Samina

by Michele deBes

Samina lay very still, her husbands arm and leg were a hot weight pressing her down, growing more uncomfortable as the minutes passed, but still she didn’t move.

She could lie like that for hours, thinking her dark thoughts.

At last the alarm peeped through the darkness and she began to ease from under him. There was always the gun under his pillow to consider if he woke up too suddenly.

Angry grunts were followed by his arm tightening over her chest.

“Akif, I have to get to the airport.” she cooed, and with those few words she was released and she felt the weight lift as he relaxed back.

She showered quickly but used none of the expensive toiletries lined up on the gleaming marble vanity. She scaped her greying hair into a tight bun as she walked past her wig cabinet and into the walk in wardrobe. Akif had left the bra folded on top of her silk underwear, looking out of place, big and made of cotton. She filled it out comfortably. Running her fingers along the stitching under her breasts, she searched for the small bumps in the lining. She didn’t know what was concealed between the padded layers but she liked to get a feel for where the merchandise was.

The silks and taffetas were pushed aside to where a small collection of old clothes hung. She selected a wide peasant skirt and top, yellowed with age but the embroidery was still bright around hem, neck and cuffs and she dressed quickly. A wool jacket that had belonged to her grandmother, her mothers shoes and scarf completed the outfit.

She stood in front of the wall length mirror. She saw a fat old peasant lady, big breasts preventing the jacket from quite meeting, the traditional scarf with shiny gold discs across her wide honest face. She was out of place here, in the luxurious surroundings, but invisible in the crowded old city outside. She smiled and relaxed into the clothes, let the jacket spread further. This was how she was dressed when she arrived on her husbands door, a pretty peasant girl of fifteen destined for a life of servitude and poverty. She smiled again, how quickly life had changed, but how comfortable these clothes still felt.

The battered black purse was ready on the vanity, she did her usual last check. Old looking passport belonging to her aunty, buried now in some peasant graveyard high in the mountains.

She knew she had achieved that timeless ageless look of the healthy old peasant and could easily pass for much older than her calendar years.

She crept through the bedroom. He didn’t like seeing her like this but he was already snoring and she relaxed. She took her wheelie bag by the bedroom door and quietly left the house by the servants door.

At the airport she reverted to her village dialect, smiled and pushed her papers at the bored attendants till they delivered her on to the plane. She relaxed back in first class, in her comfortable old clothes and dozed in front of a movie for the short flight.

She’d completed this run enough times to see trouble coming when she reached her destination and she was diverted a grey room. The official soon found he could not communicate with the nice, old, garlic smelling woman, and decided it would be easier to apologise and send her on her way. A nice young man noticed her distress as she was struggling with her wheelie bag through the crowds of the airport and helped her to a taxi.

The ride out to the old quarter was long and she had time to calm down from the flush of success at having outwitted the airport security, yet again. She soon began to worry. The last time she had been questioned on that passport, it had taken longer, and they had even brought in an interpreter. Checks were to be expected as she was a frequent flier, but this had gone too smoothly.

She stopped the taxi a few streets away from her destination and let it roar away. It was crowded but the people were moving at a slower pace and she let herself be surrounded and absorbed. There were many dressed as she was and she relaxed and soaked up the familiar atmosphere. The fear drained away as it always did when she was home. Here she wasn’t wearing a disguise. The clothes were from this place and so was she. She let the crowd ease her past her brother in laws place but detected nothing suspicious on the streets. The old family house had suffered the effects of war and time but still looked grand. She approached from the back and saw the usual security guards lounging there in their suits and she decided to go in. The men brightened when they saw her, helping her into the house with her bag and she exchanged pleasantries in their native tongue. She resembled their mothers and aunties, and she bathed in the respect they gave her.

The inner staff were quiet and she let them usher her silently to her room.

This time she bathed slowly, using the fragrant oils and loofahs in the luxurious bathroom, cleansing and reshaping herself with her soapy hands.

Her clothes hung by the mirror, layers of soft silks and cottons in rich dark colours, and she slipped on each layer and admired herself. An application of coal around the eyes, the dark wine scarf, silver discs throwing little lights across her face, and she was transformed.

Majid, the eldest son had inherited the house and had set up his empire here. He was ensconced in its master bedroom and had only added a modern entertainment system to the opulent Turkish splendour.

He was a big man, greying long hair, wearing his traditional cottons and sweeping across the floor towards her on sandalled feet.

“Hello Samina welcome.” He took her into a big gentle hug and they rocked from side to side for a long moment.

He stepped back, smiling down at her, his huge brown eyes full of love and respect.

“You look wonderful.” he said.

He resembled her husband in looks but not in temperament and she smiled up at him.

“And so do you Majid.” she said. “Here, another safe delivery.”

She handed him the cotton bra and he took it in his big hand. He smiled but his look soon turned to concern.

“I was worried about your safety.” he said and he turned and tossed the bra on a chair.

“How worried?” she said as she moved into his arms again.

She knew something was wrong when they were making love and he was talking, as he usually did. It began with starting a new life together, just the two of them. It had never been just the two of them. He was supporting two ex wives, seven children and ran the biggest high class call girl agency in the country. His talk escalated to how many people were interested in teaching his brother a lesson, to, getting his brother out of the picture altogether.

Majid slept with his arms flung out like a child. She lay thinking how soundly these powerful, dangerous men could sleep in her presence and how wide awake she felt. When she moved, his hands fondled her skin gently and helped her disentangle from the sheets. He groaned appreciatively as he lay back, all without waking up. She quickly threw on some layers and took the replacement bra from the ornate dressing table. Back in her room she put on the bra and her old clothes and quietly left the house.

She stood for a moment with the security guards, as she usually did, as they fussed over her. She noticed the man at the end of the street smoking a cigarette. He had looked her way, then turned aside and but she saw his mouth moving.

She faltered and Sajal, a younger man, took her arm.

“Are you alright? Do you wish to go back inside?” he asked, concern showing in his fresh face.

“No, I have to go Sajal, thank you.” she said and gathered up her things, “but maybe you could help me find a taxi.” She had her arm on his and she steered him down the street away from his laughing companions.

She headed away from the watcher too. Surely they wouldn’t grab her with a Majid escort. While Sajal was busy with her wheelie bag, she was conscious that their slow progress was being monitored by other strangers in the street, aware of how they closed in behind them. When a taxi stopped, she pulled Sajal in after her, feigning weakness to get him into the taxi.

She shouted a name of a suburb at the driver. “Hurry we’re late for a wedding. We’ll pay extra.” The driver sped away before the door was properly closed.

At the last minute she couldn’t leave Sajal in that mess. She turned to him and took his hand.

“Something bad is going to happen. I think that was the police back there or someone worse. The brothers are in big shmachma.” she said. She thought Sajal would not believe her but he became panicked quickly.

“I’ve been hearing stuff. Shit.” he said, casting worried glances out the back window.

“You shouldn’t go back right now. It’s not safe.” she said, squeezing his hand to make him pay attention. He turned to her, too proud to ask, brown eyes begging for advice.

“Just go home or visit a friend a long way away for a while, something’s very wrong here.”

He was nodding. “Will you be alright?” he asked.

“I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. You should do the same before you get yourself killed.” she said.

She got money out of her purse and thrust it into his hand as he stared at her.

“Stop right here driver” she called and the taxi screeched to a halt.

“Good luck Sajal. Go driver, get him to the wedding.”

She slammed the door and the taxi sped off again.

Without the wheelie bag she moved quite quickly and she was soon lost in the crowd.

She had her escape plan, she just had to dust it off and remember the details. There was her private account her mother had started for her as a child and which she had been topping up when she could. Her bra contained diamonds. She knew that, thanks to Majid and his bedroom talk, and how much the diamonds were worth, and where they could be sold, and how easy it would be for her to leave her old life behind.

She wandered through the crowd letting it guide her away, and the further she walked the younger she felt.