Dear Pakistan

by Rosanne Hawke

  ‘Jameela, we will never find another moment alone so I will say goodbye now. May you live long and your soul find rest in your country, not toss like treetops in a storm.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was useless trying to stop the tears rolling down my face. ‘Goodbye, Suneel. I hope you find your dream.’

  He smiled faintly and touched my face as he did in the dream, as though it had to last forever.

  Then he kissed the tips of his own wet fingers. ‘And you, yours.’

  The tears were dropping onto my hands. Suneel, my dear Pakistan. I’d never said goodbye. I guess because I didn’t want to go. My body had stubbornly walked up those steps to the plane without turning around to wave. The inside part of me kept saying, ‘I’ll be back’ and I didn’t realise that leaving was also a kind of loving.

  17

  Danny had been on my mind a lot but I still didn’t feel like talking to him at school. What if it took two hours and we missed lessons? It just seemed easier to do nothing. As time went on, though, I knew there was more behind our misunderstanding than his being piqued at not being in my story.

  That Saturday I was about to ring him when he rolled up in his cousin’s car, armed with a picnic that his little sisters had put together. Mum was only too pleased to see him. She ordered her life to achieve a certain level of peace and harmony and didn’t rest until everybody close to her felt as calm as herself.

  ‘Take as long as you like,’ she whispered to me as I went out the door. She probably thought I was still sorting through the dross of settling in here. I guess it was part of it in a way, but I couldn’t help thinking a problem like Danny could happen any time, any place. It couldn’t all be because of me.

  It’s funny how a trait can be so much a part of a person that you don’t truly notice it until it’s gone. When we were walking into the park, I couldn’t get over how Danny seemed to have no dance left. His body used to kind of move as a whole. Now just his legs walked; just his arm reached over to pick up a plastic cup and his eyes only watched; they didn’t get involved like they used to.

  I thought I’d better say something more meaningful than how nice the day was and all the other mundane things we’d said in the car.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring. I was going to today.’

  ‘That’s cool. I couldn’t either.’ I knew his ‘couldn’t’ didn’t mean he’d had no time or was too busy. He sounded like I felt when I didn’t want to think about a subject because I couldn’t handle it yet. I watched him pour the Coke. He seemed smaller. Could a guy lose weight that quickly? It’d only been a few weeks.

  ‘Danny, I’m sorry.’ I leaned over just as he looked up. It was like his pupils opened wide and I could see right inside, a private place just for me, except I didn’t feel I had the right to look.

  ‘And the story? That Pakistani guy?’

  ‘It’s all finished. None of it was true anyway.’ I knew now why he’d cared so much about that stupid story. Once I’d finished it, I could see it all: the look on Danny’s face as he swung round from the computer screen, the hurt edge in his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry I called the story crap.’

  ‘That hurt.’

  ‘So did I.’ His hand found mine. ‘But I didn’t mean it about the story itself. What I read was great—you should write more—but I could see between the lines, that’s all.’ He stood then and pulled me up.

  ‘Come on. Let’s walk a bit. It sounded like some world you’d made up to escape to and I didn’t think you had to do that.’ He turned to me then. ‘Wasn’t I helping?’

  ‘Of course you were. I wouldn’t have survived the first weeks at school without you.’ Then I added, ‘I’m sorry you weren’t in the story but it was about Pakistan.’ Did he buy that? Or did he understand, like Mr Bolden, that it was about now, too?

  He didn’t answer for a while but when he did it felt as if a breeze had suddenly sprung up and pushed me backwards.

  ‘I was the one—’ He didn’t finish but I knew what he meant.

  He, not Suneel. How could I write about a fantasy guy when a real one was ready and willing? Maybe that was the problem. I didn’t think I could handle him saying those sorts of things yet so I explained about the story. Yasmeen’s words readily came to mind.

  ‘I just felt between two worlds, like their borders were shrinking and I was going to get squashed in the crack. I was just trying to crawl out, to unjumble the mess.’

  He stopped walking then and drew me to face him. ‘Maybe you are between two worlds like you say, but look at yourself for once in the real light. All you can think of is whether you’re fitting in. But Jaime, it doesn’t matter. You’re beyond borders.’

  I blinked. What a phrase! He seemed pleased with it. I was glad; it was the first thing he’d looked pleased about all morning.

  ‘Look, no other Australian girl has come into our house, enjoyed herself and been so totally accepted by my parents as you have. Take your friend, Yasmeen. Could any other girl in your class talk about the things she does, understand her accent, wear her clothes?’

  An image of Debra, demure in Pakistani clothes and head scarf failed to come to mind. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Jaime, you could identify with anybody. Being part of two worlds is weird, maybe it’s difficult at times, but it makes you more interesting and surely you have a bigger outlook on things than most of the kids at school.’

  ‘But sometimes people make me feel like I’ve flown in from another planet.’

  ‘So what? That’s not them doing that, it’s you letting them.’ He almost poked me with his finger. ‘It’s what you feel in here that counts. If you feel fine, then no crap from the other kids is going to ruin your day. Besides, if you feel an alien here you’ll feel one there too. I’ve been to Greece. I know.’

  I nodded. I’d already worked that one out with the help of Suneel. I sighed. Then Danny’s hands were on my shoulders. ‘Jaime, I loved you, you know.’ It was the other half of the sentence he didn’t finish before. The past tense didn’t fool me either. I knew it was insurance in case I laughed.

  What do you say? It was like he’d unzipped all his skin and his insides were about to tumble out and I could save him with four small words: I love you too.

  I almost did it just to zip him up again, but Suneel’s story had taught me more than just coping in a new world. ‘Danny, I do care for you, I think I always will, but it’s different. Sooner or later you’d expect something I couldn’t do—not the way I was brought up. It wouldn’t work.’

  He looked as if he’d interrupt but I wanted to explain. ‘I need you so much, but as a friend. Someone to hug me when I need it, listen to me. You’re the one at school who knows the most about me. You know what I’ve been through. You showed me stuff. I’d like to be there for you too, but can’t we call ourselves “friends”? Is there such a thing here in Australia?’

  It took a while, but he managed to wipe off the exposed, ragged look that had taken over his face. He gave me his old ‘that’s cool’ grin in the offhand way of his which I knew by then wasn’t offhand at all.

  ‘Well, that’s better than I expected, I guess. So you do care?’ I nodded. Vigorously.

  ‘You know if you don’t go out with me, I’ll go out with other girls?’ His tone implied ‘won’t that bother you?’

  I tried to grin in a fair imitation of his. ‘That’s cool.’

  He sort of smiled and sighed at the same time as he drew me against him and held me. ‘I’ll try, Jaime. Just give me a bit of time, OK?’ There was a lot I didn’t understand about guys, like why he’d need time and for what, but I nodded anyway.

  He stood back then. ‘If you don’t see me for a while, don’t worry. I won’t have forgotten.’

  I just nodded again for I knew if I tried to talk words wouldn’t come out; something else would.

  He kisse
d me then. It was the last time he kissed me on my mouth and I could taste the salt of unreached dreams.

  18

  ‘Hi, Jaime. Whatcha doing?’

  I couldn’t believe this solicitous inquiry was from Kate. Things did seem to have changed though I couldn’t pinpoint what in particular. Maybe I was just getting used to the scene at school but I seemed to get nagged less. I found myself answering her in language that would have been Martian to me six months before.

  ‘Just hanging. Got heaps of work to do, though.’

  Kate grimaced in sympathy. Even she was getting into some serious study. ‘The year’s going too fast, hey?’

  I nodded to her, wondering how time can affect relationships. At the beginning of the year, I couldn’t have imagined myself passing the time of day with her like this. She still swore so badly that I could see flames of hellfire hover above her head, and Debra practically meditated on jeans and sneakers labels, yet the more I used their words—like ‘cool’, ‘hot’ and ‘heaps’—the more they seemed to understand me. It was weird, for I didn’t think I was talking about different things from before.

  n

  True to his word, after a few weeks Danny talked to me again at lunch. It was like when I first came but more relaxed. Neither of us felt any pressure that we had to spend time together. I could tell him anything without that feeling of having to tone it down because of his interest in me. Once he asked my opinion on a story he was writing for Year 12 English. That made me smile.

  ‘You’ve taught me something, you know,’ he said that time. I must have looked surprised for he grinned a bit self-consciously. ‘Yeah, that there’s more to a relationship than doing it. I’m sorry if I crowded you or anything.’

  ‘But you never tried anything.’ Was I so naive that a guy could make a move on me and I didn’t even realise?

  ‘Maybe not but it was on my mind a lot.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I don’t know if either of us knew what I said ‘thanks’ for but it seemed the right thing to say.

  When I first saw Danny with Vasa, I must admit I felt a twang of ‘that could have been me’ but it soon passed when I saw how she looked at him. I’d never looked at him like that. She was Orthodox, went to the Catholic school, wore her hair long and was very attractive. She didn’t look the type to climb out of windows at night and I sincerely wished him the best.

  I was still standing outside the classroom when Sara and some of her friends (who were now mine as well) turned up, bags over their shoulders. It reminded me of how Afghan freedom fighters carry their assault rifles. At times I’d get flashes like that, of a world so remote from the scene I was in. Mr Bolden was there before we could get into a deep conversation. He was never late for class.

  ‘So glad you finished the story, Jaime,’ were his opening words when I went to his desk. ‘It was such a good ending.’ To any of the others it would sound like the usual encouraging stuff he’d say about their work, but to me it was as if he thought I’d been about to jump off the roof of the Festival Theatre and I’d walked out of the lift into his arms instead.

  ‘Welcome to Australia,’ was all he said then. His eyes were bright and I smiled in surprise. It did feel as if I’d recently arrived. How did he know? He’d understood where Danny hadn’t, but then Mr Bolden had been reading all my private thoughts for the past six months. Maybe no one else knew quite as much about me as Mr Bolden. He cleared his throat. ‘Jaime, that story served a purpose but I’d like to see you write more when you have time. Just for the sake of writing. Maybe a novel. Would you think about that?’

  ‘Sure, Mr Bolden. And thanks.’

  That afternoon, just before I reached the bus stop, a car pulled up behind me at the kerb. This time I wasn’t scared; there were kids everywhere. I heard Kate’s indrawn breath before I saw the blue front door open for me and recognised my name. I waved at the girls as I hopped into Blake’s car. Poor Kate. She didn’t even look jealous, just stunned like a rabbit caught in high beam.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my picking you up like this, but I tried to catch you at school today.’

  I grinned and hoped I didn’t look as stupefied as Kate. My curiosity grew, for he didn’t rush to tell me what he wanted. He’d never gone out of his way to find me before, not since that time in the library.

  ‘Do you know our tradition in the school of having a Year 12 dinner before the exams start?’

  I nodded. Since the Year 11s were invited too, it was all the girls were talking about lately: what they’d wear, who’d do their hair.

  ‘Well, we always have a Year 11 to give a speech, sort of send us off into the wide, wide world.’ He grinned across at me. I hadn’t heard about that bit. I realised I hadn’t said anything and unsuspecting, I plunged in. ‘That sounds a great idea,’ I blurted out. Then I wished I hadn’t.

  He smiled his Coke ad smile. ‘I’m glad you think so.’ Uh oh.

  ‘Because you’ve been nominated to do the speech for this year.’

  ‘Me? Why me? I haven’t been here long enough.’

  ‘Mr Bolden seems to think you’ll do a great job and I happen to agree with him.’

  Mr Bolden. I should have guessed. Teachers get to sit in on student council meetings and no doubt put in their ten cents’ worth.

  ‘So Mr Bolden put my name forward.’ I was rummaging through my mind how to get out of it gracefully when Blake’s next comment floored me.

  ‘Actually, it was Danny Dimitriadis.’

  ‘Danny?’

  ‘Yep. He said you were a gutsy babe who’d have something cool to say.’

  ‘Danny said that? What did everyone else say?’

  ‘They all agreed you could do it.’

  ‘But they don’t know me.’

  ‘They know Danny, they know me.’ He grinned across at me then. ‘Stop trying to get out of it. You’ll do a good job.’

  I fell silent, thinking fast. To have faith put in me like that when I didn’t think I was well liked was hard to fathom. Blake had told me, in this very car those months ago, that life would get better. What had changed? Was it only me?

  19

  Yasmeen had invited me to the mosque and a picnic afterwards to celebrate Pakistan’s Day of Independence. I hadn’t seen her for a while and when I turned up at her place in long top and pants with matching scarf from the local Indian shop she hugged me.

  ‘It is so good to see you, Jameela. It has been weeks since we last met.’

  Even in Australia, I was thinking with an inside grin, Pakistanis can love you so much that you feel guilty when you’ve been too busy to visit them. I’m sure Yasmeen didn’t mean to make me feel bad but just wanted me to know I was missed. I started in on the expected excuses, justifying why I hadn’t been.

  ‘I’ve had so much homework to do. Third term’s nearly gone. I think of you all the time, though.’ Yasmeen grinned at that as we made our way to their van.

  The mosque was deceptively small. Situated on a side street with its minaret rising above the surrounding rooftops, the size of the courtyard inside came as a total surprise. Only men knelt in the actual mosque area while women, many from Indonesia in white robes and scarves, knelt in perfect lines in the outside courtyard. All Yasmeen’s Pakistani friends sat in a room that seemed to be assigned for child minding.

  ‘In Pakistan women do not go to the mosque at all,’ Yasmeen whispered as I strained to hear her above the babble of hundreds of voices. ‘So we do not take an active part here either. We like to pray privately at home.’

  My presence wasn’t as big a novelty as I thought it might be. In the courtyard, there were a few white Australian guys and in the room with us were some Anglo-Australian women, holding on their laps beautiful children with large brown eyes and light brown skin.

  Yasmeen leaned closer again. ‘Most of these ladies only come when it’s a special day
, like Eid or today.’ I looked around. It was my first time too.

  ‘My father comes every Friday, Shehzad rarely because of school.’

  I nodded in affirmation for I too had to get special permission to take time out of school. The teachers didn’t seem to mind but Mr Bolden said I had to write a report.

  Rosina was on the other side of me. I wondered how they’d got her there. She had her lips pursed in an ‘I didn’t want to come’ pout. She ignored her mother who sighed every time she glanced across at her daughter’s naked head and neck.

  Just then a small boy came to stand in front of me, his brown eyes looking up at me from under his dark curly fringe. I gave a little squeal of pleasure as I bent over, arms wide.

  ‘Ali, how nice to see you.’ He climbed onto my knee, knowing he was welcome even though he couldn’t understand my English words. I spoke in Urdu.

  ‘How are you, Ali?’

  ‘Teik hai, fine,’ he answered with a solemn little lift of his head. His mother came looking for him soon after, a young attractive Afghan who spoke English with an educated Kabuli accent.

  ‘Thank you so much. You found Ali.’

  I grinned. It was as though she was thanking me for that first time all those weeks ago. When I asked her how she was settling in, it was the Eastern smile of acceptance that spread across her face, lighting up the hope in her eyes.

  ‘There are many things different here and we miss friends and family but we are happy and safe. There are no bombs or mines. My husband is not in jail.’ She stroked Ali’s forehead as she spoke and I wondered again about his scar.

  ‘What did you do in Kabul?’ I wasn’t just making conversation. I knew what it felt like to come from another place and no one be interested; to be unable to exorcise the memories, good or bad, so that they got bottled up and grew out of all proportion to what was real.

  ‘I was studying in university when it was bombed. After that education stopped for women. My husband was a teacher. He taught Persian language and history.’