55

Emma had never seen anything like it. Powerful, violent winds carrying clouds of sand swept across the city. The fine grains stung the skin like mosquitoes, working their way into eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth. They put teeth on edge and grounded aircraft, slipped beneath doorways and through cracks in windows and into automobiles; they rushed along like a herd of wild animals, depositing a fine layer of beige that reduced visibility to almost nothing on highways, buildings, and bridges.

Like a strange fog, the sand rattled against the car windows with a high-pitched whine. The sandstorm hit as Emma and Sara were on their way home. Emma could see cars in front of her zigzagging across the highway as though their drivers had lost control, as though they were drunk. She slowed down and began to say a prayer, sitting bolt upright, rigid with fear.

The magic of Dubai, its luxury automobiles, its skyscrapers that gleamed by day and by night, had vanished, hidden by minuscule grains of sand that blew their scorching, putrid breath across the city. In the parks, bushes lurched to and fro in the gusting wind, so violently that they seemed to be shaken by demons of the desert. Only the palm trees, heads held high, resisted the sandstorm. Tall and straight they stood, their fronds dancing in the midst of the whirlwind.

Emma and Sara finally reached their apartment safe and sound. For a while Emma had been afraid they might not make it. A fine layer of sand covered the tables, the kitchen counters, and the floor.

Sara was worried. How would they ever get rid of all that dirt?

“It’s only dust, sweetheart. At least we’re safe indoors. We’ll mop it all up later.”

“You know something, Mummy? I like blizzards better than sandstorms. I don’t like the taste of crushed glass in my mouth.” She laughed and grimaced at the same time to show her disgust.

Emma peered out the window. The wind was subsiding and thunder rumbled across the sky. Sara huddled close to her mother. Soon fat drops were striking the windows with a deafening roar. After the sand and the wind, now driving rain was pouring down on the city. Rushing streams sprang up in the streets, carrying before them plastic bags, cigarette packs, and other refuse. In an instant, broad puddles formed. The city’s storm drains, built for an arid climate, were overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught, blocked by a mixture of sand and garbage. Manhole covers popped open, spewing geysers of brownish water.

As Emma contemplated the power of nature she reflected on her own life. For all the hesitation and fears of recent weeks, she felt proud and confident. She had resisted Ezz Bibi’s advances and her own doubts. She had feared she would prove weak and vulnerable, but today’s encounter had demonstrated that she was much stronger than she thought.

Her and her daughter’s dignity were worth more than any promotion. She had not yielded. Just as this burning hot land fought back tooth and nail against the extravagances of wealth to assert its deepest nature, Emma had repulsed Mr. Bibi’s egotistical and mindless advances. She had succeeded in tearing herself free from the bewitching curtain of the city that held her prisoner.

Outside, the storm was abating. The heavy rain had become a drizzle. Sara was lying down on the sofa, looking at a comic book.

Emma smiled and sat down beside her. “Sara, today I made a big decision and I want to talk to you about it.”

Sara put down the comic. Her eyes were wide, a faint smile on her lips. “Well, are you going to tell me what it is?” she sighed.

Emma fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words. Her eyes shone. “Sara, this country is not for us. I’m resigning. We’re going back home to Ottawa.”

Sara threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Hooray! That means I won’t have to see Cruella anymore! Is it really true, Mummy?”

“Yes, it’s true. Tomorrow I’ll go and see Mr. Bibi. Then we can go home.”

Suddenly Sara was worried. “But Mummy, how will we live back there? You won’t have a job.”

Emma touched her daughter’s hair and caressed it lovingly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get by. I’ve saved some money, so we’ll see what happens.”

Now Sara was dancing on the tips of her toes, twirling back and forth. Emma joined her and they held hands like professional dancers. As Sara executed pirouettes, Emma accompanied her, humming her favourite song. Outside, night had fallen. The cars that had sought shelter during the storm reappeared on the streets. From the window their headlights shone like the eyes of a wolf pack in the darkness. Oblivious, Emma and Sara danced on, laughing and singing.