Mama was fitful again tonight. The screaming, oh, the screaming! I laid her head on my lap and hummed her favourite song, ‘La Vie en Rose’, until she was soothed. But I failed to soothe myself. My hands still trembled long after I had settled her back to sleep. I was thankful that Mama did not have the presence of mind to question why my voice was so shaky while I hummed.
It was a long day for Mama at the hospital. Perhaps this was why her dreams terrified her so greatly tonight. She had spent too many hours surrounded by looming death on the oncology ward.
It was a long day for me too. The shift at Black Salt began with a brief but exceptionally loud argument between Gianni and Renee. Renee, who was sitting in the back room watching television as she often does on a Sunday, stormed over to the coffee bar and screamed at Gianni while she waved his phone about in the air. There was a photo message that had just come through on his phone, which he had left in the back room on the table right beside Renee. (If I was Gianni and I did the things that Gianni does, then I would have made certain that my phone did not leave my sight to keep my secrets safe!) The photo that had upset Renee was one that a naked woman took of herself. It was such a clear photo in fact that I could see just how naked this woman was even though I stood some feet away at the counter.
Gianni looked far less shocked and embarrassed than he should have looked, in my opinion, for a person who was sent a naked photo of a woman who was not his girlfriend.
‘Hold your tits,’ Gianni yelled back at Renee, pushing the phone away from his face. ‘I never even asked for that, it’s not my fault she sent it.’
‘How does this skank even have your phone number in the first place?’ Renee shrieked.
The entire café fell silent.
‘It’s on my business card, it’s on the webpage. My number’s everywhere, all right? I’ve got no idea who she is, I swear.’ Gianni threw his hands in the air. ‘Can we do this later, Ren? I don’t have time for this paranoid shit of yours now.’
And even though it was clear to me that Gianni was lying, it was not clear to Renee. She apologised to Gianni and retreated quietly to the back room again. Poor Renee.
The rest of the morning at Black Salt passed uneventfully until a man by the name of Nick Harding came in to order a flat white with one. We had a brief conversation that I enjoyed and, although I found myself attracted to and intrigued by this stranger, it may not have been a particularly eventful thing that we met today had he not come to see me at Masri’s tonight.
He came to Masri’s just to see me!
I was balancing a bowl of hummus in one hand, a bowl of tabbouleh in the other and with a plate of warak enab resting on my forearm, when he walked in with two other men who were almost as tall and as broad as he was.
And there was Ahmo Fariz, madly shaking Nick’s hand while he himself stood there shaking with his whole body. I could not understand why Ahmo Fariz behaved in this most excitable way. He ushered Nick and the other men to table eighteen, right in the centre of the restaurant and he tucked the ‘reserved’ sign from the table into his shirt pocket.
There were many eyes on Nick and his friends, and much whispering and pointing coming from the other patrons, and I thought to myself, either Nick or one of his friends is famous.
‘Anwar!’ Tante Rosa bellowed from the kitchen and I hurried back in there where she had the kobeba and pasticcio ready for table three.
When I walked back out again, I looked to the table where Nick and his friends were seated and he was looking straight back at me. When our eyes met he smiled a very small smile, I think one that was intended just for me to notice and in that moment it was as if I was falling out of a plane without a parachute.
Nick kept his eyes on me, smiling that smile, until I had to look away because it was all just too wonderful. But when I looked back again a few moments later, he was still watching me and still smiling.
I returned to the kitchen where Ahmo Fariz cried at Tante Rosa, ‘Three of them! Three of them here! Here in my restaurant!’
‘Stop acting like a donkey and settle down,’ Tante Rosa sniffed. ‘And speak in Arabic. We are Egyptians. Egyptians speak Arabic.’ It annoyed Tante Rosa greatly when her brother spoke to her in English – she often said that he did this only to show off about how much better at English he was than her. Perhaps if she spoke more English, she too would improve.
Ahmo Fariz ignored her demand and repeated in English while he danced around the kitchen, ‘Here in my restaurant! What a joyous occasion!’
‘You are a fifty-nine-year-old man and look at you, swooning and clutching your heart like a lovesick little girl!’ Tante Rosa gave the back of Ahmo Fariz’s head a loud slap.
‘We’re the Western Rangers. We’ll show you how it’s done. We give every game our all, till the Premiership is won!’ Ahmo Fariz chanted in his deep booming voice that echoed off the kitchen walls as he clapped his hands in front of Tante Rosa’s sour face and swung his hips from side to side.
‘Your uncle has lost his mind,’ Tante Rosa grunted at me. ‘All because there are three stupid footballers sitting out there without a brain between them. The way he is acting, you would think the Queen of Sheba has come visiting to request his hand in marriage for her daughter the princess!’
I finally understood why Ahmo Fariz was jumping around the kitchen on his toes as though the floor was made of hot stones, and why he had given Nick and his friends such a warm greeting, and why the customers at Black Salt this morning and now the patrons here were interested in Nick.
He was an Australian rules football player for the Western Rangers.
Ahmo Fariz was as devoted to the Rangers as any person could be. For six months last year, every weekend he sat on the couch wearing his Rangers scarf and he cheered and hooted and flew into the air shouting, ‘Goal!’ and ‘Ball!’
I myself tried once or twice to watch the football with him but I found it much too confusing. Also I was frustrated by the way the game stopped and started every minute or two. It did not have the flow of real football (which they call soccer here).
I grabbed Ahmo Fariz’s arm. ‘Ahmo Fariz, I met Nick Harding today – he came into Black Salt. I told him I worked here and how great the food was.’
Ahmo Fariz scooped me into his arms with a crushing hug. ‘Nick Harding is the best AFL player of this generation. He is a god, Anna, a god! Harding is Hercules, the golden-haired son of Zeus! And you, habibti, you already know you are the light of my life and now you have brought not only Nick Harding, but Big Bruce Everett and Joel Coombs into my restaurant and their presence has made tonight the greatest night Masri’s has ever seen!
‘More, ya Rosa, ya ghelsa, more than this beggar’s amount on the plate. What are these prison rations you serve? These men are our honoured guests, add at least six more falafel!’
And with that, darling Ahmo Fariz carried three plates overflowing with our best selection of food to the table where I was certain Nick and his friends had not even ordered yet.
The restaurant was so busy that I did not have a chance to speak with Nick all evening. But whenever I stole a glance at him he had his eyes on me. His friends also watched me as I worked.
I found it difficult to concentrate on my duties and three times Tante Rosa reprimanded me for making foolish mistakes. Each time I kissed her cheek, apologised and told her she was too beautiful for one’s eyes to behold. Which might be true if she did something about her bushy moustache.
Never before had so many photographs been taken in Masri’s. Nick and his friends were patient and gracious with all the people seeking photographs and then even more patient when Ahmo Fariz had many, many photographs of himself taken with his special footballer guests.
Although most tables eventually emptied, the table where Nick sat did not. The three of them ordered four rounds of coffee (not Turkish coffees mind, just weak flat whites) one after the other, after the other, until they were the only people left sitting. And still Tante Rosa did not let me near their table. She ordered me to start washing the dishes! I felt like shaking her so hard it would make her teeth rattle.
At eleven-thirty, Nick and his friends finally came up to the counter to pay. But Ahmo Fariz, the generous soul, did not take a single cent from them. Through the gap in the kitchen door I could see Ahmo Fariz bouncing up and down on his toes again.
A warmth spread through my chest when Nick said, ‘Fariz, mate, that was the best meal I can remember in a long, long time. Thank you for your amazing hospitality, we’ll definitely be back.’
‘You must come on a Saturday night!’ Ahmo Fariz exclaimed. ‘That is when Shamia comes, the best belly-dancer in all of Australia. She is from Beirut – where the most beautiful women come from. Very beautiful, very nice hips. And when she dances, ah, her titties, boom, boom, boom – up and down like this. Mwah!’ Ahmo Fariz shook his hands in front of his chest and then bunched his fingers together and kissed his fingertips.
Nick and his friends laughed loudly at this.
‘Could I please have a quick word with Anna, if you don’t mind, Fariz?’ Nick asked Ahmo Fariz when the laughing quietened.
‘Anwar is too busy to come out and waste time with these oversized cretins,’ hollered Tante Rosa in Arabic from the kitchen before Ahmo Fariz could even reply to Nick. ‘She has her hands in the sink! Tell them to leave so you can get in here too and help us with this mountain of dishes. Enough now of your arsekissing!’
‘Come, ya Anna,’ Ahmo Fariz called. ‘I will take your place in the kitchen, come and speak to your friend.’
‘So you are a very famous footballer?’ I approached the counter slowly where Nick stood with his friends behind him.
‘Well, I’m a footballer.’ He nodded, running his fingers through his blond hair which fell in waves that almost touched his shoulders.
‘And I just heard you say you enjoyed the food. I am very pleased. But you did not try our coffee.’ I smiled.
‘No.’ He laughed as he pulled at the rolled-up sleeves of the white shirt that he wore loose over jeans. ‘But maybe I’ll come back another night to try one, hey?’
‘Okay, yes, that is good. I shall look forward to your next visit, Nick.’
The silence that followed tempted me to say I was needed back in the kitchen. But for some reason the words did not come out. I stood, unable to utter a single sound as my brain flooded with thoughts about his lovely hair and his handsome face, his warm smile and his muscly arms, and his big and masculine hands – none of which I could say out loud.
Nick scratched his jawline. ‘If I asked for your phone number again, Anna, would you let me have it now?’
I played with the buttons on the EFTPOS machine and did not answer. Because yes, of course, yes, I wanted very much for him to call me but what would I say if he did call? I did not want to be a mute on the telephone as well as in person.
‘All I want is to get to know you better.’ There was pleading in his voice.
‘Why?’
‘Because I like you.’
‘Nick, you are a famous footballer. And you are charming and handsome. I imagine you would have many women interested in you. So why would you waste your time asking for my telephone number?’
‘You think I’m charming and handsome, do you?’ He tilted his head towards me.
‘You did not answer my question.’ I looked down, feeling myself blush.
‘Are you serious, Anna? I actually have to tell you why I like you?’
I lifted my eyes to meet his. ‘I am interested to know why me, yes.’
‘Um, all right . . . well . . . you seem like a good person with a big heart and I like that. You’re sweet and I can tell that you’re smart. And,’ he paused, ‘and you’re beautiful, of course.’ He inspected his hands while he spoke. ‘I’d like to take you out to get to know you more. What do you think? Would that be okay?’ He asked with an earnest expression.
Tante Rosa, who had followed me out of the kitchen and stood less than three feet away, pretending to count the money in the till, yelled at Nick in English, ‘No! Is no okay. I knows you. You no is Muslim! My eyes sees you with the womens. You is no good match for mine nice virgin Anwar. You no get no number for no telephone. You go to your houses please now and leaves Anwar alone.’
I could have stuck my head in the bread furnace and not been any redder in the face!
Nick’s friends snorted with laughter but Nick kept a serious look on his face. ‘I can assure you that I only have good intentions with Anna, um, Anwar. I would treat her with the greatest respect.’
‘Anwar has honour.’ Rosa crossed her arms across her chest so they sat up almost as high as her face. ‘My eyes sees you in Woman’s Day – you has no honour, no even no clothes!’
Nick lowered his eyes and his jaw muscles contracted. His friends leaned on each other and cried with laughter.
Tante Rosa pointed her finger at them. ‘You and you! You shut up your mouse!’
This made them laugh even harder.
I gave Tante Rosa my back. ‘Nick, I am very flattered you would like to ask for my phone number but I am simply too busy to spend time with you.’
He looked hurt but I continued, ‘For instance, I am working at Black Salt tomorrow morning, and even though my lovely Tante Rosa is generous in giving me the evening off work here at Masri’s, I am still too busy to see you because I will be enjoying a swim in the indoor fifty-metre pool at Challenge Stadium. I will be in lane eight, wearing a red swimsuit between 5.30 and 7 pm. So thank you very much for asking for my phone number, Nick, but I am afraid I must refuse because as you can see I am too busy.’
‘No problems, that’s fair enough.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you all for your hospitality. We had a great night.’ And he turned to leave with his friends.
As he walked away, he winked a wink so discreet, that at first I thought I had imagined it, but then he smiled his slight smile and I knew that I had not.
No sooner had they left the restaurant, than the door was pushed open again and Nick marched purposefully back to the counter.
‘Why coming you again, please? Why?’ Tante Rosa shook her finger at Nick but he did not respond to or even look at her.
Instead, he leaned over the counter and whispered in my ear, ‘Please do me a favour and don’t google me tonight, Anna. See you tomorrow.’
His hot breath on my neck as he spoke sent shivers all the way down to my legs.
As soon as Nick left, Tante Rosa shouted at me that I was a fool if I thought anything would come of this and that he would break my foolish heart the second he tired of me. I ignored her loud pleas to Allah to burn down the house of Nick’s mother’s mother.
‘Let me tell you the three words, Anwar, that will be your fate as surely as the sun will rise in the east in the morning. Three words if you let this sinning man into your heart. Hamel. Weh. Wahida.’ She held up one finger at a time as she enunciated each word. ‘This will be your future, Anwar, hear my words and be warned. Pregnant. And. Alone.’
I did not respond to her as I hummed while I mopped the floor under the bench. I kept my head down because I could not make my smile disappear.
I was even smiling now as I lifted Mama’s head off my thighs and pulled out my journal. Remembering Nick had finally settled down my trembling after Mama’s screaming.
Looking at the journal I had in my hands now, I whispered to Noor’s photo ‘Ya rohi ana. Shufti, ya Noor? Aho! Shufti?’ I hoped she had seen. I hoped she had seen everything that happened. I would never know either way.
I flipped open the journal to where the ribbon was left from last night and started writing on the next fresh page.
Habibti Noor,
Do you remember Mama telling us the story about the day that Tante Rosa invited her back to her home when they were sixteen and that when she met Baba there for the first time, it felt to her as if she had spent her entire life missing him?
I know now what she meant.
The person I have been missing is Nick. Nicholas Harding, but he prefers Nick.
His eyes, Noor, it was his eyes. They held deep-blue oceans of pain in them. He had a happy smile but his eyes were filled with pain. And I recognised that in him, as though I was holding up a mirror to myself.
I have been worrying about why I never once had that yearning feeling in nineteen years. I thought that maybe the tragedy of our family was so great the grief swallowed up the part of me that was capable of such desire. But it was there all along, I had just not met the person to make me feel it yet. Until today.
I am so very grateful for this new distraction that has come into my life. Instead of sitting here as I do every night, consumed with worries about Mama and Ricky, and with sadness at the past, I now have something new and exciting to think about that lightens my heart instead of weighing it down.
I wish you were here so we could sit together and I could tell you every wonderful detail but I know you are here in my heart, my sweet one.
With all my love,
A x
I put the journal away and resisted the urge, with my phone right there within arm’s reach, to search for Nick’s name. For him to have run back into Masri’s the way he did, it meant he must have been terribly worried about what I might find out about him online. I knew these were stories or pictures I did not wish to see. So why go searching for them only to upset myself?
Instead, I reached for my phone and responded to the two emails I found there from the organisation I volunteered with. Then, seeing it was past three in the morning, I lay myself down next to Mama and waited for Noor to come and be with me in my dreams. In my nightmares.