That was interesting, Kiah thought. The chaperone’s name was Arabic Christian. She said: ‘Are you Christian, Fatima?’
‘Yes, but my employees are a mixture. Are you interested in working for me, Kiah?’
‘I can’t.’ She glanced at Naji, who was in her arms, staring in fascination at Fatima. ‘I couldn’t leave my little boy.’
‘He’s beautiful. What’s his name?’
‘Naji.’
‘He must be what, two years old?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is his father handsome too?’
Salim’s face flashed in Kiah’s memory: the skin darkened by the sun, the black hair wet with spray, the folds around the eyes wrinkled from peering into the water looking for fish. The unexpected reminder filled her with sudden sadness. ‘I’m a widow.’
‘I’m so sorry. Life must be hard.’
‘That’s true.’
‘But you could still be a waitress. Two of my girls have babies.’
Kiah’s heart leaped. ‘But how is that possible?’
‘They spend all day with their children. The restaurant opens in the evening, and then Mrs Amat al-Yasu watches the babies while the mothers are working.’
Kiah was startled. She had been assuming she was not eligible. Now suddenly a new prospect opened up. She felt her heart racing. She was excited but intimidated. In her whole life she had been to the city only a handful of times, and now she was being asked to move there to live. The only restaurants she had ever entered were small cafés like the one in Three Palms, but she had been offered a job in a place that sounded terrifyingly luxurious. Could she make such a huge change? Did she have the nerve?
She said: ‘I need to think about this.’
Noor asked another motherly question. ‘Those girls who have babies – what about their husbands?’
‘One is a widow, like Kiah. The other, I’m sorry to say, was foolish enough to give herself to a man who ran away.’
The mothers understood. They were a conservative group, but they had been flighty girls once.
Fatima said: ‘Think about it, take your time. I have other villages to visit. I’ll pass through here again on my way back. Zariah and Kiah, if you want to work for me, be ready by mid-afternoon.’
‘We have to leave today?’ said Kiah. She had thought she could consider the offer for a week or two, not a few hours.
‘Today,’ Fatima repeated.
Kiah was frightened all over again.
Another girl said: ‘What about the rest of us?’
‘Maybe when you’re older,’ said Fatima.
Kiah knew that in truth the others were not pretty enough.
Fatima turned back to the car and the driver opened the door. Before getting in she dropped the end of her cigarette and trod on it. The whole conversation had been only as long as it took her to smoke it. She sat in the car and leaned out. ‘Make up your minds,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later.’ The driver shut the door.
The villagers watched the car drive away.
Kiah said to Zariah: ‘What do you think? Will you go to N’Djamena with Fatima?’
‘If my mother will let me – yes!’ Zariah’s eyes gleamed with hope and enthusiasm.
Kiah was only four years her senior, but the age difference felt bigger. Kiah had a child to worry about, and she was more aware of hazards.
Then she thought of Hakim, with his dirty T-shirt and his grigri beads. She was now faced with a choice between Fatima and Hakim.
There was really nothing to think about.
Zariah said: ‘What about you, Kiah? Will you go with Fatima this afternoon?’
Kiah hesitated only a moment longer. ‘Yes,’ she said, then she added: ‘Of course.’
*
The restaurant had an English name, Bourbon Street, displayed outside in red neon. Kiah arrived in Fatima’s Mercedes late in the afternoon, along with Zariah and two girls she did not know. They all walked into a lobby with a thick carpet and walls painted the soft colour of white orchids. It was even more luxurious than Kiah had imagined. She found that reassuring.
The girls made sounds of amazement and delight, and Fatima said: ‘Enjoy it. This is the last time you’ll come in through the front door. There’s a staff entrance at the back.’
There were two big men in plain black suits in the lobby, doing nothing, and Kiah guessed they were security guards.
The main room was big. Along one side was a long bar with more bottles than Kiah had ever seen in one place. What could be in them all? There were sixty or more tables. On the side opposite the bar was a stage with red curtains. Kiah had not realized that restaurants might also put on a show. The room was carpeted but for a small circle of wood flooring in front of the stage that Kiah worked out must be for dancing.