Season of Crimson Blossoms Read Online Free Page B

the nightstand and went out to inspect the commotion in the living room.
    Hadiza and Fa’iza were contemplating where best to place the framed painting of a waterfall ornamented with red blossoms that had been on the adjacent wall. Fa’iza held up the frame, while Hadiza, having made up her mind, hammered a nail into the tan-coloured wall.
    Ummi stood beside Hadiza with a cardboard box of nails in her hand and a hopeful look in her eyes. ‘Aunty Hadiza, will you bring back our decoder?’
    Hadiza, biting down her lower lip, continued to hammer in the nail. Ummi repeated her question and, when nobody said anything, she shook the box of nails. ‘It’s Saturday. I want to watch Cartoon Network.’
    Binta stood by the door and observed the transformation of her living room. She thought of it as a minor calamity of sorts. Chairs had been rearranged, the TV stand had been snuggled into a corner and the cornflower-blue vase that had been by its side was now atop the TV. The sewing machine had been moved up against the wall in the dining alcove.
    Her greeting, when it eventually came, was mumbled. ‘ Sannun ku da aiki .’
    They turned to her.
    Hadiza contemplated her mother with a scrutiny that bothered the older woman. ‘Hajiya, lafiya ko ?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m fine. Why?’
    â€˜You just look … strange, that’s all. Anyway, I didn’t want towake you. But now that you are awake, I’m going to rearrange your bedroom as soon as I’m through here.’
    â€˜No!’ Binta had not meant to snap. What on earth was wrong with her? She took a deep breath and added in a much softer tone, ‘No rearrangements, please. Just cleaning will do, thank you.’
    Realising she was being grouchy, Binta sighed. The images she had woken up with had excited and vexed her more than she would admit. And to think that this moistening of her long-abandoned womanhood had apparently been provoked by someone who reminded her of Yaro was an added irritation.
    Hadiza stood, hammer in hand. Ummi picked up a crooked nail from the box and stuck it in her mouth.
    Binta made an impatient gesture with her hand. ‘Fa’iza, get me some water. I need to bathe.’
    â€˜Me? Hot water?’
    â€˜Yes, you, God damn it!’
    The nail in Ummi’s mouth fell on the tiles and clicked-clicked several times, rattling the sudden silence. Binta turned and went back to her bedroom.
    Before Hadiza and the girls could recover from the eruption of Binta’s temper, there was a sound at the gate, succeeded by urgent footsteps crossing the yard. A woman salaamed at the front door and admitted herself.
    Fa’iza beamed. ‘Good morning, Kandiya.’
    â€˜Where’s Hajiya?’ The woman’s puffy cheeks quivered. The edge of the khaki green hijab encircling her face was damp with perspiration. It formed a jagged-edged halo around her pudgy face.
    Hadiza considered her with interest. ‘Is there a problem?’
    Kandiya ranted about how Hajiya had promised to have her dress ready four days before and how nothing had been done about it. She breezed across the room and picked up the dress on the sewing machine. She held up an unattached sleeve between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand.
    â€˜My dress has remained in this state for four days and I’ve paid her in full. I’m supposed to be at a wedding right now wearing it. And because she couldn’t fulfil her promise, she has been avoiding me.’ She observed the dress with considerable disdain and hissed.‘ Iskanci .’ She let the dress, and the unattached sleeve, fall to the ground. Then she stomped out, brushing Fa’iza aside as she went.
    When Hadiza went to ask her mother about Kandiya’s dress, she met her huddled on the edge of the bed, her hijab gathered around her, her eyes, before she turned them away to the wall, dark and unfocused.

    By the time her son Munkaila