by Kai Kazi
“And so what if he does?” I snapped, “He made me promises. Promises he hasn’t kept.” I threw up my hands, “He has no right to be angry and you,” I pushed my finger into her face, “if you ever lay a hand on me again there will be trouble.”
My own Amma never hit me, not once, so I didn’t see why Zahra should. She just smirked, though, as if this was the most ridiculous thing she had heard and swept away like a great, fat shark. Nazneen hushed Mitun and glided around the table,
“Are you alright?” She whispered,
“Yes,” I laughed, though hot humiliation and tears were fighting in my throat, pressing behind my stinging eyes, “I’m fine.” She bit her lip and sighed,
“You shouldn’t have done that.” She motioned to the letter, “Not when Jalil said no…but,” she flashed me a mischievous smile, “I’m glad you did! You’re so clever Bōna- you should be allowed to bloom.” She chucked Mitun under his round, sweet chin and chuckled, “Don’t you think so, hm, shouldn’t auntie be allowed to go write her books and be bored to death in lectures if she wants?” She tickled his belly and he gurgled an affirmative. We set about clearing the kitchen.
My reflection in the kitchen window was pale and wide-eyed. My ghostly face, slightly darker on one side, stared back in terror from its place behind the glass. An unpleasant thought flickered through my mind that this was just another me, in another place, who had been scared into submission. She peered through the glass like a fugitive, wishing for my life to be different. The fear passed quickly, but left a greyish tint to the world. Nazneen, who had seemed like the happiest of mothers to me, looked like she was holding an anchor in the form of her sweet boy. Mitun was a kind, intelligent, and easy baby, but he was the first link in the chain that would keep her tied to her husband and a domestic life until she was too old to want any more.
I dried my hands and reached for the small pocket notebook I kept, jotting a simple message in it for myself when I opened it in the morning.
Make Doctors appointment for Pill.
Jalil was becoming more and more comfortable with me. His hands wandered more often. I would not be caught, I had decided, like an ignorant village girl who had been married off to unburden her family. My body, my rules, and I would not be an unwilling host to my own restriction. As the night drew on we both began to tense; Jalil would return at nine, as he did most nights, and then we would see who was right. Zahra or I.
I had expected him to be angry, but not to actually entertain the idea of stopping me. She seemed to think differently, and she did, of course, know her son infinitely better than I.
We knew he had come back not because of the door rattling, but because Zahra flew from her room like a typhoon, howling in Bengali as he reeled. Nazneen pursed her lips and lifted Mitun,
“I will come back tomorrow Bōna, call me if you need me?” She said quietly, leaning forward conspiratorially,
“Yes.” I nodded,
“Jalil is reasonable,” she smiled, “he won’t be happy, but I don’t think he’ll lose it completely.” I nodded. I hoped she was right. Zahra and Jalil had begun to speak in hushed tones by this point, but I could hear the terse, cool tone he was using. He wasn’t happy, but whether he was equally annoyed with her behaviour…
Well I was about to find out. I dried the dishes slowly as their voices faded and his footsteps clicked up the hallway. The kitchen door had a distinctive hissing creak; I knew he was standing behind me, would have known even if I couldn’t feel the pressure of his gaze on my back, and I kept on drying them.
“Tell your mother if she ever hits me again I’ll slap her back.” I said, more steadily than I thought I could, and gripped the towel, “She had no right.”
“She had no right?” He laughed, “But you have the right to do exactly what I told you not to?”
“You never told me not to!” I said, “You asked me why I wanted to study history and left.”
“I told you,” he said, lowering his voice, “that you would not be going now.” I narrowed my eyes and sighed, “But she shouldn’t have hit you.” He inclined his head, “And I said that to her.” He lifted the letter in his slim, aristocratic hands and read it quickly. Despite wanting to be calm I found my heart hammering harder and harder the longer he stared. I wanted to throw my heart at his feet and beg him not to make my life more difficult. I wanted to bare my soul and show him how much it meant to me, but instead I said,
“I got an unconditional offer. After a reference from my tutor in Dhaka they said that I can take up my studies where I left off.” I advanced on him, “That means only a year of studying now instead of four later. Jalil I know you wanted me to wait and I am sorry if you feel like I’ve disrespected you… but this will make me so happy.” I watched his face for signs of softness, “All I have to do is make a presentation which sums up the research I had already gathered for my dissertation. Please don’t stand in my way.” He raised his eyebrows and puffed up his cheeks,
“Of course I won’t.” He shrugged, “I’m not happy you went behind my back, Ritu, but I’m not a fucking monster.”
And, all of a sudden, I was ashamed of myself. Of course he wasn’t; he was selfish, and arrogant, and he thought more of his needs than mine, but then again who was I to him? We had been married just over a year. We had known each other just over a year. I smiled, tears threatening, and ignored Zahras sour face in the doorway,
“Thank you, Jalil… and,” I cleared my throat, “I am sorry.”
“No you’re not.” He laughed and sat at the kitchen table, “What’s for dinner?”
And just like that the storm that I had been waiting for passed me over; I was free to do as I pleased. I still had my notes and books, though they had nearly been thrown out a few times before, and I had a month or so to prepare a coherent presentation. I knew I was capable, and now I had Jalils blessing, if not his support.
It was enough.
Rizvi
She hit me with the force of a train, and gripped me tight,
“I got the job!” She gasped. Of course she did; I had seen her resume, helped her write it, and she was brilliant. The best grades, the best extracurricular activities, and plenty of work experience. Not to mention the voluntary work with childrens’ charities. She was, on paper, the perfect person to work with young children. All that had been left for her to do was charm the managers when she went to meet them, and that was certain. I’m not sure she ever met a person she couldn’t charm, a person who wasn’t taken in by her easy smile and happy laugh.
“I knew you would.” I laughed and held her tight, breathed in the perfume that clung to her hair and clothes,
“How could you it’s the first I applied for!” She pinched my shoulder lightly, “Let’s open a nice bottle of wine!” She said, “To celebrate.” I nodded,
“Will we just call Rana’s and get them to deliver?” I reached for the phone, “Save us cooking?” She laughed and nodded,
“Great. We’ll have a private party.” She said and clasped her perfectly manicured hands as she perched on the sofa. While I placed our order she reached for a well-thumbed magazine; our lives had settled so well into a comfortable, smooth routine. I knew what to order for us, and I knew what we would watch later. Such routine might have been an anathema to many, but to me it was wonderful.
“So,” I sat on the sofa across from her and smiled, “tell me all about it! Where is it? What were they like? Is it full time?” A brilliant smile spread across her face and she leaned forward as if ready to conspire with a partner in crime. Though we had only been married six months I loved these moments best. The moments when I was her best friend. I loved them as much as the moments when we were wrapped around each other like ivy vines.
“It’s only part time right now, but Cherry, the manager of the nursery, says that one of the girls is about to go on maternity leave so I can take her hours when she does.” She nodded, “It’s only fifteen minutes in the car from here, and they are so
kind!” She clapped her hands, “They asked me if I had any allergies so they could make the kitchen ready for me, and they told me that they can be flexible with me if I need it.” She ran her hands through her hair and drew in a deep breath, “It’s brilliant, I’m so glad I applied.”
It was more than brilliant; it was so phenomenal that it could only have been ordained by a generous God. Not that I was inclined to believe, but if there was ever a time I might consider it then it would have been then.
“We should go out to celebrate.” I said, slapping the coffee table lightly, leaving a handprint on the glass, “We could call Sanjay and Carla and all go out for dinner. To HariKiri downtown!” She opened her mouth and looked at the phone. Japanese food was a new fad for us, and no doubt she thought I had forgotten our order, “No, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow or at the weekend? You deserve it, Adra. Let’s celebrate your success.” She pulled her bottom lip in with her teeth and flushed happily,
“That sounds wonderful.” She said and reached for my hand, and I convinced myself that this little gesture was a sign of all the good things to come. The world would fall at our feet, and we would fall in love, surely.
Sanjay and Carla were only too happy to have dinner with us the next day, and when we sat around the table toasting Adra and her future I found myself staring at her with silent awe just like I had done when we first met. She was polite to the waiting staff, kind even, and she treated this friend of mine and his wife like treasured friends of her own though they had only met three or four times before. As she turned Carla’s hand this way and that, admiring the sparkle of her wedding ring and complimenting the elegance of the design as well as Sanjays taste, a swell of tenderness rose in my chest. It was a fragile, warm feeling which resisted all attempts to squash it.
She had become the centre of my world and her pleasure was quickly becoming mine. I wanted more of her affection, more of her time. Just more.
So when she leaned over to grip Sanjays wrist and laugh intimately with him when Carla went to the bathroom I thought about how kind and amicable she was. How she was making sure that he felt at ease and included in our own bubble of happiness. I never wondered why he kept looking at me; spasmodic fits of nervousness seemed, to me, to be flashes joy at her presence and attention.
No doubt they were, in a way.
Ritu
Forgiveness is a funny thing; when the night was in full bloom and there was nothing but the occasional hum of passing cars I thought that I would love nothing more than for Jalil to come to me. To just stop being alone. To have someone to curl into; I would forgive him, his cruelty if he would just unlock the door and alleviate my loneliness. And then the dawn came and hardened my resolve like a riverbed under the baking sun.
When Zahra brought my breakfast she found me silent, pale, and reproachful. We did not acknowledge each other, but for once I could understand her anger. My actions must have seemed as unforgiveable to her as Jalil’s were to me, and I think she knew that I understood her. We stared at each other across a great gulf of hatred, but for once we looked each other in the eye.
She understood me, too, I think, but just couldn’t forgive.
And he still didn’t come. And day passed to night, and I wished for company again. And no doubt more days will pass until he thinks me sufficiently broken. But a starved, frightened tiger is more dangerous than a fat, contented one so that man had better fear me.
Ritu
“That lazy cow hasn’t even tried to make dinner today,” Zahra tutted to Jalil the minute he entered, “I know she can’t cook, but she could at least help instead of being completely useless.”
“Amma Ritu is working. Do you want her to embarrass us, and this family, by making a fool of herself in her interview?” Jalil sighed and slumped at the other end of the table, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at me firmly, “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” I said, pressing the pen harder than necessary, “I’ll make all this into a presentation tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Your interview is at nine on Monday?” He reached down and lifted Kuma into his lap. I nodded,
“Nine until eleven.” The prospect was dizzying, and the weeks of academic study and preparation had only served to increase the aching need to be back in the life I loved. Jalil had become more supportive as time went by and his anger slid away; I had begun to like him more for it. He nodded and sighed,
“Well go to bed,” he said, “you’ll need your rest. I will help Amma tidy up, but once you’re interview has passed you’ll need to help more. Nazneen can’t always be here.” I nodded; anything to keep him happy. Anything to keep the path of progress straight and uninterrupted.
I bent my head to the notebook and watched my future smeared across the white paper until the possibilities were endless. By lunchtime the next day I had typed and printed my cue cards, and was putting together the power point presentation, elegant but hardly sophisticated, that would mend all my broken bridges.
The harsh glare of the screen was broken by the hard sneer of relatives who were less enlightened than Nazneen and Ibrahim, but somehow I made it through undaunted to Sunday night. Huddling in our bedroom in my pyjamas while the wind howled outside like a demon I watched my hard work fall into place. Jalil knocked gently before he entered, and smiled softly at me. His eyes were soft, almost sad, and he sighed,
“You ok?” He asked,
“Yes.” I nodded, but he loitered, “Are you?”
“Fine,” he nodded and slipped over to sit on the edge of the bed, “you really are happy doing this aren’t you? All this hard work, all the books and old, dusty documents?” I laughed for, what felt like, the first time since we came back from Dubai,
“Yes actually. I love history.” I said, hovering on the edge of saying something more, and stretched. He nodded,
“I’ll bring you dinner?” He raised one brow,
“I… uh, yes, thank you.” It was a strange offer, “If you don’t mind?” He shook his head and stood without another word,
“Jalil?” I said it so softly I was sure he couldn’t have heard, but he stopped and turned,
“Why did you change your mind?” I asked, and though he might have pointed out that he hadn’t really he just shrugged,
“If you insist on doing whatever you want you may as well be good at it.” He sniffed and rolled his shoulders, “What you do reflects on me, and on Amma, so we want you to do well whether or not we approve.” He shrugged in that infuriatingly ambiguous way and flexed his fingers,
“Ah.” I said and looked down at the screen; stupidly I had wanted something more. Maybe something that verged on romantic. He kissed my cheek gently and left. It was more than had been there before, and I decided to be happy with that. To work on it.
But not before working on the damn presentation. Technology had never been my best friend; I was undoubtedly suited more to books, texts, and documents than emails, texts, and html coding, but my best efforts would have to do. I closed the laptop and made my way to the bathroom for a shower. The bathroom was the only thing that I had allowed myself to like in that cold, pale tomb. Partly because it was so different to the rest of it; sandstone tiles, plants, and a wide brass rainfall shower. When I closed my eyes I could have been in a rainforest, a jungle. Anywhere but Lanarkshire.
Hot water was sent by Allah to make the hardships of life bearable. It unknotted my shoulders and eased the tight pain that had taken root in the base of my spine. It made my tired, itchy skin tingle and flush with pleasure. It made everything more manageable.
The door clicked behind me,
“Hello?” I raised my head, tilted it to the side as soap trickled past my eyelids.
“It’s just me.” Jalil said,
“Oh- sorry do you need to use the-”
“No.” He laughed, “I thought you might take a break before dinner? We could spend some time together.”
Spend some time together. Huh, I thought, maybe the chang
e of heart had been just that… the implications were interesting enough. It was so hard to forget him curled on the floor of our hotel room every night of the honeymoon, praying for forgiveness for hours for some unknown sin.
“That sounds nice, actually.” I said and turned the shower off with a practiced flick of the wrist before stepping into the large, fluffy towel that he held outstretched. Jalil nodded and slipped into our room, leaving me to my butterflies. Until that point I had assumed we would have a strange, sexless marriage, but once again I was surprised by him. He was sitting on the bed when I peered around the door, and looked up when I cleared my throat.
A weary, hollow smile and a motioned to shut the door. We were alone. Jalil cleared his throat,
“I know that…” he sighed, “I know I wasn’t what you imagined.” He said finally, “and I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Ritu, but I had a certain idea of how things would be and when it didn’t turn out that way.” He shrugged, “It sounds selfish.” Damn right it did, but in a way I understood,
“You realised that you were tied into a life that you didn’t fully want?” I finished for him, and smiled when he whipped his head around to face me.
“Yes.” He said with an air of wonder. “But it’s not your fault, I know that, and I don’t want to make you unhappy. So we have to agree to meet in the middle and make sacrifices so that we can both find some happiness, yes?” He said with what could have been the first genuine smile I had ever seen,
“That sounds like a fine idea.” I said because it did, but there was a sneaking voice that wondered what exactly we would each be giving up. Jalil gripped my hand and kissed me firmly, with purpose if not a huge amount of relish. This was the first compromise, then; I had wanted an affectionate, loving husband and he would try to be just that. The victory was hollow, but the sensations were enough.
