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page 62
BRICK 60 But Hooya looked unconvinced. “No, you don’t. You don’t understand.” The next morning, I rubbed my eyes and reached for my glasses. I lay in bed, half-expecting Hooya to push open the door and order me to get dressed, but fifteen minutes passed and she didn’t come. I realized that although my door was partly open, I couldn’t hear my mother moving around the house. I called for her, but there was no answer. Her bedroom door, which she usually kept closed, was flung open and the light was on. A few of her thin summer cardigans had fallen off their hangers and were lying in a pile at the bottom of the wardrobe. I checked the bathroom and Faisal’s room. I went downstairs, calling for her. Everything looked as it always did, but our car was not parked in front of the house. I checked the kitchen anyway, even opening the back door in case she was hanging laundry. The phone rang and I rushed toward it. “Khali! You won’t believe it. I’m having the best time. Italy is beau—” “Faisal! Hooya isn’t here.” There was a lot of background noise on his end of the line. “Oh, all right. How are you doing?” “I’m good,” I said, exhaling. “But Hooya isn’t here. She’s not home.” “Is she at work?” “No, it’s Sunday. I woke up, and she’s not here.” I couldn’t believe that Faisal didn’t grasp my meaning. I was tempted to admit, she’s run away, but he seemed indifferent. “Okay, I’ll try her mobile phone. But tell her I called. I’ll be coming home soon.” He hung up before I could explain further, let alone say goodbye. I sat down, picking dead skin off my lips with my fingernails, holding the cordless phone in my other hand. I dialed Hooya’s mobile number and it went straight to her voice mail. I tried again every two minutes until it finally began to ring, but there was still no answer. I brought my knees up and wrapped my arms around my legs. Perhaps she had gone to work? Or maybe she had gone to check on Awoowe Rashid? But why did she leave me alone in the house? Why not take me to the neighbour’s or along with her like she always did? Had she finally done it? Had she actually deserted me? I don’t know how long I sat there. I didn’t notice the car pull up or the key turn the lock in the door.
page 63
What We Imagine Knowledge to Be SADIQA DE MEIJER One spring swans come to the downtown river where fishing tackle glints in the willows, beer cans in the bulrushes, needles under wooden tables etched with sharpies and ballpoints and blades— great liquid corner where the waters have one round and sheltered rest before they turn to lake. At sunrise, rowers launch on satin waters where the swans are, paper quarter notes of birds named mute, a bottom-heavy grace that cannot capsize. I am of my time; I have a fractured mind. This park was to be bulldozed for a road, but women from the neighbourhood stopped that. Now there’s a trail for people seeking the river-scoured air in their throats. Geese have grazed and made putrid the grasses. Effluents of former industries are only half asleep under the mud. A swan cannot be made ordinary. Full moons rise over this water at the hour of the leaping fish; they throw an alabaster cone among the molten city lights. The river’s surface is flat or troubled or sprinting. It swallows my feelings fluidly, or lets them drift off as small fires. Molly Brant lived

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BRICK

60

But Hooya looked unconvinced. “No, you don’t. You don’t understand.”

The next morning, I rubbed my eyes and reached for my glasses. I lay in bed, half-expecting Hooya to push open the door and order me to get dressed, but fifteen minutes passed and she didn’t come. I realized that although my door was partly open, I couldn’t hear my mother moving around the house. I called for her, but there was no answer. Her bedroom door, which she usually kept closed, was flung open and the light was on. A few of her thin summer cardigans had fallen off their hangers and were lying in a pile at the bottom of the wardrobe. I checked the bathroom and Faisal’s room. I went downstairs, calling for her. Everything looked as it always did, but our car was not parked in front of the house. I checked the kitchen anyway, even opening the back door in case she was hanging laundry.

The phone rang and I rushed toward it. “Khali! You won’t believe it. I’m having the best time. Italy is beau—”

“Faisal! Hooya isn’t here.” There was a lot of background noise on his end of the line. “Oh, all right. How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” I said, exhaling. “But Hooya isn’t here. She’s not home.”

“Is she at work?” “No, it’s Sunday. I woke up, and she’s not here.” I couldn’t believe that Faisal didn’t grasp my meaning. I was tempted to admit, she’s run away, but he seemed indifferent.

“Okay, I’ll try her mobile phone. But tell her I called. I’ll be coming home soon.”

He hung up before I could explain further, let alone say goodbye. I sat down, picking dead skin off my lips with my fingernails, holding the cordless phone in my other hand. I dialed Hooya’s mobile number and it went straight to her voice mail. I tried again every two minutes until it finally began to ring, but there was still no answer. I brought my knees up and wrapped my arms around my legs. Perhaps she had gone to work? Or maybe she had gone to check on Awoowe Rashid? But why did she leave me alone in the house? Why not take me to the neighbour’s or along with her like she always did? Had she finally done it? Had she actually deserted me?

I don’t know how long I sat there. I didn’t notice the car pull up or the key turn the lock in the door.

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