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14.
AISHA IGNORED HER MAMA’Srepeated call and sat in the shade of the apple tree and continued to sketch with the small piece of charcoal she’d rescued from the discarded ashes of the previous evening’s fire. She’d kept the image obscure so that anyone looking on might see a scene or an impression of their own making. She’d captured the essence of her feelings for Gabi in long sweeping strokes and the lightest touch separated from the deep-rooted frustration she’d depicted through thick, dark, looming blotches in a cloudlike form. She held it up and studied it, turned it ninety degrees and then another ninety degrees. It needed more work but looking at the long sweeping strokes made her heart flutter.
“Aisha.”
Her mama had puffed herself up with fury and almost filled the doorway. She gestured to Aisha with urgency, though Aisha could see no fire that needed putting out. “I’m coming,” she said though she made no effort to hurry. She tucked the picture under her arm, put the charcoal in her dress pocket, and made her way to the house.
“What is wrong with you? I call you, and there you are lazing like there is no work to be done.” Mama turned and went inside to where Conchita stirred melted wax at the stove. “We have candles to make for the wedding. Conchita needs your help. I have vegetables to pick.”
Aisha sighed as her mother left the house. She watched her hobble across the street and into the field, taking slower and more deliberate steps than Aisha had remembered. At least she was able to walk on this Earth, which was more than Gabi’s mama could. The emptiness that she’d sensed comforting Gabi as Gabi had talked about her mum was still there when she thought about what Gabi had missed out on. Even though her mama’s controlling nature was irritating beyond words, she couldn’t imagine what her life would have been like without her. And she still had faith that her mama might listen to her, under the right circumstances, should Aisha summon the courage to talk to her about the reason she didn’t want to marry a man. But it wasn’t just about her mama, was it? There was her papa too, and the other villagers who would all have something to add to the mix. As Gabi had talked about her dad’s reaction to her kissing a girl, Aisha had known she would never get her papa’s blessing.
She hadn’t wanted to hurry back from the bookshop, but she’d lied to her mama about where she was going and had been worried about being seen and her mama finding out. She shouldn’t have been distant with Gabi because she wanted to talk to her more. But being that close had been awkward, so she’d gone quiet. If only she was brave enough to go for a drink with Gabi without concern for the consequences. She wanted to go. She wanted to be free. She wanted to be like Gabi.
She went to her room, traced the image she’d drawn with tenderness, then tucked it under her bed along with the charcoal. She would finish the sketch in the privacy of the night. It was only a picture, a dream, and she would never let them stop her dreaming. She would try to think of a way to make them listen to her. She had to do something, or she would die.
Conchita stopped stirring the wax and smiled at Aisha as if she’d been waiting for her to return. She looked down at the chain around her own neck.
“What’s that?” Aisha asked, knowing her sister wanted her to.
Conchita touched the chain and started to dance. “It’s an early wedding gift from García. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
She had the dreamy joyful appearance that Aisha associated with being in love, airy and carefree. “Is it not enough that he’s giving you a ring?” Aisha regretted snapping, and when Conchita backed away and tended to the wax, she couldn’t look at her. Her throat became thick and tight, and she pressed her palm to her lips. She wasn’t angry with her sister. She was jealous.
Conchita’s shoulders rose and fell with her sobs as she stirred the wax.
Aisha went to her side and stared at the wall in front of them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She put her arm around Conchita’s shoulder.
Conchita shrugged her off, turned to face her, and glared. Her eyes were wet with tears. “You can’t be happy for me, can you?”
Aisha lowered her head and picked at the surface. “I am, Conchita, I promise. I’m sorry.”
Conchita ladled the wax into twelve small round candle moulds. Her movements were sharp and her hand trembled, spilling the wax across the table. She cursed Aisha.
Aisha took the ladle from her and put it down. She held her in her arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Conchita. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Conchita pulled away. “You always hurt us, Aisha.”
Aisha swallowed hard against the urge to retaliate. It wasn’t her sister’s fault that Aisha lived a hollow shell of an existence, that she wanted to be with a woman not a man, and because of that, she was imprisoned by rules that were slowly strangling the life out of her.
“Why are you always so indifferent? You barely talk to us anymore.”
“I work hard for us all,” Aisha said.
“You work hard, and you’re not here. Your head is always somewhere else, somewhere better. You are one of us, but you are not with us.”
Aisha’s heart thundered, and her throat ached with anger and disappointment. If it wasn’t for the money Aisha earned dancing, they would live in virtual poverty like many others. “You have no idea what goes on in my head or my life.”
“Because you don’t let anyone in, Aisha. How can we know? How can we help you to be happy?”
The thrust of Conchita’s argument threw Aisha backwards a pace. Her little sister wasn’t a child anymore. She was a young woman who could see Aisha’s struggle for happiness and wanted to help. But how could Aisha trust her sister? Even if Conchita took her secret well, which she didn’t think she would, it would put Conchita in a difficult situation within the community. She would have to lie to their mama and papa and to her future husband. She would become a silent part of the closeted life Aisha lived, and that would make Conchita unhappy in the end, as it had Aisha. “You can’t help me. No one can. This is something I have to sort out on my own.”
Conchita wiped her cheeks. Aisha picked up the ladle and continued to make the candles. Conchita left the room.
Mama entered the house and lifted the basket of vegetables onto the table. “Where is your sister?” she asked.
“Taking a rest.” Aisha stared at the pot.
“Good. I need to speak with you.”
