Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  Ritu

  Allah lighten my hands. Allah lighten my feet. Allah lighten my heart and my head, and my soul. Allah forgive me for my sins, and Allah protect my children where I cannot. Tell my son that I am sorry I betrayed him.

  Tell him, Allah, that in another world I would have been the proudest and kindest Amma he could have wanted.

  Rizvi

  She lit up every room like a beacon, and brought out the best in everyone she touched. I couldn’t get enough of Adra, but that could have been because we spent most of our time in Dubai running from here to there. For our first three days we were never alone in the day, and so exhausted by the night that we couldn’t even speak to each other.

  I saw Ritu and Jalil almost everywhere we went, but never with enough time to talk. They were like our grim, pale alter egos. Silent and drained looking. I pitied them with quiet superiority; our families had chosen well, and these poor people had been failed by theirs. Clearly they were not suited, or they were unwilling to try. It was so easy when you just put a little effort in, I had whispered to myself when I saw her reading in solitude, or when he swam lap after lap without a word to her. When they walked tersely by us he seemed to glower at the air, as if it were to blame for his lack of interest.

  But I couldn’t pity her; she was so aloof, so cool and collected that I wondered if she was bothered. Was it a political match, I wondered? Or just a mistake?

  “I want to get a job when we go home,” Adra said at breakfast one day, putting her fork and knife down gently, “I want to help, and since there are no children to look after I can be more useful if I’m working.”

  “You don’t have to be useful,” I said, mortified by the thought that I might have given her that idea, and wiped my mouth with a crisp napkin, “it’s your home too. You’re not a maid.”

  “I know,” she laughed and gripped my hand, “but I want to be.” I nodded and stared at my orange juice,

  “Do you want to have children?” It was a silly question; we would have children one day, that was a fact, but I meant soon. I was asking, really, ‘do you want children now’? She blanched and opened her mouth,

  “Well I…” She shrugged, “of course I will have children one day.” I nodded and smiled,

  “But not now.” The weight of responsibility had felt like a millstone for a moment, and my relief must have been palpable because she laughed again,

  “No. Not now, if you don’t mind.”

  We were of one mind, but for different reasons. She wanted a life, no doubt, and I wanted her to myself for a while. We were running out of things to say; the past was not an infinite resource, and the future was creeping up on us slowly but surely. We would have to face it, or so I thought until Jalil and Ritu slid into our lives again. Or were dragged; Adra pulled Ritu to our table with a wide smile and clasping hands, and Jalil followed with an air of martyred resentment. More chairs, more food, more faces at the table and suddenly the future was not so large, so present, or so insistent. It could wait because we had company. And they were not so bad as I had thought; they were frightened of being swallowed by their future, probably, much like us.

  “I would like to spend some real time in the Gold Souq,” Ritu said at our first dinner, covering her mouth delicately as she spoke, “it was so lively, and has so much history, but we didn’t get much time there yesterday.” She tilted her head, “We were on our way back for dinner.”

  “We could all go.” Adra said immediately, as I had known she would, “It would be fun, no? We could get something nice for your grandmother.” She said to me with a wide smile, “To thank her for all her help.”

  It was a nice idea. I nodded,

  “We could go tomorrow.” I blinked at Jalil, and he shrugged,

  “Why not.” He muttered, “There’s only so many laps anyone can do.” And a small smile. It was the most he ever said to me. He said much more to Adra, of course, when Ritu and I weren’t there. The poor woman must never have known, but I couldn’t have blamed him for not telling her. I can’t even now when it’s all behind us and I know that he knew. He knew what she was after all along, and never told me. Just the way she never told Ritu.

  Two liars helping each other. Two beautiful liars.

  Ritu

  Dubai was a beautiful purgatory for us both; like home, and not at all like it all at once. It was no preparation for Scotland. None at all. No preparation for being always alone with each other, and with his family. If our room and life in Dubai was a garden, Scotland became a tomb and his family the corpses decorating it. The dogs guarding it.

  Adra was full of vibrant life, her husband brimming with shy kindness. They were the perfect antidote to Jalils calm, cold, clarity and to my own nervous fear. So when we left them at the airport a numb tickling settled down on my chest. My eyes blurred and burned; I was not crying for these strangers, I was crying because Jalil and I had never talked of the future. He had not touched me. This was not the way it should have been. This would not be my life; a stilted marriage, a non-existent sex life, and a husband who didn’t speak unless necessary. This was not my generation’s part in life. This was not my lot in the world. It could not be; I wanted to run after them and grab Adras hand, beg her to visit, and to call, and to write. I wanted to beg them to take me with them and explain that there had been some terrible mistake because this man was not my husband, and this life was not mine.

  But it was.

  His family were already there when we got home; gathered and waiting for us, though only his mother would stay with us in the house, was his mother, sister and three brothers. Nazneen, his youngest sister, gripped my hands and clasped them to her swollen belly,

  “Soon our children will play together, sister.” She said with a happy smile; it was hard to deny the joy in her face, and the life in her womb, so I grinned and nodded. His mother, Zahra, eyed me as if I were a horse and she a buyer judging my worth. Her hooded, clever eyes took in every part of me before she nodded and smiled,

  “Welcome, daughter. How was your flight?” She embraced us both with steely arms, enveloping us in the smell of cardamom and cotton,

  “Very pleasant, thank you.” I smiled,

  “Good, and Soraya was kind to you?” She asked. I blinked, stared for a moment too long and Jalil stepped in,

  “Yes. Aunt was very good to us, Amma.” He kissed her cheeks and embraced Ali and Elil in turn. This was a loving family, I had thought. One that would become the centre of my life in its own way, eventually. They helped us unpack all our memories, stared at my university books and notes before putting them to the side, and sort the good from the bad. The essential from the unnecessary. Apparently a lot was unnecessary, though they lacked the stomach to say so at the time, because I found my notes in the bin within a few months. I rescued them, then the books, then my university jacket.

  You would be surprised how long it took for me to give up on the idea of continuing my studies, though. Perhaps that was why they did it. Perhaps that was why she did it. Her face when she realised that I was holding to it like a dog with a bone; her smile fell so fast I thought I might have heard it smash on the tiles.

  “We are settled now,” I pressed, “And my Amma and Babu are happy to pay for my tuition. It need not be a burden on the household.”

  “I can afford it,” Jalil snapped, “money is not an issue.”

  “Then what is?” I demanded, slamming the knife onto the counter hard enough to startle Kuma, our cat. Jalil sighed and shook his head, lifted his bag and readied to go to the hospital for his shift,

  “Why do you want to study history, anyway. Why not something practical?” He kissed Zahra in the cheek and left before I could counter, and she followed. Going to the Desi market, no doubt. She lived there, practically. When she wasn’t irritating me.

  “It is practical.” I whispered to Kuma, “I’m going to be a teacher.” He yowled, leapt onto the sill and slipped out of the window into the sunlight.

  It
would have been easy to stare after him forever, but Nazneen was coming to help me prepare dinner for the family tonight. We were celebrating Jalil’s promotion. I stared at the food laid out all around me, the paper recipe on the counter, and counted the hours spent cleaning, ironing, washing…wondering how this had become my life. How was it mine and not the life of some cowed village girl who knew nothing else? That was what they seemed to want, I had spat to the walls often enough, so why had they not just found one?

  “Why?” I growled,

  “If Allah wanted us to ask questions he would have made us men.” Nazneen laughed,

  “Yes.” I turned, wiping my hands on my jeans, and laughed. She always came in without me noticing; she moved like a ghost. “And if he wanted humans to fly he would have given us wings.” I shook my head, “Yet we have the airplane and I ask questions.” She put down her bags and hugged me tight,

  “Bōna,” she said into my ear, “are you alright?”

  “Yes.” I patted her back, tucked a stray strand of hair into her sari, “Tea?”

  “Good.” She sat, “Please…” she gave me a sly sideways glance “I have good news.” She gripped her belly tight. It was almost time. I raised my eyebrows, “It’s a boy.” She squealed and cackled when I clapped a hand to my mouth,

  “I thought you and Ibrahim didn’t want to know?” I gasped and placed my hands on her stomach,

  “He didn’t, but I asked them to tell me anyway when he wasn’t listening.” She whispered, “He tells me ‘no, no, no it’s a little girl, I tell you, a little princess’ though I’ve told him a hundred times I just knew it would be a boy. Well,” she clapped her hands, “I was right.” We laughed together, and I kissed her hands. My sisters would marry soon. I wondered if I would ever see their children; if Jalil would break one promise, why not all of them? “Don’t tell him.” She begged, squeezing my fingers so tight I thought they might fall off.

  I nodded,

  “Of course not. Our secret, Bōna.” I promised, “Now help me with this dinner, or I’ll never have it ready on time.” She threw back her head and laughed, clutching her ever growing stomach as if even simple mirth might prove too much for the precious gift inside it.

  Rizvi

  We came together slowly, but I never suspected reluctance on her side; it was Adra who made the first move, after all, when we got back from the Gold Souq. She was all nervous energy while we were there, touching things without really looking at them. Smiling and nodding at the vendors without comprehension, and every now and then gripping my hand tight like a terrified hawk. And then, when we were alone, she gripped me tight and pulled nervously at me until I understood. It was time to move forward, and though I had been hovering by her like nervous mother hen it was a surprise. She, in her wild way, had decided that she was ready without telling me.

  If I had known more about people, if I had spent more time studying sociality rather than computer coding, I might have felt her anxiety. Or seen the determined detachment in her face. But she was a good actress, and she took away all my fears.

  **

  “We didn’t use a condom.” I said as a lightning bolt of shame went through me, singing my insides and throat as it passed. Adra drew in a deep, sleepy breath and whispered,

  “Mm- what?”

  “I didn’t put a condom on, I am so sorry-” I sat up and extended my hands in supplication, “I can’t believe I was so stup…id.” I tilted my head to the side; she had started laughing. Light, slightly unkind sniggers that filled the room,

  “Don’t worry.” She whispered, and pressed her finger to the inside of her arm. A thin, hard object moved under her skin, “It has all been taken care of.” The implant, of course; I had read about this medical innovation that had freed forgetful women and men from the fear of unwanted pregnancy. A smart, ambitious woman like Adra… it made sense that she would have signed up for it. She patted my shoulder and rolled over, “It’s sweet that you worry, Rizvi. You’re sweet.” I lay down beside her and listened to the sound of the sea beyond our small, tidy balcony.

  “Would you like to live somewhere near the sea?” I ventured when her breathing did not deepen again. She shifted a little, shimmying back towards me,

  “If you like.” She said,

  “Or would you prefer the city?” I picked up a strand of her hair and curled it around my finger,

  “Whichever.” She stretched,

  “A city near the sea? Like Dubai?” I pressed. She shrugged,

  “I don’t mind.” She said with a strange finality,

  “We could move back to Dhaka.”

  “No!” She stiffened, and though her voice had not raised I felt her muscles coil like springs.

  “Well that narrows it down a little.” I forced a laugh and rubbed her arm.

  Adra rolled onto her back and stared, eyes flicking over my face until she seemed to see what she wanted. She laughed and nodded, tickling the underside of my chin with easy familiarity.

  “I like the house we have in Toronto. The neighbours are friendly, and it’s clean.” She final ventured an opinion after a few minutes, “Can we not just stay in Canada?”

  “Of course,” it made sense; she didn’t want to be moved around, I thought, she just wanted somewhere to be home. It could all come later. What mattered was that we had time to get to know each other, and time to think about our future. “Do you still want to get a job when we get home?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, “I’d like to work with children. I have a degree in child nursing.”

  “You do?” It was news to me, but then again I knew nothing about her at all, really. She nodded,

  “I’d like to work in a nursery.” She said, and pulled the blanket further up her chest, “I like small children… they are… so full of hope, and possibilities.” She let her lips pull up and out into a huge, happy smile. “They can be anything they want to be when they’re that young. Anything at all.”

  She sounded so sad. So lost. As if the only thing she wanted to be was one of those small children; full of hope and possibilities.

  “I think you should do it.” I said, for lack of anything better to say and any knowledge of how to help, “You’ll be wonderful as a nursery nurse.” Adra smiled and nodded, pressing her face to my chest. There were people at home who would have looked down on her for going to work so soon after marriage; small minded people who would say it was my shame that she felt I couldn’t support her without help. Who would say that she worked because I could not put food on the table.

  Suddenly I was very glad that we were going to live in Toronto and be surrounded by other young Bengali people who would share our view.

  “Will your grandmother be coming to live with us?” She mumbled into my arm,

  “No. She wants to stay at home. My cousin Neyha will take care of her, and we will send money back to support her.” It had been the only arrangement that would suit us both; Nānī would not leave her home, and I couldn’t bring myself to do nothing for her. It wasn’t entirely the truth, what I had said, because we weren’t sending money to support Nānī. She didn’t need it, after all. We were paying Neyha’s wages, or I was anyway. “Will your mother want to come live with us?” I said, throat cracking,

  “No. Amma and Babu will stay where they are. Together.” She smiled; her parents marriage had been arranged. They were furiously in love, from what I gathered, and though it had not always been easy they were happy. The kind of success story I hoped we would be used as when our children were thinking about their futures.

  “Then we’re in a strange position, hm?” I chuckled, “A young Bengali couple in a traditional arranged marriage with no family to trip over. And privacy.”

  “Yes. So it would seem.” She snorted and rolled over again; settled into the soft mattress as I watched the rise and fall of her back in the inky darkness, and thought how it was funny the way a single moment could change your life.

  Ritu

  I wouldn’t be tol
d, wouldn’t be cowed by a man who couldn’t keep his promises and wouldn’t be held responsible. So I filled out my application and I kissed it, pressing the full weight of my hope onto the envelope before letting it disappear into the post box. I remember the sight of my fingers shivering in the frigid air, dangling over the rim of the slot as if they could still feel the weight of hope and expectation on their tips. I walked home with a smile on my face that day; grinning to the pallid North Lanarkshire sun as if it was my very best friend. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, of course, that I had defied him, but I was convinced I could weather the storm.

  **

  “What is this?” Zahra waved a sheet of folded paper in my face with narrow poisonous eyes,

  “I’d be able to tell you, Mother, if you let me see it.” I snapped and reached for it, but reeled when her small weathered hand snaked out to crack across my cheek,

  “Keep your arrogance girl,” she hissed and slapped the paper on the table. A letter from Glasgow University which, upon inspection, offered me a place on their history and politics course. It had been so long since I let that envelope fall from my fingers that I was sure I had been forgotten. And with the birth of little Mitun I had been too busy to really regret that; he was a joy, and Nazneen spent more time here than ever. Now she was holding him in one arm with wide eyes, and a hand clapped to her face,

  “Amma what-” she started, but Zahra silenced her with a look and a hand,

  “Jalil will hear about this.” She pointed to the letter as if she could hurt it if she put enough venom in her words. I shrugged and rubbed my cheek,