A movement caught her eyes. A sniper in a tree. She leapt and struck him down with her lightsabre. It was imperative that she protected the forest and everyone in it. They needed her. And this sniper had been a scout. There would be others following him, the bulk of the enemy force. She must be alert. She was strong now and moving. She could jump up and leap forward, swing the heavy lightsabre this way and that. It thrilled her, this strength. Knowing too that it was temporary, that it went as easily as it came, and she had little control of it. Ever since the dog had knocked her down and the earth had hugged her, she had experienced this duality. It was almost as if she had to be weakened to gain strength, she had to simulate dying to throb full of life. The dark energy was there in the middle of the earth, under the surface, coming from molten rocks, carried in smoke. She who had always been helpless knew it was invaluable. Her life would never be the same again. Today she was Padmé, queen warrior, mother of twins. With the cape around her head and shoulders, the weapon in her hand, she was able to fight.
The forest witnessed a lightsabre dance. Here were her attendants, a female force, the fiercest in the galaxy. Together they practised their moves and she was the leader. They matched her steps and copied her manoeuvres. There was no need for words, her costume spoke for her. The Hoopoe watched and hovered as if he was the director of this scene. Enemies too were part of the drill. They loomed through the trees, monstrous shapes with grunts and clubs, with brutish strength but limited intelligence, masterminded by a force of supreme evil. Iman and her soldiers could defeat them all, one by one. She was not even frightened. In no time at all, she was done, alert and breathing heavily in case there were other challenges yet to come. When she was sure of her victory, she put her lightsabre away.
It was getting late. The sky was pretending to go dark. It would never completely darken, but still, a sunset was a sunset and it was time for Iman to head back to the cottage. Salma and Moni would wonder where she’d been. Ever since the episode with the dog, they had been extra solicitous, or at least Salma had been. All Moni did was stop asking favours or chores from Iman.
She heard them arguing as soon as she walked into the cottage. As soon as Salma saw Iman, she shouted, ‘What happened to your hair?’ As soon as Moni saw Iman she said, ‘Doesn’t Salma’s phone stink?’
Coming in from the fresh air, Iman caught the sour, uric smell. ‘That can’t be coming from her phone!’
‘There,’ said Salma to Moni. ‘This has nothing to do with my phone.’ She turned away, ‘Iman, who cut your hair for you? Is that why you’ve been gone so long?’
Moni did not allow herself to get distracted. ‘If it’s not your phone, then what is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Salma. ‘I can’t smell anything. If you two can smell something, then look for it yourselves. Don’t accuse my phone. Phones are phones. They don’t stink. Besides, it’s practically brand new.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Iman.
Salma handed her the phone. Instead of smelling it, Iman went over to the dressing table, picked up Moni’s Obsession and sprayed it all over the phone’s surface. Picking up a tissue, she wiped away the excess liquid. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘All sorted.’
Moni winced at the use of her perfume as camouflage. Now the bad smell was a mix. Whatever it was, urine or worse, drenched in an overdose of Obsession. From now on Moni would never feel the same again about her favourite scent. She would not be able to smell Obsession without smelling what it had tried valiantly to obscure. The audacity of Iman! She could have at least asked her permission.
Iman was pleased with herself. She had resolved the issue and stopped the other two from arguing. She congratulated herself on not being passive, on doing something for a change. There will be a new Iman when we leave the loch, she mused as she walked upstairs to her room. Someone who is stronger, who knows what she wants. She still had to attain that last bit. To know what she wanted. It used to be a baby, that was all she ever wanted, but she could want other things, even though she was not yet sure what exactly. Choosing had never been easy for her. A skill she had not practised because, in a world of little or no choices, it had not been necessary. No more. She was in Britain now and there were choices. More choices than watching daytime TV or children’s movies. She could do this or that, be this or that. To know, to set herself on the right track, to strive, to achieve. One step at a time.
Salma grabbed her phone and stormed out of the cottage. She almost collided with Mullin who was riding a bicycle. He lost his balance and had to stop. ‘Whore,’ he muttered under his breath. Salma did not stop walking. She could not believe that he had just said that. Impossible. She must have heard wrong. He must have said, ‘Whoa!’ That’s what he said, because she nearly knocked him off his bicycle. She wasn’t looking where she was going. The next conversation with Amir would be laced with Moni’s perfume and, by extension, Moni’s disapproval. She did not need this reminder. She did not need pricks on her conscience. It was not that she didn’t feel any guilt at
