The Sound of Language (19 page)

“You should've slapped him back,” Henrik said as he rolled a joint. “You should've slapped that son of a bitch cop in his face.”

Anders stood uncomfortably. He wanted to be macho, like Karsten and Henrik. He wanted to talk to his parents the way they did. Karsten barely noticed his mother and when she said something to him he told her to shut up. He actually said,
“Hold koeft.”
And the magic of it was, she did.

Henrik's father talked to them about Hitler and how Nazism was rising again. It was time, he would say, for the white people of the world to take back what was theirs. Henrik's mother sat in the kitchen cooking or was cleaning or doing the dishes. She was always doing things around the house.

Their parents were so cool while his had handed him over to the cops.

“What did you do when the cop called you in?” Anders asked Henrik.

“No one called me in,” Henrik said, proudly lighting a joint. “No one calls Henrik in.”

“How about you, Karsten?” Anders asked.

“Not me either,” Karsten said.

“That bastard was lying then,” Anders said bitterly.

“Man, your parents sold you to the devil,” Karsten said, and then took a long drag from Henrik's joint. “They just hung you out to dry.”

Anders plucked the joint from Karsten and took a drag himself. “Son of a bitch, I can't believe this. My parents betrayed me for that brown bitch.”

“That's what they do, this filth that we let come into our country, they turn white man against white man,” Karsten said. “That's how they beat us. We should stand united against them.”

“We should do something,” Anders said.

Karsten nodded. “Yeah, you have any ideas?”

“Does anyone know where that bitch lives?” Anders asked.

Henrik grinned. “No, but we can find out.”

“I read something online that will be just perfect for this,” Anders said.

He walked up to Karsten's computer and pulled up a website. The text was in English but the boys, raised on American movies with Danish subtitles, had no trouble understanding it.

SEVENTEEN
ENTRY FROM ANNA'S DIARY
A Year of Keeping Bees

25 JULY 1980

I love heather honey! It has a unique and strong taste. Every year we rent a summer house for a week and find a nice place laden with heather to leave two of our colonies.

This year we rented a summer house right by the beach. Gunnar and I used to joke that when we made a lot of money from the selling honey we could buy our own summerhouse. Of course, we have always known that you don't keep bees to make money; you keep bees because you love it.

We took our colonies, picnic baskets, and the children to the west coast near a beach where we have been leaving our bees for two bee seasons now.

We place the colonies next to each other in a clearing amid the heather and watch them for a while. Julie reads a book while Lars goes to sleep. The bees buzz around, landing on the heather. For me, these are the perfect moments.

T
o Kabir's chagrin even the weather was good on Saturday. The sun shone brightly, the sky was blue, and there was no wind. It was a beautiful summer day.

Layla was packing for a picnic, food in a wicker basket, tea in a thermos, packets of juice for Shahrukh, and blankets to sit on.

“They probably have something for us to eat,” Kabir grunted when he saw the amount of food Layla was putting inside plastic containers. “And maybe they don't want to eat mutton
biriyani.”

“Then they don't have to,” Layla said.

“Raihana got friendly and look what she got for her troubles,” Kabir said.

Layla sighed. “Go out, do something, clean the car or whatever and stop picking a fight with me. Make sure Shahrukh puts on his new shoes.”

“You want him to wear nice white shoes at the beach? They'll get ruined,” Kabir said.

“I don't care,” Layla said. “They're new and the best he has.”

“I don't know who you're trying to impress,” Kabir muttered as he walked out of the kitchen.

Layla was determined this was going to be a good day. She would make a Danish friend if it killed her. Her Danish was steadily improving. Her pronunciation was often terrible, but she was able to communicate. Her Danish wasn't as good as Kabir's, but it was good enough to apply for a job at the local kindergarten.

If Raihana could even think about starting her own business, Layla could at least make a Danish friend.

It was not an impressive summer house, Kabir said when they got there. Raihana and Layla thought it was very charming with its white fence and blooming flowers. The house was right by the beach and already Brian and Johanna were making a sand castle with a man Raihana had not seen before.

“Those are the kids,” Raihana said. “And that man is probably the son, Lars.”

Lars came up to them as they got out of the car, which Kabir parked behind Gunnar's in the driveway.

“Go’ morgen,”
Lars said.

All three of them said “Good morning,” and Shahrukh openly gazed up at their host.

“Do you want to make a sand castle?” he asked Shahrukh, bending down to the boy's height.

Shahrukh nodded and then looked at Layla for permission.

“He can't speak much,” Layla said, suddenly uneasy. “He's only twenty-three months old.”

“That's okay,” Lars said. “We just want to get him dirty.”

“We have plenty of clothes,” Layla said nervously. She was frantic, unsure about her Danish, anxious that she was sounding like a fool.

Maria came out then with a very tall woman whom Raihana suspected was Gunnar's daughter.

“Hej.”
Maria waved and came toward them. They all shook hands and introductions were made.

“I brought some food,” Layla said.

“Afghan food?” Julie asked. “I love Indian and Pakistani food.”

“Then you'll like Afghan food,” Kabir said.

As they walked inside the house Maria leaned toward Raihana. “She wears a scarf,” she whispered.

“She does,” Raihana said.

“Why does she and not you?”

Raihana was learning that Danes looked at the
hi jab
as a symbol of Islam and of oppression.

“She was raised that way,” Raihana said.

“And you were not?” Maria asked.

“I was too … but I don't like
hi jab.
I am not worried that my you can see my hair,” Raihana said. “Would you like to try a
samboosa?
I made fresh in morning.”

Lars was more comfortable with having Afghans in his company than Maria, and Gunnar was proud of his son's acceptance of Raihana and her family. He was also relieved that they had agreed to visit as he now had a chance to show Kabir that not all Danes were untrustworthy.

They started the day at the porch, drinking coffee and eating cookies, and then went for a stroll down to the beach. Lars and the children started making a sand castle, while the adults got their feet wet in the waters of the North Sea.

“We should drive down to where we left the colonies yesterday,” Gunnar said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Have you seen bee colonies before?” he asked Kabir and Layla. They shook their heads.

“Oh, this is going to be quite an experience for you then,” Gunnar said.

“My father thinks everyone is as obsessed with those bees as he is,” Julie said drily and Kabir smiled for the first time.

Gunnar had to hand it to Maria. She was behaving herself. She had not said one untoward thing, even though he knew she was uneasy about this whole inviting-Afghans-to-the-summer-house nonsense, as she called it. Lars on the other hand didn't care about Shahrukh's skin color or that his parents were immigrants, and neither did his children.

Raihana hung close to the other Afghan woman. What was her name? Layla. If he was honest he would admit that these names were difficult for him. It had taken him awhile to get the hang of Raihana's name, and that boy's … he wasn't even going to try. It started with an
S
, and that was all he remembered.

“Shahrukh,” Lars called out to the Afghan boy as they walked together to the beach. “Look, look, a seagull.”

Kabir immediately sidled up to his son and said something in Dari. It was obvious that the boy responded better to Danish than to Dari. When Julie had mentioned that, Layla had proudly said that it was the
vuggestue
, the day care's influence.

“The day care is almost next door, just a five-minute walk,” Layla said. “And they're so careful about not giving him any pork, but accidents do happen. We don't care so much.”

Her husband didn't seem that complacent. “No, no, they should be more careful, more thoughtful of our culture and traditions. Shahrukh is a Muslim and we don't eat pork.”

Maria didn't agree. “But he lives here now, don't you think he should try to be more Danish?”

“My son isn't Danish, he'll never be Danish, no matter how good his Danish is and how much pork he learns to eat,” Kabir said firmly.

“Your son is being raised here,” Julie said. “Don't you think he's going to be more Danish than Afghan?”

“I don't think Danes will accept him as Danish,” Kabir said softly. “I don't think they ever will.”

“You're right, you're absolutely right. But an old country like Denmark can only change slowly,” Julie said.

“Do you understand what everyone is saying?” Gunnar asked Raihana as they walked toward the bee colonies.

“Not so much at some times. Language school closed, so I not speak in Danish … so I forget, I think,” Raihana said.

Gunnar had heard this from Christina, that her students went home on vacation and it took a few weeks for them to get used to Danish after they were back.

“But you come and take care of the bees and we'll speak in Danish. You won't forget then,” Gunnar said.

“I don't know,” she said in a small voice.

“Those boys will not hurt you,” Gunnar promised.

“I know, I know,” Raihana said, and turned to look at Layla speaking with Julie and Kabir holding his son's hand while Lars held the hands of Brian and Johanna in each of his own.

“Is everything okay?”

Raihana smiled at him uneasily. “I will marry,” she said.

Gunnar was shocked but broke into a polite smile. “Congratulations! Congratulations!”

“Tak,”
Raihana said, blushing.

“Who is your future husband?” Gunnar asked.

“Han header Rafeeq,”
she said. “He works in a factory on Mors.”

“When will you marry?”

“Rafeeq is in Pakistan now, when he come back we know when wedding,” Raihana said. “Layla says September, but he will have to say final when.”

Raihana and Gunnar went to work as they always did. Raihana put on Anna's protective suit, which Gunnar had brought along, this time with no comment from Maria, and helped Gunnar as he sorted through the colonies. For Raihana this was a special moment, when she could show Kabir and Layla what she had learned about bees.

Lars, who found bees truly uninteresting, took the kids to stroll farther down the beach to the water. Kabir didn't like the idea of Shahrukh going away with some strange white man, and he meant to follow, but Layla grasped his hand.

“It's okay, we can see him from here,” she said.

As they moved box after box and added frames, checked on the brood, and stuck in queen bee excluders, Raihana explained to Layla and Kabir what she did.

“This”—Raihana held up the queen bee excluder—“makes sure that the queen bee stays in the bottom box so that we can get honey from the top box.”

“What's wrong with the queen being in the top boxes?” Kabir asked.

“Then there will be brood in the top cells from where we'll get honey and that is not good,” Raihana said. She wasn't sure why that was not good but she was not about to ask Gunnar and taint her know-it-all image. She would ask Gunnar the next time they were alone.

Raihana wished she didn't have to wear the protective suit, so that she could impress Layla and Kabir some more by being as confident as Gunnar, but she wasn't ready. This was her first bee season, maybe after she'd had five or six she'd be that confident.

She offered Layla and Kabir a taste of honey from a honeycomb as Gunnar had done for her. They both said it was the best honey they had tasted.

As all of them walked back to the summer house, Layla hugged Raihana close. “You know so much,” she said. “I can't believe how much you have learned.”

“I do know quite a lot about this, don't I?” she gushed.

“I am glad we came,” Layla said to Raihana, swinging her slippers in one hand. They had all abandoned their shoes and were letting their feet curl into the warm sand. “They're good people,” she added.

“You think Kabir is still angry?” Raihana asked.

“No, he is not. He thinks he should be, so he's pretending,” Layla said.

Next year she would come here with Rafeeq, Raihana decided. Gunnar would invite her again, wouldn't he? And she would bring Rafeeq along.

Kabir had already told Rafeeq about Raihana's decision. September sounded promising to Rafeeq for the wedding. Rafeeq had spoken to Raihana as well. A short conversation in which Rafeeq asked if there was anything she would like and Raihana had asked him to bring back some good tea, which she missed. Raihana had felt an excitement before the call and after she was disappointed because it was a very short conversation.

Raihana wondered what Rafeeq would think of this outing. He worked in a factory with Danes, so obviously he must be comfortable with them. Would they have a nice house? A house of her own, she thought in excitement. She could have a garden and decorate as she wished.

How life had changed. Just a few years ago all she wanted out of life was to live. She and Aamir had lived in a shabby one-room apartment with bullet-ridden walls and sheets of plastic for windows. She was caked with dirt almost all the time, her body smelly, covered with a
burkha
, her belly empty, and her heart constantly drumming with fear.

Now she was eating good food, sitting outside a charming summer house imagining her future. Her past seemed like something on television, not real, someone else's life.

They ate lunch outside. Maria and Layla had spread out blankets on the grass for them. Lars seemed uncomfortable until Kabir picked up a beer from a bucket.

“You drink?” Lars asked surprised.

Kabir nodded. “I also smoke.”

“That's not a good habit,” Lars said.

“I know,” Kabir replied. “But I can't quit.”

“I used to smoke,” Lars told him. “But haven't in ten years, not one cigarette.”

Kabir started asking questions about how much Lars used to smoke, how he quit, and what he thought about those nicotine patches, did they really work?

Layla nudged Raihana. “See, he's already getting friendly,” she whispered.

Maria did not eat any of the Afghan food, nor did Johanna, who made faces at all the dishes. She stuck with Danish rye bread with liverwurst and a cucumber on the side. Brian happily ate the
korma
and
pilau
his aunt fed him. Gunnar ate a little of everything, Raihana noticed. Julie, like her father, tried everything but seemed partial to Danish food.

Lars ignored the Danish food and ate the food Layla had brought. He took two helpings of the
korma
and
pilau
, one helping of the mutton
biriyani
, and two helpings of the rice pudding,
fimi.
Layla was pleased at how much Lars seemed to like Afghan food and dug her elbow into Raihana's waist each time he took another helping.

“Far
says you're getting married,” Julie said to Raihana.

“Yes,” Raihana said.

“Congratulations,” she said and the others joined in.

“She's marrying a very good man,” Kabir said. “He works for a factory on Mors.”

“That's great,” Lars said. “Why didn't you bring him along today?”

“He's in Pakistan on holiday,” Layla said.

“He has family in Pakistan,” Kabir added. “They left Kabul ten years ago.”

“When did you come to Denmark?” Julie asked Kabir.