The Last Gift Read Free

not to be there, for her to be somewhere else while tears of self-pity and self-loathing slid down his face. I cannot bear this. I cannot bear this any more. He was the sinful traveller fallen ill in a strange land, after a life as useless as a life could be. Talking hurt him, it gave him a pain in the chest, and he was too weary to explain. His words did not make sense, he could see that in the incomprehension in her face. He could not make himself say the words so that they would make sense. He wanted to be left alone, but when he tried to tell Maryam that, he only uttered spluttering abuse and could not stop himself from weeping.
    But he was getting stronger. He could go downstairs on his own, and return upstairs when he needed to, although that took him longer. He was able to keep the food down and was getting used to the new diet, which he did not find that arduous, except for the loss of salt and sugar. He would be able to look after himself, he told her. It was time for her to go back to work. He was not an invalid, just a little weak. So long as he took his time, he would be fine. It was a relief when she returned to work after three weeks, even though it left him the long silent day to himself. He tried to read but his concentration was poor, and the effort of holding up a book was tiring. He was getting stronger, and when he was well enough, he would speak to Maryam about all the things he had kept from her.
     
    Maryam did work in a hospital but not doing anything glorious or life-saving. She worked in the staff and visitors’ canteen, and she knew that if she stayed away any longer she would lose her job. The canteen manager had told her so on the phone, kindly, when she rang to ask for another two weeks off work. Oh come on, she was not expecting to be paid, just two more weeks to be sure that Abbas could really look after himself, but the manager said no, sorry but they were short-staffed. Maryam had been working there for a long time, as had the canteen manager, but times were hard and jobs were not plentiful. Neither the canteen manager nor she were going anywhere. It was not as if Maryam was qualified to do anything else. She had been working in the hospital for twenty years: first as a cleaner until the children came, when they decided she should stay at home to look after them, then when they were old enough, she found a job in the hospital canteen. She often thought that she should do something else, something more challenging that would make her feel better about herself and very likely pay her better, but she never even got round to looking. When she mentioned the thought to Abbas, he nodded or made agreeing noises but he did not encourage her. She had no idea what that other challenging work might be, and perhaps neither had he. This was the kind of work she had always done, and she knew many people at the hospital. People came and went, but a small group of them had been there for a long time. She did not want to lose her job, not at this time with Abbas as he was. It was not as if she could say to the canteen manager, stuff your miserable job, I hate it anyway, I’ll go find myself another one in a bank. There was nothing else she could do. And also she had become used to the way the job filled her life. That was how she was all her life, always settling for less, always doing what was best, and it was too late now to start being awkward and taking risks. She never had that kind of strength.
    In those first few days after she returned to work, she felt again the shock of what had happened to Abbas, he who hardly ever fell ill and now was so weak and confused, so angry, so quickly reduced to tears and sobbing for no reason. It was more shocking to think of him like that when she was away from him. Somehow when he was there in front of her, she could lose herself in the details of what needed to be done, even if it was an ordeal at times to go close to him. But at a distance he came to her in pieces,