Cinnamon by Emily Danby Page B

uncle, since her tough old mother, who never took her in her arms, had a unique ability to attract disapproval from everyone around her, and particularly from Hanan, who wished she’d been born a boy. Hanan’s mother went to great lengths to ignore her maternal instincts, believing it would make an exceptional person of her daughter, and allow her to be proud of the way she had raised her. Hanan would be her compensation for not having a son to carry on the family name. Not wishing to spoil her family’s idea of her, Hanan was a calm and obedient child. Her ability to remain pacified accompanied her throughout life and, for a long time, she succeeded in giving her small family the impression that she was at peace. When she started to accompany her cousin to his parties, she would appear constantly startled by what she saw, wary of everything. She tried to avoid attracting the others’ attention, imagining that each of them was ready and waiting to criticise or disparage her. She continued repeating her mother’s words in her head. When her family praised her, looking at her with great affection and boasting secretly amongst themselves of how well-mannered and serene she was, she felt ready to scream so hard that her heart would explode, right in her mother’s face. But she never quite dared.
    Everything in Hanan’s world was unbearably regimented, programmed to move on a straight course without a chance for detour. In her lowest moments, Hanan didn’t dare to scream how she felt before her family; such behaviour was shameful and she would only be forced to apologise later on. Her punishment would be a lengthy ban from sitting with the family. She would be locked in her bedroom with the curtains drawn, whilst the others were banned from spending any significant amount of time talking to her. They would punish her with silence and loneliness and she would feel she was on the cusp of going mad. Hanan would have preferred to be punished like the neighbours’ daughters were – with beatings – but for the al-Hashimi family, such behaviour was uncivilised. Even her cousin would suspend communication with her, following suit with the others.
    After her marriage, the only way Hanan knew how to keep within the limits laid down for her was to become more subservient to others and steer further away from any internal reflection. She never complained of the degradation she suffered while living with her cousin – how at night, she felt as though she were about to suffocate under his weight, until he stood up from her and went to the bathroom. He would come back mumbling lines of the Qur’an, praying to God to bring him a son to be an heir for his family once he was gone. Perhaps if Hanan had paid a little attention to the impulsive, lust-driven movements which sometimes took control of her husband, then she would have found some happiness. But she felt not the slightest bit interested. The thought of him betraying her with another woman gave her none of a wife’s anxiety.
    And he had no need for her worry anyway; he would ask the Lord for forgiveness for his fantasies. Yet God-fearing though he was, Anwar al-Hashimi was not deterred from entering into business deals so great they would transform Hanan’s world completely and leave him feeling disgruntled at having to register his possessions and his money under both of their names. He would watch Hanan with a combination of pleasure and contempt, as though she were still the little girl he had once known, as though she had never grown up.
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    Opening her eyes, Hanan began to caress her middle, just above her barren womb, which had never produced a family heir. Only a few hours earlier, Aliyah’s fingers had roamed that same area, her lips too. As she lay on the bed, Hanan brought back to mind her memories of Aliyah, attempting to understand who the girl was exactly and who she was herself. As the scent of cinnamon wafted