by Dar, Azma;
It wasn’t the bells but the sound of the balcony door opening that jolted Anwar awake from the light sleep he’d fallen into. Peeking out from under the quilt without her noticing was a risky covert operation, but it was necessary to check the co-ordinates of her position and see what she was up to. He was pleased with his military analogy, and thought he would share it with Saika when he confessed his surveillance to her later.
It wasn’t exciting. She was just standing there looking around, not that there was anything to see, then she sat down. Well, what else had he been expecting? Much better to go back inside his cosy tent, and let the sadness sink in… It was a devastating revelation, even after all these years. It would have been the dearest, most beautiful thing, a part of him, and of course, of her… or would it? He would never know. Instead, all he would know for sure was that it was all destroyed, and that there was more blood on his hands than he’d thought.
But then it came, from nowhere, sending a tremor through him even under the layers of bedding. It was that awful tinkle again, faint at first, a sound that was meant to be a melodious pleasure but held an ugly malignance for him as it grew louder and clearer as though coming to claim him. It was a nonsensical thought, of course, but he wasn’t crazy, was he? He could hear it, a death rattle outside the window. What if it… she… whatever, whoever it was, came clambering, snaking up the pillars, to where Saika was sleeping… Anwar threw off the quilt and strode outside, but it was suddenly quiet, and he couldn’t see anything. He touched her shoulder.
‘Saika,’ he said. She mumbled something incoherently. ‘Come back inside.’ She stood and walked in slowly, rubbing her eyes. He waited for a moment, listening to the night air. A cat wailed, some other creature croaked, then it was quiet. He went in and locked the door.
Rafeeq Rasool was energised, and it wasn’t just because of the pills. He was considering stopping those altogether. In fact, he was thinking about writing an article – anonymously of course – about his personal theory that they were only placebo tablets. Sometimes he didn’t even take them and still went for a couple of rounds, although he kept them by the bed for emergencies, for occasions when he was tired but immediate action was required. His wife had been affected as well, without having any drugs herself. After eight years, her passions too had been rekindled. It was very sweet. Even now, at lunchtime, he was devouring a heart-shaped chapatti that she had sculpted for him that morning. It was an especially fiery lunch, spicy chick peas and potatoes, a coded message from her. It was intended to heat him physically and informed him that when he got home, dinner would be later than usual. He guzzled down a glass of water.
His article would be called ‘Trial and Terror’. Yes, it was all about confidence. Growing older and gradually apart from Dolly had simply made him shy and doubtful. Once he’d been reassured by the medication that he was still in working order, his fears had disappeared and his prowess returned naturally. And now that he was watching exercise programmes, taking long walks and playing badminton in the dining room with her, he felt refreshed and, it was quite true to say, youthful.
It was Friday. The office was officially closed but he’d come in to finish some accounts that were due in the following week. The work was done, and now he could relax. This afternoon they could drive down to Ayubia and take a ride on the chair lift. He thought back nostalgically to when they had swooped down through the hills as newlyweds. Dolly would be excited – he only hoped it wouldn’t inspire her to an even more frenzied passion.
Gago was sweeping the floor in the tower room, while the Begum was in the bathroom. She did it quickly, knowing that any minute Madam would start rapping on the door with the walking stick.
The sound came, and Gago put the bundle of straw that she used as a brush out on the balcony. She dragged the Begum out of the wheelchair, then lifted her onto the bed. It was an exhausting task, and sometimes it seemed to her that the Begum kept her body even stiffer than it really was, but she always reprimanded herself for this uncharitable thought. Her mistress tucked up in bed, Gago sat on the floor while she regained her breath.
‘Did you hear what happened? What she did?’ asked the Begum. Gago shook her head.
‘What did she say to Anwar last night?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gago. ‘They were inside. I had no business there.’
‘But they were talking? Being secretive?’
‘I don’t think so. She isn’t like that.’
‘Don’t be a fool. I know what’s going on. She’s probably started to turn him against me.’ She started to move a Chinese paper fan up and down furiously.
‘You shouldn’t think of her like that. Especially not now.’
The Begum stopped. ‘What do you mean?’
Gago bit her lip and said, ‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t nothing me. What did you mean?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Let me guess,’ said the Begum. ‘Is it good news. Is she…?’
‘Yes,’ said Gago.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I only found out yesterday. She asked me not to say anything yet.’
‘Who do you answer to?’ whispered the Begum. ‘Come here.’ Gago got up and stepped to the bed, bending a little, deferentially.
‘Sit.’ Gago sank back to the floor.
‘Not there. Here next to me.’ The maid sat on the bed, and the Begum put her hands on her shoulders. She began to massage them. Gago, tired, was awoken suddenly and looked around her in alarm.
‘Shh,’ said the Begum. ‘It’s fine. Accept a little indulgence from me.’
‘Why don’t I–,’ said Gago, trying to massage back, rubbing the Begum’s arms.
‘Don’t move, don’t speak. Understand. You must watch her very carefully from now on.’
By mid afternoon, the stakeout was over. After six hours of staying in bed and fighting over control of the TV with Arshad and her children – drama vs news vs cartoons/American Idol – Farzana was given the all clear. Arshad went downstairs to assess the situation, and returned with the latest developments. Rabia had realised her behaviour had been unreasonable, especially as Munir had told her that Farzana was at home giving him a herbal back rub when the dreadful deed was done. Rabia had reassured Arshad that she was not upset, and had gone out shopping in a bid to take her mind off things. Farzana had nothing to fear.
‘She regrets it,’ said Arshad.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Farzana.
‘She used some logic. I was about to explain it to her myself, how you couldn’t be in two places at one time, but it seems that God had already cleared her mind.’
Farzana was unconvinced but brushed her hair and went downstairs. She couldn’t stay upstairs indefinitely, and if she really wanted to, Rabia would get inside the bedroom anyway. Farzana was refuelled, ready to attack, dodge, defend – anything to survive.
Rafeeq wasn’t sure his legs were up to it. The cable cars didn’t stop. They went round in a loop, flying high above the hills and mountains, and, then came back down, plopping passengers off by the ticket office while still in motion. The chair lift continued going straight at this near-ground level for a few metres until it came to the next pair of passengers, who were waiting in its path, ready to board. Added to the trickiness of climbing on to the moving car was the horror of having to do so backwards. One was required to stand in line with the approaching car, in front of it, looking ahead, and jump back up on to it as it hit one from behind.
He’d forgotten this aspect of the adventure when he’d planned it last night. His honeymoon memories were coloured only by the clouds, the tweeting birds and the giddy up and down rhythm of the transportation that had enhanced their state of lovestruck headiness.
His 62-year-old knees were clicky at the best of times. He bent them a little to test their current flexibility, disguising it by putting on a show for his wife, doing a jokey mock-Olympian warm up. They were dressed for the occasion – she in a s
mart pink shalwar kameez with a beige wool coat, fur hat, and trainers, he, in a pair of jodhpurs, corduroy blazer, boots and binoculars around his neck. He’d managed to distract her by encouraging her to enjoy the panorama, but now she was insistent that they get to the climax of the outing.
The man collecting the money moved them into the appropriate spot, in the path of the next car. He looked back over his shoulder and saw two young men leaping off it, and then it continued to creak and wobble towards him, its safety bar raised, ready to clamp itself around him like hungry jaws.
‘Turn around. You’ll hurt your neck at that angle,’ said Dolly. ‘You’re spoiling the surprise.’
‘I just want to estimate its speed. I need to have some idea of when to move.’
‘You’ll know when it’s time. Now turn around. Don’t you want to experience the danger? Or are you worried that you will pump too many hormones?’
‘Can’t you forget about my body chemicals for one minute?’ said Rafeeq. She pulled on his jacket and spun him around.
‘I’m here. Don’t worry.’ She held his hand, as the screeching of the wires grew louder. He braced himself and seconds later the car was right behind them, and he jumped. And stumbled, and jumped again, and it became obvious that he was going to end up on the floor while she flew up into the air without him. His legs buckled and he prepared to surrender, with blissful laziness and no resistance, to the pain of crashing, but a hand pulled him, and grabbed him roughly. He scrambled, Dolly shouted and yanked him harder, the ticket man ran alongside them and lifted him up a little, he landed on the seat and the bar closed down on him.
‘How the air tastes in such altitudes,’ said Rafeeq, gulping in a larger amount than was natural. ‘It could be a different element altogether from the smoke we’re forced to breathe.’ He was doing a commendable impression of being casually relaxed, although his heart was still bobbing about inside and beads of sweat were scurrying down his face.
Below them were pine-clad hills with roads winding around them. Stalls were dotted along the roadside, selling bags, balloons and Hello Kitty umbrellas. They spotted a miniature waterfall spurting out of a wall of mossy rock and precarious homes that had been built into the side of the hill.
Rafeeq leaned back and looked at the sky, leaving Dolly absorbed with her binoculars... Then her fingers began to drum and then saunter drunkenly up his thigh. He gently but firmly moved them away.
‘Hmm... what are you doing?’ he asked, summoning up a laugh. ‘We’re on the way down… let’s soak up the atmosphere of the valleys.’
‘At least put your arm around me. What’s the point of this lofty loneliness if we’re just going to sit here like separate statues?’
‘I think in public we should behave in a manner that befits our station in life. People can still see us.’
They were, in fact, quite visible, despite the height. The cable cars were all full, and apart from those directly behind and in front of them, every few minutes they passed a couple coming from the opposite direction.
She didn’t try to convince him further, but made a huge sulky gesture of moving away. The cable car shuddered as it began sloping downwards. Rafeeq didn’t say anything further to her. He was thinking of other things: how he was going to leap out of the contraption, how far away, in time and distance, the landing point was, and why there was a wide, blurry black figure standing there, watching him.
Dismounting was, theoretically, easier that climbing on. Still, he lost his balance and tottered, and fell into the supporting arms of Rabia.
Any meeting with Rabia was bound to bring some degree of shock, and in the company of his wife it was enough to make it difficult for him to stand up again.
‘Sister... pleasant and unexpected…’ murmured Rafeeq.
‘Yes. Isn’t it?’ said Rabia. She looked at his wife. ‘You’re looking very well.’
Dolly smiled an acknowledgement.
‘Go and get a milkshake,’ said Rafeeq. ‘You must be parched.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Dolly.
‘Haa, why don’t you go and get refreshed?’ said Rabia. ‘In the meantime I can just let Rafeeq know about the new varieties that have arrived in the consignment from India.’
Dolly took the hint grudgingly, and Rabia was left alone with Rafeeq.
‘How… why have you found me here?’ he asked.
‘You’re not exactly in hiding, are you?’
‘But the last payment–’
‘Never mind that. I need your help in a legal matter. Then we can forget any further repayments. You must have heard of my recent tragedy.’
‘Yes, I was… deeply shocked to hear of it.’ He reproached himself for not having mentioned it first.
‘Thank you. I’m sure like the rest of the town you wish to ease my pain.’
‘Of course.’ He knew he would probably regret his blank cheque generosity and he did, when she told him what she needed from him.
‘But, madam, lying…’
‘It is what happened,’ said Rabia. ‘If you had really been there it’s what you would have seen.’
‘I can’t do it.’
‘We all say that. It isn’t true. You think I ever thought I could deliberately ruin anyone’s happiness, even out of necessity?’ Rabia waved at Dolly, who was sitting on a swing eating an icy gola ganda, a slushy on a stick, trying to look as though she had no interest in their conversation.
‘How will you do that?’ said Rafeeq. ‘She obviously knows about the medication, and I even told her about the loan.’
‘Then you must have told her about your moonlit – I mean midday – escapades with girls like Raani. No? I thought not.’
‘But I never did anything!’
‘That’s what you claim. But Raani will say anything I tell her to.’
CHAPTER 9
The Begum was pleased he was alone for once. Since the wedding he had stuck to his bride like a leech. She hated to admit it but sometimes his mousy attitude to his wives exasperated her. His father had never been so faint hearted. Now that had been an equal partnership. It was just a shame he’d left her so early, when the journey was only halfway complete.
‘I just came to ask if you wanted anything from the bazaar,’ said Anwar. ‘I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Sweet of you to drop in, beta,’ said the Begum. ‘You should show me your face more often.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, I should. Shall I press your feet?’
‘No, no, no pain today.’ She beamed at him, almost inviting him to share the good tidings, but he looked sullen. A stab of alarm jabbed her in the chest. Had something gone wrong already? ‘What’s the matter?’
He thought before replying, as though pondering exactly what to say.
‘Did you ever… did Zareena ever tell you she was expecting a baby?’
The Begum was shocked, but held her composure.
‘No, of course not. Why do you ask?’
‘Gago told Saika she overheard you and Zareena discussing it.’
Better to admit it.
‘Well yes, she did. I didn’t want to upset you. Why has Gago been opening her big mouth? I’ll see to her! Gossiping troublemaker.’
‘Oh, leave her Ammi, she can’t help it. But why didn’t you tell me? It means… that day, it wasn’t only her…’
The Begum straightened herself and tapped him with the cane.
‘Stop that right now. You’ve done nothing wrong. Zareena did say that to me, but she was lying. You know what she was like, always trying to play games with me. I don’t want to say it, but it’s true. You saw the post mortem report yourself. There was nothing on there about any baby, was there?’
Anwar shook his head.
‘So, Saika has been asking questions, has she?’ said the Begum. ‘I hope you haven’t told her too much?’
‘Nothing she doesn’t need to know.’
‘Good. I want this to be the end of the matter.’
‘I don’t want to t
hink about it either, but if she asks–’
‘I can only advise you. What you do is your own choice. Now, if you are going to the bazaar, you can buy me a new minky blanket. Gago washed this one and it’s gone crispy.’
He left without mentioning her new grandchild. She hadn’t said anything either. She would wait till a little later, when she wasn’t feeling so unsettled.
Saika still didn’t know what to say. Anwar had been polite as usual at breakfast, but silent. It was natural that he should be affected by some overdue sorrow. She couldn’t fully imagine how it felt, this dead anguish that had sneaked out from the grave to crawl over him.
After breakfast he left early for the mosque, saying he wanted to meet people before the Friday prayer as he normally did. She got dressed for a meeting with a representative from a charity involved in raising money for the building of a rural hospital. Keen to be involved with the project, she’d invited him for tea, but now she was finding it an effort to concentrate as he described the progress of the plumbing. She finished the conversation as soon as she decently could, promising to lend the fundraising campaign her full support.
Saika was in the living room draping a tapestry over a table when she heard the car outside. The old Mercedes sounded like a truck. She felt a sense of anticipation – not in the now normally thrilled way, but an uncertainty about how long this new coolness between them would last.
There was a large vase of dried grasses and poppy heads by the fire and Saika plonked it on the middle of the table, knowing it would look too big and out of place, but wanting to look occupied when he walked in. Fifteen minutes later he had still not appeared.
