It didn’t take long for the hubbub to die down. Some of the girls gathered in groups in order to exchange the latest gossip. Some said that Fariida had been pregnant and had aborted the baby; some insisted the tale was as tall as the mountain the young woman was credited to have climbed.
Then Nasiiba re-appeared and brought Fariida to meet her mother, who chose to stay in the water, at the edge of the pool. It was disconcerting to pretend that she had seen her recently. So they chatted, feeling awkward. For the first few minutes of their conversation, Duniya avoided looking Fariida in the face. Displaying signs of discomfort, the younger woman crouched by the pool, and Duniya dared not leave the water for fear that she would develop cold feet and abandon the idea of learning to swim. In the meantime, her costume tightened round her body like a boa constrictor.
It was then that Nasiiba, adept at organizing other people’s lives, suggested, “Why don’t you join us later? Fariida and I will lie by the pool. You do what you’ve got to do, and we’ll do what we must.” To Marilyn, Nasiiba said, “Please go on teaching Mummy to swim.” Watching Fariida shuffle away, Duniya thought that she had lost weight, but not her long-limbed charm. She had lovely eyes, was taller than Miski and a great deal handsomer. She was several months older than the twins. Fariida had on a baggy frock, perhaps one she had worn when pregnant with the foundling.
Duniya now saw the water she stood in as that of afterbirth and innocence. She recalled Nasiiba purporting that Duniya did not know her children well, or what they were up to. Meeting Fariida was an eye-opener for her, an encounter worth remembering.
Now that Fariida and Nasiiba had receded into the darkening backdrop, Marilyn’s anxious voice was saying, “If you’ll relax and follow my instructions, Duniya …”
“I sink like an anchor whenever I lift my feet off the floor of the pool,” Duniya said.
“Don’t think about it.” Marilyn was getting into her stride, as if she had gained courage from the contact with Fariida and Nasiiba. “That’s the first thing about swimming. Let your body take care of itself, let it float when it will, let it drop anchor if it wants to.”
Duniya nodded her head, like a child who has been convinced that a measles injection will not hurt. It might have been the younger woman’s tone of voice that finally did the trick, but Duniya felt hypnotized. Smiling sweetly and not thinking, she put her full trust in Marilyn.
“Now!” said Marilyn, meaning start. She placed her open palm, wide as a pitta bread, under Duniya’s body, lifting it up, like an acrobatic skater on a rink vibrant with enthusiastic applause. “That’s superb,” she encouraged. “Good, very good!”
There was silence, and Duniya thought everyone was watching her.
“This is a success story,” Marilyn was saying.
And Duniya was thinking, I am the story, I am success.
Duniya hated failure. She didn’t want to cause Marilyn or Nasiiba any embarrassment. Finally, her body found its balance, and her feet made the right noises, her arms splashing in and out of the water. Under Marilyn’s supervision she swam back and forth, becoming more and more confident, and urged on by the success story her body was telling.
Then Marilyn sensed a tremor of worry in Duniya’s body. It was like a traveller coming upon a sudden bend in a road, a turning not signposted. Marilyn placed her outspread palm further up, closer to Duniya’s chest. A little later, Duniya’s body regained its lost balance. She told herself that to the one who had reached the summit of Everest, no mountain was high enough. She thought of herself as the axis around which the whole universe rotated, which was why she couldn’t afford to go down, sink or abandon ship. She was glad Marilyn had corrected the small error in good time, and with tact. Then they swam together back and forth, staying out of the way of the other swimmers. Suddenly Marilyn’s guiding hand vanished like a magician’s handkerchief and Duniya splashed with total abandon. Standing on the tip of her toes, she said, once she caught her breath, “That was something, wasn’t it, Marilyn?”
Marilyn made the immodest claim that she had taught Nasiiba and Fariida to swim.
Duniya did not speak her thoughts.
“Where are they?” Marilyn wondered. Then she pointed, “There.”
Following where Marilyn’s finger pointed, Duniya saw Fariida and Nasiiba lying side by side on the far edge of the pool. Seeing Fariida made Duniya eager to know what the young thing had been through. But would Fariida talk, would she tell her everything? “Can you find your way to them?” asked Marilyn. “Because I’d like to swim a little.” And without further ado, she swam away.
Duniya was wary of stepping out, seized by paranoid speculation that everyone would be staring at her as she walked towards Nasiiba and Fariida. She had just looked in the girls’ direction, wanting to gauge the distance separating them, when she noticed that Nasiiba was smoking a cigarette. This shocked Duniya. But why?
This self-questioning had a positive effect on her own behaviour, suddenly making her feel indifferent, impervious to everything. She no longer cared who saw her over-exposed body. She stepped out of the pool and walked purposefully towards Nasiiba, whose cigarette became the beacon on which to concentrate. No sense of chill ran through any part of her as she walked up the stone steps and out of the pool; and she didn’t swallow back nausea, as she had feared. Duniya reminded herself that theirs was a household where there was a semblance of individual freedom and problem-sharing, where there was no male authority: weren’t freedoms like these to be taken? Mataan had his Waris, Nasiiba her smoking.
When she joined them, Nasiiba said, “Sit or lie down, as you like.” Fariida grinned at Duniya welcomingly.
Shocks come and go, like layers of skin peeling. Duniya could now look at Nasiiba smoking, without the accompanying feeling of violated emotion, pretending not to be bothered by it.
From her vantage point, towering above the two prostrate figures, she decided that Fariida’s choice of colours shared a faint resemblance with salad rinsed in fresh water. She lay down beside them on a towel, facing them both. Duniya said, “What should I say to you, Fariida? Welcome back? I’m glad you’re alive? Or why didn’t you let me know right from the beginning?”
Fariida’s prominent jaws moved, opening wider as she offered Duniya her profile. She looked at Nasiiba, as if for guidance, then said, “We would be telling a different story if I had spoken to you that morning, wouldn’t we?”
“We would indeed,” Duniya agreed.
Nasiiba got up. “I’ll let the two of you talk,” she said, and without waiting for their reaction, moved away, at a fast trot, until she reached the springboard, from which she dived into the pool.
“Where were you all this time?” Duniya asked Fariida.
“I had a small room in the Buur Karoole district,” Fariida said, “less than two kilometres from your place. Nasiiba would cut classes to come and see me. For a long time no one knew where I was, no one, that is, except Nasiiba. It was a healthy pregnancy, physically, and being an athlete helped a great deal. I had no need to consult a doctor. To have blood, urine and similar tests or my temperature taken I contacted a friend via Nasiiba. That morning, however, I was feeling a bit down and had confused the dates and Nasiiba had not come to me.”
“What did you do the morning I caught a glimpse of you?”
“You called and called and caused me worry. So I went off in a waiting taxi, back to where I was staying.”