The plans he had made for a new life on his return were on hold. The dashed expectations, the betrayal, the loss, the ever-increasing debt weighed upon him. The spark that was Sadiq was in danger of being extinguished.
He was broke and had borrowed money from friends for two years. He had sent a text to a couple of them when he was in Hargeisa saying he had been admitted to a hospital and needed treatment. One of them had sent him a small sum. The money had dwindled away, new clothes for the boys, food for Eid, money for school, gas, and the upkeep of the car. He owed Osman money for the last, unsuccessful rescue attempt. Expenses had accrued despite the negative outcome.
“Come to Hatay!” Osman told him. “There’s a market for everything!” He suggested a range of ways for Sadiq to make money, and listed Sadiq’s advantages; he had a European passport, contacts in Somaliland, and access to Osman’s network in Syria.
In Hatay, he would be closer to the girls. He would be just around the corner if they wished to get out. He could meet them at the border, in Atmeh, or he could go to Raqqa. Bring them home or die trying.
One day Osman called him and proposed a deal. He had contacts in Syria who had gotten hold of an extremely rare and valuable substance: red mercury. It could fetch a sky-high price. The profit would be huge. Supposedly, the stuff had almost magical properties and could be used in the manufacture of dirty bombs and suitcase nuclear devices. But it was also dangerous, he warned: It was forbidden everywhere and had to be smuggled; dealers and distributors operated in the shadows.
Sadiq weighed his options. Should he seize the opportunity to do business in Hatay, or struggle to get his old life in Norway back in order?
He had only bad memories of that town, and what Osman was suggesting involved great risk. Besides, he had taken his first step toward securing a steady income. He had signed up for a taxi driver’s course.
“That’s wonderful!” the caseworker in Bærum county had said. “Really great that you’re taking the initiative to find work.”
The course was starting the Monday after next and would last three weeks. This time he would take the taxi license test, he wanted a job, yes, he wanted two jobs, three jobs, he was going to apply for a train conductor course, or be a tram driver, earn money and pay back all that he had borrowed. He couldn’t let everything continue collapsing around him any longer. No, he had to tell Osman that he would not travel to Hatay. Not now, not ever.
NAV in Bærum had extended his job seeker’s allowance after all, and he would still receive housing support, even though the children no longer lived with him. Social services was aware of the difficulty of his situation. He did not think it unreasonable to have to move, since he no longer needed accommodation for seven people. After Ismael moved out to study nanotechnology, he no longer had children at home. He was single. Damn it, what was he sitting at home for? It was Friday night. No one to look after, no one to support. He called a friend.
* * *
Sara lay in the large double bed with just a sheet over her. The August heat was sticky, the air heavy. There was not a breath of wind.
The house was finally quiet. One by one they had all fallen asleep. The children. Her sisters. Their husbands. Now it was Sara’s turn.
The telephone rang. Sadiq. He was the only one who called at this hour. He knew the house was quiet and he could have Sara to himself. She pressed Accept.
“Mom…”
“Ayan?!…”
Sara pressed the telephone against her ear. She had not heard her elder daughter’s voice since winter.
“Mom…” Ayan repeated, her voice was weak.
“Ayan, my girl!”
“I’ve given birth to a daughter…”
“God be praised!”
“She’s beautiful. She was delivered here at home. It took soooo long, and was so painful, I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Ayan, dear…”
“I’m very tired … I need to go, just wanted to let you know: She’s fine, healthy.”
Sara rang Sadiq. The call went straight to voice mail. At the tone, she couldn’t gather her thoughts to say anything. She rang a second time and left a message but was cut off before finishing because her credit ran out.
Sadiq was sitting on the metro into Oslo. The city was bathed in a sudden late-summer warmth. It was still light and the air was sultry as he exited the train.
The battery on his mobile phone was empty, so the news of a new life did not reach him while he was in the downtown bars.
Not until the following day, when he got home and charged his phone, did he receive the message. Another granddaughter.
Named Sara.
* * *
A storm was brewing. Sudden gusts of wind caused branches to break and fall to the ground, the last of the petals were blown from the stalks, summer was over. Water streamed down the hillside, raindrops beat upon the decking outside the living room where Sadiq sat alone. All day. All afternoon. All evening. Then the night began. He sat awake through it, smoking, with a glass in his hand. He thought about Sara, about little Sara, and about the two girls who had betrayed him.
I cannot take any more of this, he thought. Waiting for texts. The disappointment of failed rescue attempts. I want my normal life back, my normal, boring life. I want my wife on the sofa, Ismael at a party, and the girls at the mosque. I want to take the boys to the pool, without having anything on my mind except that we are going swimming. Then we can all meet here in the apartment, eat dinner, and talk. Like we used to do.
He was hardly out
