And Salma. How had she changed? She would not tell them. ‘Speak to us,’ said Moni. ‘Why are you quiet?’ asked Iman.
Salma could not yet translate her hurt into words, it was not only her body he had carved into, taken out her strength, tossed it away in a surgical pail. It was not only that. She moved away from her two friends. She lay back on the grass even though she could now sit and stand up. She could braid Iman’s hair and do push-ups. She rolled to her side and cried because she had not had a good cry for a long time. And they came to her, they did not leave her to cry alone. Iman to comfort her and Moni to say kind words. Salma had always been the strong one, the one whose life was sorted, the one who was envied, who knew what to do and what she wanted – but all that had been fragile.
‘I want to tell you about my mother-in-law,’ she finally said. ‘And don’t expect a mother-in-law joke.’
Moni laughed out loud. Iman smiled. She had met Norma many times. There was nothing remarkable about her, nothing of note. She was, to Iman, another chore that Salma slotted into her busy life.
‘She saved me,’ said Salma, and told them how Norma had carried her out of that clinic, back through time and countries, to the forest, where they were waiting for her.
Iman said. ‘It wasn’t her that saved you but what you did for her over the years.’
‘Nothing special,’ said Salma. ‘Nothing that anyone else wouldn’t have done. If David had married any other woman, she would have treated his mother the same way.’
Moni raised her eyebrows, ‘Given her free massages?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Salma. ‘Not if she wasn’t a therapist.’ And when she said that, she felt a whole sense of satisfaction that she had eased someone’s pain. That she had helped. Why all these years putting herself down, ashamed that she had failed her PLABs, that she was not a doctor as she had always dreamt of being? Hiding her low self-esteem beneath the efficiency, aggressively pushing her children to achieve what she couldn’t, the years she lied to her parents, the low salary she continued to accept just to be able to say, ‘I work at the hospital.’ And when Amir surfaced on social media, all she had been willing to give up because he had addressed her as Doctor. She had been unfair to herself.
They waited for the Hoopoe. They chatted and waited. They sat in silence and waited. Salma grew restless. Perhaps they should set out on their own. They could complete the journey without the Hoopoe, figure out a way, instead of this endless waiting. Moni was thinking ahead to all that needed to be done to get back to the city; this wait was a waste of time. Perhaps, she thought, the role of the Hoopoe was over. To restore their bodies was no mean feat, a miracle in itself. Did they still need him now? Iman listened out for the sound of wings; she scanned the sky. She was sure that it was not yet over. If they set out, they would get lost, they would not return. ‘Wait a little longer,’ she urged her friends. ‘Be patient.’
The sun began to set. Even if the Hoopoe were to show up now, it would be too late. They would not be able to make progress in the dark, they would have to wait for day. They were almost asleep, huddled together under the tree, when the Hoopoe came back. He came to them not as guide but as storyteller. The story he told was for the three of them, not only Iman. It was Attar’s fable, The Conference of the Birds. They had known it – read it, heard it, saw the bird illustrations in a book – but then, over time, forgot.
‘The birds of the world,’ the Hoopoe said, ‘gathered to discuss a prospective journey to find their king. Many found excuses not to set out. The journey was too arduous, they said. We would get lost, they said and stayed behind. The group that flew out did face many perils. They flew over deserts and mountains, for years they travelled and at times it felt as if their whole life would be spent on the route. Some got distracted by the charming scenery, some were eaten by wild animals. Some went mad from hunger and dashed themselves against the rocks. Some were burnt and drowned and molested. Only thirty birds survived to the very end. They reached the majestic court battered and bruised without feathers or strength. Why on earth would His Majesty receive you? the court’s herald said. You are nothing to him. When they begged and cried, they were granted an audience. At long last they were in the presence of their Beloved. What did they see? They saw the whole world and other worlds, myriad suns and stars, lights upon lights. Within this dazzling reflection they saw their greatest shock – they saw themselves. Thirty birds. How could that be? they wondered. It was as if they were looking into a mirror. It took them some time to solve the puzzle. Their existence was within him because nothing existed outside of him. The birds merged with the one they had flown towards, the one who was themselves and everything else. From the lowliness, they rose again so that seeker, destination and the way became one.’
In the morning, the women followed the Hoopoe down the mountain
