She guzzled and snorted the water. She farted and rolled in dirt. Her new body was not under her control. There she was, leaping to tear apart a squirrel. The sort of squirrel she would have cooed over a day ago. Now it was food, a mess of muscle and bloody fur. She felt the pleasure of it, the wanton recklessness of it, and wanted more.

She no longer knew the names of what she could see, hear and smell. The names of the other animals and plants. She knew that a rabbit had long ears, a twitching nose, but she could not remember the word ‘rabbit’, whether in Arabic or English. She no longer knew how to count; two plus two had an answer but it was elusive. She could not remember the verses of the Qur’an she had memorised and daily recited. Whenever she tried to speak, her tongue got in the way. She could only make sounds, grunts and moans. Parallel to this, a part of her was still self-conscious, still curious. What do I look like now? In my new life, this life of freedom? A tree did not need a home. A cow did not need a mirror. A chick did not need clothes.

She lumbered through the forest without any fear of cold or getting lost. She felt a fullness in her belly and, absentmindedly, emptied her bowels, just like that, no need to hide or squat or wash. All that fuss. Other animals sniffed her and were satisfied that she was genuine. Insects buried themselves in her coat. As time passed, she drifted seamlessly from waking into sleeping; there was no need to plan or make a strategy. A scent and a sound caught her attention. It was a human body squashed into a ball, rolling and unable to straighten up. The face was familiar and seemed to recognise her too. Iman felt as if she hadn’t seen this person for a very long time. Was it someone from back home, a relative, a friend? No, it was Moni, reduced and distorted. Iman came close to her and their eyes met. ‘Where is Salma?’ Moni said. Iman heard her voice as if it were gushing through water, the words garbled and echoed. Salma. Yes, Iman remembered Salma. Salma with a child hitched up on her hips, one hand supporting him, the other hand stirring soup in a saucepan. Salma stepping out of her car and looking up as Iman gazed down from her window.

Moni was speaking about Salma. She would help us as she had always helped us before. She would know what to do.