened and closed again.

  Don’t breathe so fast. Stop that!

  But Yiza went on breathing so fast.

  I’ll have to hit you again to make you stop, said the woman. Or you’re going to faint on me.

  Yiza was taken back to her room. A table and two chairs were now standing in the middle of the floor. On the table were an exercise book, some colouring pencils and a box with brightly-coloured writing on it. There were new clothes hanging over one of the chairs, for her to put on. White underwear. White tights. A red jumper. A red skirt with white polka dots. Red slippers with white dots as well.

  No one has worn those before you, said the woman. If only I knew your name. What’s your name? Me: Renate. You? You? You?

  The woman repeated the You, and with every You she tapped Yiza’s chest with her forefinger. A little harder each time.

  Yiza said: Arian.

  Your name’s Arian? You Arian? The woman tapped Yiza’s chest again. You Arian?

  Yiza shook her head.

  But the woman was content. The child had spoken at last. She had said something at last.

  Tomorrow you can put on your new clothes, she said. Today you sleep. Then we’ll eat together. Then you sleep. Then you put your new clothes on. Then we’ll do lessons. Then you’ll learn my language. Then we’ll live together. You’ll see.

  The curtains stayed closed during the day as well. They left only a small strip of light. She could see blue and branches. Yiza watched day become night in a darkened room, as the strip of light was extinguished. Until outside and inside were the same. Until everything was the same. A weak, golden glow from the bedside table where the lamp stood was the only thing that was different. It was easy to dream with your eyes open there. When she lay in bed, sleeping and waking were the same. Everything was the same. In her dream Arian spoke like her. And she spoke like Arian. There was no difference. In the dream she talked a lot and waved her arms like her uncle had done when he talked a lot. She walked beside Arian – once he was Shamhan, then he was Arian – it was all the same, and she was the same as everyone else, too. There were noises in the night, outside her door, in the hall, voices, and once she thought she heard the man laughing.

  Call me Granny, said the woman. That’s easier than Renate. Granny. Say Granny.

  Yiza said: Granny.

  The woman made a tick in an exercise book. Like in a game of cards, when you’ve won. The first word.

  Say hand.

  Hand.

  The second tick. That had been easy.

  Say tongue. Where is your tongue. Open your mouth. Look: my tongue. That’s my tongue. You have a tongue, too. Where is your tongue? Say tongue. Show me your tongue. Tongue.

  Tongue.

  Show me your tongue. That’s your tongue, yes, there it is.

  Tongue.

  The third tick.

  Who am I?

  Granny.

  What’s that?

  Hand.

  Where’s your tongue?

  Tongue.

  You’re tired now.

  Tired.

  What is tired?

  Tired.

  But you need to know what tired is, not just the word, you have to think. This is tired. Look here. Don’t look over there. Look at me. This is tired. Look here. This is tired.

  Tired.

  You can say it. But do you know what it means? What does tired mean? Do tired!

  Tired.

  Now you’re tired. Yes, now you’re tired.

  It was still winter then.

  In spring, at the end of May, Yiza looked out of the kitchen window one evening and saw Arian standing down below on the street. It was still light enough for her to recognise him. He was looking up at the window. He recognised her too. He quickly stepped into the shade of the hedge.

  She pretended to yawn, and moved her head like the woman did when her neck ached with tiredness. She did that to seem like she was just looking around aimlessly, and not looking out of the window. She said she needed the toilet, could she go please, and then flinched because she had asked, and she wasn’t supposed to ask, the woman got angry when she asked if she could go to the toilet, that made it sound like Yiza was afraid of her, like she didn’t allow Yiza to go to the toilet, she was supposed to just get up and go to the door and wait by the door until the woman got up and went to the door as well, and then wait
until the door was unlocked.

  Yiza’s heart was pounding so loud she was afraid the woman would hear it.

  The woman got up slowly from the kitchen table, she was always full of aches and pains. She reached into her apron pocket and got out the key, held it in her hand, held it out in front of her as if she was already aiming for the lock. Yiza snatched the key from her hand and gave her a shove that made her grab the sink to stay upright. Yiza unlocked the door, pulled the key out of the lock, darted out into the hall and locked the kitchen from the outside.

  The woman hammered on the door and shouted at her, and Yiza was frightened of the voice and clenched her fingers together.

  But then she ran down the stairs and out of the house, she was in her socks, she ran across the paving slabs outside the house, called out to Arian and opened the gate to the street.

  She spoke to him in the woman’s language. And Arian answered in the same language.

  Yiza took him into the house. She held his hand. He was fearful and let her pull him along and didn’t want to go, but she dragged him. She dragged him upstairs to where the kitchen was.

  The woman on the other side of the door said: Open up, Yiza! I promise you.

  Yiza didn’t understand what she was promising. And Arian didn’t understand it either.

  Arian pressed a finger to his lips. He whispered in Yiza’s ear.

  Show me! Food, he whispered. Hungry. Show me! Please, show me!

  Yiza whispered back and showed him. She pointed a finger, which was very clean, at the kitchen door. She whispered that the food was in the kitchen and the woman was in the kitchen and the woman was very cross.

  Arian whispered that she should talk to the woman. Talk. Say. And so on. He demonstrated what he meant. He moved his forefinger in a circle like a wheel and opened and closed his mouth. That was supposed to mean: and so on and so on and so on, don’t stop. It was supposed to mean: in the meantime he would... He turned round and went into one of the rooms, came straight out again, went into the next room, left the door open. But Yiza didn’t talk to the woman.

  The woman said – and her voice was quite calm now – Yiza. I know you’re by the door. You abused my trust. Now we’ll both have to start all over again. Another few days and we wouldn’t have needed the key, no more keys, imagine that. That was going to be the surprise I told you about. And a few days after that we would have gone out into the garden together and done some planting. And in summer, you would have been allowed into the garden on your own. Now we have to start all over again. But I expect this is the end of everything now. Yes, I think this is the end. Do what you like, Yiza, it’s over now. I’m going to open the window and shout for the police. Is that what you want, Yiza?

  Then Yiza screamed and didn’t stop.

  Arian ran past her. He was carrying something.

  He turned the key she had left in the kitchen door, and Yiza fell silent.

  The woman put her head out and her blue collar. She was bending down so that her face would be on a level with Yiza’s when she saw the child. She stared into the darkness and smiled when she saw Yiza’s face. She opened her mouth as if to say something nice, showing the teeth that Yiza knew so well, and the big soft lips that she knew so well. Arian swung his arm back and struck the thing he was holding against the woman’s forehead. He hit her again straight away. He was screaming like Yiza had screamed. He screamed the very same way, as if he was copying her. The woman stumbled into the hallway, threw her arms out, tripped and fell. Arian hit her a third time, this time on the back of her head. The woman twitched as she lay on the floor, she turned over, she was lying on her back now, her legs twitched, and her lips struggled to make a strange noise that did not become a word. Arian hit her a fourth time and a fifth time and a sixth time.

  Yiza was sitting downstairs on the front doorstep. To her left and right were plastic bags full of good things, and a jumper, a pillow and a blanket. She was waiting for Arian. He had found a suitcase, and was filling that, too, with good things from the house. He definitely wanted to pack some candles and matches and a knife or two and a tin opener and a spoon, and definitely sugar. It was night-time now. And it was quiet. There was no one on the street. Arian knew what they were going to do. Yiza knew that.

  They took the metro into the city. People noticed them because they had so much baggage. But no one asked questions; they couldn’t see what was in the bags and the suitcase with wheels. Arian had pulled his hat right down over his forehead. Yiza didn’t look at him. She wanted to keep her eyes closed, but she couldn’t, they kept opening again. Arian had told her she should just sit there and not think about anything, and then no one else would think anything, either. It was difficult to say what he wanted to say in the foreign language. He had wanted to say he knew from experience that people looked you in the face if you were thinking about something. It wasn’t what you were thinking, it was the fact that you were thinking. He had explained to Yiza how not to think. You just had to think of a single word. You had to say that word silently to yourself. Without moving your lips. Any word. For example, he thought paper. He didn’t know exactly what the word meant. But that was even better. He thought paper, always paper, since the winter he had been thinking paper, and it looked like he wasn’t thinking. Could she think paper too, Yiza had asked, without looking at him. Would he mind. He wouldn’t mind, said Arian. He smiled at her, but Yiza didn’t smile back.

  They sat on the train and thought paper. People looked at them, but they didn’t ask any questions.

  They got off at one of the stations down by the canal. Arian wheeled the suitcase, Yiza carried the bags to the escalator, and they waited there until they were alone. It was already late at night. Arian stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth and swallowed drily and was hardly able to breathe. He tried to catch Yiza’s eye, smiling in advance so that she wouldn’t miss his smile if she looked at him. But Yiza still didn’t look at him. She looked away, and when he walked around her to stand in her eye line, she turned her head aside.

  Give me an apple, he said. He didn’t say apple, he said another word – he said a lot of words, until she finally understood what he meant.

  She said: Apple.

  He repeated: Apple. And smiled.

  Arian knew what to do. In the bushes by the canal, there was a supermarket trolley. It was lying on its side, covered with the tarpaulin. The bank by the path was steep, you couldn’t see the trolley from the path. At least, not at night. Did she remember the tarpaulin, Arian asked. Yiza nodded and then she looked into his dirty face for the first time. And looked away again at once. She took a corner of the tarpaulin between her thumb and forefinger.

  Arian said: Yiza. He said: Yiza! He asked: Are you scared of me?

  She nodded.

  He said: I did that once before. No one messes with me. Not me! But you don’t need to be scared, he said, and he asked again: Are you scared of me, Yiza?

  Yiza looked away and said nothing and didn’t nod and didn’t shake her head. He told her again that no one messed with him.

  It was hard work getting the trolley up onto the path. Arian instructed Yiza in his language, which she didn’t understand. He told her not to just stand there and watch. Help me, he said in the language that was now their common language, though they only knew a few words of it, and he knew some words that she didn’t, and she knew many more that he didn’t.

  First they pulled the tarpaulin off the shopping trolley and dragged it up onto the path. There were street lights all the way along the towpath. They made sure they were alone. Then they pushed and pulled the trolley up the bank and set it on its wheels. They heaved the suitcase into it, and the bags, and covered them with the tarpaulin.

  If she was tired, said Arian, she should get into the trolley too, there was enough room for her, it was best if she lay down under the tarpaulin, he would push her, it was easy. It took a long time for him to put all this together in their shared language.

  Yiza didn
’t want to. She walked behind Arian. But Arian didn’t want her to. He told her to walk beside him, not behind him, he had to be able to see her. He didn’t want anyone behind him. Then she got into the trolley and pulled the tarpaulin over her head. Without saying a word.

  She reached into one of the plastic bags and found an apple and stuck the hand with the apple in it out from under the tarpaulin and waited until the apple was taken from her. She thought maybe he would take the thimble as well. But Arian didn’t do that.

  She called to Arian. He didn’t hear her. But she didn’t call loudly. She whispered his name. She was so tired that she struggled to get past the R. The trolley smelled of the bread from the pantry. Yiza had showed Arian where the woman kept the good things. She had hoped the woman would start screaming. At the same time she was afraid of it. The woman lay in the doorway like a long, low, grey hill. Arian said: That one and that one and that too, and that. She repeated his words now, under the tarpaulin, softly.

  And then she was asleep, and then she was rising to the surface and sleeping again and surfacing again, like taking long, slow, happy breaths.

  She thought she could see herself forgetting the woman who had saved her life – that was how she’d referred to herself, as the woman who had saved Yiza’s life. Yiza watched herself forgetting the room and the table in the middle of the room and the exercise book on it and fell asleep, raised herself up a little and fell asleep.

  The shopping trolley’s small wheels rattled beneath her, like a chain drive of loneliness, but without the lonely people who could have given order to the noises and named and categorised the cold or the heat. Aromas would form themselves into cravings; little fingernails would alleviate the annoying little pains. The little fingernails are still pink and white and neatly cut and filed smooth.

  If it is true that God’s favourite stands at his right hand, in everything he does, at everything he plants and blesses, if that is true, then hear the footsteps, the little ones, the big ones, the scampering and the stamping! Wait until your eyes grow accustomed to the dark! And now? Can you see them? Can you see the two of them?