Thicker Than Soup (19 page)

*

As she packed their bags the following day, Sally thought of Faiza's skeletal frame. Wasted bodies were found in famine or war zones, places where death was inevitable. They were not found in family homes. She recalled a line from
Macbeth
, learned for an English literature exam many years previously;
the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow
. She breathed in Sammy's fresh air-dried shirts to dispel the musty humidity of the room, a smell she associated with the police officers, a man and a woman, who'd brought news of her father's fatal accident. She'd backed away from their sympathy into the living room curtains and gulped the dust of them into her lungs, hating the officers as much as the faceless driver who'd killed her father. Tucking the last of Sammy's clean clothes into her bag she saw Pazir's serious eyes and feared for her.

Daniel tapped on the bedroom door. “Arif talked to me today. He has something to ask you.”

The lightness of his tone was intriguing. “Oh? Well, I've finished here.” She followed Daniel into the family room where the rest of the family looked amused and curious at the same time.

Daniel spoke. “You like Abbottabad?” he asked.

“Yes, very much. I like the hills, and the climate. And I've enjoyed being here with you.“ Her curiosity was growing. “Why do you ask?”

“You said that you would like to do some work?” She nodded. She was intrigued. “We are wondering if you might like to spend a little time here in Abbottabad. Arif is asking if you might teach English to his children. He wants them to speak without an accent and says you speak it like an Englishwoman.” She chuckled; did he think of her as Pakistani? “He would like to come and talk before you leave for Lahore, but does not wish to impose or offend. If you do not wish to discuss it he will understand.”

Teaching children wasn't the kind of work she'd envisaged. But it couldn't be too difficult, she thought, after all, she'd been an ‘‘A' student at school. “I…. Well, I don't know.” A focus, and of course, some income were attractive but there were practical difficulties. “How can I? It would need more than a few weeks to be effective; I'd need to live in Abbottabad. Daniel, you and Yalda have invited me to live with you in Lahore; we've made plans. And what about Sammy? I have him to think of him, too.”

Daoud hit the core of the situation. “Yes, there are a number of things that need addressing. Living with Daniel and Yalda or living with us, it is the same thing.” Rachel nodded her agreement gleefully. “But first you must decide if you would like to do this teaching of English.”

Pazir's serious face came to mind, and then Karim with his theatre box. She'd liked the children and her immediate instinct had been positive. Already her mind was itching to create games and dramas to teach them. And much as she enjoyed being with Yalda, Saima and Aamina, there was a strong and mutual bond with Rachel. “Yes,” she admitted, “I would like to do it. If it's possible.”

Once the family machine moved into action any practical problems she'd foreseen dissolved. She'd stay with Rachel and Daoud and they'd care for Sammy whilst she worked. In return Sally would help the twins and the older boys improve their English too. In less than a week her and Sammy's belongings had been brought to her in Abbottabad and a time-table of teaching had been agreed. During the day she planned lessons, seizing on ideas from things the children said they liked to do, and as school closed she went to Arif's house to teach Pazir and Karim. Sammy, who liked nothing more than to be in the middle of everything to do with the twins, stayed happily behind.

*

At the end of the second week Arif arrived home earlier than usual, and listened to Pazir reading a story she'd written. “So the elephant painted his toenails pink to match the marble stairs in the palace, and everyone thought his feet were much smaller than they really were. No one ever again said he had big feet.” She flushed with pride as her father applauded and asked if it was her own story. “Yes,” she admitted in English, “I wrote it for Sammy and the twins. Sally is going to read it to them at bedtime.”

“Well, they're lucky boys!” Arif turned to his son. “And you Karim, have you written a story for the twins too?”

Karim was less pleased. “No. I'm writing instructions to make a box theatre,” he said in Urdu, “but it is too difficult.”

Sally read what he'd written. “This is good Karim, but I think you need some new English words to finish it. You're very lucky because I know what some of them are. On Monday we'll finish this together.”

Dismissing the children, Arif complimented Sally on her teaching and then enquired if she was still enjoying Abbottabad. “Have you been up to Thandiani yet?” he asked and hearing that she hadn't, recommended a visit. “It is very close, twenty five miles only, but the road is steep and winding so it takes more than one hour.” She wondered if – hoped – he might be inviting her to join him and the family. “Thandiani means ‘cold', and because it is high, it provides a very nice escape from the summer heat. It is very beautiful, with pine trees and grass so soft you have to keep touching it. We would take you but it is too far for Faiza at the moment. Perhaps Daoud will take you. I will talk to him.”

She promised that she would talk to Daoud too, and then asked after Faiza. “How is your wife? I haven't seen her this week?”

“I think she is not any worse which is perhaps an improvement, Alhamdulillah.”

*

That night Faiza's heart stopped beating. It simply hadn't the strength to carry on and in sleep her life came to an end. As was the custom, she was buried before nightfall and after the funeral prayers Rachel and Sally returned home leaving Daoud to accompany the men to the burial. Taking tea to the veranda they sat silently, each immersed in her own thoughts.

As a tear slipped down Rachel's cheek Sally put a hand on her arm. “I'm sorry. It's hard to lose a friend, especially one so young.”

Rachel didn't respond immediately, and then she spoke quietly. “You know Sally, I never really knew Faiza well, but I liked her and yes, she was a friend. She was too young to die. The children are so young. I know that Arif's mother lives with them, but it will be hard for them all. Children need their mother.” Her voice faltered. “Something like this makes you think of your own life, doesn't it? I wonder how my son feels not to have a mother.”

“Oh Rachel. Maybe one day you'll be with him again.”

“No. It cannot happen. He was told I have died too.” Rachel shuddered. “I can't bear to think what would happen to the twins if I died.” Sally opened her mouth to protest but Rachel silenced her. “It is possible, Sally. Daoud's first wife died and his boys miss her you know. She's still their mother.”

Sally nodded. “But Daoud's boys have you.”

“They do. But I'm not their mother. They call me auntie.” Rachel shared a confidence. “I'm glad they call me auntie – I don't want them to call me Ammi. I never tire of hearing Tariq and Sohail call ‘Ammi' but I'm selfish, Sally, I don't want to be mother to Daoud's boys. I cannot be their mother and they cannot be my sons.” A small sob escaped. “He is fifteen years old now. My son. I saw him last year when we visited Peshawar; he's a man and I haven't seen him grow. I watched the house, Sally. It is very wrong that he believes his mother is dead.”

Sally agreed. “Maybe when he is older? You could tell him the truth, when he's older.”

But Rachel shook her head. “To him I am dead. He will never look for me, and how can I go to him? He won't know me and his grandparents will tell him I'm just a crazy woman.”

Sally's mind went to Sammy, growing up without John, who she was almost sure was his father.

As if her hearing her thoughts, Rachel asked, “Will you tell Sammy about his father when he wants to know?”

What would she tell her son when he asked that important question? “It's difficult Rachel. I….” It may have been the emotion of the day or perhaps the impossibility of the question that caused the sob to break free.

“Oh Sally! I'm sorry.” Rachel put an arm round her shoulders and the two women held each other, wrapped in sorrows that had little to do with the funeral they'd attended.

After a few moments Sally spoke. “No, no. It's all right. The truth is…” Shame had restrained her since arriving in Pakistan but shared vulnerability encouraged her. “The truth is, I'm not absolutely sure that Sammy's father is John.” Seeing surprise though not repulsion on Rachel's face, she continued. “I think he is, because Sammy's so much like him, but I, well… I made a dreadful mistake.” She told Rachel of her humiliation and remorse that kept her fears a secret, and how John's confusion over blood groupings had exposed the truth. “I can't imagine how I will ever tell Sammy what I did,” she finished.

Rachel nodded. “Oh my goodness, it's difficult.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps you could just tell him about the blood group mistake? Why should you tell him about the other man?”

“That wouldn't be the truth. And if he ever found John…. well, what then?”

“You loved John, didn't you? I can tell by the way you talk about him. I think you still love him.”

She shook her head. “No, I don't anymore. It's hard to be sure because I did love him, very much, and I still love what was, if you understand what I mean. And I'm sorry for what I did. If things had been different we would probably have married eventually and we'd have been a family and would probably have been very happy. But coming here, to Pakistan, has freed me. It's easy to stay with the past, but things do change. John was special, but I've changed. Actually, I think I was already changing before we split up.”

“Maybe I should ask Daniel or Daoud to arrange a marriage for you?”

In the seriousness of their conversation she didn't see that Rachel was teasing her. “No! You mustn't even think of it.”

“Arranged marriages work very well. And a Pakistani marriage would keep you here in Pakistan!” Rachel grinned.

“No!” Shocked, Sally demanded, “How can you say that after your own experience? Your first marriage was terrible!”

“Well, yes. But that was a deceitful arrangement. My husband married me out of duty.” Rachel glanced at the door and her eyes became serious again. “My husband…. he was having an affair.” It was an afternoon for shared secrets. “With a man.”

Sally thought she'd misheard. “A man! Are you sure?”

“I saw them. I'd been to the market with my mother-in-law and returned early. I found them in our room. The man left quickly and my husband was very angry with me; he told me that I would be killed if I told anyone what I'd seen or if I said anything to anyone. He wasn't lying. I continued to be his wife and told no-one. Even Daoud doesn't know. Please Sally, don't tell anyone.” Rachel's hand clutched hers. “Promise me, you'll keep it to yourself? Please.”

“But he's dead, Rachel. He can't threaten you now.”

“I know, but my son must never know that his father was… like that. It would be too bad. Please, Sally, you must promise not to tell anyone.”

“But he can't have been, well… you had a son.”

“I became pregnant very quickly, in the first month. He was so pleased when I told him and I thought he loved me. But after that he didn't want… you know…. with me. At first I thought it was because he didn't want to harm the baby and I was touched by his thoughtfulness. I thanked God for his goodness. But as time passed, and after my son was born, he avoided sleeping with me. We didn't sleep together like that ever again. Sally, he only married me to please his parents and to protect himself. I was probably chosen because I was an outsider, from England.” She pulled loose threads in her sleeve. “I know you see men holding hands. Even policemen. But that is friendship. Women hold hands too. And we kiss each other. It is the Pakistani way; men for men and women for women. We don't mix until we marry. But for a man to be with a man? It's against the law; the law of nature, the law of our land and the law of religion. If people had known about Jabil it would have been very bad. I think his father suspected and was frightened, so he pushed for a marriage to protect him and of course, their reputation. If it had become known, his family would have lost face, and if the police knew it would have been very bad for him. He could have been lashed or even stoned. So you see, having a wife and especially a child made him safe.”

Rachel's story belonged in history. It was, after all, nineteen eighty three. “Couldn't you have refused the marriage? Didn't you want to stay in England?”

Rachel's eyes widened. “How would I know who to marry? It's a big decision. My parents were wise and experienced. They didn't force me to marry Jabil, but I trusted their decision.” Sally wanted to ask how her parents had known Jabil but Rachel held up a hand. “I know what you are going to say. You are going to say it was a loveless marriage. You are very wrong. A marriage is based on respect, on compatibility, on mutual expectation. These things start the flame of love that grows steadily to sustain the man and his wife throughout their lives. It is not like the fierce flame that flares up and then burns out quickly.” Rachel threw her hands into the air and clapped her hands. “Poof! Gone.”

“But your marriage didn't grow.”

“Of course not. It wasn't based on respect, compatibility or mutual expectation was it? But my parents didn't know that. Jabil was the nephew of a man my father had known as a boy; our grandparents had been in business together. ”

“When did you first meet your husband?”

“He came to England with his family, to visit me. I met him at the same time as my parents did.”