The World We Found (18 page)

“If you’re well enough to go to the—”

“Mumtaz,” he snapped. “Wish Husseinbhai happy birthday from us, okay? Khuda Hafiz.”

“Wait,” she began, but he hung up.

Iqbal shook his head in exasperation. He was so tired of Mumtaz and her seething resentments and misguided feminism. One of these days he would not keep his mouth shut. One of these days he would tell her to grow up, point out to her that she wasn’t the only one who wore disappointment like an iron choker around her neck.

Chapter 15

I
t was a feeling she had forgotten, this lightness of being, this feeling of wholeness. For years, everything had been a performance, a churning stew of anxiousness and achievement, of striving, of moving ahead. For years, she’d felt like a figure in one of Picasso’s paintings, disjointed, cut up, her knees where her nose should be. Not a person so much as a patched-up doll. Hoping that the golden luster of professional success could hide the tarnish of her failed personal life. And help slow down the whirling, like a mad fan, that she always felt within her.

With the other three she had had that. A feeling of contentment, like ice on skin on a hot summer’s day, like running your fingers lightly over a patch of grass. No need to perform, to even speak, because weren’t there always three other voices speaking for you, vocalizing your thoughts and dreams, cracking your jokes, singing your heart’s music?

And tonight. Nishta and Armaiti, still as distant as stars, flung into unreachable space. But Laleh with her, sitting across the room from her, warm and familiar as the sun. The red wine turning her lips purple. And Brahms—it was Armaiti, Kavita remembered, who had first introduced her to Brahms—on the stereo. Nishta and Armaiti were not here, but Ingrid was, sweet Ingrid sitting on the couch next to her, her bare arm occasionally grazing hers. And dear old Adish, as painstaking and elegant a host as ever, rushing to fill their glasses, to replenish their plates, making sure they never excluded Ingrid from the conversation by dwelling on people she didn’t know. A new foursome, and although they were a lifetime removed from those eccentric madcaps who had once been her best friends, tonight it felt enough—better than enough, it felt rich and precious and tender.

“She’s drunk,” she heard Ingrid say, and despite her immediate indignation, something in her thrilled to hear the quiet possessiveness in Ingrid’s flat assertion.

“No I’m not,” she exclaimed, but the last word somehow came out in a childlike squeak, so that she had no choice but to join the others in their laughter.

“This whole evening makes me wish I had a cigarette,” Laleh said lazily.

“You smoke?” Ingrid said.

Laleh smiled. “Used to. Before the children were born.” She pointed to Kavita with her chin. “This one, too. We all did. In college.”

Ingrid turned slightly toward Kavita. “You never told me you smoked.”

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you about me,” she said saucily, aware that she was flirting with Ingrid, aware of Laleh’s watchful, slightly incredulous gaze, but unable to help herself.

She felt rather than saw Ingrid and Laleh exchange conspiratorial smiles. “She’s in a good mood today,” Laleh said. “Generally she walks around all stooped and sulky, like she’s responsible for every ill in the universe. You’re good for her,” she added.

“Thank you,” Ingrid said lightly. “And I’ve heard so much about you for years now.”

“Well,” Laleh said. “I just wish that we’d met sooner.”

Kavita heard the faint rebuke in Lal’s voice but there was something else, too—regret? Self-chastisement? She looked up to see Laleh looking directly at her, her long, beautiful face serious, even sad. And then Laleh smiled slowly, and the warmth and love Kavita saw in her face took her breath away. She stared at Laleh wordlessly, unable to look away. She knew now without a shadow of a doubt that Laleh knew her secret, probably had always known. And that it didn’t matter and probably never had.

Even as she looked away, Kavita had the weirdest feeling that Laleh and Ingrid were communicating silently with each other, that Laleh was handing her over to Ingrid, and that Ingrid was making some silent promise to Laleh. As discreetly as she could, Kavita pinched her right cheek. The numbness confirmed her suspicion—yes, she was drunk. You must be imagining things, she said to herself.

Adish, too, seemed to have picked up on some change in the atmosphere, because his voice was a tad too hearty as he said, “More drinks? Ingrid? Little more wine?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Kavita put a cautionary hand on Ingrid’s knee. “We should be going, no?” she said.

“Bullshit, yaar,” Adish said as he topped off Ingrid’s glass. “Let the poor woman enjoy her drink.”

“It will be hard to get a cab this late—” she began before he cut her off.

“Who said anything about a cab? You think I’m going to let you get in a taxi smelling like a bloody bevadi?”

“I’m not drunk,” she said indignantly, punching him on the arm, but he just laughed as he fended her off. “Right, sure,” he said. He turned to face Ingrid. “She was always a lightweight. Even in college.”

“What was she like? In college?”

“I’d appreciate it if you people didn’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Kavita said.

“Listen to her,” Adish said with a grin. “Just like in the old days. She’s trying her best not to slur her words.”

“I certainly am not,” she said, trying not to slur her words.

Adish got up from the couch. “I think I have a few photos,” he said. “You want to see?”

“Adish, don’t you dare—” Kavita said, but he winked at her and headed toward the wooden trunk in the corner of the living room.

The first photograph was of the three of them standing around Armaiti as she played the piano in her mother’s living room. Armaiti’s head was flung back, her mouth slightly open as she sang. Kavita stared at her own youthful face, noticed the intense way in which she was gazing at Armaiti. Would it be obvious to a stranger that the slim girl standing with one hand resting on the piano was in love with the piano player? Ingrid seemed to know, because she said, “So this is Armaiti?”

Their eyes met across the photograph. “Yes,” she said.

Laleh had come across to where they were sitting and reached out to take the photograph. She stood studying it for a moment. “I know exactly what song she was singing that day,” she said suddenly. “ ‘Bridge over Troubled Water.’ Isn’t that funny? I remember the day perfectly.”

And just like that, Kavita heard it, heard Armaiti’s voice, light as gossamer, soaring on the high notes like a bright yellow kite.
If you need a friend, / I’m sailing right behind. / Like a bridge over troubled water, / I will ease your mind
. What kind of a trick was youth that they had believed the words of a pop song as fervently as others believed in God?

She knew that Laleh was waiting for her to respond but found that she couldn’t. All she could hear now was Armaiti’s voice melding with hers on a hundred songs—
What do you see, my blue-eyed son? . . . Bluebird flying high, telling me what you see . . . A working class hero is something to be . . .

“This one here played a mean guitar, let me tell you,” Lal was saying to Ingrid. “She and that guitar were inseparable.”

Ingrid turned to her, her eyes curious. “You play guitar? How come you never played for me?”

“I don’t, anymore.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There was no easy answer to that question. Kavita shrugged. “Because.”

Laleh turned to look at her. “What was that song you wrote that we used to sing?”

Kavita blushed and shook her head. “I don’t know. I forget.”

But Adish and Laleh were smiling at each other, their eyes narrowing with the strain of remembering:

“
The years, like waves, drew us apart, / Out of mind, but not out of heart
,” Laleh sang.

“Something, something, something,” Adish hummed vaguely.

And then together they sang the chorus:

But we are all here.

We are all here.

Ingrid clapped while Kavita looked mortified. “This is so unfair,” she said. “Bringing up youthful indiscretions.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Ingrid said, patting Kavita’s knee. She turned toward Laleh. “You know, I’ve never so much as written a poem in my life. But then, I have the perfect excuse—I’m German.”

Kavita heard Laleh’s delighted laughter.

They were still laughing when they heard a key turn in the front door. “What the hell?” Adish said, staring. “It can’t be the kids. It’s much too early . . . ?”

The door opened and Ferzin let herself in. The girl walked through the hallway that led to the large living room with her head down so that she startled when she looked up and noticed the adults staring at her. “Shit,” she said under her breath. And then, noticing Kavita, “Excuse me. Hi, Kavita auntie.” She turned toward her mother, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her eyes. “I thought you all were going out tonight.”

“We changed our mind,” Adish said casually. “How come you’re home so early?”

Ferzin took another step toward the group and Kavita noticed that the girl had been crying. Her stomach dropped. Laleh had mentioned earlier that Ferzin was out with her friends. Something must’ve gone wrong. “We really should be going,” she said, throwing in a yawn for good measure. She nudged Ingrid as she got to her feet.

“Oh, no, don’t leave because of me. I’m just going to my room.”

“It’s okay. We were leaving anyway.”

“What’s wrong, beta?” Laleh asked.

Ferzin stared at the ground. “I’m just tired,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

“At least say hello to Kavita’s friend,” Laleh said. “This is Ingrid.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

There was an awkward silence and then Adish said, “Righto. Well, let me get my car keys. Be right back.”

“Excuse me,” Ferzin said, managing a smile. “Good night, everybody.”

Laleh pulled on her lower lip as Ferzin walked toward her room. Ingrid came up to where she stood. “Is she okay?” she asked.

“I have no idea.” Laleh sounded puzzled. “Usually, coming home this early on a Friday night is a death sentence for her.”

Ingrid laughed. “I thought only German kids couldn’t stand to be around their parents.”

“Don’t you believe it.” Laleh smiled at Ingrid. “This was such a pleasure. Hope to see you again.”

“Oh, the pleasure was mine.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Adish said, jiggling his keys.

“Bye.” Ingrid gave Laleh a brief hug and then followed Adish out of the apartment.

“This was wonderful,” Kavita said. “ I’m so glad we did this.”

“Ingrid’s great, Ka. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Laleh,” Kavita said softly. “You have no idea how much your accepting Ingrid means to me.”

Laleh cocked her head. “What the hell does that mean? You don’t just accept Adish, do you? You like him, right? I like Ingrid. It’s as simple as that.”

Kavita could hear the elevator doors open as she and Laleh walked toward the front door. “Love you, Lal.”

“Love you, too, my darling. Call me tomorrow. We need to start planning for our trip.”

L
aleh knocked on Ferzin’s door and when there was no answer let herself in. As she had expected, she found her daughter fully clothed and in bed, the tip of her nose a telltale red.

“What happened?” she asked as she sat on the edge of Ferzin’s bed. “What’s wrong?”

A storm of sobs was the answer she received, as Ferzin half rose and threw herself into Laleh’s arms. Laleh felt a pinch in her heart. Did children have any idea how much their tears hurt their parents? she wondered. She had heard her daughter cry a thousand times—over bad grades, parental injustices, unreliable boyfriends—and still it tore her into pieces, made her think that if she was granted one wish, it would be for Ferzin and Farhad to never be sad again. “Beta, what is it?”

“Tanaz won’t speak to me.”

Tanaz and Ferzin had been friends since they were seven. “Of course she will. You two fight and make up all the time.”

“No, Mummy, this is serious. Honest.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Zarir asked me to go on a date with him last week. And I knew that Tanaz likes him, also. So I didn’t tell her. But she found out anyway. And now she’s accusing me of betraying her.”

Despite herself, a string of impatience cut through Laleh’s earlier sympathy. Why did Ferzin’s crises always involve boyfriends and sulking friends and juvenile misunderstandings? She remembered what she’d said to Kavita recently—that she was sometimes ashamed of her children. Loved them to pieces but was embarrassed by the lightness of their lives.

She waited until the judgment left her voice before saying, “And what do you think, darling? Do you feel like you did something wrong?”

“That’s just it,” Ferzin wailed. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think Tanaz has the right to tell me who I should go out with. And I had to lie to her because I knew she’d—”