They lingered and counted seven directions that they could take. North, south-east, over that hill, back towards the river. They could go straight, or they could go west, or they could head down to the beach.
Iman looked at Salma for guidance. Moni said, ‘Salma, you decide.’
But Salma could not guide them any more. She had brought them this far and now she was stumped. There was nothing she could add, no insight, no ideas. After saying, ‘We used to pray,’ she had run out of knowledge, she had reached the end of her usefulness. They were stuck. Time passed. A whole day passed. Perhaps Iman would sniff out a new trail. Perhaps it was Moni’s turn to take the lead. They waited for guidance, their urgency gone, the impetus disrupted.
Iman was the first to see the Hoopoe. He hovered over them and he was not the cute bird who had perched on her windowsill telling stories. Not any more. His wings were powerful, his crown iridescent, his plumage lustrous. He was now the mightiest of the birds, and if they accepted, he would be their guide. If they said yes, he would show them the way.
Chapter Sixteen
‘In every journey,’ said the Hoopoe, ‘there comes a point, around three quarters of the way through, when the traveller, without a guide, can go no further. But not everyone finds a guide. Not everyone accepts a guide. Not everyone is convinced. Many would rather keep fumbling on their own, trying and trying again. They would rather risk not completing the journey, they would rather risk getting lost or content themselves with the advance already made, than follow in trust.’
So, it was up to Iman, Moni and Salma to decide. Would they follow the Hoopoe, or would they continue on their own? Would they make this spot their new home and go no further or would they try to return?
The Hoopoe circled them, and they watched the black and white stripes of his wings, the way the sun touched his crown. Then he flew a little bit further away and perched on the branch of an aspen. The three friends were left to confer. Iman did not hesitate. She had known him the longest and now it made sense that he was the one who could lead the way to salvation. Moni weighed the pros and cons and decided she had less to lose and more to gain. Salma was the one who struggled. She had left her country and followed David, she had run after Amir’s red T-shirt, she was tired and bitter. But she would not remain alone without her sisters. If they were going with the Hoopoe, she would go with them too. After all, she could not go far on her own.
Iman moved closer to the Hoopoe.
‘I accept you as my guide,’ Moni said.
‘I will go with you,’ Salma said. ‘Show us the way.’
He flew, and they followed. They moved as before, with Moni and Iman on either side of Salma, dragging her on the ground. A few feet. They had barely made progress when there was a change. Unexpected, because it came early, because it happened unannounced, without ritual or preparation. But it was the transformation they had all longed for, their burdens slipping away. Iman became human again. Moni unfurled and straightened. Strength coursed through Salma’s body.
They laughed and hugged each other. It seemed like an eternity since they had last heard Iman speak, seen Moni standing up, felt Salma’s firm embrace. For a long time they celebrated, touching their own faces and bodies in wonder. Moni raised both arms up in the air, Salma lifted Iman – she could do that – and Iman started to sing the loudest she had ever sung. Salma did jumping jacks, Moni clapped her hands, Iman combed her fingers through her beautiful hair. All three knelt and touched their foreheads to the ground, in gratitude.
They forgot about the Hoopoe and they forgot how urgently they had wanted to return.
When Iman noticed he had gone, she reassured the other two that he would come back. ‘We must wait,’ she said.
‘Can’t you call him?’ said Moni.
‘No,’ said Iman. ‘He will come on his own.’ She told them all the stories the Hoopoe had told her. She told them the one about the bear who killed its master by mistake, the sad tale of the selkie, the story of the young camel and that of the frozen snake. She told them the story about Nathan, who long ago lived at the loch, of the sin he committed and how he tied himself up with chains and threw the key in the river. How he travelled to Jerusalem and how one day he cut open a fish and found the key to his freedom.
Moni and Salma listened to her for hours, captivated by her voice and the tales she was spinning. ‘Iman, you are no longer shy,’ said Salma. The petulance was gone and the studied boredom. The revulsion against being cast as feminine, or even human, all melted away. Iman had grown up. She wore maturity like a cape and it was the best piece of clothing she had ever put on.
‘I love life,’ said Moni. And the other two laughed. This did not sound like the Moni they knew. But here she was, cross-legged on the grass, a flower in her hand. She was beginning to look around her, to see all that was beautiful and fascinating. To step away from herself and her problems. To be more than a mother of a disabled child, more than a full-time carer. It should not be a burden looking after Adam, a sacrifice to be self-righteous about, it should be carried with firmness and ease. With gratitude too, because he was special in his own way, unique. If she let her guard down, she
