Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  When I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds around us I could have almost believed that life was panning out just that way I had always planned. At least I wouldn't be a forty year old virgin one day.

  We lay in deflated silence for a long time after, and stared at the smooth white ceiling. He dressed and left without another word, and though in religious and literal terms we were closer than ever I had never felt more alone. The wet, slippery coating between my thighs sent me shuffling to the bathroom for a second shower, and when I got back the bed had been made. My dinner sat on the bedside table with curling tendrils of steam rising from it into the air. It was too late, and the interview was too soon, to get confused about what had happened so I scraped my hair back, tied it up, opened my laptop and started to work again while I ate.

  It was late by then, much later than I had thought, but the last few slides needed done. The lost sleep would be worth it if I could just endure. But I found my head lolling, my eyes itching, and soon I was propping myself up with one elbow. The room began to spin as I finished the last slide, and the words began to waver and slide about the page while I reached with shaking fingers to save the document. Burnout; a students closest friend and very worst enemy. I shut the laptop and let my head fall onto the bed beside it.

  Rizvi

  She threw herself into work with a gusto that would have put most people to shame; she was barely in the house for weeks on end. She wanted to make a good impression, she said when I was massaging her sore feet one night, though I knew she had already managed to do just that. Adra had a way of making allies and friends without effort or realization.

  “It's Jane's birthday on Saturday,” she said over dinner one night, “the girls at work are having dinner and drinks to celebrate.” The words hung in the air for a while; I kept eating until it occurred to me to look up. She was staring at me, fork halfway to her lips, with restlessly flicking eyes,

  “Oh?” I took a sip of water, “Are you going?”

  “Well, I want to.” She said slowly, “Is that alright?”

  “Yes, of course,” I laughed and wiped my mouth with a napkin, “you don't need to ask my permission to go out with your friends.” Well not here anyway.

  Nānī might have expected her to if we were in Dhaka, but we weren't. She smiled,

  “Ok. Great.” She poked at her dinner,

  “Did you want me to come with you?” I enquired with quirked browns,

  “I... ah, sure.” She said weakly and took a few sips of wine,

  “Go by yourself if you want,” I said with a small chuckle, “I don't mind, Adra, honestly. I just thought I'd offer.” She raised her eyebrows and put her cutlery down,

  “You're a good man, Rizvi.” She said and swallowed, “Sometimes I forget just how lucky I am.” She reached across the table and gripped my hand tight, but her eyes were wide and watery. “Sorry.” She gasped, wiped a few tears away, and sniffed, “I just miss my Amma, and it's the wrong time of the month to be sentimental.” I nodded and rubbed her hand,

  “Do you want to call her?” I motioned to the phone, “I'll wash the dishes.” She smiled gratefully and melted away upstairs to our bedroom with the phone in hand while I gathered our plain white plates and long stemmed glasses up. We had a dishwasher, most people did here, but I did them by hand most nights. Her voice was a low hum in the background, but it made me smile; she had become home. Everywhere I looked in the house I saw her influence, and I couldn't remember why exactly I had been so sceptical before.

  A bannoffee pie sat on the counter top, forgotten,

  “Adra, do you want some bannoffee pie?” I called, but she didn't answer. “Adra?”

  I sighed and dried my hands, throwing the towel on the counter and mounted the stairs two at a time. The door stood ajar,

  “...I just feel so sorry for him, Amma. He's a good man.... no, I know, but... yes.” She was crying and nodding, “I can't keep pretending, I know, but he's done so much for me.”

  I shifted away from the door and slunk down the stairs like a thief in my own home and started putting our dinner plates away, wrapping up the leftovers, and cut myself a piece of pie. It was good, Carla made a wonderful pie, but somehow I couldn't taste it. It was like sawdust in my mouth. Adra slipped downstairs with deceptively bright eyes and slipped into her chair again,

  “Everything alright?”

  “Fine,” I mumbled, “Carla made us pie.”

  “Oh- hah! I forgot.” She said and swirled away to get herself some. The desire to blurt out what I had heard was strong enough to close my throat. The hot, painful shaking that took up there made it hard to breath, hard to think about anything other than those words.

  'I just feel sorry for him'.

  Is there anything more hateful than pity? I should have known she didn't love me, couldn't love me. How could such a gorgeous, funny creature fall for a dull, dry, computer geek? I was convinced I would be the source of her unhappiness in the end. The mind hates to be deceived, and mine was no exception; it spun and roared. Demanding to know how I was fooled, how I was so stupid? Had I not seen?

  No.

  Not even in Dubai while she was skulking in the bar with Jalil while Ritu and I wandered the Souq, taking in the history and culture of the place. That quiet serious woman would never lead someone on the way Adra had, I decided as I stared at her wide, clear forehead. That elegant, pretty girl would never do this to her husband. Not that that cold fish would care if she did.

  Ritu

  I had a dream last night about two tigers in a pit.

  It was deep and the edges were scored with claw marks and blood. The evidence of many escape attempts that had failed. It was a comfortable pit; it had everything they could have needed, but they paced and circled each other as if they were half starved, or crazed by some deep fear. If the company was good the pit could have been a home, but these animals hated each other. I could tell by the way they raised the fur on their shoulders and lowered themselves to a slinking crouch. The smaller of the two was bloody and limping; her tail was torn, and her flanks shook with effort as she launched herself over her companions shoulders towards the edge of the pit. Towards me.

  Her claws dug deep into the soft, bloody earth, and for a moment we stared at each other, my face reflected in her wide terrified eyes, before I threw my arms around her neck and pulled her from the edge. She slumped into my arms, and lay there, breathing short and sharp, while I soothed her with shaky hands. Below her mate yowled and snarled, but he couldn't reach us.

  She was smaller than I had thought looking down on her, and more frail. Fragile even. And not a tiger at all, actually, but a small girl all at once with bruised cheeks and a missing front tooth.

  I stared at my nine year old self and gripped her tiny hands; she deserved better than this. Who would trap a child? She deserved more. I deserved more. Realizations are a funny thing, they come like sleep; slowly and then all at once. I crawled over her to peer into the pit, and from the depths a great tiger leapt to drag me back down.

  Ritu

  “Ritu. Ritu wake up!” Nazneen was leaning over me, brows low and tense, “Ritu you'll be late!” She shook me roughly, and reality landed on me with both feet. I leapt from bead, and reached for the wardrobe,

  “Ya Allah,” I gasped, “I slept in. Nazneen could you find my bag?”

  “Of course,” she pattered from the room without another word while I threw on the suit I had bought especially for the interview. It was loose about the waist and shoulders, but hung well enough. There could have been no saving my hair, but it looked professional enough in a bun so I grabbed my shoes and turned to get my laptop. Except it wasn't there. It wasn't under the bed. Wasn't on the chair we kept in the corner of the room.

  The world began to shake and sway as a cold sweat broke out over my stomach and back.

  “Oh no. No, no, no, no.” I pressed both hands to my mouth and fought the sharp inhales that threatened to push me into hyperventilatio
n. Nazneens light footsteps pattered up the stairs,

  “Bōna I found your- oh!” She dropped my bag and ran to my side, “Oh my- what's wrong Ritu, why are you crying?”

  “I can't find my laptop, my presentation, everything it's on there.” Her kind, sweet face, framed by her Al-Amira,

  “I... oh no, Ritu isn't there something you can do?” She gasped, and I shook my head, “Did you not put anything on a memory card, or print it off?”

  “Oh thank Allah!” I clapped my hands to my face,

  “What?” She gripped my arms,

  “I printed my cue cards.” I gasped and let the tears flow freely, “I printed off my cue cards a few days ago.”

  “Ya Allah, don't scare me like that!” She laughed and hugged me tight, “So you'll be ok?”

  “Yes, well it's not perfect but I'll manage.” I wiped tears from my cheeks and let a tight, painful laugh pass my lips, “If I can make it on time.” She bit her lip,

  “Come, Ibrahim will watch Mitun. I'll drive you.” She gripped my hands and pulled me, along with my bag, down the stairs. “Do you have your cue cards?” She gasped as she pulled her shoes on,

  “Yes. In my bag.” I said while I dug frenetically for them,

  “Ibrahim-” she started but he just raised a hand and smiled, waving for her to go,

  “Thank you!” I called over my shoulder as we raced down the driveway, her Sari flapping around her ankles. Laughter won out as we got into the car, and every question, every confused look only made it worse. We were ten minutes down the street before I could form a coherent sentence,

  “Ah Bōna, you should have seen yourself there! Flapping down the road with your Sari flying behind you.” I chuckled,

  “Oh yes, very dignified I'm sure!” She laughed and indicated onto the main road,

  “I could have driven myself, you know.” I said,

  “You were in no state.” She tutted, “And anyway this means I get a day out, no? We can go get tea after your interview!” I nodded, “Are you ok, Bōna?” she reached past the gear stick and gripped my hand,

  “I will be.” I nodded, “I'm just... I was so scared when I thought it had all been for nothing, you know?” She nodded,

  “Well you don't need a presentation to dazzle them.” She smiled, “You can do it all by yourself.”

  Her faith in me was the only thing I felt sure of, the only thing I had felt sure of in a while, and it filled a little, cold hole that had been made when I left my own sisters behind. We emailed and Skyped often enough, but it wasn't the same as being able to grip their shoulders and braid their hair. It wasn't the same as being able to bury my face in Amma's chest and let all the worries of the world flow out. It would do, though, and maybe soon I would have more to be certain of. In the light of day the previous nights development seemed half as strange and awkward as it had felt the night before. For the first time in a long time I was optimistic, and as we pulled into the University grounds I could see bright skies ahead. Bright skies and dusty library shelves were in my hopes when I skidded into the University reception and gasped out the location of my interview.

  My mother always told me “a few seconds won't cost you the world”; I stopped for a few moments outside the door to smooth my hair, slow my breathing and gather my cue cards together before knocking.

  “Come in.” A low, hoarse, female voice called. I stepped through the door and blinked at the four people staring back at me, “Ritu?” An older, dark skinned woman in a wheelchair raised her eyebrows with a friendly smile,

  “Y- uh, yes... sorry I'm late I've had a bad morning.” I blurted out. She checked her watch,

  “Actually you're five minutes early.” She smiled and extended her hand, “I'm Doctor Shifidi. I'm the head of the history department here.”

  “Ah, nice to meet you.” I gasped,

  “Please, sit.” She motioned to a comfortable looking chair, “So- you were studying History and Politics in Dhaka?”

  “Yes.” I nodded and sat down, folding sweaty hands in my lap,

  “And you left because you were moving country?” She tilted her head to the side,

  “Uh... yes.” I tilted my head, “I got married, and my husband and I....” I looked down and cleared my throat, “we thought it would be best.” The others seemed of a mind to push that question further, but Dr Shifidi nodded,

  “Very well. This is unusual, you see, but your personal tutor in Dhaka, Dr Mahmood, said that you were an exceptional student, that you had already submitted your dissertation proposal, and that he would consider it a shame if you were to be delayed in graduation any further.” She folded her hands and leaned back in her chair, “We happen to have a member of staff who can supervise your subject, but we need to know if you're ready to jump right back in? Term starts in a few months.”

  “I am!” I said, a little too loudly, before coughing a little and flushing, “I am. I've still got all the research for my proposal, and I got a little further with my content, but I actually have a full plan now.” I remembered the misplaced laptop, “I did have a power-point but... well that's part of the bad morning I had.” They were losing interest, “I have an oral presentation prepared, though.” I waved the cue cards meekly before adding, “Sorry.”

  “These things happen.” A younger woman said, and Dr Shifidi smiled,

  “Absolutely.” She said, “Well why don't you present your plan, and your research so far, and we'll see where we go from there.”

  I stood with shaking knees and made ready to grasp my future.

  Rizvi

  I realised that she didn't care at all, not really, before we'd been married fourteen months; the nights out for birthdays became nights out at the weekend, became nights out whenever. And then she went missing. A garbled, drunk phone call at one in the morning to say she was leaving the restaurant with Cherry and then nothing.

  At six, when I rolled out of bed to get ready for work, I expected to find her curled up on the sofa with a blanket as she tended to, but there was no one there. So I stood in the cold twilight and stared at the spot on the sofa where she should have been as a sickening, broiling sensation took up in the pit of my stomach. Her phone was off, her inbox was full, and suddenly her lust for life, her spontaneous nature, wasn't so wonderful or interesting as I had thought before. It was dangerous. And even though she pitied me, and didn't think about me, I loved her enough to sink to the floor and cry.

  **

  “What's your emergency?” The cool, collected voice on the end of the phone didn't quite manage to sooth my frayed nerves, but it was better than being alone with my fear,

  “My wife is missing you have to help me.” I gasped,

  “How long has your wife been gone for, sir?” The woman enquired,

  “Since nine last night, well I heard from her at one, but she hasn't been home yet.” The world was pulsing, and a steady throb had taken up behind my eyeballs,

  “Sir I'm afraid we can't file a missing persons report unless your wife has been gone for more than seventy-two hours.” The woman sounded sympathetic, she really did, and kind.

  “You don't understand-”

  “Sir I'm afraid there's nothing I can do until she's been gone seventy-two hours. Have you called her friends and family?” Her voice softened a little, but remained firm. I took a deep shaking breath; she would be no help,

  “I'll call back if she doesn't come home by then.”

  “Sir-” Her voice rang in my ears long after I hung up. I punched in the next number on my rapidly expanding list of people to call, and waited for the annoyed bark that started every conversation with my boss Steve,

  “Hello?” Sanjay answered and my heart slowed,

  “Sanjay?” I gasped,

  “Rizvi, are you ok? Where are you? Steve's pissed off.” He chuckled, “But no more than normal to be fair.”

  “Adra- she’s missing. She didn't come home last night. I won't be in today.” Each word was a battle against threatening
tears.

  “What?” Sanjay’s voice became tense and high, “Seriously? Have you tried phoning her?”

  “No,” I barked, “I didn’t think to call her… her phone’s off. Sorry Sanjay.” I drew in a deep, shaky breath, “I shouldn’t have-”

  “No, it’s ok.” He said, “I’m sorry, of course you called her. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to leave work? I could-”

  “No.” I said, “No it’s- just cover for me at work. I’ll let you know what happens.” He started spouting platitudes and assurances, but I wasn’t listening. All I knew was that whatever hopes I had were pretty much dashed; either she was missing and something terrible had happened, or she just didn’t want to come home. I had failed as a husband, and as a friend to her. “I’ll talk to you later, Sanjay.” I said, and hung up as he chattered into the void.

  This is the anatomy of failure; first you blame the situation. We never knew each other, we were encouraged to move too quickly. It is the one thing. Then you blame the one you failed; she never told me she was unhappy. She never gave me a chance. But finally you blame yourself. I was too naive, too hopeful, and I expected too much. I scared her away, or otherwise I failed to protect her from something. From someone. That was the make-up of my failure; I hadn’t done my duty as a husband, or as a friend. Or even as another person. I had went to sleep before she came home, and now she had been missing for nearly nine hours.