Secret Arts

by Dar, Azma;

  ‘So he lied to Anwar at the party? Why, just to humiliate him?’

  ‘Why else? He enjoyed gloating. It made him feel good to tell Anwar he’d slept with his wife, even though he was the one that had been rejected. Pervez didn’t like to admit he was pathetic.’

  Saika sat in silence. If Anwar had committed murder, it had been for no reason at all.

  ‘Are you frightened, sister?’ said Raani. ‘I wouldn’t go back, if I were you.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Dolly denied having been with Rafeeq at the time of the murder, so Sharif kept him in a room at the police station and interrogated him for two hours, trying to get a confession. He extracted little more than tears and a detailed description of the Yogic Therapy Show Rafeeq claimed to have been watching that evening. The policeman that had provided Rafeeq with the Diet Coke on his first visit there suggested they threaten to torture him. He took off his belt and Rafeeq passed out. Still unable to revive him half an hour later, they called an ambulance.

  He was soon lying on a bed, awake and with a drip happily connected to his arm, between a man waiting to have his tonsils out and a heart patient, a policeman by the door, and Dolly on a chair by his side.

  ‘It’s what I deserve,’ he said, looking at his legs, as though something had happened to them, but in fact only because they were the first thing in his line of vision. ‘I don’t blame you.’

  Dolly let Rafeeq indulge in his self-pity a little longer, adamant not to show sympathy for him.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she said in a low voice. ‘Have I become ugly to you? Here I was thinking you got the supplements to improve our relationship, and all the time it was just to… assist with your whoring!’

  ‘No, no!’ he implored. ‘I only ever ate them when I was with you! You have to believe me, I’m still a pure man. All I did was put my arms around them. You can ask Rabia.’

  Dolly looked at the heavens.

  ‘You still went there.’

  ‘I don’t know why. You have so many friends. Always going out. Nobody ever wants to meet me much. It was difficult. You’ve become quite stylish lately. I thought you were finished with me. But I know that’s not true now.’

  Rafeeq looked at the policeman.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to bear it. Hopefully it’ll just be life and not the gallows.’

  ‘Shut up, for God’s sake,’ said Dolly.

  She walked over to the policeman and told him to call Sharif so she could change her statement.

  Saika stopped off at her mother’s house to have lunch. She had called them in the morning to let them know she was coming, not only because it was where she told Anwar she was going. She was feeling painfully homesick for the first time, and felt her eyes smarting when her mother rushed out to the street to greet her, and she went inside to find that most of the neighbours had also gathered to welcome her home.

  There was a flood of questions, but she heard none of them, answering in monosyllables. It was the first time she was visiting since the news of the baby, and her mother presented her with some material to have clothes made from. Her father came home during his lunch break to see her.

  ‘Bad weather’s been predicted tonight,’ he said. ‘You’d better get off home soon.’

  ‘That’s nice!’ she said in mock annoyance. ‘I’ve obviously gone down on your favourites list.’

  ‘Don’t be so mischievous,’ he said. ‘Girls always look better in their own homes.’

  ‘Maybe I’m missing you all, and I want to stay here tonight.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘From what I’ve seen, you two can’t bear to be without each other.’

  Saika found Gago in the garden when she got home, hanging up clothes.

  ‘Is there any point in doing that, Gago, in this weather?’ said Saika. The temperature had dropped sharply over the last two days.

  ‘There is wind. It will dry them. I’m glad you’re back early. Now I can relax. How was your family?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘I think you should go in now. It’s already been too much in your condition.’

  ‘The little one needs some fresh air too. I can’t be indoors all the time.’

  ‘You were out yesterday too, Memsahib, if you don’t mind me saying so. Saabji was very anxious about you. I’ve never seen him like that before.’

  ‘Yesterday I went to see one of his relatives. Dolly,’ said Saika.

  Gago shook her head.

  ‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to be friends with her?’

  ‘She is married to Rafeeq’s cousin. We can’t avoid her can we? And why do you say that?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘There must be, Gago, out with it.’

  ‘She always looks like she would like to eat Saabji, that’s all.’

  ‘What, in a good way? Because she likes him or because she doesn’t?’

  ‘Both if you ask me,’ said Gago. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing very interesting. She talked a little about Zareena. How sad it was.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Saika hadn’t known Gago to speak so strongly about someone before, not negatively at least.

  ‘So, where exactly was everyone when she… er… fell?’ asked Saika.

  ‘Did Dolly memsahib tell you to ask me this?’

  ‘No, not at all. I just wondered.’

  ‘I wasn’t here. We had all gone, me and Nathoo and Sharmilee. For a holiday to Hunza, for the polo festival. We were supposed to go for seven days. Madam said she didn’t mind, she would be able to cook for a few days and they would manage between them. On the third day we got the terrible news that Memsahib was turned off.’

  ‘So it was just Anwar with the Begum and Zareena here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t they want to go?’

  ‘I told you. Memsahib was double at the time, so she didn’t go. Saabji wouldn’t go without her. And Madam hated horses after what happened to the Master. Saabji’s father.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘The Master was like a cat. He had more than one brush with death. Once the doctors said he was done for when he got hepatitis but he proved them wrong and came back, just as big and strong as ever. Another time he fell off the horse trying to jump over a fence. The horse was very temperamental. Maybe there was jinn inside him.’

  ‘Gago!’

  ‘Anyway, he gave the master a kick and ran off. The doctors told them to make preparations for the funeral. But two days later the Master woke up and was nearly back to normal.’

  A speck of white fell on Gago’s shoulder, and then another, cold, smudgy flakes. Gago took down all the washing.

  Two hours later, the gentle, picturesque sprinkling was slowly becoming a blizzard. Saika wrapped in a coat and several shawls, ventured out onto the balcony for a few minutes. The mist was clear, for once, letting this other meteorological phenomenon take centre stage. When the icy wind became too much too bear, she came inside, and relished the drama of it from the window, letting the allure of it distract her from a deeper feeling of trepidation.

  She went downstairs for tea, and had it in the lounge whilst watching the latest episode of her favourite TV serial, which was set in Scotland, and in which the main characters, a married couple who were both lawyers, amusingly went to work in a helicopter. Today she looked at the screen without hearing a word of what they were saying.

  Saika didn’t know if she was conjuring up perils past and present when there were none, or being equally stupid in sitting there with tea and biscuits, not recognising that she was in real danger.

  She got up and took out a pile of fabric samples from which she was going to choose curtains for all the downstairs rooms. Apart from redecorating the living and dining rooms, they were also planning to open up some of the unused areas. On an impulse she went into the kitchen and grabbed a handful of empty plastic bags, then went upstairs
into Zareena’s room, not really wanting to, but unable to resist.

  She stood in the doorway, and then sat down at the dressing table and opened the top drawer. She picked up a lipstick, twisting it open. It was a lurid orange. With a smile, she put it into the bag, then took a whole clutch of the plastic tubes, and threw them in too. Under them there was a dirty comb, a pair of tweezers, a box of matches, a broken incense stick. There was a candelabra on the table, and she lit it. Then, lighting the incense stick too, she stuck it into the softened, melting wax at the top of the candle.

  The woman had kept all her witchy paraphernalia to hand.

  Saika turned out the lights.

  Let’s see what she can do.

  She pulled out the drawer as far as it would come, and emptied out the hoard of compacts, brushes, powders, creams, filling two bags. She tied them up, then started on the next drawer.

  She would clean out the whole room, and then they could forget about her. Nothing was going to happen. If she could do this, the rest would be easier. Even Anwar. Although she didn’t know for sure yet what she was going to do, apart from ask him. What could he do to her, when the house was full of people? Her instinct told her he would deny it. But if he didn’t? Then what? Leave him, turn him in, or stay, and live like a wraith herself. Could she do that to the baby? But could she make it fatherless?

  The wind began to squeal outside, and although closed, the shutters rattled. She moved over to the wardrobe, with its full length mirror, and opened the door. Silks flowed out. She took out as many hangers as she could with one hand, and put the pile of clothes on the bed.

  Some poor girls were going to be very happy.

  Feeling reckless, she clasped another six suits.

  Something shifted in the mirror and a figure came into view.

  ‘Sorry Memsahib,’ said Nathoo in his usual unfriendly tone. He eyes went to the bed, littered with the array of brocades and organzas. ‘The master phoned, but we couldn’t find you. He left a message to say he won’t be coming home tonight.’

  ‘What?’ There was more alarm in her voice than she liked.

  ‘There was a small rock fall, and the roads are blocked. He’ll do his best to make his way back in the morning.’

  ‘Where will he stay?’

  ‘He said he would try to find a bed in a guest house, otherwise he’ll ask one of his friends.’

  ‘Why didn’t he call on the mobile?’

  ‘He did, Memsahib. He said there was no answer.’

  ‘Thank you for coming to tell me.’

  ‘There was one other thing. Madam would like to see you upstairs after dinner. She thought you might like to have a nightcap with her.’

  Anwar stared at the snow blooming across the street and the spreading over the cars and buildings, and silently cursed it for bringing a host of problems, difficulties if not disasters, instead of just being the blanket of fluffy innocence it appeared to be, jovially enticing moods of snugness and enchantment.

  He called home, and was irritated by Nathoo’s claim that he couldn’t find the mistress. Knowing that Nathoo had probably answered the telephone in the dining room, he left a message instead of instructing him to go and look for her. It could be a long time before he came back. Nathoo had a fear of cordless phones and always used the dining room one, which was complete with a curly wire, making it impossible for him to walk around the house on his search carrying just the handset.

  Anwar began to pack up his briefcase. He would stay the night with his friend, Dawood, who lived much nearer the town and away from the treacherous roads that led to the heights.

  His mobile rang.

  ‘Saika?’

  ‘I got your message,’ she said.

  ‘Is everything all right at the house?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I thought I’d let you know, I left the mobile at my mother’s house. If you get the chance to drop by, maybe you could pick it up?’

  He said he would take care of everything.

  Anwar rang Dawood and told him he wouldn’t be staying with him after all, and then drove straight to the house of his father-in-law. Usually it would have been a ten minute drive, but with the bad weather it took him over an hour. Most of the hill roads were closed, and the town itself became blocked with traffic. The bright colours and lights of the Mall Road had taken on a more mellow tone, a hazy shine. The stalls were still open, but their wares were hidden beneath huge sheets. As he drove through the narrow residential streets, there were more children outside than adults.

  It hadn’t occurred to him that he could spend the night there, but once he’d thought of it, he found the idea quite appealing. He knew they would be surprised to see him, but thought they would be happy and, though it embarrassed him to think of it, probably honoured.

  His knock on the door was greeted by shouting, a mixture of questions and swearing, until Ibrahim opened it and immediately broke into smiles and welcomes. It was nine o’clock. Nadia had gone to bed, claiming to be suffering from pneumonia. Saika’s mother was half sitting, half lying on the bed in the sitting room, under a beige wool blanket, watching the news. The position of the other pillows and cushions, and the fall of the blanket suggested that her husband had also been under it, although he now sat away from her on the settee, and told Anwar to do the same.

  ‘Cold night to be out, beta,’ said Ibrahim. ‘Of course it’s always a delight to see you, but you should be at home as soon as possible in this weather.’

  ‘That’s the thing, sir. I can’t get back tonight. The roads are closed. I hope you don’t mind that I came by here.’

  ‘No no no, of course not. What are you saying? This is your home. Zubeidaa, make damaadji’s bed in our room. You should have phoned, we could have got it ready for you. Never mind.’

  ‘Please, I don’t want you to go to any trouble. I can sleep in here.’

  ‘It’s out of the question. You will have our bed.’

  It took Anwar ten minutes to persuade him that he would really prefer to sleep in the sitting room, and Ibrahim only agreed when he said he needed the television to put him to sleep. Even then his father-in-law looked doubtful.

  ‘If it wasn’t for the satellite connection I would have shifted the TV for you into there,’ he said. ‘Chal, jaa, Zubeidaa, go and bring the bedding. Four or five layers should do it.’

  Zubeidaa went out and came back with a tower of quilts and blankets on her head. Anwar stood up to help her, but Ibrahim pushed him back down, and by then she had toppled them on to the bed. She started to unroll and lay them out.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Anwar. They ignored him.

  ‘Have a good rest, son,’ said Ibrahim. ‘We’re just across there if you need us. If you don’t feel like getting up, then take my mobile number and we’ll come straight away.’

  Anwar felt he was forcing them from their own home.

  ‘Please, why don’t you sit for a while? I’m really not tired yet.’

  Ibrahim didn’t need any more invitations, and began channel hopping again.

  ‘Nothing much on,’ he said. ‘Shall I put on a DVD?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice.’ He would never have agreed if he’d known what they had in store for him. The couple’s eyes met and Ibrahim giggled.

  ‘Chalo, beta, what a special blockbuster we have for you today.’

  A black screen, then the name and address of a local filmmaking company, in rainbow colours. The screen melted into white and a photograph of the Kaaba appeared for a few seconds, then spiralled away into nothing to be replaced by a golden heart. Anwar had a bad feeling about what was coming next.

  Sure enough, a full screen close up of Saika on their wedding was next, followed by one of Anwar.

  Anwar had forgotten that there had been a camera man lurking about on the wedding day, as well as how painful he found even looking at a photograph of himself, let alone a two-hour video. He looked miserable and bored and his nose was crooked. Added to that were awful pop music and
a variety of special effects – his face popping up in odd places, in Saika’s earring, in a flower, on the moon.

  ‘Natural filming is what we did,’ said Ibrahim. ‘I directed him myself. I don’t like too much music. At the key stages, yes, it’s alright, but otherwise we’ve left the authentic dialogues used by the characters.’

  Anwar wasn’t finding the psychedelic visuals in the least bit realistic, and the bits of speech delivered by some of the guests were self-consciously loud and obviously rehearsed. Rabia came onto the screen from the right, walked into the middle, and pushed Saika and Anwar apart to make room for herself on the sofa.

  Ibrahim pressed the fast-forward button, but his wife frowned at him and he stopped.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. You want to watch her, the fat cow troublemaker?’

  ‘Mind your tongue,’ said his wife. ‘And have some sympathy.’

  ‘Make us some tea.’

  On the screen, Anwar’s face appeared on that of Big Ben.

  Saika blew out the candles and put out the incense, angry with herself for behaving superstitiously, and having let Nathoo witness it. She took some pleasure in leaving the room as it was, slightly chaotic.

  Gago accompanied her up the spiral staircase. She usually went up at this time to check if her mistress needed anything else for the night.

  The Begum was sitting up in bed, and smiled at them brightly when they came in. Saika thought she looked like a kind of naughty secretary. She was wearing a white ruffled blouse tied with a bow at the top. Her hair was brittle with spray and scooped up into a knot, and her face was white and powdered, with dusty, dark splodges around the eyes, as though she’d applied shadow then thought better of it and wiped it off.

  Gago drew the curtains over the animated air outside, and boiled a kettle. A tea tray was already set out on hospital style table, a mobile one with wheels that was positioned so the patient could eat while in bed. She made the tea and put the pot on the Begum’s table, hiding it under a huge velvet tea-cosy.

  ‘Do you like cake?’ said the Begum. ‘Gago, get some cake out.’ Gago brought over a pair of pastry horns, filled with an oily sugary paste that the bakers tried to pass off as fresh cream. She went to the cupboard and took out a towel and then brought over the wheelchair.