by Shamim Sarif
“Are you waiting for Melissa?”
She shakes her head, then gives him a quick glance.
“I’m flattered,” he says, finally.
“Do you wish I hadn’t come?”
“Of course not. I just didn’t expect it. Didn’t dare to expect it.”
The emotion in his voice settles over her residual fears like a soft, warm blanket, easing them away so that she feels able to speak.
“I was wrong to have pushed you away that evening,” she says. “I didn’t want to – I guess I felt I had to.” She waits, unsure of how to formulate her next sentences, hoping that he will fill in the gaps with questions that will guide her towards what she wants to say. But he remains silent, his brown eyes fixed on a point just before them.
She wants to touch him, just the sleeve of his coat, or the top of his hand, or the back of his neck, which even at this age has the slim, shorn look of a little boy’s. But she does not dare. Instead, she leans over to her handbag and takes out a sheaf of paper, and offers it to him. He takes it, and then holds onto her hand. To her chagrin, she blushes suddenly.
“The first few chapters.”
“Is it about Katya?”
“Yes and no.”
“Because I don’t know if I can read it just yet,” he says. “If it is.”
“Well, I started out with her, but then I had a slight problem; I didn’t know a thing about the places I was trying to describe. Oh, and half my plot line was missing.”
“So what did you write about?”
“Well, I thought about the characters and story that I knew best. And so, we have the following scenario. Picture it. A mature woman – I hate to say old – who has always lived a safe and easy life. Who has been married for nearly thirty years, and who believes that marriage is for life, because there are such things between her and her husband as loyalty and respect, if not the attention and care she would have wanted.”
“I see.”
“But then, this woman meets someone. Someone who she loves to be with and who maybe sees in her more than there is. And there’s another character, you see, though I’m not sure how to bring her in yet. This character is my Katya. Someone whose story proves interesting and then inspirational to my main character.”
“Why inspirational?”
“Because in her young life, she has always lived for her passions and ideals and beliefs, no matter what the risks might be for doing that.”
He feels his eyes moisten, but with a breath, he controls the tears.
“How does your story end?” he asks at last.
“That’s the thing. I’m not completely sure. But I think the old lady gets up the courage to live life in the end. I really do.”
Standing up, he offers her his hand, and together they walk across the courtyard and to the main road. They join the line for a cab and he turns to her. His face is handsome and stern and kind as he stands there watching her. She feels lost suddenly, and a moment of panic crosses her face.
“Tell me what you feel, Estelle.”
She laughs nervously. “It’s a lot easier to talk about my characters.”
But he will not let her go so easily. His eyes hold her down until she looks away. Perhaps he is challenging her to show that courage that she just talked about. She swallows and looks up at him again.
“While I was away I began to realise that I would never see you again. That my life would just continue the way it had before – except that I’ve changed. And that’s the problem, you see. I don’t want my life to be the same as it has been. And I began to understand that – God help me – even with good blood pressure and low cholesterol, I can only have a very limited number of years left on this earth. And I don’t want to spend them away from you.”
He takes a deep breath, to try and slow his heart – he wonders how many more shocks it can take.
“What about your husband?” he asks, finally.
“I’m not sure,” she says. In her mind she has envisioned packing up, walking out, not returning, but the vision is one of too much brutality and harshness. “I would have to ask you to bear with me for a while.”
“Yes, I will,” he says quickly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She looks at him, a weight of compassion in her face. “Melissa told me you’ve had a hard few weeks.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was time for everything to come out. But it just brought it all back, with such force. What she gave up for me, what she and I both lost.”
Estelle only nods, for she cannot speak just now. She does not know whether it is tiredness, excitement, relief or uncertainty, but she feels tears in her eyes. Despite her best efforts, a rogue droplet escapes from the edge of her eye and runs over her cheek. His hand reaches up to brush it away.
It is late, perhaps one o’clock in the morning. To be able to sit in her uncle’s living room, wrapped in a thick darkness that is scattered away only here and there by the last flickers of the fire, seems luxurious to Lauren, like being swathed in the softest velvet. She has waited until Alexander is asleep before methodically turning out all the lights downstairs. Her head begins to feel heavier as she watches the dying flames, and before she should fall asleep, she rouses herself and goes over to the cloth-draped easel that stands at the other end of the room. She lifts the cloth away, and glances at the beginnings of Estelle’s portrait. She can see little of it in the dim light. Lifting it down, she leans it against a second sketch that outlines the features of her uncle. Then she wraps the cloth around both.
She watched them both tonight at dinner, closely. In Alexander she saw a new softness and peace, a relaxation of the features And in Estelle, she sensed a more determined look in the blue eyes, which previously had only masked her inner feelings with irony and laughter. Or perhaps she merely imagined these changes – had wished for them so much that she read them into the faces before her. In any event, she is tired. She does not want to paint for a while, and maybe the time off that she takes will allow those developments to occur that she wants to see in her two latest subjects. Wandering back to the fireplace, she looks up at Katya’s portrait. The shadows cast onto her face by the glowing embers mean that her eyes and mouth are barely visible. How would her aunt have changed, had she been given the chance? Lauren looks at the painting, trying in her mind to re-work the familiar features so that age and experience cause their alterations. But she cannot – the choices that her aunt may have made, the way her character could have developed are too varied to be pinned down so easily. Lauren closes her eyes, but beneath the lids that burn from lack of sleep, the image of Katya still lies, clear and bright. She pushes down the last embers of the fire with the poker, and turns to leave the room.
“Good night Katya,” she says. “Good night.”
The End
Also by Shamim Sarif...
I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT Novel
Exploring the themes of self-discovery and tradition-breaking, the acclaimed novel I Can’t Think Straight is award-winning author Shamim Sarif ‘s third novel. Including behind-the-scenes photos from the movie, the book follows the journey of Tala, Leyla and their families in a touching and often humorous narrative.
Available from
www.enlightenment-productions.com
and from Amazon.com
ACCLAIM FOR “I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT”
“…a brilliantly executed, romantic, sexy, and heart-warming page-turner… the work of an amazingly talented writer and one that is a refreshing and immensely enjoyable read that leaves you smiling. The only thing to not like about the book is that it had to end…”
– Cherrygrrl.com
“Each character in the story is wonderfully complex and endearing…Sarif evokes an atmosphere so diverse and inviting, each page is something to be savored. Sarif’s descriptions are beautifully crafted; delicate, seductive and enthralling, they make I Can’t Think S
traight a sheer joy to read from start to finish.”
– GracetheSpot.com
THE WORLD UNSEEN Novel
Shamim Sarif’s first novel took the publishing world by storm and went on to win the Pendleton May First Novel Award and the prestigious Betty Trask Award, garnering huge critical acclaim for its delicate portrayal of 1950’s South Africa.
Available from
www.enlightenment-productions.com
and from Amazon.com
ACCLAIM FOR “THE WORLD UNSEEN”
“It is an impressive debut. Sarif’s story brings together the descriptive power of the novelist with the screenwriter’s mastery of dialogue.”
– The Times
“I read The World Unseen at a gulp, so entrancing is it’s style, so complete it’s tale of love and betrayal, and so accurate it’s depiction …” of the physical, social and political scene…”
– Johannesburg Star, Book of the Week
“Sarif’s elegant and understated debut eschews emotional fireworks, and offers an unusual insight into early apartheid...a novel that lives up to its title.”
– The Times, Play
“In the tradition of Vikram Seth, Sarif throws down a literary gauntlet that very few writers will be able to pick and return with any conviction.”
– Pride
“A really wonderful book. Sarif’s writing is delicate and confident and the characters are real and very believable.”
– Maggie O’Farrell, Author
“Highly original…this is a stylishly written work. Sarif is near faultless…”
– India Weekly
“The characters shine with the beauty of Sarif’s deceptively skilful prose which keeps your eyes skating along the narrative in sheer enjoyment. I read this book in two long sittings, unable to put it down.”
– Dyverse
“If you only read one novel for the rest of the year, make it this one. Sarif is a new writer who deserves to win prizes.”
– Waterstones
