about being in this man's garage, in his house, in his presence when he would barely acknowledge her. The house was horribly untidy and filthy in many places. She wasn't supposed to go inside the house. She was supposed to stay in the garage or go to the beehives in the backyard, but she got tired of sitting in the garage and there was nothing to do in the garden but watch the bees race around.
The more she found out about bees, the more she was in awe of them. The bees left during the day, hunting for honey, and then found their way back at dusk. She had learned that from the diary. She had also learned that the longer the Danish man waited to check on his bees, the larger the chance they would swarm —because they couldn't all fit in their box—or die because they didn't have enough food.
The Danish man always opened the door on the second knock, never the first. She would smile at him and he would nod without smiling in return. Then he would point to the garage and close the door in her face. Raihana would go to the garage and sit down. She had peeked in the room used for storing honey and saw a big steel machine, stacked white buckets, and some other equipment. Most of the time Raihana sat at the workbench, staring at the road and the cars that went by.
When it was time for lunch, she would open her lunch box and eat the sandwich she had brought and drink some of the juice she had packed in a plastic bottle that once had Coca-Cola in it.
She would wire frames for part of the day and then when she got bored she'd read the black diary. And when that got boring too, she'd look at her wristwatch, waiting to get back home.
She came to Gunnar's house for fifteen hours a week. The hours were split into three days so that she had time for language classes as well.
The first few days she didn't leave the garage until the designated time. She came in at eight in the morning and left at one in the afternoon. But as the weeks passed she started leaving ten to fifteen minutes before one o'clock and then eventually almost an hour before she had to go.
One day she brought chicken curry and bread for lunch and needed to go inside the Danish man's house to heat the chicken curry.
“May I use microwave today?” she asked the Danish man when he opened the door in the morning for her.
He looked at her confused. “Okay,” he said and opened the door wide.
“No, not now, for lunch,” she said.
“Okay,” he responded and slammed the door shut in her face again.
When she knocked at lunchtime, he opened the door and let her in. He sat and watched TV while he drank his coffee; at least she thought it was coffee. The man lay in a stupor all day; she wouldn't be surprised if he was drinking something a little stronger than coffee.
She found the microwave, but it was so filthy that she couldn't bring herself to put her food in it. Raihana knew it wasn't her job but she couldn't help it. She had been raised in a clean house and when she had kept her own household everything had been spick-and-span, even though she and Aamir had lived in a one-room flat where the windows had been shattered by bullets a long time before and had been replaced with thick plastic. Raihana cleaned the plastic the best she could so that they could look out the windows without opening them. They didn't have much, but what they had, Raihana took good care of. Aamir had given the flat to their neighbor's uncle in order to get Raihana safely across the border.
Without asking for permission Raihana started to clean the Danish man's kitchen. She found cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink and rolled up her sleeves. First, she put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
How much work was it to put a cup inside the dishwasher? Why hadn't the man done anything? she thought irritably as she used the Ajax spray she'd found over the counters and cleaned with a paper towel.
When she left that day, the kitchen wasn't exactly gleaming, but it was clean.
The
The more she found out about bees, the more she was in awe of them. The bees left during the day, hunting for honey, and then found their way back at dusk. She had learned that from the diary. She had also learned that the longer the Danish man waited to check on his bees, the larger the chance they would swarm —because they couldn't all fit in their box—or die because they didn't have enough food.
The Danish man always opened the door on the second knock, never the first. She would smile at him and he would nod without smiling in return. Then he would point to the garage and close the door in her face. Raihana would go to the garage and sit down. She had peeked in the room used for storing honey and saw a big steel machine, stacked white buckets, and some other equipment. Most of the time Raihana sat at the workbench, staring at the road and the cars that went by.
When it was time for lunch, she would open her lunch box and eat the sandwich she had brought and drink some of the juice she had packed in a plastic bottle that once had Coca-Cola in it.
She would wire frames for part of the day and then when she got bored she'd read the black diary. And when that got boring too, she'd look at her wristwatch, waiting to get back home.
She came to Gunnar's house for fifteen hours a week. The hours were split into three days so that she had time for language classes as well.
The first few days she didn't leave the garage until the designated time. She came in at eight in the morning and left at one in the afternoon. But as the weeks passed she started leaving ten to fifteen minutes before one o'clock and then eventually almost an hour before she had to go.
One day she brought chicken curry and bread for lunch and needed to go inside the Danish man's house to heat the chicken curry.
“May I use microwave today?” she asked the Danish man when he opened the door in the morning for her.
He looked at her confused. “Okay,” he said and opened the door wide.
“No, not now, for lunch,” she said.
“Okay,” he responded and slammed the door shut in her face again.
When she knocked at lunchtime, he opened the door and let her in. He sat and watched TV while he drank his coffee; at least she thought it was coffee. The man lay in a stupor all day; she wouldn't be surprised if he was drinking something a little stronger than coffee.
She found the microwave, but it was so filthy that she couldn't bring herself to put her food in it. Raihana knew it wasn't her job but she couldn't help it. She had been raised in a clean house and when she had kept her own household everything had been spick-and-span, even though she and Aamir had lived in a one-room flat where the windows had been shattered by bullets a long time before and had been replaced with thick plastic. Raihana cleaned the plastic the best she could so that they could look out the windows without opening them. They didn't have much, but what they had, Raihana took good care of. Aamir had given the flat to their neighbor's uncle in order to get Raihana safely across the border.
Without asking for permission Raihana started to clean the Danish man's kitchen. She found cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink and rolled up her sleeves. First, she put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
How much work was it to put a cup inside the dishwasher? Why hadn't the man done anything? she thought irritably as she used the Ajax spray she'd found over the counters and cleaned with a paper towel.
When she left that day, the kitchen wasn't exactly gleaming, but it was clean.
The
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