Brick Lane Page 30

  'Ah,' said Nazneen, 'I see how it happened.' She wished that Shahana and Bibi would pay more attention. A sudden regret came to her. How much time she had wasted over the years, eating up her mind with a thousand petty worries and details that added up to nothing. She picked up one of Chanu's books and turned it over, pressed her thumbs on the cover as if she could squeeze the knowledge from it. She waited for Chanu to continue.

  Chanu bounced his knees up and down. He spoke a few words to himself, of summation or consolation, and then he got up. He went out of the room and returned with a small mat of wooden beads. 'This is an automatic back massager,' he said. 'It's amazing what you can buy.' His face grew full of wonder, as if he had received this revelation from the Angel Jibreel himself. 'Let me try it now.' He motioned to the girls to move aside.

  'It's for the car.' Chanu positioned the mat over the back of the sofa and wedged himself against it. 'All sorts of gadgets and gimmicks you can get.'

  This was true. Chanu had invested in many items for his driving job. There were gloves for the glove compartment, an ice scraper (bought at a good price, much cheaper than buying it in the winter), an extra mirror that enabled him to conduct surveillance on the ignorant-type people in the back, an air freshener in the shape of a frog, and an eye mask made of thick black nylon that allowed Chanu to sleep in his seat between jobs. The most serious investment was a device that monitored traffic conditions and worked out alternative routes through the city. Chanu was awestruck. 'It's a mystery, how man can invent such things.' It had cost a great deal of money. It cost a deal more in heartache. However Chanu coaxed and cajoled it, the machine never gave up its mystery. He could never get it to work.

  On top of these costs were the fines and penalties. Though Chanu was a very careful and able driver, it seemed that the Authorities conspired against him. There were fines for speeding and one for going too slow. On one occasion Chanu had to attend court over some fabricated indictment. He put on his suit and he rehearsed his speech in front of the mirror. 'They don't know who they are dealing with,' he told Nazneen. 'They think it is some peasant-type person who will tremble at their gowns and wigs.' He left in high spirits and returned in a black mood. He lay on the bed with his face turned to the wall. Nazneen brought food and left it on the dressing table. 'The trial was not fair,' she suggested. She touched his back. It was rigid. 'Just leave me alone,' he said.

  The parking tickets mounted up and an outrage occurred when the car was towed away and held for ransom. By the time these various expenses were added up and the rental cost for the minicab paid to Kempton Kars, the profit margin was tender and exposed. Chanu worked hard and the harder he worked the more he suspected he was being cheated of his reward. 'Chasing wild buffaloes,' he said, 'and eating my own rice.'

  The automatic back massager seemed to be working. Chanu ground himself into his seat and let out a series of grunts. 'I just don't know,' he said, and interrupted himself with a moan: 'A man could fall asleep at the wheel.'

  'Can I try it, Abba?' Bibi always took an interest in Chanu's latest gadget. She even played with the frog air freshener, tapping it on the back until Chanu said, 'All right, Bibi, don't waste it all.'

  'It's for the relief of tension and the unknotting of muscles,' said Chanu, quoting in English from the packaging. 'You don't have any tensions.'

  'No,' said Bibi in a small voice.

  'What is this rubbish you are watching, Shahana? Switch it off now.'

  'How do you know that it's rubbish if you don't even know what it is?'

  Nazneen held her breath.

  It was dark now outside. The room was sealed. There were too many things in it. Too many people. Too little light.

  Chanu stood up and turned off the television. Then he returned to his seat and extended an arm to his elder daughter. 'Come. Come on, sit close.'

  Shahana did not move. She blew at her fringe.

  Nazneen went towards her. 'Go on. Sit with your father. Don't you hear him?'

  Chanu waved her away. 'Leave her be. She is too big for all that. She is not a child any more. You're not a child, are you, Shahana?'

  Shahana moved her shoulders a fraction of an inch.

  'All right, all right,' said Chanu. He picked something out of a back tooth. He pushed his back against the massager, and circled his ankles. 'How is school? Still top of the class? Clever girl, eh?'

  Shahana turned her head a little. 'It's OK,' she said in English.

  'OK, OK. All this television watching and still she comes top of the class.' He spoke quietly. 'When I was at school, I used to get very good grades. Your mother is also clever, though she takes care to hide it. But, you see, we have not been able to make our way. We have tried . . .' He broke off and became lost in thought. 'Well, we have tried.'

  Nazneen sat down in the armchair. Bibi sat on the arm.

  'I know,' said Shahana. 'Don't worry about it.'

  'You're right. Worry does no good.' Chanu smiled and touched his hand briefly to Shahana's shoulder.

  'It's time for bed,' said Nazneen.

  But Chanu objected. 'Let them stay. We are having a conversation here, father-daughter.' He looked at Shahana and raised his eyebrows, as if to say That woman, how she always spoils our fun. Shahana allowed him a smile and Chanu was very pleased. 'I don't know, Shahana. Sometimes I look back and I am shocked. Every day of my life I have prepared for success, worked for it, waited for it, and you don't notice how the days pass until nearly a lifetime has finished. Then it hits you – the thing you have been waiting for has already gone by. And it was going in the other direction. It's like I've been waiting on the wrong side of the road for a bus that was already full.'

  Shahana nodded quickly. 'But don't worry,' she said.

  'You are old enough now to talk to. That is a great comfort to me. And to have such a clever daughter . . .' His eyes grew full and he cleared his throat a little. 'You see, the things I had to fight: racism, ignorance, poverty, all of that – I don't want you to go through it.'

  Bibi chewed her nails. Nazneen gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.

  'Abba, I'm . . .'

  'You know Mr Iqbal? In the newsagents. He comes from a very good family in Chittagong. God knows how many servants. And he is an educated man. We talk of many things. Why can he not rise out of that little hole here, always buried under newspapers and his hands black with ink? In Chittagong he would live like a prince, but here he is just doing the donkey work by day and sleeping in a little rat hole at night.'

  'Mr Iqbal just sold his flat,' said Shahana.

  'It's these things that make me sad,' continued Chanu, captivated by his own oration.

  'For one hundred and sixty thousand pounds.'

  'Living in little rat holes.' Chanu waggled his head, and his cheeks were filled with sorrow.

  'He did Right to Buy,' said Shahana. 'Fifteen years ago. Paid five thousand pounds in cash.'

  'So that's why your mother and I have decided . . .'

  'You should have bought this flat.'

  '. . . to go back home.' Chanu explored his stomach, checking the texture, the density. He appeared satisfied. 'Good,' he said, and he beamed at Shahana. 'I'm glad we talked like this, father-daughter. Now you understand. That's the main thing – understanding. Good. Go and brush your teeth, and get ready for bed.'

  Nazneen could not sleep. She looked in on the girls and stroked the hair out of their eyes. She was tempted to wake them, as she had when they were babies to make sure they could be woken, and to have the comfort of comforting them to sleep again. She picked up a few stray clothes and went to the kitchen. She washed them beneath the kitchen tap, rubbing them with soap and kneading them on the draining board. Then she rinsed them until the cold water made ridges on her fingertips. Her mind boiled with indistinct thoughts, like a room full of people all shouting at once. She let the clothes fall into the sink and pressed her hands to her temples.

  She massaged her face and jaw and began again a
t her temples. Only a short time ago it had seemed that she worried unnecessarily about everything. Now it was clear that she had not worried enough. She was back on the tightrope that stretched between her husband and her children, and this time the wind was high and tormenting.

  And there was Karim.

  The horror came to her now. She vomited over the clothes she had washed. She was stunned. As if she had just now gained consciousness and discovered a corpse on the floor, a bloody dagger in her hand.

  She wiped her face and rinsed her mouth.

  'God sees everything. He knows every hair on your head.' Amma squatted on her haunches in the corner, just by the cupboard with the dustpan and brush, bleach and spare toilet rolls.

  Nazneen turned the tap on full. Water splashed off the sink and over her arms.

  'When you were a little girl, you used to ask me, "Amma, why do you cry?" My baby, do you know now?' She began to weep, and blew her nose on the end of her sari. 'This is what women have to bear. Once, when you were a little girl, you could hardly wait to find out.' She set up a keening that tore Nazneen's ears. Nazneen cleared vomit from the plughole to allow the water to drain.

  Amma shuffled closer, still on her haunches so that her bottom swept the floor. 'Listen to me, baby. Don't turn away. I don't have long here.' Nazneen turned and looked at her and Amma smiled, showing her curved yellow teeth. 'God tests us,' she said. 'Don't you know this life is a test? Some He tests with riches and good fortune. Many men have failed such a test. And they will be Judged. Others He tests with illness or poverty, or with jinn who come in the shape of men – or of husbands.' She took hold of the hem of Nazneen's nightdress and began to tug at it. 'Come down here to me and I will tell you how to pass the test.'

  'No, Amma,' said Nazneen. She tried to pull her nightdress free. 'You come up here.'

  'No, baby, come to me.' She pulled harder, so hard that Nazneen gave way and slid down to the floor. 'It's easy.' Amma began to cackle, and she did not cover her teeth and her mouth became wider and wider and the teeth became longer and sharper and Nazneen put up her hands to cover her face.

  'It's easy. You just have to endure.'

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chanu woke in the night and, he told her later, missed her heartbeat. He found her on the kitchen floor, vomit dried on the corners of her mouth, eyes open and unseeing. He had turned on the light, but she did not blink. He carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. It was the only time he had carried her, and she wished that she remembered it.

  For several days she stayed in bed and clung to her collapse. She pushed down into it like a diver, struggling against buoyancy, fighting her way into the depths. Where the water clouded with mud, where the light could not reach, where sound died and beyond the body there was nothing: that was where she wanted to be. At times she found this dead space and rested within it. But then she was caught in a net of dreams and dragged up to the surface, and the sun hit the water and sliced her eyes and she saw everything in pieces as if in a smashed mirror, and she heard everything at once – the girls laughing, her son crying, Chanu humming, Dr Azad talking, Karim groaning, Amma wailing – each sound as clear as a lone sitar string on a hot and drowsy afternoon.

  When the dreams would not let her go, would not let her go back under, she began to come out of her delirium. For several days, awake or asleep, she had kept her eyes closed. Now she opened them. Dr Azad stood over her in his dark suit and white shirt. She took in the disorder of the bedroom, trays and plates stacked on the dressing table, clothes hanging over the wardrobe door, tissues, books and newspapers coating the floor and bedside table, and she looked back at the doctor. He bowed slightly, as if greeting a dignitary.

  'Are you feeling a little better?'

  'Yes.'

  'Shall I call your husband?'

  Nazneen considered it. She thought she had better tidy up first. Then she closed her eyes.

  'We are glad to have you back.'

  Nazneen wondered why the doctor was shouting. She had never heard him shout before. She was forced to open her eyes again and look at him.

  'He has been concerned.' Dr Azad smiled his special anti-smile, with the corners of his mouth turning down. 'No. I don't think that is the correct word. It's not an adequate word.' His hair was glossy, black and improbable, like a mistake made in his youth and carried with him for the rest of his life. Nazneen realized there was something she ought to be worrying about. She could not think of it.

  'Your husband is an excellent cook. He made many special dishes for you.' He indicated the trays stacked on the dressing table, his gesture as formal as a policeman directing traffic. 'I'm afraid I have been the chief beneficiary.'

  Chanu came in and saw Nazneen sitting up. He became wreathed in smiles, bright and gay as the garlands that cover a groom's face.

  'She is sitting up. Why did you not call me? Look, she's sitting up. Is the nervous exhaustion finished? Does she speak? Is it as before when she would go to the bathroom and barely keep her eyes open for long enough? Will she take some soup now? A little rice perhaps? Does she speak? But why did you not call me?' Chanu hovered by the bed, and though he did not move he gave the impression of perpetual motion.

  'I prescribe some more bed rest,' said the doctor, 'and not too much excitement.'

  Chanu put his finger on his lips, as though to quiet the excited doctor. 'Yes, yes, we must take it very gently. When will she eat?'

  'Why don't you ask her?'

  'Of course,' said Chanu. It was the very thing he had in mind. He coughed, but very softly. 'Will you take a bit of food now? Some rice? An egg?'

  Nazneen drew up her knees under the covers. They protested at this unwarranted abuse and she massaged them. 'Just rice.'

  Chanu clapped and rubbed his hands together. 'Oh, rice! Did you hear her, doctor? Keep your hospital beds and fancy medicines. It is rice that will do her good.'

  Dr Azad had, from somewhere, produced a yellow paper file. He began to write in it, still standing, and he spoke to the top of his pen. 'I'm delighted to see that you've come round to my perspective. In cases like this, what is needed is a rest cure.'

  'I always respect a professional opinion,' Chanu declared, as though this in itself were an achievement.

  'Yes,' said the doctor, so quietly now that Nazneen doubted if Chanu could hear, 'unless, of course, you disagree with it.'

  Chanu peeped at Nazneen over his cheeks, so inflated with happiness that they almost hid his eyes. He rubbed his hands some more and then began to crack his knuckles.

  'I would like some rice,' said Nazneen. She bent forward, as if to get up.

  Chanu at once grew busy. He stacked a few plates on the dressing table. 'Doctor's orders,' he said, waving an arm. 'You stay there and follow the orders. I will fetch and carry.' He bustled out of the room, forgetting the dirty plates.

  The girls came in as Chanu left. In a loud whisper, he forbade them to disturb their mother. Bibi and Shahana climbed on the bed and hugged her without saying a word. Bibi began to brush her mother's hair, working the plastic teeth into her scalp to stimulate it and fussing over every knot. Shahana stretched out on the pink bedspread, her hair full of static from the nylon. She had, noted Nazneen, taken sufficient advantage of Chanu's distraction to be wearing her tight jeans. Dr Azad finished writing, took Nazneen's blood pressure and began writing again.

  Chanu returned balancing a tray across his stomach. 'Make way,' he cried, though nothing but the furniture blocked him. 'I have rice and some potato.' He put the tray on the bottom of the bed. 'Very little spice with the potato,' he told the doctor, as if issuing a warning. 'And a small dish of shon-papri. For energy.'

  'Good, good,' said the doctor. He collected his belongings. 'You will be able to get back to work,' he told Chanu. 'The London transport system is breaking down without you.'

  Chanu waggled his head. 'Let them go to hell while I look after my wife.' He began to eat the crumbly sweetmeat, but with the first mout
hful Nazneen could see that he had remembered it was for her. He put the bowl of shon-papri down again. 'How is your wife?' he asked cheerfully.

  'Couldn't be better,' returned the doctor, with equally determined good cheer. 'Any word from the council?'

  'Council?'

  'About the—'

  'Library. Thank you for asking, but as you observe' – he beamed at his girls and his wife – 'I am too busy with my family. Let them go to hell too – ignorant types, readers and illiterates, council as well. Let them all go together.' He sighed with tremendous satisfaction.

  'Stay in bed,' Dr Azad told Nazneen. 'As long as you can manage. Call me if you start to feel bad again; I can prescribe something to calm you.'

  'Nonsense,' sang Chanu. 'My wife is very, very calm. No one is more calm than my wife. She has nothing to get excited about,' he said, with pride.

  'Good, good. I must go. I have rounds to make. For some of us, work will not wait.'

  'Yes, you must go,' agreed Chanu. 'Go and heal the sick. And give my regards to your family.'

  Nazneen rolled a modest ball of rice between her first two fingers and thumb. She remembered the night, many years ago, when she had first wondered what brought these two men together. Now, what kept them together was clear. The doctor had status and respect and money, the lack of which caused Chanu to suffer. But the doctor had no family; none he could speak of without suffering. Chanu had a proper wife, daughters who behaved themselves. But this clever man, for all his books, was nothing better than a rickshaw wallah. And so they entwined their lives to drink from the pools of each other's sadness. From these special watering holes, each man drew strength.