The Newlyweds (25 page)

George’s mother had been planning to renovate her kitchen since
the fall, but the work was perpetually delayed. She was having various travails with tiles and appliances, which she sometimes discussed with Amina when she called and George wasn’t at home. Eileen “thanked her lucky stars” that she had Bob, who was a retired contractor and would be able to intervene if something went wrong.

“What if we did it at Cathy’s house?” Eileen proposed. “I’d do the cooking, so you won’t have to worry about bacon bits in the salad or anything.”

Amina was quiet. At Christmas they had excused themselves from Cathy’s church-group potluck, saying they’d never hosted Eileen and Bob for the holiday at their house, and Amina had hoped that would become a pattern—until they could stop seeing Cathy altogether. Whether George had told his mother what Amina had discovered, or Eileen had simply guessed, Amina didn’t know. George’s mother had in any case stopped inviting Cathy to dinner on Sundays. The dinners themselves had become more infrequent because Eileen said she knew Amina was busy with work and school. But she guessed that George’s mother also might have been ashamed of what she had concealed from Amina.

“Of course it would be only us,” Eileen said quickly. “And Jess and Harold. Just the six of us and Bob, if that’s all right?”

“Of course,” Amina said. One dinner was a small price to pay for what Jessica had agreed to do, even if it had to be at Cathy’s house.

“Wonderful,” Eileen said (but not in the way George had said it). “It’s been way too long.”

Amina had always prayed when she was at home at the right times, but now she began making up prayers she’d missed, and adding something extra at the end of the
namaz
. Most often she asked God for two things: to help George find a new job and to allow her parents’ paperwork to proceed without incident. As the weeks passed and the first of these requests remained unfulfilled, Amina felt a nagging guilt about her own laxity. There was nowhere to pray at Starbucks, and she’d only once visited the “Interfaith Chapel” at MCC—really a classroom the college had dedicated to prayer at the request of its Christian students. The problem was that the
maghrib
usually fell in the middle of her math class, and if Amina had gone out to pray at that time, she would’ve missed nearly half the lesson.

Of course, her schedule was no excuse. At home she had never believed in a God who was strict about prayer times or fasting; she believed, as her father had always instructed her, that God forgave everything as long as you devoted yourself to him alone. She wondered if it was simply that she couldn’t face God after what had happened, as she knew she must—to ask him to cure her of her pride and to help her forgive her husband and his family for what they’d done. But the less she prayed, the more she missed God. She told herself that that was a ridiculous feeling since God was everywhere. And so she thought it must be that she missed only the ceremonies of God: the early morning
azaan
or the sight of the men in her neighborhood streaming toward the mosque on Fridays or even the familiar presence of her parents’ prayer rugs, rolled up next to each other like another married couple, in the space between the television and the door.

2
Soon after George lost his job, the cardinal had appeared in their yard. Amina had noticed the noise first: a peculiar thwanging sound, soft but solid. It wasn’t until she was working outside one day that she’d seen the bird himself, pitching his body repeatedly against the window screen. She thought he might eventually break it, but if he did any damage, it was only to himself. After each sally, he repaired to his habitual perch in the oak tree, ruffling his plumage and calling imperiously to others of his kind.

George said that the bird must’ve gone mad from eating the poison people put in their yards for the moles and suggested that they get a bird feeder. The feeder attracted jays, wrens, and a large population of sparrows, but the cardinal ignored that commonplace sustenance in favor of the paradise he imagined to be just out of reach. Amina found that her temper was shorter these days. She went into the yard and yelled at the bird; she waved a stick the way she might have at a dog at home. But the bird continued to throw himself against the house, a half an hour at a time, several times each day, paying no attention to Amina’s threats or the fact that the house was already inhabited. He had set his sights on it and wouldn’t be deterred.

Jessica filled out the I-134 and sent it in, and then it was just a
question of waiting. Amina thought often of the green card application, and how she and George had struggled to prove the validity of something that was absolutely real. She had felt indignant along with her husband as he berated the people who used marriage as a path to legal residency. Look how hard they make it for the rest of us, he had said. It occurred to Amina, now that ICE was no longer interested in their personal life, that they were living in much the same way as those opportunists they had once deplored.

They hadn’t slept together for three months. She assumed abstinence was more difficult for George than it was for her, though he never mentioned it. If he had complained, it might have hardened her resolve. But his silence had begun to make Amina doubt the wisdom of her decision: she knew there were instructions in the Qur’an about the duties of marriage, and she thought that she might in fact be committing one sin in an attempt to do penance for another.

She couldn’t help being impressed by the fact that George got up at the same time he always had; he did his workout in the basement, had breakfast, and then sat down at the computer to look at Monster and engineerjobs.com. Although he sent his résumé somewhere every few days, most of the companies didn’t call him back, and the ones that did had already hired someone or needed someone “with a different skill set.” Once he even found a listing from his former employer.

“They’re advertising for jobs,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Look at this. They want young guys who’ll work part-time, no benefits. They’ll replace me with two kids and still save money.”

At night he watched television until late, which made it easy for Amina to get ready for bed by herself, since she needed to get up for school and work in the morning. Once she was in bed, however, it was often difficult to fall asleep, and there were many nights when she would still be lying awake when George came up to his room at eleven thirty or midnight. She turned off her light when she heard him on the stairs and resisted the urge she sometimes had to call his name. If George had any of the same feelings, he also kept them to himself.

George had said that her own salary was so negligible that it wouldn’t make a difference to their situation, and so she continued sending the
monthly allowance to her parents. Her father spent it on buses, taxis, and rickshaws, as he traveled within the district and then back and forth from Satkhira to Dhaka, trying to obtain the documents the American consulate required for the visa. It was strange—having won this concession from George at such cost—not to be able to deliver the good news to her parents, who had always believed they were coming. Amina had concealed the real hurdle, and now her mother busied herself inventing imaginary ones.

“The problem is not once we arrive in Rochester,” her mother said. “If we arrive safely, then there are no problems.”

“Why wouldn’t you arrive safely?”

“Your father is disputing with his relatives again.”

“What kind of dispute?” Amina wondered if the old antagonisms with her father’s cousins could have been stirred up when her parents had gone to check on her dadu after the storm. But those men had been interested only in her father’s land; now that there was no more of it to sell, she couldn’t imagine what further motive they might have for harassing her parents.

“They’re envious,” her mother said. “They want a share of whatever profits we make in America.”

“What profits?”

Her mother hesitated. “I mean, if we set up a business. Import-export, maybe, all types of jute handicraft. Or a catering business—we could call it Indian food, since no one there knows Bangladesh.” Amina had to control her temper. It wasn’t the first time her mother had mentioned opportunities for making money in America, allowing herself to become infected by her father’s credulity. Each time Amina had explained the practicalities of the situation, and each time her mother had quickly pretended to understand, in a way that made her doubt she was paying attention at all.

“You can’t set up a business in Rochester. You don’t know anything about the laws here. They’re strict about everything—all kinds of paperwork. You wouldn’t be able to get a work visa, even if you wanted one. You can tell Abba’s people that.”

Her mother hesitated for a long moment, and then she lowered her voice so that it was almost impossible for Amina to hear her.

“They think we stole from them.”

“You mean the land Abba inherited?”

“Your grandmother’s coming in—I can’t say anything. If she thought your father’s people were after us, she wouldn’t want us to stay. They might come here, and who knows what they would do?”

“To Nanu’s place?”

“How are your classes?” her mother said loudly. “Are you still getting one hundred percent in math?”

“I don’t think Nanu would ever make you leave.”

“Keep studying just as hard,” her mother continued, in the same bright tone. “Don’t get lazy, even though you’re at the top. Life is so unpredictable, Munni—you never know what might happen.”

3
Amina did have to study harder than she’d expected for her statistics midterm, and she didn’t speak to her parents for five days while she prepared. She had heard about Cyclone Nargis, but expected her parents wouldn’t be any more worried than they had been about Sidr last year. And so she was surprised when she called to check up on them the day after the exam.

“Alhamdulillah,”
her mother said when she answered. “The storm is moving toward Burma. It isn’t going to hit us after all.”

“Thank God,” Amina said. “And everyone’s fine otherwise?”

“We’re fine,” her mother said. “The connection is clear—can you hear it? Where do you think we are?”

The line was indeed clearer than usual, and she wondered if Moni and Omar could have invited them for a visit. She knew that living with her nanu drove her father crazy and that both her parents might be grateful for a holiday in the city.

“You’re at my aunty’s place in Dhaka?”

“We are in Dhaka, you’re right!” her mother said. “But not at my sister’s. Here—your father wants to say hello. He’ll tell you.”

And then her father got on the phone and explained how they had come to Dhaka to stay with Nasir.

“Your cousin called to ask if we were going to be all right. We told him everything was fine, but he insisted. He’s always thinking of us.”

“I’m always thinking of you, too,” Amina reminded him. “I had an important test in school today, but I was distracted.”

Suddenly her father’s voice was full of concern. “You didn’t do well? Will it affect your grade?”

“Let me talk to Nasir, Abba,” Amina said firmly, and she was surprised when her father didn’t protest. He put him on immediately, as if he’d been standing right there listening. She hadn’t written to Nasir for more than a year, not since she’d argued with him about her failure to fast. Now she was ashamed of the e-mail she’d sent and the secret pleasure she’d taken in his inability to find a bride. She hadn’t even thought to ask him for help, but he was the one who was looking after her parents in her place.

“I want to thank you,” she said formally. “You’ve been very kind to my parents.”

“Why should you thank me?” Nasir responded in English. “You are becoming a
bideshi
over there—‘thank you’ this and ‘thank you’ that. Of course I will invite my aunty and uncle if I am afraid for their safety. And I am enjoying having them. I learn all sorts of things about you—stories from when you were a little girl, all your nicknames.”

Amina felt defensive. “My parents weren’t worried. My mother believes she can see the future.”

“And you see, she is right—the storm didn’t come. But she wanted to come here anyway. She is worrying about other things.”

“I know,” Amina said. “But what? She won’t tell me.”

Nasir put his mouth away from the phone to cough. “Some problem after the visit to your dadu. Your father says these are family matters. To do with his family only.”

She could hear her father saying something in the background, and she wondered whether he could follow Nasir’s half of the conversation. It occurred to her that Nasir had chosen to speak English not to show off, but in order to talk to her privately.

“You can tell me,” she encouraged him. “If you say it fast, my father won’t understand.”

“Something to do with jewelry,” Nasir murmured.

“E-mail me,” Amina said. “Can you send a message today?”

Nasir hesitated, but when he spoke his voice was resolute. “You
should talk to your parents yourself, Munni. You’ll be here soon enough.”

She would’ve asked him to put her father back on, but she had less than three minutes left on the card.

“How long will they be staying with you?”

“They can stay as long as they like. Your father has some business here, with the visa paperwork. It is more convenient to be near your uncle’s office.”

“Tell them I need to talk to them tomorrow. Tell them to call at seven a.m. here in Rochester.” Nasir didn’t say anything, and so she repeated the instructions, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. It wasn’t his fault that her parents were being difficult, inventing reasons to move from one place to the other.

“Yes, okay, Munni,” Nasir said. “I am praying for you.”

“Thank you again,” Amina said, without thinking.

Nasir laughed. “Okay, little memsahib. So long.”

4
George didn’t get so much as an interview in May or June. He filled out his unemployment forms every Sunday night and periodically went downtown to check the bulletin board at the Rochester Works! Career Center. When she heard the car pulling back into the garage after one of those visits, she couldn’t help imagining that he might come hurrying through the door to tell her about a job that was perfect for him, that he could interview for right away. She’d once done the same with her father. But in spite of his optimism, her father was never surprised when one of his schemes failed to deliver; nothing in his past had led him to expect a steady income. George had grown up with the idea that such a job was his right, and so he was both shocked and angry when it was taken away.