Inheritance

by Balli Kaur

  Hafiza dragged a contraption out from under the bed. It looked like a crossbow, with horizontal bars and a flat panel in place of the arrow head. Hafiza laid flat on her back and pressed the panel to her belly. She gripped the bars and drew them towards her. A large spring in the contraption creaked as she sat up slowly. ‘I tried sit-ups but they didn’t help,’ she told Amrit between gasps. ‘This one, they call it the Ab-Flat. If I use it everyday, it helps to flatten out my tummy.’ She grinned.

  ‘Let me try,’ Amrit said.

  Hafiza readily passed it over. With a loud grunt, she fell back onto her mattress. ‘Finish already.’

  ‘Lazy bum. You only did five sit-ups,’ Amrit said.

  ‘Oh, lazy me? You try. See how much you can do,’ Hafiza challenged. Amrit positioned the Ab-Flat on her belly and pulled herself up. ‘You have to pull down that part also,’ Hafiza told her. The spring creaked in protest. Amrit started giggling.

  ‘Call me lazy! You can’t even do it!’ Hafiza shouted. Amrit shoved the contraption away, shaking now with laughter. Hafiza collapsed back in her bed, giggling into the pillow. ‘Gilas, both of us. Crazy women,’ she said. The statement brought more laughter from Amrit. Outside, the roar of the television abruptly stopped. Taufiq came back to the room.

  ‘See, finish already,’ he announced in English to Amrit. He curled up next to Hafiza and laughed along with her although he did not know the joke.

  Amrit left Hafiza’s place only after eating an early dinner. She could not remember the last time she ate and she did not think she was hungry until Hafiza mentioned food. ‘Want to eat before you go? My mum works double shifts on Saturdays. She always leaves something.’ Amrit nodded and followed her into the kitchen – a slim counter, two cupboards and a fridge wedged between the sink and the washing machine. The only bathroom in the flat was in the corner of the kitchen, close to a window from which wet clothes and sheets clipped to bamboo poles flared in the wind like flags. The bathroom had a tin door; the lock was broken and replaced by a piece of raffia string looped through a small hole in the wall. Taufiq banged a spoon against the door as Amrit showered. The noise was like thunder.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Amrit said, before she left.

  ‘Take care, yeah,’ Hafiza said, grinning. ‘Don’t be naughty.’

  Amrit’s hair was still damp when she left. The sun was making a slow descent and the sky was a bright and fiery orange. She sat down on the steps at the bottom of Hafiza’s block and ran her fingers through her hair. This was what she had done on the mornings when she had no place to go: she sat on the steps and waited until somebody came along. A man always came along, especially in these types of areas with older apartment blocks, walls stained with dirt, tiles peeling off the floor. She was so familiar with this type of neighbourhood that she didn’t need directions. There would be a string of provisions shops and hawker centres. The tarry smell of burned rubber would hover in the air, mixing with incense and the filthy water that bubbled in the canals. A few lights would flicker on as the darkness set in, but they would be too dim to illuminate the flats. Flat windows were like tiny screens, all on at the same time. Silhouettes darted past like characters in a puppet show. She’d spent many nights transfixed on those figures as they flitted back and forth. What were other people doing? She longed to find out and compare herself to them.

  A man, curly-haired and pot-bellied, met her gaze. ‘You’re lost?’ he asked. The gold chain on his neck caught the last bit of daylight. A smile played at the corner of his lips. Amrit knew that if she smiled back, she would not have to go home for a while. He wanted that. But she did not have the energy. It had waned and now she was tired, she badly needed sleep, and she didn’t feel like drinking or dancing anymore. She pushed herself off the step and darted off onto the sidewalk. The man called out weakly after her.

  Amrit searched the street signs and bus stops to get her bearings. The number 77 was the only bus she recognised but it didn’t even go to the interchange close to her place. It terminated only halfway there, where she’d have to switch to another bus. ‘It’s too far,’ she wailed.

  Two women sitting at the bus stop glanced at each other. One used her index finger to make a circling motion at her temple. ‘Siao,’ she mouthed to the other women, who nodded and threw Amrit a disdainful look.

  ‘What? What? Was I talking to you?’ Amrit snapped. The women looked at each other and began speaking loudly in Chinese. Their words – whatever they meant – were directed at Amrit. She swore at them and stormed off. The women shouted names after her. She broke into a run, feeling a short burst of energy, but she grew tired quickly. She stopped, caught her breath, and checked in at another bus stop. It was the same route. The sky was darker now. Streetlights were flickering on. She squinted and saw a hawker centre down the street, its fluorescent signs glowing. Her stomach rumbled. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and pulled out some change. There wasn’t enough for a decent meal but she could call home. Narain would have to help her get home; she’d been gone for six days.

  Approaching the hawker centre, she saw the same man she’d seen under the block. Had he followed her? She walked in the shadows and darted into a small lane. A spotted cat pranced past, its belly swaying like a pendulum. It was dark now. There was a pile of straw baskets in the corner. Bile collected in her mouth and she spat it into the baskets. As Amrit came out of the lane, the man was standing near a drinks stall. ‘One Coke,’ he told the vendor. As he twisted to get his wallet from his back pocket, he caught Amrit’s eye. She kept on walking towards the payphone.

  The phone rang for a very long time before it was cut off. Amrit pressed down the receiver and tried again. She looked over her shoulder to see if anybody was waiting in line and she saw the man again. He had taken a table close to the phone. With one leg crossed openly over the other and his arms stretched over two chairs, he watched her. There was that smile again, more certain now. He thought she was playing hard to get. She shot him an angry glare. The repeated rings of the phone agitated her. Were they deliberately not answering? This seemed like the type of thing Father would do until he gave in.

  The phone was cut off again. When she tried a third time, the response was that same aggravating engaged tone. She slammed the receiver down so hard that it made the platform shake. A hawker came running out of his stall. ‘Don’t break the phone,’ he warned, menacingly. He pointed to a sign on the wall: No Vandalism; Penalties Apply. She rolled her eyes at him and was about to storm off when she realised she had nowhere to go. It was dark now. She had Jacob’s office number, but it was a Saturday – he wouldn’t be there. He was a foreigner anyway – he wouldn’t know the directions any more than she did. Her legs were rubbery. She remembered running; where had that energy gone? Why had it come to her in the first place? Why couldn’t she summon it once more? She wanted to go back to three days ago when she felt as though everything she said was illuminatingly clever, when she knew exactly how to move so that the curves of her body showed through her clothes.

  ‘Angry with your boyfriend?’ the man asked. Amrit slumped into the chair across from him and placed her head on the table. She wanted a place to rest. She was aware, suddenly, of the tears that were running down her cheeks onto her T-shirt. She was too embarrassed to bring her head up but then the man came around to her side. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Never mind. Shh.’ Amrit kept her eyes open. She saw the damp floor and the legs of the table and a beetle making its way towards her feet. She shifted and looked up again. The lights hurt her eyes.

  ‘My name is Amrit,’ she heard herself say. ‘What’s your name?’ The man’s mouth moved but she could barely hear him. She just wanted to lie down.

  The sky was pitch black when Amrit finally got into a taxi. It was 1 a.m. As she mumbled directions, the driver kept his eye on her in the rearview mirror. ‘You okay? You okay?’ he asked, concern edging into his voice. ‘You vomit in the car, I cannot drive you.’

  She told him that she hadn’
t been drinking. ‘I’m just tired, Uncle,’ she insisted meekly. He did not look as though he believed her.

  ‘Where you come from?’ he asked.

  Amrit pointed out the window. The rows of apartment blocks in the distance were obscured by the shadows of tall trees on the concrete divider. The hawker centre lights were off and the chairs were piled on the tables. ‘My friend’s house,’ she said. She rested her head against the pane and hoped he wouldn’t be a chatty driver. Most of them were very curt but there was the occasional driver who tried hard to make conversation.

  She’d only gone home with that man because she wanted to rest. He gave her money afterwards. She’d been asleep for most of it, only waking up when his heaving became too loud. A stinging soreness radiated through her body. ‘Please go quickly.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the driver said. She slouched across the back seat. He continued with his questions non-stop, uninterested in the answers. ‘Are you Indian? How come some of you have fair skin? I thought Indians all got dark skin? You speak Tamil? You speak Malay? You look more like Malay because your skin fair. Or Eurasian. But not as fair as Chinese. That’s why I don’t know. You go dancing today is it? Why never go town? Town got better dancing.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Amrit replied. A row of figurines on the dashboard serenely watched her. A slim ceramic cat sat next to a jade Buddha. A turtle with springs attached to its head and legs jiggled silently as the cab took her home. She peered out of the window. In the dark, the most illuminated sights were the construction sites. There was rust-coloured scaffolding everywhere – great skeletons caging the unfinished concrete and brick structures that were filling the city. Signs posted outside each site described the project but it was too dark and they were going too quickly for her to be able to read them. Everything was filling up, Amrit thought morosely. It was a realisation that used to excite her as a young girl: possibilities would be endless in a city that kept on building. Now it made her miserable. The city didn’t seem like it was expanding, but rapidly closing in on her, its niggling rules and watchful eyes making her escapes more troublesome.

  ‘I hate this country,’ she said, venomously. The driver looked surprised before fear flashed across his face.

  ‘Eh, don’t say like that,’ he cautioned her. ‘Government, ah, you never know when they can hear you.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. Streetlights flashed dimly into her unconscious, as did a succession of quick images from her dreams. Mother was rubbing oil into the curls on her head. Mother was adjusting the strings on her salwar before going to the temple. Mother was lying down with an arm crossed over her eyes to shield her from the afternoon light. Mother was folding her clothes methodically and placing them in stacks.

  When the taxi came to a halt, Amrit’s eyes flew open. She gave the driver the $10 note, took the change and then climbed out. ‘Now you can sleep properly,’ the driver said, laughing. Amrit grimaced and walked towards her block. When she arrived at the door of her flat, she realised she was unprepared. She needed to look like somebody who had only stepped out of her home for an errand or a breath of fresh air. The more controlled she looked upon her return, the less time they took to forgive her. It was coming home drunk that got her family so upset. She was fine now; she was sober. She would be let into the flat without too much fuss, and she would devote herself to doing an endless number of chores until their anger subsided.

  If they would all sit down and listen, Amrit would tell her family that she had reached a point where she didn’t think she could change. She did not know the first thing about change. It was a large concept best left to those who built skyscrapers and filled the sea with sand, adding new edges to the island. It wasn’t in her to put a stop to the rushing thoughts or the need to scratch every itch that prickled her body. She was not strong enough to refuse these impulses. All her family could count on was that she eventually ran out of places to go. She always returned.

  Amrit found the key in her pocket and hoped that they had not changed the locks. She slid it into the gate and jiggled it before realising it was unlocked and open. Fear gripped her chest. Father was always careful about locking the doors at night before going to sleep. Had somebody broken in? Was that why the phone was cut off when she tried to call earlier? She gave the door a tentative push and slipped off her shoes. The lights were all off. Pale moonlight spilled through the windows. Amrit kept her fingers on the walls outside the kitchen to guide her through the corridor as she made her way past the living room and the dining table until she reached her room.

  At first, she didn’t see Father. She heard a noise and whirled around, shooting her hand out to the light switch, flooding the hallway with the sharp white light she had been trying to avoid. Father was sitting in his prayer seat, a wooden chair opposite the Guru’s portrait. His head was bowed and his hair had come loose. Amrit couldn’t remember seeing him with his hair undone. Long strings of black, grey and white spilled past his shoulders, their tips nearly touching the floor. Had he fallen asleep like this while praying? Then Amrit heard the sound again. A quiet whimper.

  ‘Father,’ she said quietly. He didn’t look up. She noticed his shoulders quivering. ‘Father,’ she said more urgently.

  Father put his hands over his face. A loud, unashamed cry filled the air. At this time of the night when everything was so still, the sound seemed magnified and Amrit was certain the entire neighbourhood heard him. Her throat was painfully dry all of a sudden. She looked out of the window and saw the blocks of flats on either side of theirs. Almost all of them were dark now, the lights out, blinds and curtains shut.

  Father stood up and came close to her. She barely recognised his face. His greyish eyes were wet and his mouth was twisted into an odd and frightening shape. Hair hung like a ragged curtain over his cheeks. She shut her eyes but a bare outline of his figure still loomed before her. She prepared to be hit. She was too frightened to know what else to do. Then, slowly, she felt his presence shift away. When she opened her eyes, Narain was coming out of her room, lugging two suitcases. He avoided looking directly at her as he told her, ‘I want you to leave.’ He set down the suitcases and waved an envelope at her. She could tell that there was money inside.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Where will I go?’

  ‘Where have you been sleeping?’ Narain asked. ‘Go back there. Father’s had enough.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’ve had enough,’ he added.

  ‘You don’t want me to go. Don’t do this,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve tried but I can’t be better. I can’t do what you do – what normal people do. Work, have a family, spend wisely. And I drink. So what? So I drink. Half the community does it. Women, too, they’re just doing it in private.’ She straightened her back. ‘Hypocrites,’ she spat. ‘So what if people see me? They have their share of sins as well.’ She could hear Father shuffling through his room and the mattress creaking under his weight.

  Narain shook his head and pushed past her. He opened the door and flung her suitcases into the corridor. One of them popped open and her clothes sprang out, littering the stairs. Narain bit his lip. He moved forwards as if he wanted to help, and then he turned back into the flat.

  ‘No,’ Amrit cried as Narain began to close the door. She just wanted to go inside and get some sleep. ‘Let’s talk about this. Look, Father is angry, I know, but you? You don’t want me to go.’ The door remained slightly ajar. Through the gap, she could see Narain drawing in his breath.

  ‘I do. I’ve had enough. I’ve been helping you, covering up for you, tracking you down for years now. My life revolves around you. What’s Amrit doing? Where’s Amrit going? Will she come back? You don’t see how much you’ve done to this family.’ Narain opened the door again now and took a step into the hallway. He lowered his voice. ‘You didn’t see Father this afternoon when those Bangladeshi workers started bragging about taking you all at the same time.’

  His words slammed into her chest, knocking the breath out o
f her. ‘What?’ she whispered.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. Enough is enough, Amrit. I knew the rumours were bad, but even the biggest gossips in the community couldn’t make up a story like that. Every time I heard something about you, I told myself, we all told ourselves, that it was an exaggeration. I thought everything you did was out of your control somehow, but this?’ The disgust in his voice was thick and venomous. ‘This is no longer any of my business.’

  He opened the door and went back inside. The door slammed shut and Amrit sank to her knees, surrounded by her clothes. The other suitcase tilted towards her. She shut her eyes. Was this what Father wanted? To expose her to the neighbours, to humiliate her, and then to take her back in, only after witnessing her remorse? Then she recalled Narain’s hard stare. She sprang to her feet and, leaving her clothes behind, tore at the gate. The clanging metal echoed through the corridor. Something clicked; a neighbour opened his door cautiously and peered through the crack before quickly retracting.

  Amrit spun on her heels and ran down the eighteen floors until she was on the ground again. The sobbing made her body shake violently. Something between a scream and a plea kept getting caught in her throat, refusing to render itself in any recognisable language. She darted wildly into the main road, outrunning Narain’s words and the image of Father crying. A set of lights flooded the street. She saw the car coming around the bend and she stepped onto the road. The horn blasted and the car switched lanes to avoid her. A taxi followed and then the street was momentarily lifeless. In the distance, she could see a bus slowly approaching. Escape, she thought, staring straight into its headlights.

  Part 4:

  1990