Anyway, after school she went home to all her chores. When they were done she went to her room and listened to music on the cassette recorder Ferooz and Vijay had bought her for her birthday. She could listen to music all day then.
She told herself that she was happy, but of course she wasn’t really. Nobody of that age really is, with all the things that are happening to you, and your confidence is low, and you are afraid to look the fool. So what she was telling herself was that in spite of those things that make everyone unhappy at that age, she was a happy teenager. She wished she was cleverer and had something to look forward to, something to do with her life, but she was not unhappy. She was used to the watchful way Ferooz and Vijay lived, counting everything, even the spoons. She thought of them as kind people who let her live with them and looked after her. She was grateful to them, and she did not mind doing the chores for them, or if she did mind it was only now and then. She began to understand why they worked so hard and watched everything. They were determined not to fail, not to be defeated, not after coming such a long way and putting up with so much. She thought it was all that struggle that sometimes made them gloomy.
Then Vijay’s nephew came to live with them. She was sixteen and in her final year at school when he came. Vijay now worked as an accountant in a firm owned by two Indian brothers from the same area he himself came from. His main work was to do the accounts of several small local businesses. He wore a suit to work and it was easy to see that he thought of himself as someone who had achieved something in life. Well, he had, he had, although this did not stop him studying as hard as ever for the next stage of his professional qualifications. The nephew, whom Maryam was told to call cousin, was Vijay’s sister’s son. Vijay sent for him and arranged for him to study accountancy at a college in Exeter. It was Vijay’s offer of reconciliation with his family, but also he had thought of starting his own firm once his nephew had enough training, a proper family firm of accountants. So the nephew came to live with them.
She had not spoken about him before but he had something to do with what happened to her, with how she left Ferooz and Vijay. They had to know these things. Well, they didn’t have to know, but it might help them to understand something of how things have turned out. And she did not want to keep this to herself any more.
The nephew was older than she expected, about twenty-three or so, full of smiles and namastes when he arrived from the airport with Vijay. He slept on a quilt on the floor of the living room because there was nowhere else, but Vijay said that would be no problem because Indians can sleep anywhere and are used to hardship. He was no trouble at first. In the morning he rolled up his quilt, had a cup of tea and a slice of bread, and left for his college. He did not come back until it was time to eat in the evening. He spent all his time in classes or in the library, and did not even stop for lunch. Vijay thoroughly approved of his dedication. She didn’t think he went anywhere on his own in the city, and when he came home he did not say much except to Vijay. He was a bit shy about his English, with very good reason. She could not understand him most of the time, and even when she did, his words came out in a jumble, as if he was speaking his sentences backwards. Then after he settled down, Maryam sometimes came home from school and found him there in the flat. All along he knew that she was not the daughter of the house, not even adopted, just a wastrel taken in by his relatives and now the household skivvy, Maryam Riggs. All the daughter talk was slowly forgotten as time passed, except as a kind of scolding. It had taken so long for her to understand, but when she saw the way Vijay was with his nephew, she understood something about family, the responsibility, the affection and a little pride, and knew that Ferooz and Vijay had not felt like this about her.
The nephew grew to be a nuisance to Maryam. When she came back from school and he was there, he followed her around, speaking in words she did not always understand but whose meaning she grasped from the gestures that accompanied them. When Ferooz and Vijay were around his eyes followed her like he was touching her. She knew already from the arguments she had overheard between Ferooz and Vijay that he was complaining about sleeping in the living room when the girl had the room. Dinesh needs to study and to get a good rest so he can concentrate at college, Vijay said. If he can’t sleep, he can’t study. That was his name, Dinesh. She had not said his name aloud for a long time. Ferooz argued with Vijay and said, Maryam is like our daughter. Maryam smiled when she heard her say that. Vijay said, yes of course she is, which is why she will understand that this is for the good of the whole family. Maryam knew that sooner or later she was going to have to give up the room, and then there would be nowhere to hide from cousin Dinesh when they were alone in the flat.
She got into trouble with Ferooz because she stayed out longer to avoid the cousin and she could not do all her chores properly. They thought she was beginning to turn wild, wasting time in the streets and seeing boys. In this country, a girl will be spoiled sooner or later, however carefully you look after her, Vijay said. She had thought to say something to Ferooz because cousin Dinesh was now a menace to her, making her frightened of what he might do. So when Ferooz got annoyed with her again for staying out too long, scolding her for neglecting her duties when they had looked after her like a daughter all these years, Maryam became upset. She said that cousin Dinesh was bothering her, that was why she was staying away. Bothering her how? Ferooz asked. You know how, Maryam said. Ferooz made a disgusted face and slapped her. That’s what she did, she slapped her on the face when she had never hit her once in all the years. Then she told her that she was a filthy girl and never to say such a thing again. Maryam couldn’t tell her that he came into her room and looked through her things. She couldn’t say that he followed her around and put himself in her way. She couldn’t say that he put his hand on her waist and on her hips, and that she knew that one day he was going to do something worse to her. But after Ferooz slapped her . . . It was such a shock to be hit on the face like that. After that she could not tell her what was happening and what she was afraid of.
After the school examinations, they told her to move out of her room so that cousin Dinesh could have a proper space to do his studying. It was as if the nephew had been promoted to nobility. He called for Maryam to fetch a drink for him, he told her off for not ironing his clothes properly, he complained about the food. He even treated Ferooz in a different way, smiling at her as if she was foolish, sometimes ignoring her when she spoke to him. That summer after her last year at school, Maryam got a job in a café and thought if she could earn enough she would move into lodgings. But the money was not enough and the work was such a drudge, although she liked her mates there. Later she got a better job in a factory, which is where she was working when she met Abbas. She still went to the café sometimes to have a cup of tea and meet with the people she used to work with, and always got a cream cake on the house. That was where she saw Abbas the second time. He glanced at her and recognised her. He hesitated for a moment and then came to say hello. She couldn’t remember what he said but after a while he sat down and they chatted and then he said goodbye, see you again some time.
That evening cousin Dinesh came into the kitchen and grabbed her and groped her and tried to kiss her. He kept saying things, you smell beautiful, you are shining. He was shorter than her but strongly built. He was older than her. She hit him with the spoon she was stirring the dhal with but he just laughed and would not let go. She struggled away from him in the end but he stood in front of her, laughing, wagging a finger as if everything was just a bit of fun, groping the servant girl for a bit of a lark. That was how things became: whenever he found her on her own he tried again, each time more horrible than the last. She fought as hard as she could and landed many blows with spoons and the rolling pin but she knew that one day, when he had built up enough courage, he would force her, and the thought sickened and terrified her. She thought Ferooz knew too. She thought Ferooz looked at her as if she knew.
Then they found out ab
out Abbas. She said his name, casually, describing him as someone she had met at the factory, but her tone must have given her away. They interrogated her until she no choice but to come clean. She could not have imagined the fuss they made, as if she had done something obscene. For two days it went on like that, with threats to lock her in the flat so she could not meet him, and warnings that if she did not obey they would throw her out. Cousin Dinesh joined in too. You have no respect for yourself, he said, curling his lip like a jinn in one of those Indian movie magazines he liked to read. On the third evening, when she came home from work, he forced her hands against a wall in the kitchen, pulled her jumper over her face, blinding her, and forced her into his room. She fought him off as hard as she could but he was stronger than her, and he dragged her to her old bed.
This is so vile, Anna thought. Why are you telling us this? Why are you telling us now? I don’t want to hear any more of this vile story.
‘Somehow, while he struggled to release himself from his clothes, I wriggled out of his grasp and ran to Ferooz and Vijay’s room and bolted the door,’ Maryam said, her voice sober and unaccustomed to their ears, giving an account of a mild horror she had witnessed, playing the moment down. ‘I stayed there until Ferooz came home. I heard cousin Dinesh begin on her as soon as she arrived, and by the time I opened the door for her she had the whole story of how I had exposed myself to him and he had admonished me and I had run away to hide in their room.’
They shouted at her and threatened her, and she thought Vijay would have thrown her out or locked her in a cellar if he had one. It was in the blood, this corruption, he said. Ferooz warned her repeatedly that if she did not show more respect they would have no option but to throw her out, after all the kindness they had shown her. It was a Friday night, she remembered that very clearly. Abbas had asked her to go to the cinema and she had agreed but of course she couldn’t go. The next morning, before anyone was up, she collected a few clothes in a carrier bag and went to him, to Abbas, and they ran away from that town.
Abbas said let’s get out of this place, and she thought fine. She did not tell him about the attempt to rape her. She was happy to go far away from the mess, get away, leave it behind. She didn’t know if she had any rights, or if they could have her brought back to be their skivvy again. So when Abbas said: Yallah, let’s get out of here, she said hurray.
‘I did not tell you about the cousin before,’ Maryam said. ‘And I don’t know why it feels important to tell you now. It is only a man forcing himself on me, and after all these years I should have forgotten about it, like an old scar that fades. But I still feel the humiliation of it, the injustice. I could not even tell Abbas at first, but now I feel it is important to tell you. It did not feel right to tell you before, to have you think of your mother like that, as someone who could be menaced in that way. It did not feel right to tell you those things when you were younger, to have you think that the world was that unsafe. But now I want you to know, so that you don’t think there is a dirty secret I am keeping from you. I wanted to explain to you fully why I ran away from Ferooz and Vijay, and why for so long I could not bear the thought of getting in touch with them.’
‘It’s all right, Ma,’ Anna said, wanting her to stop now, not wanting to hear any more stories about her ugly life. ‘It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Don’t distress yourself any more about it.’
Maryam looked steadily at her daughter, and she understood her desire to stop her talking. ‘It is also because I have been listening to Abbas telling me things I did not know. It made me realise how sad it is to live with these things on your own, to let them poison your life.’
‘Oh God,’ Anna said. ‘What has he been saying?’
Maryam stared at them for a moment, looking for words, then she said: ‘He has another wife. He abandoned her and her child in Zanzibar many years ago.’
Jamal sighed and leaned back in the chair. Anna glared at her mother.
‘I can’t bear this,’ she said angrily. ‘I can’t bear these shitty, vile immigrant tragedies of yours. I can’t bear the tyranny of your ugly lives. I’ve had enough, I’m leaving.’
‘Shut up, Hanna,’ Jamal said. ‘Let Ma speak.’
‘My name is Anna, you moron,’ Anna said, but she did not leave.
Then briefly and as brutally as before, Maryam told them how Abbas ran away because he thought the child was not his, and since then had not spoken of his flight to anyone. For forty years he has lived with his shame, Maryam said, unable to speak about it to anyone. Now he wants to talk about it because he thinks he’s dying. Let him tell you himself, she said.
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Anna said. ‘I don’t want to know. I’m leaving. I’m going to call a cab and catch the next train to London. Or to anywhere.’
Jamal left the room and went upstairs. The upstairs landing was dark but he did not need a light to know his way around. He opened the door to his parents’ bedroom and slipped silently inside. He steadied his breathing and after a few moments of standing there in the dark, he knew that his father was awake.
‘Ba,’ he said.
‘Jamal,’ Abbas said. Then he began to whisper, and when Jamal drew near he realised that he could not understand anything his father was saying. He sat on the floor in the dark and listened to him ramble. He could hear Anna’s raised voice downstairs.
‘Zanzibar sounds like a wonderful place to be from,’ Jamal said, but Abbas took no notice.
After what seemed a long time, his father stopped whispering and Jamal guessed from his breathing that the medication had put him to sleep. The noises from downstairs had also stopped. He heard the bedroom door opening gently behind him, and from the stray stairlight he saw that it was his mother. He followed her outside.
‘He’s asleep,’ Jamal said.
‘Maybe,’ Maryam said. ‘Sometimes he just pretends.’
‘He was whispering for a long time,’ he replied.
‘Yes I know,’ she said. ‘He will do that for days now. He loses his way when he becomes upset. Then he does that whispering in his language as if he has forgotten to speak in English. I think he knew I was telling you about his running away and he has gone into hiding.’
‘Has Hanna left?’ he asked.
‘No, she’s downstairs,’ Maryam said, smiling in the half-light. ‘She found a bottle of wine in one of the kitchen cupboards.’
The next day their father did not get out of bed. When Jamal went to see him, Abbas looked quietly at him and then began to whisper. Jamal pulled up a chair and sat beside him while his Ba hissed away for an hour or more. In the end, Jamal smiled, kissed his father’s hand and went back downstairs. Maryam told them some more of what Abbas had told her, but as the day wore on she said there was no point them staying any longer. He had gone into one of his deep places. When he comes back from there, I will get him to continue speaking into the tape. He prefers that now. He sits there on his own and just says whatever he wants, and does not need to look anyone in the eye. She did not want to put any more stress on him, her sick bigamist. The word startled Jamal, but Maryam said she was saying it so that she should become used to it, so that it would not pain her as much as it did at first.
‘It isn’t so strange for men to have had another family in these situations,’ Jamal said when they were on the train to London. ‘Think about it. It isn’t impossible to imagine how it might happen.’
‘By these situations you mean immigrants and refugees,’ Anna said, still swollen with outrage.
Jamal smiled. ‘You are really rolling that word round your mouth these days,’ he said. ‘Vile immigrant tragedies, no less.’
‘I just wish their stories were not so pathetic and sordid,’ Anna said. ‘My dad is a bigamist and my mum is a foundling. Can you imagine telling anybody that and not sounding like a character out of a comic melodrama? Of course it’s not so strange for immigrant men to be bigamists, and foundlings were everywhere in the 1950s. How perfectly ordinar
y. We should all of us be more understanding and not make a fuss about it. Is that what you’re saying? You should’ve told that to our father, so he didn’t feel that he had to make everyone unhappy with this silent burden he was carrying around. It was wrong of him not to tell us years ago. And what does she mean by telling us now that she was raped by some monstrous Indian boy when she was sixteen. Could she not have just kept that to herself?’
‘Not quite raped,’ Jamal said. ‘And she told us because it hurts her to remember the hurt on her own. Maybe.’
Anna fell silent for a moment and then began again, stopping and starting for a good while before she gradually lapsed into stillness, staring out of the window at the hurtling countryside. Jamal resisted many moments to speak, to protest, to say that Ma was telling them about more than the rape. She was telling them about how these people had treated her well and then later wounded her with such casual misuse, and she was telling them about the guilt she felt for kindnesses she had not understood or repaid. She was telling them about a humiliation she had suppressed and no longer wanted to. But he did not protest or defend, and he sat in front of Hanna while she had her say. There was a cruel edge to Hanna, he thought, as he had thought many times before. She was unkind when nothing could come out of unkindness, when it was nothing more than a flourish of her wit, and she spoke in that aggrieved manner as if everything was intended to hurt and aggravate her. It suited her idea of herself that she was not going to stand for any rubbish, that she would speak her mind and not hide behind courtesies and sentiment.
The Last Gift Page 18