The Contract

by Zeenat Mahal

  After a pause, he spoke, through clenched teeth it seemed.

  “Fine. But then make sure that I don’t have any complaints and that you do everything that a mother’s supposed to do these days for Natasha. And…”

  “I wasn’t finished. My son’s college fees for any international university he’s able to get into.”

  There was a long stretch of silence. He spoke in a low controlled voice that indicated exasperation.

  “How old is your son?”

  She didn’t give a damn. For a man who was busy, he took far too many reflective pauses.

  “Eight.”

  He sighed, giving in to the exasperation he’d been trying to control.

  “Right, okay. I’ll open a trust fund for him that he’ll be able to use when he gets to college. Will that be all?”

  She hesitated, but then thought it was better to make everything clear.

  “Just one more thing, I’m going to tell you up front and this is non-negotiable, I’m not doing any sexual favors for you or anyone else. This is purely a business deal and you should agree to that. I’m sure you can get…physical comfort anywhere you want. So, are we clear on that?”

  After one of his mandatory pauses, he drawled, “Rest assured, Ms. Shahira, I have no sexual designs on you.”

  He sounded as if she’d made a rather ridiculous assumption. Shahira felt a little embarrassed, but was nevertheless glad she’d cleared the air. Better safe than sorry.

  “Okay then. That’s it.”

  “I’ll let my mother know. On Saturday then, around noon, keep your line clear.”

  And the phone clicked.

  ≈

  TWO

  Life was suddenly grand.

  Shahira had a beautiful house to live in and money to spend. Shahaan had his own room, which thrilled him, and she could finally get him all the things that other boys his age took for granted. She could buy all the beautiful and expensive clothes, shoes and bags that she’d only touched and drooled over. She was in retail heaven and having a ball.

  She and Natasha spent quality mother-daughter time a-plenty and the girl was blossoming before her very eyes. Within four months, she’d lost weight, was more confident, had made lots of new friends and was beginning to develop an attitude. Ha, good for her, thought Shahira happily. She’d had to work hard on the shy, under-confident girl, and attitude was important, as she’d learnt herself.

  Shahaan thrived with a new grandmother to dote on him. Aunty Salma was pleased as punch; they were all happier people for the change in their lives. Life was wonderful, except for the occasions when Aunty Salma complained that Hussain still hadn’t come home, not even once, not even to meet his bride. At such times, Shahira, with characteristic deftness, would defend and exonerate him.

  “Aaauntyyy!” she said giving her voice a lilting happy nuance, hoping to sound convincing, “You know how busy he is and he’s so happy that he has me to depend on where his beloved mother and daughter are concerned.”

  “And what about you…huh?” Aunty Salma countered.

  Shahira wasn’t used to such kindness from in-laws and she was a bit taken aback. Then impulsively she hugged her mother-in-law and said with all honesty, “Really Aunty, I couldn’t be happier. I love it here, being with you and Natasha is a gift. I really do love you both.”

  Aunty Salma smiled and hugged her in turn, telling her with sincerity, “And we love you, my dearest. You’re a ray of sunshine and you’ve brought laughter back into our lives. Before you came, I’d forgotten how to laugh.”

  And she meant it too.

  For Salma, Shahira was the daughter she’d never had, and the daughter–in-law she’d secretly wanted. If only her stubborn son would listen to her. Every time she was on Skype with him, Shahira vanished swiftly and quietly, reappearing only when her talk with Hussain was over.

  Never once did Hussain express the desire to talk to her. And when she broached the subject, he fielded it deftly. Shahira, on the other hand, made up a story that they talked privately. They were newlyweds, she was shy and didn’t want to talk in front of her mother-in-law. And what a load of rubbish that was! All Salma knew was that this girl was made for her son, but how was he ever going to find that out if he never came home?

  The problem was that Shahira and Hussain appeared to be on the same side, which was why it was doubly difficult for her. Shahira made sure Hussain got his way and never had any cause to visit. She’d even insisted that the nikaah be performed on the phone, overriding all protests from her.

  This was also the longest Hussain had ever stayed away. It was almost as if he felt less responsible towards the two of them now that Shahira was here.

  She’d tried guilt and emotional blackmail. “Hussain, people are talking.” No response. “You haven’t even come once!”

  Nothing.

  “If you loved me you would come…” and even, “I’m old…ill…my days are numbered…”

  He hadn’t budged.

  So it was time to take action. She decided she was going to have a heart attack. The very next morning she did; a great big whopping one too.

  ***

  Shahira was running out of ruses to keep Aunty Salma from suspecting the truth. If she’d been determined enough to fake a heart attack to get Hussain to come, she’d go to any lengths. She sincerely hoped that one night in the hospital had cured her mother-in-law of any further melodrama.

  What a fright she’d had. All she remembered was thinking, not again, not again. Everything was going so well. Why did Aunty want to spoil it? Natasha and Shahaan were flourishing with full and active lives. They were a couple of healthy, happy children and all four of them had great fun. She didn’t want that jeopardized. Hussain’s presence would change things.

  On the other hand, a short visit from him was essential for the success of their plan at this point. There was nothing for it but to call him and tell him, she decided. Three rings and she nearly hung up, almost relieved that he hadn’t picked up. Then she heard the click and his deep voice resonated across the line.

  “Hussain.”

  “Yeah…hi. Sorry to bother you…”

  “Shabana, what’s the problem?”

  Who the hell was Shabana?

  “Shahira,” she said a little testily.

  She thought she heard a faint trace of what might have been humor in his voice when he said, “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “There’s a situation here…”

  “Is Natasha okay? Ami?”

  With forced patience, she intoned, “If you allow me to finish, you’ll get there quicker and save yourself time to make even more money.”

  Silence.

  Then in a crisp, cutting voice, “I’m listening. Please go on.”

  “I’m afraid Aunty Salma is on a crusade to make you come home. She even faked a heart attack two days ago and she would’ve called you, but I got to her first and handled the situation. Now, I’m sure you agree that our…contract is working just fine for the two of us. You coming here will just complicate matters. I think the best solution is for you to come over for a night or two. You could leave, maybe, the next day or evening. You won’t have to come again too soon after that, I’d say.”

  She paused, admiring her perfectly conceived plan. Yes, it could easily work. Aunty would no longer chafe at his continued absence. Maybe she’d even believe Shahira was pregnant after the night of revelry and sexual orgy that she seemed to think Hussain owed her. As she shuddered with revulsion at the prospect, she realized that there was complete silence on the other end.

  “Er…Hello?”

  Outraged, he said, “Am I to understand that you want me to come home, but I’m not welcome in my own house for more than a night?”

  How to play it? Men were so…volatile. Especially when they’d stumbled on to the truth and didn’t like it. Because that was exactly what she’d meant.

  “Not at all, you misunderstand me. Of course, this is your home. You can
come and go as you please. Who am I to interfere? I was merely trying to avoid the problems that could occur should you make an extended visit.”

  Yeah, that should do it. No matter how old they were and how much money they made, self-preservation always came first with men.

  “Like what?” he asked, sounding wary.

  “Well, for instance, Aunty will want a Valima reception for your family and friends if you stayed for more than two days.”

  “Good gracious! Are you…yes, you’re right. She absolutely would.”

  Shahira stifled her mirth. Good gracious? Who spoke like that?

  “She has an achkan ready for just such a day. It’s white, with gold dabka and has a matching kulla…” She was warming up to her theme but he interrupted, his voice held a faint trace of panic.

  “I get the picture. I’ll take a day off as soon as I can. Thanks for the heads up.”

  “That’s my job. Bye.”

  Sighing happily, she went to take a long, scented bath in her huge marbled bathroom—she was living the life, wasn’t she? She sobered at the thought. Yes, she was living her ideal life and she prayed nothing would ever change.

  ***

  At the other end of the world, Hussain thought that his wife of convenience worked entirely too hard to ensure he wouldn’t have to come home, or stay long if he did. Not only had she not wanted him to come, she’d cleverly manipulated the situation so that he was now actually afraid to go home, even more than usual.

  There was something intriguing about her voice though, that niggled at him. There was nothing extraordinary about it, except for the undertones of a vast grief and that schoolmarm tone that overrode every other nuance. Or was it his mother’s doing? Shahira this and Shahira that, so that he’d had to reduce his calls even further to avoid the heavy doses of brain washing. He was afraid it might end up having the effect his mother wanted. Why else would he still be thinking about her?

  Natasha was really fond of Shahira too. She wouldn’t be able to survive without her now. So was this a clever manipulator or the genuine article? She’d learnt her lessons the hard way and she was a survivor, she would’ve had to be, to have accepted his contract and the terms and conditions that went with it. He’d been having a really bad day. What a stroke of luck that he’d decided to give the manipulative schoolteacher a piece of his mind.

  She’d returned the favor of course.

  It was an ideal marriage so far. Initially, he’d been just a little bit afraid that she’d start whining and calling him, trying to behave like a real wife to get him into her clutches. It hadn’t happened. She hadn’t even tried to contact him before that night. She really had made a business deal and nothing more.

  What a relief.

  The woman was a good employee and wanted to make sure he got what he wanted—and had paid for. Excellent.

  ≈

  THREE

  Hussain booked a flight for Lahore the next day and arrived home late that night. He’d informed his mother earlier of his forthcoming visit and left a voicemail for his wife. His mother, as he’d expected, was still up when he arrived and he was glad to see that she looked healthy and happy. His filial love turned to irritation however, when she insisted that he go up at once to his new wife, as if he were a twenty-something bridegroom.

  Further annoyed that his wife was behaving like a shy bride and was nowhere to be seen, he took leave of his mother, with a smile fixed on his face. He tried to hide his ire. Where the hell was she? She should’ve been there to make sure his mother’s suspicions were put to rest. Wasn’t that the whole purpose of the exercise?

  He went up to his daughter’s room. Natasha was the spitting image of her mother, a fact that made it hard for him to not think of the woman every time he looked at her. Sometimes he wished there was something of him that he were able to see in her, something that would reassure him that she was actually his. He supposed a DNA test would do that but he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if she wasn’t.

  The familiar old rancor gurgled in his throat and rose in his mouth, bitter and harsh, leaving him resentful and angry. As he cautiously opened the door to Natasha’s room, he felt a strange tug at his heart. What an unfortunate child to have lost a mother because she couldn’t keep her legs crossed long enough and a father who didn’t believe she was his biological daughter.

  Natasha was waiting for him, wearing a bright smile, her eyes shining.

  “Abba!” she cried and hurled herself into his arms.

  “Hello, princess!” he hugged her. Holding her close, he felt all his bitterness seep away and a deep calm settle over him.

  “Why are you still up?” He picked her up in his arms and smiling into her face, asked, “Missed me?”

  That was unnecessary and he totally knew the answer but it was always nice to hear.

  “So, so, so, so much! Have you met Mom?”

  Usually, Natasha would go into long declarations of how much she’d missed him and how much she loved him. Tonight, though, she had other business on her mind.

  “Mom?” he asked skeptically.

  She giggled.

  “She said if I called her Ami, she felt like her aunt, who is huge and extremely annoying and if I called her Mama, it made her sound like one of the Barbie doll mothers who come to school to show off their latest purchases. And if I called her…”

  “So what does she think Mom sounds like?”

  “She said it sounded like her, practical and capable.”

  “Hmmm. Are you happy with…Mom?”

  “Yesss! So much! I love her.” She looked at him shyly, as if she was waiting for something. And Hussain realized he hadn’t bought anything for her this time.

  “Hey, I didn’t get you anything this time. I was in such a hurry. I’ll buy you something from here.”

  She looked disappointed.

  “I’m sorry, Toat Batoat, I was in a hurry…”

  “It’s not that.”

  She sounded miserable.

  “What is it? Did she do anything to hurt you?” he asked ominously.

  His daughter shook her head looking at him reproachfully for suggesting something so ridiculous.

  “Didn’t you notice anything different about me?”

  Hussain looked again, trying to appear thoughtful, feeling the pressure only a male can feel because he has no idea what he’s supposed to notice about the female in question. What was it? Her hair? Perhaps she did look different, but he couldn’t say what it was.

  “I’ve lost fifteen pounds!”

  She sounded tearful.

  “Wow! Of course I noticed. I was just teasing you.”

  Lame, but it would have to do. She brightened a little. “Mom banned all fast food and sweets for four months, even for Shahaan and herself to support me. She taught me how to speak out and how to stand up for myself. We even got matching outfits, just like Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise.”

  He laughed.

  “Okay, so you’re happy…”

  He sighed heavily, feeling relief and a strange new lightness in his heart.

  “Time for bed, Toat Batoat.”

  She giggled. He always used to call her that but only recently had she found out who that was, an ancient character in an Urdu storybook series. Mom had told her the stories.

  “Did you meet Shahaan? He asks me a lot about you. I think he wants a father, just like I wanted a mother.”

  He had to play this cautiously. He didn’t want to give any false hopes to anyone.

  “I haven’t met him yet, he’s probably asleep. Maybe you can introduce us tomorrow?”

  He smiled and kissed her again. “Go to sleep now.”

  “How long are you staying? You’re not going too soon, are you?” A fearful note had crept into her voice.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, I have some work. But I’ll be back again, soon.”

  He didn’t mean it, and she knew it. He was doing the best he could and anyone who expected more was just kidding t
hemselves. He waited for her to doze off and only then did he seek the comfort of his room. It had an adjoining door that led to his wife’s bedroom. Rutaba had insisted on a separate room and he’d obliged. Later, when he found out about her indiscretions, he’d been grateful for it and had kept the door locked. Out of curiosity he tried the handle. It was firmly sealed. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and then went to bed.

  ***

  It seemed as if he’d only just closed his eyes when a shrill excited voice yelled in his ear, “Abba!”

  He groaned and tried to cover his head with a pillow, but to no avail. “Abba! Wake up, please!” The voice had assumed the velocity of military proportions.

  He obliged unwillingly.

  “Toat Batoat…” he tried to smile as he looked at her, his eyes squinting against the shaft of bright sunlight now coming through the window. Then he noticed the little boy with solemn brown eyes who was regarding him steadily.

  “Hello.”

  He smiled at the boy.

  Natasha piped up.

  “This is Shahaan, my little brother.”

  The boy’s head whipped sideways. “I am not little. I’m eight years old,” he said firmly.

  Then the solemn eyes were back on him. Hussain wasn’t sure what was expected of him, but he knew enough about boys to not laugh like he wanted to. He offered his hand.

  Smiling shyly, Shahaan took it. Apparently he’d passed some sort of test. Shifting closer to Natasha the boy whispered, “He’s cool.”

  Hussain bit back his smile again. They were talking about him as if he were deaf or invisible.

  Natasha said archly, “I told you he was.”

  Shahaan nodded. After thinking for a minute he added, “Mom’s cooler.”

  Remembering Hussain’s presence in this moment of blatant betrayal, Shahaan gave him an awkward glance.

  Laughing, Hussain said, “Aren’t they always?”

  The boy gave him another shy smile.

  “Okay, you two. Off you go to school.”

  “Will you be here when we get back?” Natasha asked and Hussain was glad he could say yes.