Inheretince

Nadira hated dust, or rather, her body did. Now it clawed at her sinuses and stung her eyes as she sorted through her grandmother’s belongings. The air was thick, grainy; even her breath felt heavy. She’d grown up in this house and thought she knew every inch, every hiding place. Her grandmother had always kept things spotless—dust never had a chance. But this room, whatever it was, seemed to have hoarded every speck of it from the past twenty years. She wanted to bolt, to relieve the pressure in her head and chest, but what she’d found anchored her in place. She wasn’t even sure what it all meant. Her gaze kept drifting to the dates: October, February, May. Years scattered between the 80s and 1995. A pulse of unease tightened her stomach. Questions surfaced—sharp, uninvited. Questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.

“Nadira? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

“More like skeletons in a closet,” she said under her breath.

“What?” He looked around the small room, realizing he had never been in it before. “What is this place? Has it been here the whole time?”

“Apparently so,” she said, sneezing, still staring at the photograph.

“Was this a secret door?” He examined the entryway, finding the latch and hinges. “How did you find it?” Without speaking, she pointed her chin to the right of her. Her husband followed, turning his gaze to a set of blueprints laid out on a stack of boxes. He walked over, picked them up, and looked at the master bedroom layout. He noted the measurements and shape on the computer-aided drawing, as well as the room's actual dimensions. Sure enough, the bedroom itself was smaller. “Where did you find the blueprints.

Her head was still down, going back and forth between the photograph in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“It was given to me along with the deed and keys.” He looked over at his and realized she hadn’t looked up since he walked in.

“Nadira? Are they photos of your parents? She shook her head. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was relieved. The loss of her parents was always hard to talk about. It wasn’t just because he didn’t understand what it was like to lose a parent. There was something buried there that he couldn’t reach, not just with her, but also with her sister and grandmother. He’s tried plenty of times to dig at it before, but it always ended with her shutting him out, so he stopped broaching the subject altogether. He let out a breath. If it wasn’t photos of her parents, then what was it that made his wife so withdrawn? He walked over to where she was sitting on the floor. And leaned over her shoulder. In one hand, she held a picture, an old photo of a group of men, soldiers. In her other hand, a notebook. Five names were written down, each with a corresponding date. All but one of them was crossed out. The picture was in black and white. The white males were wearing matching uniforms. They were wearing berets and had their sleeves rolled up above their elbows. They were standing in line, posture as straight as an arrow, looking towards, but not at, the man in front of them. Wearing a decorated jacket, he was clearly the commanding officer.

“Is that the…?

“British Army?” She retorted before he could finish.

When was …?”

“1958,” he paused, wondering if she had guessed his next question and would preemptively answer. He didn’t wait long.

“Kenya.” The word hung in the dusty air, heavy and foreign. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his for understanding, confirming his suspicions and silently asking if he was ready for what came next.

“The Emergency,” he breathed out. Almost in a whisper, as if it was forbidden to say. He rubs his hands across his face before folding his arms across his chest. “So what are we saying here? Was your grandmother in Kenya during the Emergency? Did you know this?

“No,” she said briskly, staring at the crossed-out names.

Kobe began pacing the floor. “Ok, and we know for sure that this stuff belongs to your grandmother?” He looked around the room, picking up random things.

“I’m sure,” she said, handing him the journal. “She talks about things, about our family, my parents. This is her,” she takes a breath before continuing, while he scans the pages of the journal. “I’ve been sitting up here looking at those dates, those crossed-out dates, with the names, trying not to remember what I remember,” her voice cracked a little. Her husband looked at her. Contemplation covered his face. Did he really want to hear this?

“Those dates are the holidays we went on as a family. The ones my grandmother planned. The one in October, the last one,” she swallows, “That’s the one where my parents.” She couldn’t finish, but he knew. He stepped towards her, but she stepped back. She wasn’t looking for comfort. Not wanting to push her boundaries, Kobe retreated. But he wasn’t going to let go of the conversation. Not till he understood what they were actually saying.

“I need you to explain this to me. Really break it down.” She picks up some papers and hands them to him. Newspaper clippings, obituaries.

“The dates line up. Their photos look the same.” She nervously rubs her hands together. This time, she was the one pacing back and forth. Kobe shakes his head in disbelief.

“She wouldn’t. She couldn’t,” He said. Nadira picked up the journal and searched its pages.

“Look at what she wrote. Never can I forget their faces. The sounds. Their laughter, drowning out my own cries,” Her voice cracks in her dry throat. She swallows and continues, “ And I shall never forget my Oaths. To my Chief, to my people, to my country…. to me. “I am still a warrior of the forest.” The words were powerful, and she allowed them to consume her. Her eyes glistened with a spark of both fear and ferocity.

“So she held a grudge,” he said, rationalizing.

“I think it was a little more than that.” She picked up another article.” Look, here’s one of them receiving the Military Cross. Does that not make you angry?

“Of course, but revenge? He looked around, afraid someone might overhear. Even though no one was there but them.

“There’s one name left,” she said under her breath. He looked at her in disbelief. “The house and everything in it. That’s what the will said. She knew I would find this. Put it all together. She left me her story.” Kobe was starting to get frustrated with the line of thought.

“Nadira, she left you a house, yay? She left you furniture, jewelry, and antiquities.” He faced her, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. “She did not give you her revenge. That is not how inheritance works.” She stared off into the distance. Not answering or giving him any indication that she was even listening. He walked around the room picking up pieces of paper, articles, and journals.” We should get rid of it. That’s our best course of action.”

“No,” she said defiantly. Realizing her tone, she repeated it, quieter, softer. “No. It might have taken her till death, but she didn’t share her story with me to bury it.

“Nadira,” he says, looking at her with desperation.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with all of this. I’m still dazed at what it all means. I should at least keep going through it all. Read everything.” She let out a sneeze, then rubbed her forehead. “Come on, the kids will be home soon.

“Yay, okay.” Defeated, he makes his way out of the room, his wife following behind. He looks behind him as she crosses the doorway. “Aren’t you going to close the door?” She looks back at the room that was once hidden.

“No,” she said quietly, her hand hovering at the edge of the door. She glanced back at the shadowed room—at all the secrets once hidden inside. “I think I’ll leave it open.”