“Ay, I’ve been working. Hanging with these girls,” said Maya. “Besides, you’ve all but disappeared with this new boy in your life.”
“Sure. But things are good? I feel like I haven’t talked to you since—” Halim faltered. “Sorry.”
“Let’s just cut this cake.” Maya gave his hand a squeeze.
“Cut the cake, guys!” said Charu, coming up for air.
“Red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting?” asked Malik, following suit, lips stained hot pink.
Everyone laughed, but still Halim looked at Maya. “Just tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she said.
* * *
When the girls arrived at home that evening, Anwar and Hashi were still out at a dinner party on Long Island. Charu went upstairs to work on her clothing line, leaving Maya and Ella to themselves. They sat on lawn chairs in the backyard, speaking little. Speckled violet and salmon clouds filled the evening sky, and dissonant playlists escaped from backyards on Cambridge Place. While daytime had been dank and muggy, the evening air felt less thick. Ella took off her glasses, blinked a few times. Perhaps it was the shift in humidity, or the neighborhood’s babble—her visions had commenced for the evening. She tried to make it stop by blinking, then shutting her eyes tight. No use.
“Are you all right?” asked Maya. “Do you have a headache or something?”
“No. I’m just having an—episode.”
“What kind of episode?”
“It’s weird.”
“Well, if you couldn’t tell by my friends today, I like weird. So try me.”
“Ha. Well . . . I’m hallucinating, as we speak.”
Maya smiled, and the gap in her front teeth opened wide into a river mouth, with pebbles spilling out onto the ground. “What are you seeing?”
“Shit that’s nonsense. Right now there’s tiny elfin creatures building a pyramid of rhododendron flowers, and the seed bank looks like it’s stitched out of silk dragon kites. The sky is this portal brewing like a witch’s cauldron, and shiny specks are bubbling in it.”
“Wow. That’s insane. How long does this last? How long has this been happening? Do you need a doctor?”
“It’s been happening forever, since I came to the States.”
“After your parents died.”
“Yes. But I can’t remember if I was dropped on my head or something. Might be lesions on my brain.”
“That sounds serious as fuck. You need to see a doctor!”
“I haven’t gotten an MRI yet.” Even saying it out loud sounded a bit ridiculous, Ella realized. “You know, I think I’m going to do that when I get back to school.”
“Maybe you should get one now?”
“I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but I don’t want my aunt and uncle to freak—”
“You don’t want to get rid of them,” said Maya.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Maybe there’s comfort in it, seeing things no one sees. That’s special, Ella Anwar. I would love to be able to see the world like you do.”
“I wouldn’t wish this on you. Now I won’t be able to sleep all night.”
“Try Benadryl?”
“Charu teach you that?”
“Ha. You know, I think she did!”
“Melatonin, sheep counting, and Benadryl all make me jittery. Back at school, I usually stay up studying, but I’m lucky just to make it on time for an afternoon class. But at least everyone in college is an insomniac. Here, all of you like to sleep and shit.”
“Some of us have jobs.”
“Sucks you have to work on Saturdays.”
“Where am I going? I already got them to give me Friday off.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Religious observance. They’re scared of discrimination claims, after a girl threatened one of the managers for sending her sexual e-mails and whatnot.”
“That’ll do it,” said Ella.
“What are you seeing now?”
“Your face turned into a river mouth a few minutes ago. Now you’ve got neon fish jumping from one shoulder to the other.”
* * *
All around them, the moon garden’s blossoms had opened for the evening. They released an intoxicating brew of aromas into the backyard. Hypnotic flowering tobacco recalled packed pipes on continental voyages. Jasmine’s strong notes hit their noses, punctuated by the sweetness of the yellow evening primrose.
“This one’s beautiful. It’s like a fallen bell,” said Maya, cupping a flower in her hand. She leaned in to inhale it. “Smells like peanut butter and smoke.”
Ella leaned in closer, unsure if she was seeing properly; the silvery white and violet petals turned like moonlit pinwheels. “That’s an angel’s trumpet. Datura inoxia. Maybe we should get rid of it. I don’t want a stray cat or bird to eat it. It’s poisonous.”
“Dang,” said Maya. “They look so—gentle. You know, you know a shitload about drugs.”
“I’m a wizard without bad habits, I swear. It’s a nightshade, like potatoes, tomatoes, and petunias. They grow anywhere—the seeds lay dormant for years in abandoned lots, timber yards, docks. It’s the alkaloids that’ll kill you. You stop wanting to eat, but get real thirsty. You can’t pee. Your heart races out of your chest. But the Aztecs, Indians, the Oracle at Delphi, shamans and witches the world over drank its tea and smoked its leaves to see visions. Crazy-ass visions.”
“Things you see all the time and you get to pee.” Maya laughed.
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
* * *
Ella handed Maya a bottle of neem oil to spray the morning glory blossoms, while Ella watered the plants. Aphids must be dead, she thought, imagining her butterfly larvae sleeping, wrapped in their cocoons, bellies full of the pests.
“I hope this is a fun way to end your birthday,” said Ella.
“This was the best. It is the best. It was so good to see everyone.”
“Halim’s sweet.”
“He is. He’s done a lot for me.”
“Like what?”
“Things no one should have to do.”
Ella nodded, but did not want to pry. This happened often. Maya would offer a bit of information, then end the conversation, matter-of-fact, with a note of finality. Ella would be unable to pry further or think of something clever to throw back at her, so she would say nothing, until Maya spoke again.
* * *
Evening became night, and eventually, Maya dozed off in the lawn chair. Ella covered her with an old Mexican wool blanket, a Christmas gift from Ramona Espinal.
“Want to come inside?” asked Ella.
“Nmmhm.”
Ella took that as a no, and went to lie in her hammock. She stared at the sky turning colors like a disco ball, listened to the unquiet that belonged to the city. That first tickle of fear—summer is almost over—occurred to her. All of them would move forward. Ella would return to Cornell, as a junior, and start applying for programs abroad in Latin America; Charu would start at NYU, and she would forget about Ella. Would Maya follow through on that half-formed plan of staying in Charu’s dorm room? Why had Halim been so concerned for her? Ella realized that she didn’t know very much about Maya, but she felt like she’d known her for years. Maybe she could come to Ithaca.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Ella aloud.
* * *
Maya had gone and come back from work by the time Ella awoke in the afternoon. She grabbed Ella by the hands and pulled her off the hammock. “You started snoring so hard I had to go inside.”
“Crap. I should lie on my side. Sorry.”
“I was just glad you fell asleep. Let’s go find Charu.”
The steady drone of the sewing machine led them up the stairs to Charu’s room. Maya knocked a rhy
thm on the door.
“Who is it?”
“Guess.”
Charu opened the door and gasped. “You are a fucking psychic! Get in here!”
Charu’s room was as disastrous as it had ever been. There were hundreds of fabrics slung about anywhere there was space: old saris, cuts of West African kente, Thai silk dupioni—random leftovers from weddings that drove Hashi crazy when they piled up at the salon.
“So this is what you’ve been up to all day?” asked Maya.
“I’ve been busy with this project, girls. Maybe you can wear something for when we go check out Malik’s band tonight! What do you think of my dress?” Charu struck a pop star pose in a dress that was brown, buttoned, and sacklike.
“Out of all the beautiful things you got in your closet, you want to wear that?” asked Maya.
“It’s simple. I like simple.”
“You sure you aren’t trying to blot yourself out of the scene?”
“This is what I want. Now, I must get you dressed, Maya, my dear.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go. I’ve been working all day—”
“It’s Saturday night.” Charu pulled out three scarves from the mound of textiles on the floor. “Model for me? You can wear one out tonight. I call this collection of head scarves—haute hijabi. It’s either that or jihadi hotties.”
“The latter probably won’t sell,” said Ella.
Charu chose a bright red fleur-de-lis print. Gently, she unpinned Maya’s hijab, careful to stick the pins into a tomato cushion. Once she dressed Maya in her creation, she squealed, “You look divine in it!”
It was hard to look away. The bright color of the head scarf accentuated Maya’s skin, framing her aquiline nose. Maya caught Ella staring and smiled.
“The show is in Williamsburg. I’ll pay for the car back. Let’s go,” said Charu.
“With what money?” asked Ella.
“Baba gave me a hundred and fifty bucks for business expenses. He likes my sense of entrepreneurship.”
“Lucky girl,” said Maya. “You know, I think you’re onto something.”
“Is Malik’s band even good?” asked Ella.
“You’re coming, too, El,” said Charu. “I’m not gonna take no for—”
“Aw shit, Charu, I’m not interested.”
“Okay, fine. But later tonight we’ll need you to distract the parentals while we sneak out,” said Charu.
“Use your tree,” said Ella.
“You know I’m afraid of heights,” snapped Charu. “Stop being so fucking righteous for once.”
Ella quivered, thinking of the night’s promises: Cigarettes. Alcohol. Infrequent late-night trains.
“How are you going to get in? You don’t have ID. I guess you’ve got Malik,” said Ella.
“Malik got me these,” said Charu, holding two laminated cards. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned to the mirror and pouted at her reflection.
“So it looks like my birthday party jump-started you two again,” said Maya.
“Yes. Well, something like that. He’s been busy working. Maybe tonight we can—connect.”
“Give him time. He’ll come around.” Maya looked down at the laminated ID that Charu had handed to her and said, “Hey, Charu, I don’t think we can both go in with the same name and be from South Carolina.”
Ella glanced at the name on the card. “Salma Hiyuk? You must be joking.”
“We’re both pretty and brown and motherfuckers can’t tell the difference.”
“Ella, it’s the spirit of the evening, no?” Maya said. “Will you come? It’s not like I do this all the time myself.”
“I’m just not into this sort of thing.”
Charu sneered, “You’re never into anything.”
“I’ll be back,” Ella said. She left the two of them deciding which one of Charu’s haute hijabi samples Maya should represent for the evening.
The last thing she wanted to do was zap the night’s fun. She made her way downstairs to her bedroom. Hashi was still in the salon; Anwar had not yet come home from work. She’d been looking forward to another night with Maya, and seeing Charu and Maya together was making Ella’s head pound. Charu’s anger would dissolve as soon as she got what she wanted. Ella just had to let them out the door, maybe stop by her aunt and uncle’s bedroom. It would never occur to them that Ella would tell a lie.
* * *
Maya stayed upstairs in Charu’s room during dinner. She mentioned not wanting to risk Aman seeing her. After being gone for a month and a half, Maya worried he might tell her father at the masjid. Charu chatted about her hijabs, Aman looked dour and complained about his divorce proceedings, and Hashi and Anwar listened to everyone. Anwar asked Ella if she’d want to come by the apothecary. She had been avoiding the shop. Something about being stuck with Anwar without knowing what to say to him for hours was too awkward, even for her. She said, sure, yeah, why not, but gave no specifics. After dinner, Hashi went to her bedroom to read the Bangla paper, while Aman watched his favorite TV programs, and Anwar went to his study to concoct batches of jojoba shampoo for some famous actor.
Around ten p.m., Charu texted Ella:
Can you chk on parents?
Ella did her due diligence and knocked on Hashi’s door.
“Open!” Hashi lay in bed, reading the Bangla newspaper. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m uh—going to sleep.”
“Good. Maybe you can wake up earlier, then!”
“Right. Good night.”
“Good night. Good night? Turn off the stupid TV, Aman!” Hashi hissed. “And if my stupid husband would join me in bed. Jai-hok, Ella, see you tomorrow. In the morning, okay?”
Ella bid her good night and shut the door. She heard Aman chortle at something—it sounded like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy—and tapped her fingers on Charu’s door. Charu opened the door, and let Maya out. She had painted Maya’s mouth a suggestive red and dressed her in a skintight black jumpsuit that made her look like a Muslim version of Spider-Woman.
They took off their high heels to tiptoe downstairs and out through the sliding glass door.
Once they were outside, Charu cried, “You’re the best, El!” and hugged her.
“You’re sure you won’t come? Please?” asked Maya.
“I’m sure.”
* * *
Ella watched them disappear around the corner of the house. She crumpled onto her hammock. Moonflowers had started to bloom. A hibiscus flower landed on her face. She plucked one of its petals. She slipped off her glasses and the petal took on shapes: a lazy-eyed halibut lumbering along the ocean floor, an ungraspable mermaid, a severed head.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more.
Overwhelmed, she decided to cool off in the seed vault. She opened the door to the vault, and found Anwar sitting there, his hands resting on his belly. His head lay slumped on his chest.
9
Ella shook Anwar hard by the shoulders. He was breathing, but his skin felt dangerously cold. “What the hell are you doing in here?” asked Ella.
Anwar jerked his head up. “Hmmph?”
“Anwar, it’s freezing—it’s not safe to pass out here—what the hell were you thinking?” Ella bent down beside him to help him up.
“Same as you. Getting away from all that.” He fluttered his eyes wide awake. He waved his hand toward the house. “I can’t take it in there anymore. You know, your father was much more of a brother to me than my own brother.”
“I didn’t see you come outside. Do you want to be alone?”
“Do you want to be alone?” asked Anwar.
“No.”
“Same as you. Come. Sit down.”
Ella joined him. He patted her knee. “It’s your father’s birthday tomorrow, did you
know that?” he said.
“I—I forgot.”
Anwar shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing I’ve let you forget. We should be having a party. We should be lighting those sparkler things. We should—”
“It’s okay.”
“Hmph. What can I say? The older we get, the dimmer these memories become. I know that Hashi will remember out of the blue that it’s her brother’s birthday. And then Charu will do something crazy or some hairy woman will come in for a treatment, and Rezwan goes out of her mind. It’s hard to hold on to sadness.” Anwar gestured to the drawers of seed. “I call this ‘permanent winter.’ In this perpetual cold state we can preserve these little seeds, for hundreds of years. Heirlooms that no one else has. This is all yours, kid,” said Anwar.
“Really?”
“It’s not much. I have not much to give you, Ella, besides this house, and these seeds.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I like to think so.”
She felt her throat clump and squeezed her uncle’s shoulder.
Anwar squeezed her hand.
Ella wanted to feel a swelling in her chest, of longing, for her father and his memory, but she didn’t. Maybe it’s too fucking cold in here, she thought. Too cold to think.
“I would like to get some herbstuffs from the garden. It is also freezing in here,” said Anwar.
“Yeah, seriously.” Ella stood up and propped the door open. Anwar followed her out, seeming as disoriented as a miner released from a cave. “Ah, wait, one minute,” he said, going back inside. He came out again, holding a handful of Ziploc bags. He squinted, as if deep in concentration, and counted off a list of inaudible ingredients. Ella locked the seed vault.
“Ahem.” Anwar cleared his throat. “I need to pull some herbs, some bark, some flowers. Here, hold these.” He handed her the Ziplocs and grabbed a shovel from beside the shed.
They stood in the center of the circle, appraising the garden, unsure of where to begin.
“Let’s start with herbs,” said Anwar.
They walked over to a hodgepodge of scented plants in the sunniest corner of the garden. Anwar got on his knees and brushed his fingers through the tangle of herbs. He ripped the tiny white petals of chamomile and sniffed them.
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