‘All seems pretty normal then.’
‘This is serious,’ Iman said, crossing her arms.
‘Sorry,’ Sofia said. ‘So what’s Omar up to that’s no good?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I knew, would I?’
Sofia wanted to say she hadn’t realised there had been a question again but it was feeling like they were going around in circles.
‘I think Omar’s spreading rumours.’
‘Really,’ Sofia said, pushing the list out of the way so she could sit on the side of Iman’s desk. ‘What sort of rumours?’
‘About someone’s friend being in danger.’
‘Whose friend?’
‘No one knows,’ she said, throwing her hands in the air. ‘That’s the point. That’s why I asked you if you were in danger. Why won’t anyone tell me anything?’
Sofia was sure this was just the usual rumour mill in a square that really was a little too insular, causing gossip to abound. ‘Do we have any more evidence that everyone is sick and strange other than Ahmad going to mosque, and Hadi being generous, and Omar up to no good and spreading rumours, and Mustafa worrying about Babur because he’s acting strange, and Behnaz being rude, and my schedule being reasonably full and me being in some unspecified danger?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ Iman said, pointing to Sofia’s list of appointments, as if this was all the confirmation Sofia might need.
Sofia picked up the list to examine it but was unable to identify whatever evidence Iman could see lurking there. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
Iman began sawing away at her nails again.
If she didn’t stop soon, Sofia thought with amusement, she’d have no nails left. She decided Khalif must have done something to put Iman in a bad mood again, thankful that she was not Iman’s age. The way things were going between Iman and Khalif lately, she didn’t give the relationship much of a chance.
Iman looked up from her nails, pointing the file at her again. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
‘Like what?’ Sofia said, trying very hard not to let Iman see her amusement as she got up off the desk.
‘Like you’re about to ask me if Khalif and I had a fight.’
‘Did you and Khalif have a fight?’
‘Nooooo.’ Iman stared Sofia down.
‘Fine.’ Sofia decided for her own sanity it was time to make a tactical retreat and headed for Jabril’s surgery. She needed to know if he’d heard anything new.
‘Dr Jabril’s not in yet,’ said Iman, not looking up from filing her nails.
‘Right.’ Sofia did a U-turn, retreating into her own surgery only to realise that Iman had got up from her desk and followed her in.
‘Have you ever thought about dreams, Dr Sofia?’ she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
‘Can’t say I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about dreams.’ Sitting down, Sofia unpacked her laptop, plugged it in and turned it on.
‘The ones you remember, they’re weird, right?’
Sofia stopped to consider this. ‘I suppose so.’ She typed in her password.
‘Have you ever thought about all the hours we spend in those weird invented universes?’
‘Not really,’ she said, watching Iman now.
‘Well, think about it. What do you think that says about human beings?’
‘I’ve no idea. What do you think it says?’
‘Well, it explains why people are weird. If we spend most of our lives in these crazy, weird dream places then anything that’s crazy in our normal life mightn’t seem so crazy after all, right?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I’m right, you know.’
‘I didn’t say you weren’t.’
As Iman walked back to her desk Sofia called out. ‘Do you think that’s why the square is so weird at the moment? Do you think everyone’s dreaming too much?’
Iman poked her head back around the door. ‘Now you’re just being silly.’
As she got ready for her first patient, Sofia was smiling. Maybe Iman should add herself to the list of people in the square acting strange.
* * *
SOFIA’S FIRST PATIENT of the day was Fawzia. At seventeen years old she was newly married to a man she met the week before her wedding. She was curious to know how this arranged marriage was faring. After the initial greeting Fawzia seemed reluctant to talk, taking an inordinate amount of time taking off her chador before laying it neatly across her lap. She then put her handbag down on the floor, only to pick it up again and rest it on her lap over the chador. When her hands were no longer busy she folded them chastely over the handbag and looked up at Sofia before turning her head to look out the window.
‘How have you been, Fawzia?’
She looked back to Sofia. ‘Very well, thank you, Dr Sofia.’
‘Good.’ Whatever Fawzia wanted to talk about was obviously difficult for her. This was going to take some time. Their conversation began with Fawzia’s recent wedding before moving on to her new life with her in-laws until Fawzia looked down at the floor and grew silent.
‘I have impure thoughts about my husband, Dr Sofia.’
This was a first for Sofia. Was she talking of impure thoughts about sex, or impure thoughts like the ones Behnaz had about killing Chief Wasim?
‘Does it give you pleasure to think about him?’
‘Yes.’ Fawzia looked up, blushing a bright crimson before looking back down again.
Sofia thought she understood. Too many women were married in ignorance of the sex act, other than the fact that they must submit to their husband. They had no idea that they too might find it pleasurable.
‘Is your husband kind to you, Fawzia?’ The young woman nodded. ‘And you think about the times he is with you … in private … with pleasure?’ Fawzia turned crimson and nodded again. Good for you, Sofia thought. ‘What you’re feeling is normal.’
Fawzia looked eager to hear more. ‘You know these thoughts, Dr Sofia?’
‘I’ve had these feelings too. They’re normal.’
‘But you’re not married.’
Here we go again, she thought. Being an untrained, inadequate sex therapist in a devout Muslim country was as dangerous as moving blindfold through a minefield. Never quite sure how
