Maps by Nuruddin Farah Read Free Book Online Page A

only Misra was allowed to enter my freehold space, the freehold territory which I had acquired for myself.
    It is true that only Misra had access to the freehold kingdom of which I was the undisputed lord. And since I held Uncle Qorrax, his wives and his children in total awe and at bay, it appeared there were only Misra and Karin whose civilized company I kept. Nor did I like playing with the children of the neighbourhood when I grew up a little bigger, because they remained infantile, fighting over the ownership of toys, dolls and balls. I took pride in my being self-sufficient and came to no grief so long as I knew either Misra or Karin was in my view or earshot. At night, dreams kept me busy; during the day, if Misra was otherwise occupied with one of life’s many chores that needed attending to, I sought the companionship of my imagination. It was only when Misra was short-tempered (this happened when she was in season), or when she beat me because she was short-tempered (because she was in season)—it was only then that I knew I was an only child and an orphan. And Misra couldn’t bear the stare-of-the-orphan. And she would dispatch me off for the day to Karin’s compound — Karin who was, to me, like a grandmother: gentle as one, generous as one.
    III
    I am sure it is appropriate that I address myself to the question: was there ever any time that I remember liking Uncle Qorrax? Was there a period I remember having a soft spot for the man who paid all my expenses, the man who was my father’s brother?
    I was fond of adults” shoes, as many children are, when I was an infant, and I recall the pleasant thought of owning such good and colourfully patterned shoes as Uncle Qorrax crossing my mind. It used to give me immense happiness to touch them whenever I crawled near them. It used to make me sad when I was not allowed to put them in my mouth or lick them. But when the phase of loving adults’ shoes was passed, I ceased going to him or being friendly with him.
    I think that the patterns of his shoes appealed to my sense of the aesthetic, since their designs reminded me of some of the calligraphic images I had seen painted on doors to the palaces my dreams had taken me to but which I had never entered. After all,
The Arabian Nights
were full of such gates with such motifs and such colourful designs. The truth was that I admired them even when I was a little older and loved their bright colours. Although, when he asked me once what my favourite colour was, I surprised him by saying that I preferred earthen to neon — knowing full well what that meant. This decided for him—as a present for the Ciid festivities, he didn’t buy for me a pair of shoes with bright colours and patterns as he had intended—instead, he got me maps. And he called to deliver them in broad daylight. He came dressed as though in mourning. Misra inquired if somebody had died. He was in a foul mood. He said, “Someone will die, somebody will.”
    Misra looked unhappy that day and the following. If only she paid attention to my comments that someone always dies, that someone is born when another dies and that we are affected by death or birth if we know, are close to, or love the persons concerned.
    â€œWhat on earth are you talking about?” she said.
    I said, “Of death.”
    IV
    Death-as-topic-for-discussion was taboo in our house and no one was allowed to speak of it or mention the Archangel’s name in my presence. It was of life we were to talk, the blood and vitality of life that is the essence of one’s being. Even the past, when clothed in garments of death or mourning, was a forbidden subject, for it was feared that this past might eventually lead to the names of my dead parents, to the fact that I knew next to nothing about my mother or my father.
    There were epidemics, there was a drought, and the earth lay lifeless, treeless, dead, growing nothing, causing things to