A Good Land. Nada Jarrar Awar

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ over there.’

      I give Margo the biscuits and begin to collect plastic chairs from around the room and place them around the table.

      ‘Don’t do that yet, sweetheart,’ Margo stops me. ‘Some of the children will be sitting at the table with their wheelchairs so it’s best to wait until they come in to sort it out.’

      I am unable to move.

      ‘Layla? Are you alright?’

      I shake my head and sit down.

      ‘You’re crying.’ Margo lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’

      ‘It’s heartbreaking, Margo,’ I sniff. ‘They’re so small and it’s so difficult for them. How do they cope?’

      Margo reaches into her sleeve for a tissue and hands it to me.

      ‘Come on,’ she says gently. ‘Let’s go back outside. I need a cigarette.’

      We sit on a bench in a corner of the garden. I wait for Margo to say something but she is too busy lighting her cigarette. I take a deep breath and look out at the children. The sun has gone behind a cloud and the playground is now in half-shadow. It suddenly seems as though the children are moving in slow motion, swinging forwards and backwards on the swings, moving up and down through the climbing frame or just sitting in their wheelchairs, waving their arms above their heads. When, moments later, the sun comes out again and casts its rays over us, I realize that rather than awkwardness, it is grace that I have just witnessed.

      ‘I lived in London near a park that had a pond and a wooden bridge that floated above it in a gentle arch,’ Margo interrupts my reverie. ‘I used to go there now and then with a bagful of stale bread and throw it down to the ducks and geese that swam beneath the bridge. It was beautiful there, so green and quiet.’

      She looks at me and grins.

      ‘And although it’s very different here,’ Margo continues, ‘it’s beautiful too, don’t you think?’

      I laugh.

      ‘How is it Margo that you always manage to read my mind?’

      ‘Look at them, Layla. They’re totally absorbed in their playing and are oblivious to anything but the moment they’re living right now.’

      ‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘They can’t help but be beautiful, can they?’

      She draws on her cigarette and blows a thin cloud of smoke in my direction.

      If I had ideas when I first knew Margo that there was anything romantic or exciting about the war she fought in, she soon changed my mind.

      ‘There was urgency, yes, and immediacy, but not pleasure,’ she tells me as we sit on the landing in front of her apartment one evening.

      ‘But you met the love of your life in the Resistance,’ I protest. ‘You and John were so brave.’

      ‘The war only made it more difficult for us, Layla, not easier.’

      ‘Surely, you only started to feel that way much later on, Margo. I can tell from the stories you’ve told me that you knew at the time what you were doing was important.’

      ‘Stories, yes,’ Margo sighs. ‘But it wasn’t long before we stopped thinking of ourselves as heroes, although I didn’t understand why until later.’

      I wait for her to continue.

      ‘I remember once being in Paris while expecting John back from a mission. It was early summer and many people had left the city because of the occupation. The streets, homes and shops seemed completely deserted to me and it was sad too. The truth was, of course, that there were still many Parisians there just getting on with their lives and trying to avoid attention.

      ‘I walked into a café for something to eat and there was a middle-aged woman serving. I noticed after a while that she was the only one working there, so I asked her why that was. She just put a plate of food in front of me and walked away without replying.

      ‘I didn’t stop there, of course. I finished my meal and went up to the counter where she was rinsing out some glasses and asked her why she was running the place on her own.’

      Margo clears her throat and looks out into the distance.

      ‘The woman was clearly very irritated with me but she finally gave me an answer. She said that her husband had been taken away by the Germans and that although her son and his young family had fled, she had refused to go with them.

      ‘But why would you want to stay, I asked her. “I’m waiting it out,” she said. I didn’t understand what she meant. “I’m waiting it out,” she told me again, “because I know it won’t last, war never does, and someone has to be here to put the pieces back together again when it’s all over.”’

      Margo wraps her arms around herself.

      ‘I felt so small. There I was feeling important when I suddenly realized that our fight would be won by people just like her who stubbornly held on to their daily existence and resisted just by insisting on living their lives as they always had.’

      I lean over to take her hand and we continue to gaze up together at the darkened sky.

      ‘I love you, Margo,’ I say.

      I walk through the open front door of Margo’s apartment and find a man in the sitting room. He is grey-haired and pleasant-looking and stands up as soon as I arrive.

      ‘Oh, hello,’ I say, reaching out to shake his hand. ‘I’m Layla. A friend of Margo’s.’

      ‘How do you do?’ he says, with a smile. ‘And I’m Fouad.’

      ‘Layla, sweetheart,’ Margo says, coming in from the kitchen. ‘How nice of you to drop in.’

      I turn to her and smile.

      ‘I won’t keep you, Margo,’ I say. ‘I just thought I’d come by to say hello.’

      ‘Oh, sweetheart, please sit down. I’ve been wanting you to meet Fouad for a while now. He’s a dear friend from years and years ago.’

      Margo has mentioned Fouad to me before. I nod and smile.

      ‘Why don’t I go make some more coffee?’ Margo says as I sit down. ‘I’ll be right back.’

      Fouad and I look closely at one another. I am very curious about anyone from Margo’s past.

      ‘So how long have you known Margo?’ I ask, a little surprised at my own boldness.

      ‘Hm. Would you believe over fifty years?’

      He chuckles at my astonishment and his eyes disappear into his face with his smile.

      ‘We met when I was a student in London right after the war,’ he continues. ‘It doesn’t actually feel like that long ago, but I suppose it is. What about you? How do you know Margo?’

      ‘Oh, СКАЧАТЬ