To maintain balance, Moni had to sit alone on one side. She watched the green banks drift past. She was searching for him. The little boy who had played ball with her, the one she gave the cupcakes to. He was the real meaning of this place. Every minute with him counted. She smiled when she thought of him, when she remembered the things she said to him. He never spoke, only smiled and nodded, his face animated, his eyes understanding. It was all her monologue and she liked how she spoke to him, how she found things to say. She liked how she sounded, too, kind and entertaining, pointing out things, explaining, making connections. Next time she met him, she would tell him about this boat ride. She must make a conscious effort to remember what she was seeing, to enumerate the details, not everything – that would be boring – but only the things that would interest a little boy, like the ducks swimming alongside the boat. Maybe she could take him out on the boat. Maybe she could row like Salma. It was certainly something to aspire to.
Iman looked down at the water. There was so much in there. Pebbles and creatures that could sing. Fish that knew her. Plants that were stretching up to the light. She breathed in the smell of the water and saw the shadow of wings, the Hoopoe following her, his crown reflected in the water, his black and white feathers a shimmer. She pointed him out to Salma. Salma said that he was one of the animals of Paradise, one of the animals mentioned in the Qur’an. ‘He was King Solomon’s special messenger, carrying important royal letters in his beak.’
Iman started to say, ‘My Hoopoe is modern and I’m not afraid to tease him,’ but then she stopped. Moni was waving to someone on the bank. Iman turned to see a boy picking up a ball that had rolled away from him towards the water.
‘He looks like Adam,’ said Iman.
Moni’s skin prickled. Typical of Iman: blunt and casual. But all the more reason to trust in her sincerity. Moni felt that she had been given a gift. The last of her negative feelings towards Iman evaporated. Iman would not make this up. It must be true. He did look like Adam. Past the disability, there was a resemblance, and yet most people couldn’t see past the disability. It was too big, too glaring. And here was Iman, in her usual deadpan voice, matter-of-fact, just like that. Delight and greed made Moni turn to Salma. Made her ask, ‘What do you think, Salma? Does he look like Adam?’ She wanted Salma’s endorsement too, to seal the likeness, to make it official. But Salma had not seen the little boy and now it was too late, he had already stepped back from the shore, out of sight, and their boat trailed on.
Never mind, thought Moni. Another time, another day. One could not be disagreeable within this tranquillity. She brushed away at the wasps that circled Iman’s head but didn’t circle hers.
Iman dangled her arm outside the boat. Her fingers caressed the water. Such a busy world down there. She hummed a song for the dolphins, but if they came too close it would alarm Salma, so she sang softly instead.
Salma could row without getting tired. She was stronger today than yesterday. She turned her head and glimpsed the blur of red. There he was, jogging through the trees, alongside the bank, but she could row faster than he could jog.
Iman caught a glimpse of the man in the red T-shirt. Mindful of what she was and wasn’t wearing, she hid herself behind Moni.
‘We will soon lose him,’ Salma said. ‘He won’t catch up with us.’
By the time Moni turned, the jogger was already far behind. She didn’t even see the colour of his clothes.
Are you running after me because I ran after you the other day? You will catch me only when I want to be caught, that is, if I want to be caught. I can run as fast as you can run. I am lighter than you, stronger each day, leaner and quicker.
Later, Salma posted a selfie of them at the boat on the group page, the serene water around them, the purple mountains behind. Not all the comments were the mix of envy and approval she was seeking. The queries, ‘What happened? You couldn’t get to the grave?’ required explanation.
At night when the Hoopoe flew into Iman’s room for the second time, she was not surprised. He told her a story about water. His stories made her not think about Ibrahim, not hurt and rage. Water, the Hoopoe said, is the essence of everything. We would not be here without it. He told her about the water djinn who could swim faster than a sailfish. Because they leapt out of the water, they covered more distance. The world of the oceans, the Hoopoe said, is a secret. People think they know, but what they know is only a little of the whole. It’s incomplete. That’s why the unexpected keeps on happening; that’s why so much is out of control. People believe they have tamed the wilderness, mapped the stars, charted every inch of every continent. But there are still surprises out there. To leap up and slap them on the face. To humble them occasionally. Just because they think they know best.
But Iman didn’t know best. Iman knew that she didn’t know. And that was an endearing quality, she had been told. The
