by Adib Khan
His body tenses. He turns his head towards me. ‘Rani?’
‘Yes, your daughter Rani.’ I cup his shoulders in the palms of my hands. ‘She’s alive and well.’
I scan his face, anxious for a sign of understanding. The vacant look doesn’t disappear. I consider repeating what I’ve just said, but with different words. Then he grips my hand and a tear trickles down his right cheek. I hold him close. Now there are no barriers between us.
If there’s forgiveness to be sought, then his children too should be asking for it. Ours was the sin of turning him into a demi-god, someone we assumed was without flesh and desire, without instinct or temptation. We boxed and caged him, never doubting his compliance to our expectations.
Mirza sticks his head in through the door for the second time. ‘Choto Babu, Moin says the traffic is heavy. It may take more than an hour to reach the airport.’
Abba clasps my hand as I begin to withdraw it.
‘My son,’ he says wondrously. ‘My son.’
I cling to him.
I’m the one who needs consolation.
THE AIRPORT TERMINAL is crowded.
A mullah travelling to Dubai is incensed by the luggage limit. He intimidates the girl at the check-in counter to the point of tears. The man has two suitcases full of copies of the Koran. How dare the airline ask him to pay excess baggage on the words of God? He’s travelling between two Muslim countries. He raises his voice and cries Allah’s greatness: ‘Allah O Akbar!’
A man in jeans and leather jacket groans. There’s no response to the rallying cry, only bored expressions and the clatter of luggage wheels.
A senior airline official appears, and the mullah has his way.
In just under an hour my flight leaves. But there’s no urgency to head towards immigration. I look among the faces in the crowd. It’s likely that Zia’s caught in a traffic jam.
A hand grabs my left arm.
I don’t recognise Omar immediately. He’s wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat pulled low over his face. He carries a large shoulder bag. ‘Do you have your boarding pass? Ticket and passport?’ He stands in front of me, his head turning from side to side like a scanner on a pivotal pedestal.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here!’
He drags me by the arm towards the entrance to immigration. ‘I want you to go in. Now!’
‘I must wait for your father!’ I want to tell Zia I’ve left him a note.
‘Uncle, please!’ Omar turns his back to me, without releasing my arm. ‘Stay behind me!’
‘What’s wrong now?’ I’m annoyed by his rough behaviour. ‘There he is!’ I wave to catch Zia’s attention.
Zia smiles and pushes his way towards us.
Suddenly Omar backs into me.
Then I see another face emerging from behind a pillar. He’s only a few metres away. The man takes something out of the side pocket of his loosely fitting jacket.
A gaunt face. That scar—
Omar rams a shoulder into my chest. It feels as if I’ve been hit by a car. For an instant I’m weightless, as though in flight. I glimpse the Kalashnikov in Omar’s hands.
Flat, uninterrupted noises. Dreadfully familiar. The back of my head hits the floor. There’s a crushing weight on top of me.
Screaming. There are people running. A child cries.
‘That could be my brother! Let me through!’ Zia’s voice. ‘Get that man off him!’
Omar…He’s lying on top of me. ‘Omar, get…’
His head lolls over my right shoulder. I wriggle my right hand free and grab the front of his shirt. It feels sticky.
‘Omar!’ I try to shake him. ‘Omar!’
He lifts his head and looks at me. Then he slumps again and his forehead slides past my shoulder to rest on the floor.
I close my eyes. I’m levitating. Then, the daggers of ghastly awareness. The burden of what has to be.
I must write to Amelia.
I’m unable to run any more.
About the Author
ADIB KHAN was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh, where he lived until 1973, before coming to Australia. He divides his time between the Victorian cities of Ballarat and Melbourne. His first novel, Seasonal Adjustments, won the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction and the 1995 Commonwealth Writer’s Prize for best First Book. He is also the author of Solitude of Illusions, The Storyteller and Homecoming.
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Seasonal Adjustments
Solitude of Illusions
The Storyteller
Homecoming
Copyright
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2007
This edition published in 2010
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
www.harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Adib Khan 2007
The right of Adib Khan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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10 East 53rd Street, New York NY 10022, USA
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Khan, Adib.
Spiral road.
ISBN 13: 978 0 7322 8417 6. (pbk.)
ISBN 10: 0 7322 8417 1. (pbk.)
ISBN: 978 0 7304 4400 8 (epub)
I. Title.
A823.3
The writing of this project has been assisted by the Commonwealth through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
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