Doorbell. The maid’s naked feet made ringing slaps on the marble. I slipped my legs off the long arms of the planter’s chair. Naz was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt, polo player and horse huge on one sleeve. He looked even more like a small weightlifter, chest straining against his shirt, the seam of each sleeve fitted around brick-like biceps.
‘Get this place soundproofed,’ Naz said. ‘Then you won’t have that racket.’ This was typical. I hadn’t seen him for months but he walked in gently chiding me as if we regularly exchanged homemaking tips.
‘Hi Naz,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
‘How can you sit like this?’ He collapsed into a sofa just behind me. ‘It’s impossible.’
‘Better than having the generator off.’ That was the other big problem. The voltage had dipped so low you needed to run the generator to get the air conditioning working. We spent a shocking amount on diesel every month.
‘Where is it, out in the balcony?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Build a shed. We’ve soundproofed our bedroom and the living room. A shed will keep out some of the noise.’
‘Did you come to talk about the generator, Naz? Riz isn’t home. He’s taken some of his buyers out. What can I get you? Nimbu pani? You want a beer?’
‘A beer? It’s three in the afternoon, Shalini. You want to start drinking?’ He made an exclamation that sounded like spitting. I turned in surprise. He was staring out of the window with a wrinkled expression.
‘I’m not having one, Naz. I was offering you.’
He slapped his stomach hard, bouncing his palm off muscle. ‘Haven’t had a drink in eight months,’ he said. ‘I don’t any more. Not since marriage. I go to the mosque every day now. Abbu-Ammi are very happy.’
‘Really? That’s new.’
‘This city is falling apart, Shalini. It’s dangerous. We need to stick together. Pray. All of us. You have to make sure Leila has the right education in these matters. There are schools where she can learn.’
‘Riz and I haven’t decided about that. Schools and so on.’
‘I’m just saying, it’s important. When I have kids …’ He trailed off, staring absently now, out the tall windows. A skein of geese beat through the starch-blue expanse, headed in echelon to the hills just north, then unaided, over the great range, to the knot of sierras that make the roof of the world. ‘It’s too bad I missed Riz. I want you to give him a message.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Abbu is unwell.’ A wave of dismissal at my worried look. ‘No, not yet. He’s tough. He wants to sort things out before he gets sicker. That’s why he sent me here. He wanted me to tell Riz he will get his fair share. Despite how things have been—’ He broke off, searching for words. ‘You know I like you, Shalini. Even in school I liked you. But there’s no denying what you’ve done to our family.’
‘Naz! How can you say that?’
‘Riz left us. His family. Community. He left all that behind for you. I have to take care of our parents …’ His Adam’s apple popped out. ‘Khair. That’s not what I came to talk about.’
‘No?’
‘They’re old people, Shalini. They’re worried. What will happen to Leila? We are a society that needs order. Rules. We don’t want her mixing with everyone.’
He looked so smug, lecturing me with his hands hooked behind the back of the leather couch, chest bulging like the breasts of women you see in the Olympics, wrestlers or shot-putters. Riz would be hopping mad if he were here. I was very angry myself. But I knew better than to get between the brothers. ‘I don’t think it’s your job to tell us how to raise our daughter, Naz.’
‘I care for her, Shalini. I care for my brother.’
‘She has the best of everything. Look, no disrespect to Gazala. Your wife is beautiful. But I don’t want my daughter in a burqa. No one cares about these things here. There are lovely parks. We’re thinking of getting her admission in Yellowstone. You remember the fun we had there.’
‘So you’re going to send her to Yellowstone. There’s a reason they don’t have schools like that any more, Shalini. What-all they teach there. No values, no respect for elders, no respect for our past.’ He stood and began walking up and down a patch of parquetry. Each step scuffed the rich polish. ‘She’ll grow up with no culture. Running around with boys from here and there. No sense of community. Is that what you want?’
‘Nonsense. Is this the only idea of community we have? Riz and I don’t want to live like that, Naz. That’s why we found this place.’
‘Nothing is easy, but there has to be some compromise, especially if you want Abbu to remember you when he goes. She’s his only granddaughter. He hardly sees her.’
‘You know how hard it is to come over? Even with our paperwork in order. Just because I wasn’t born there. I keep telling them to come here, people can come and go as they please. But Abbu-Ammi won’t set foot inside the East End.’
The maid walked in with a cup of tea and jam biscuits on a quarter plate. One of the servants had to run down to the mini-mart to get sugar, she explained, that was why it’d taken so long. Naz nodded at the table at his side and turned back to me without taking a sip.
‘Where is Leila, actually? Bring her here. I have a gift in the car.’
‘She’s in her room. I’ve just brought her back from school.’ I shouted for Sapna. There was no response so I rose, glad to be out of my brother-in-law’s presence for even a few seconds. Leila’s room was cool and dark and densely quiet. Empty. When I returned to the living room Naz was sprawled, a pink smear against the white leather couch. ‘The maid must’ve taken her to the park,’ I said.
Naz let out a loud snort.
‘Something you wanted to say?’ I asked.
For a few seconds he stared at me, running the tips of his fingers through the outcrop of hair at his chin. ‘Say what you want about Gazala,’ he said, standing up. He made for the door, then turned around. ‘She might not know as much about the world as you. But she knows our culture. She wouldn’t offer a guest a beer. Three in the afternoon! And if we had a little girl, at least Gazala would know where she was.’
I felt colour climb to my face, but the spurt of anger was quickly exhumed, replaced by a sense of shame, as if a wet, hot towel had been settled around my shoulders and face. As Naz neared the door I shouted, wretchedly, ‘Wait. You’ve come all the way. Let’s go to the park and find her. She’ll be happy to see her Chachoo.’
Outside was pure white heat. The trees lolled towards us from either side of the road, bent by thirst. ‘Sapna is so stupid sometimes,’ I said. ‘Why would she bring her out in this heat?’
‘What time does Leila usually go out?’
‘Five, sometimes six. I don’t know what happened today. Unless Sapna is trying to meet that boyfriend of hers. She sneaks away sometimes so she can meet this guy.’
‘Her boyfriend?’ He let out a short laugh. ‘Your maid has a boyfriend? Just what-all goes on in the East End? Bloody free-for-all.’
I nodded in agreement. ‘It’s too much. All these movies. Spends half her time getting ready. I don’t know who she thinks is looking.’
The road was so hot my feet were soon like flat pans of fire, I should’ve worn shoes, not these thin sandals, and my hair like strands of burning rope. By the time we reached the quadrangle of green with the yellow, spoked fence both of us were silenced by the thick, stagnant air. Two teenage girls were on their knees, painting the inside walls and concrete benches of a small pavilion by the gate. We hurried to it. The trees gave little shade, the dark pavilion was a chance to cool our feet. Tins of paint were all about, a couple of spray cans strewn. The girls had used a stencil to make a large mural of the earth. The taller one had sprayed blue in elegant twirls, marking the currents in the ocean. Then she stepped away and the other, with cans of brown and green, had filled in the land masses. Once they were done with that they had begun to paint a series of round-headed stick figures on the earth’s rim.
The stick figures were joined to one another by their outstretched arms, a world of people holding hands. I tapped Naz and whispered, ‘Can’t you see why we’re happy here? This is how Leila will grow up.’
He stared for a few seconds with a sullen smile. When he turned to me, one side of his face was screwed up as if squinting from the sun. ‘Good idea,’ he muttered. ‘She’ll be like you. Clueless about how the world really works.’
The park looked at first to be empty, but at the far end, just beneath the tree house, Leila and the maid were chasing each other around the dead stump of a tree. We left the pavilion, avoiding the heated concrete path by walking on the cracked soil. A spicy smoke tickled my nostrils like a sneeze. We hurried on.
Leila was wearing a pink sleeveless top that matched her hairband and knee-length shorts with a thick band of scrunched denim at the waist, little canines sticking out proudly. Her face and neck shone from an even layer of sweat. Sapna was dodging her, floating her dupatta in the breeze as a matador uses his cape, drawing Leila closer each time. As Leila would make her final lunge she’d let out a little squeal of pleasure, convinced she finally had her quarry. A brief wave of disappointment. Then she’d beetle after Sapna again, back straight, head down, tiny arms and legs frenetically pumping, determined.
I had a sense that Sapna noticed us but was pretending she didn’t. I called out to my daughter a touch angrily. She swivelled in surprise and shouted ‘Mummy’ and came charging and wrapped her arms around my knees, knocking me off balance, making me laugh. Naz steadied us with a hand on my shoulder.
‘I’ve brought you a present, little darling,’ he said to her.
‘Chachoo!’
‘Did you just notice him?’ I asked.
‘I didn’t see!’ she laughed, panting heavily. ‘What did you bring for me, Chachoo?’
‘It’s a surprise,’ he said and knelt for a hug. ‘But I left it in my car. When we go home I’ll give it to you.’
My daughter jumped into his arms. Sapna was staring at Naz, her lips parted, twisting the end of her dupatta into a tiny knot. Another surge of annoyance. ‘Why did you bring my daughter out in this heat?’ I asked. ‘You know she’s not supposed to be in the sun.’
‘She wasn’t taking her nap. Wouldn’t go to sleep.’ Sapna bowed her head, letting out a small giggle. ‘I thought we could play.’
‘From now on you check with me, understand? Why do you think I’m there? I don’t want you doing anything like this without my permission.’
‘But I didn’t do …’ she began to complain, but checked herself. One thing I cannot abide is back talk in front of a guest. ‘Okay, didi. I will ask.’
Naz and Leila were tossing about a slim blue disc with a perforated centre. The disc was meant to be thrown flat like a frisbee but Leila could not manage that so she and Naz were hurling it underarm at each other as if it were a shoe. Suddenly Naz halted the game, holding a hand up. A commotion of some sort was rising up the road. I walked the few steps to a mud gutter adjoining the park wall and spotted, through the yellow spokes, a group of chanting, marching men. There must’ve been forty or more, dressed in white shirts and trousers with black leather belts and shoes, striding in three rough columns. They carried long bamboo staves that they clattered against the street, giving resonance to their chants.
‘Oh yes, the Repeaters have uniforms now.’ Naz was by my side.
‘Is that what this is?’ I asked.
‘Seems like it. They look quite smart actually.’
‘I’ve never seen this before. Not here, I mean. Just look at them. They’re always so angry.’
The Repeaters reached the park. Most had their backs to us. They’d been shouting a slogan all the way down the road. ‘Unity! Purity! Unity from purity!’ Now they were quiet, standing in a semi-circle, leaning heavily on the sticks they carried, mopping their foreheads with folded handkerchiefs, against their clothes, leaving grey-brown smears on the sleeves of their new shirts. One man strode to the front so everyone faced him.
‘Holy shit! I know that guy,’ Naz said.
‘Which one?’ I asked. It made me nervous to see these people so close to my home. I motioned silently for Leila to join me. She was standing with Sapna, watching.
‘He’s so much older now.’
‘Who is?’
‘That main guy. Their leader. He doesn’t henna his moustache any more, he dyes it.’ He was a broad, tall man, middle-aged, his hair slicked back and carefully dyed to leave a single spurt of white hair by his forehead. ‘I’d recognise that clump of white hair anywhere. Look how far he’s come. He used to be a Repeater at your sector’s gates. Once he almost caught Riz and me trying to sneak in.’ Naz joined the tip of his thumb to his index finger and held them up, grinning at the memory. ‘This close. He came this close to catching us.’
The leader began to smash his stave against the road. The men started to scream. ‘Come out, come out. Foreigner’s tout. Traitors! Traitors!’ It became clear that this mob had grouped at a specific point, a wicket gate hardly broader than a man, opening into a brick path lined with bushes. The path led to a small glass door, tinted brown, with posters on the front. The mob continued to chant, waving the Council’s flag. Some could hardly contain their excitement, cracking their sticks on the ground, rocking a car parked by the side of the road. No surprise a few seconds later when we heard the brief soft crunch of a windshield splintering. I moved Leila so she was pressed between me and the park wall, and just then I saw, from the corner of my eye, a twitch of the curtains on the upper floor.
Shattering the windscreen had charged the men’s blood. Now no pretence of military order. They milled about the gate with furious, frustrated steps, unsure what to do next, seething and sweating. Their leader shrugged and flung his free arm about, barking into a cell phone. The men at his side strained to hear the other end of the conversation. Three men hunted along the road for missiles. Soon they were gingerly passing from palm to palm rocks gathered from the earth. They lobbed these at the house. The stones smashed against the facade, showering plaster, cracked the lintel of a ground-floor window, landing with a thud on the lawn. One stone sailed against the dazzling afternoon sky in a high, pretty parabola, arcing through an upper bay window with a near-deferential tinkle, bringing down a curtain. Still you couldn’t see inside because of the reflections of the trees in what remained of the glass. A lusty cheer went up. Then the chant started again. ‘Traitors! Traitors!’
‘Should we get out of here?’ I whispered to Naz.
‘I want to see. Don’t worry. They’re not bothered about us.’
A pack of mongrels that’d been barking at the mob sprinted off down the road and returned now, worrying at the tyres and magnet-grey doors of a sedan steered by a driver in a peaked cap and uniform and bearing at the back a couple reading newspapers. The mob swarmed the car as if it were carrion. One man swung his lathi onto the bonnet, setting the metal ringing, at which the woman clutched her husband’s shoulder. But the leader of the mob leaned back and let out a roar. Immediately everyone backed off. The sedan wriggled out and away like a fish from a net.
The house door opened with a squeal of rust. For some seconds there was silence; you could hear the birds that hadn’t yet escaped the deep summer. A little man, so dark the rims of his eyeballs looked jaundiced, with bouncing, neck-length curls. He was wearing an office peon’s brown shirt and pants. As soon as he stuck his head out that vigorous lust-filled scream started up again. The peon shrank back into the house as if guided by some primordial instinct, smooth as a snail’s feelers, and seeing this the leader of the mob laughed out loud. Everyone quickly joined in. As the rest continued to laugh, without saying a word, the leader began twirling his staff around his head, like a wrestler with an Indian club. This was a signal. Whipping through the air with gathering speed, spittled frenzy lathering his face, hysteria riding in circles around the surrounding mob. A flash from a childhood television show with chariots and gold pa
per crowns: ‘Aakraman!’ But there was no call to attack. Instead the men simmered around the gate.
When the peon emerged again he was bundled out onto the path. He took a few heavy steps to steady himself. Halfway down the mud track now, he hunkered his shoulders in entreaty, hands joined in front of his face, terror in his yellow eyes, in his crooked knees, in the unheard babble incessant on his lips. When he found his voice it quivered with each word.
‘Sirs, sirs, please,’ he said. ‘Madam-Sir are not here. They aren’t in town.’
‘Don’t lie to us!’ someone shouted. ‘We know they are.’
‘Please believe. They’re not here, I’m telling you. They have gone fact-finding. To the mines.’
Naz’s stare flitted between the leader and the peon, his lips tightly pressed. ‘Let’s get out of here, Naseer,’ I whispered. ‘We can take the other gate. I want to get Leila home.’
‘Two minutes, two minutes,’ Naz said.
The leader of the Repeaters walked to the front of the group, sharpening his collar fold as he moved. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Mohan, sir. Mohan.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘From the mines, only, sir. I used to work there. Madam-Sir gave me a job in the city.’
The Repeater had walked right up to the gate. ‘Come out. We won’t hurt you.’ The peon turned for a long look at the house, perhaps at the upper windows. Did I see a shadow flit across the glass or was that a reflection, a bird or a movement in the tree? He walked slowly towards the gate.
‘Are you married?’ asked the Repeater, adopting a friendlier tone as the man approached.
‘No, sir. I am working only.’
Leila Page 7
