The Translator

‘Because no one will take him seriously after that. What would he be? Another ex-hippy gone off to join some weird cult. Worse than a weird cult, the religion of terrorists and fanatics. That’s how it would be seen. He’s got enough critics as it is: those who think he is too liberal, those who would even accuse him of being a traitor just by telling the truth about another culture.’

‘A traitor to what?’

‘To the West. You know, the idea that West is best.’

Sammar did not like the word orientalist. Orientalists were bad people who distorted the image of the Arabs and Islam. Something from school history or literature, she could not remember. Maybe modern orientalists were different

‘Rae is different,’ Sammar said. Her voice made it sound like a question.

‘In what way?’

‘He’s sort of familiar, like people from back home.’

‘He’s an orientalist. It’s an occupational hazard.’

Sometimes the shadows in a dark room would remind her of the power cuts at home or she would mistake the gurgle of the central-heating pipes for a distant azan

began the azan for the Isha prayer. But this was Scotland and the reality left her dulled, unsure of herself.

Chekhov wrote,’ said Rae, ‘that a woman pines when she is deprived of the company of a man and when deprived of the company of a woman, a man becomes stupid.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Yasmin. ‘I never pine.’

Chekhov wrote,’ said Rae, ‘that a woman pines when she is de

Yes, we prize virginity,’ Yasmin said, ‘and chastity. It’s hard to believe that a British judge and jury could understand

quarrel with Mahasen. And when she did come back she had neither the heart nor the means to buy things. Pay the rent for the room and that was all. One plate, one spoon, a tin opener, two saucepans, a kettle, a mug. She didn’t care, didn’t mind. Four years ill in a hospital she had made for herself. Ill, diseased with passivity, time in which she sat doing nothing. The

whirlpool of grief sucking time. Hours flitting away like minutes. Days in which the only thing she could rouse herself to do was pray the five prayers. They were the only challenge, the last touch with normality, without them she would have fallen, lost awareness of the shift of day into night