Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  I shrugged and pulled up a tuft of grass. How was that relevant?

  ‘How old are you, little sparrow?’ he asked, picking up the caterpillar and squashing its soft body between his fingers. Like it never crossed his mind to put it back on the lawn, to turn into a butterfly one day. He wiped the green ooze down his sleeve.

  ‘Sixteen, Uncle,’ I said.

  ‘Seventeen in September!’ said Baba.

  Uncle turned to Baba. ‘Seventeen, eh? A sweet, sweet age, eh, Qasim?’ He slapped Baba on the thigh.

  Baba gave an embarrassed smile.

  Uncle shook his head with a wheezy chuckle. ‘Seventeen, so soon. But I should tell you—’

  The pistachio nut caught in his throat, and he lurched as he tried to cough. Baba slapped him hard on the back. Auntie Shakeela and Mama jumped up. With a loud bark, Uncle coughed it out, the nut shooting over the grass. He waved the women away.

  ‘I’m all right, I’m all right, don’t worry,’ he wheezed. He gave me his empty glass, his coffee now spilled on the rug.

  ‘Another one, please, Azra,’ he said, clearing his throat noisily. ‘And, Azra,’ he added, ‘I know it’s different here, but you can’t be like the Aussie girls. We live with respect. We look after each other. Our family, our culture. A lovely girl like you needs to take care to keep out of trouble.’ He looked at me hard. I knew what he meant.

  Before he could say another word, a loud shout went up. A cricket ball landed on the empty glass in my hand, splitting it into shards. I watched a gash on my palm colour with rising blood. Uncle roared and jumped to his feet.

  The boy with the bat dashed up. ‘Sorry, sorry, so sorry,’ he said.

  The older man ran up behind. ‘Our sincere apologies,’ he said. ‘So sorry to disturb you and your family.’

  ‘You shouldn’t play ball games here,’ said Uncle, puffing out his chest and pointing. ‘Can’t you read the sign?’

  The younger boy ran up, pink-cheeked, dragging his bat behind him. ‘Can we have our ball back?’

  Uncle’s face darkened. ‘Your what! Look at my niece!’

  I pressed a wad of serviettes to the cut, red ooze dripping through my shalwar kameez and onto the rug.

  ‘Please?’ whined the boy. ‘We said we were sorry.’

  Baba squatted down to pick up the ball.

  ‘Don’t touch that!’ said Uncle, and snatched it up. ‘Bloody Indians and their bloody cricket,’ he said. ‘Here, go get your ball!’

  He threw the ball hard, straight into the middle of the river. The current swirled towards the weir.

  ‘Was that necessary?’ asked the older man. ‘It was just an accident.’

  Uncle growled. ‘Be more careful next time. Here, you can have my coffee as well!’ He picked up the broken glass and flung it down the hill. Jagged splinters glinted in the grass.

  The teenage boy dragged his cricket bat down the slope. ‘Bloody Pakis!’ he said over his shoulder.

  Uncle Zarar stiffened. ‘What did you say?’

  I held my breath.

  Baba took Uncle’s arm. ‘Leave it, Zarar,’ he said. ‘Don’t spoil the day.’

  ‘Spoil it! They’re the ones who have spoiled it.’ He took a few steps towards the other family as Auntie Shakeela ran over.

  ‘Easy, Zarar,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘It doesn’t matter. I have plenty more coffee glasses.’

  Uncle chewed at the underside of his moustache, his eyes dark. The Indian picnickers stood close together, watching us. After a couple of minutes, Uncle sat back down. It was as if the seal had been broken on a vacuum bell, and the air was now free to rush back in. Everyone started talking again, quietly.

  Mama brought a stack of serviettes and three Band-Aids over to me.

  I held the flap of skin tight and sucked at the blood trickling down my wrist. It tasted of iron. Fe. Ferrous. Fee Fi Fo Fum. If Uncle was the giant, who did that make me?

  X

  Nodal plane

  an area in which the probability of finding an electron is zero

  On the morning after the picnic, a fog settled in the railway cutting next to the school. Only footprints broke the crust of frost on the lawn.

  It was two more weeks until school holidays. While I wouldn’t have to pick up Soraya every afternoon, I knew there’d be whole days of looking after her, or else helping out in the shop.

  ‘Hey, Az,’ called Bassima, emerging behind me from the mist, pink-cheeked and puffing.

  ‘Hey, B!’ I said. ‘How was it?’

  She grinned, catching her breath. ‘Awesome,’ she said, resting her hands on her knees, ‘absolutely awesome.’

  Sounded better than my picnic. Way better.

  Bassima stood up and waved her short blue fingernails around her face. ‘We came second! And now we’re in the state finals!’

  A chill sank through my chest. And it wasn’t just because of the fog. ‘Wow,’ I said, trying to be happy for her. ‘That’s cool. Congrats.’

  But it was so unfair. I could’ve been on that team too. And made the finals. And now, because of the picnic, I was left behind.

  ‘Hey,’ Bassima said, putting her arm around me. ‘Don’t be sad. It doesn’t mean you’ll miss out. Mrs K says you can still be on our team. If you’re allowed by your parents, that is.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘Really!’ shrieked Bassima. ‘Really.’

  And then she grabbed my hands and started spinning us both in a circle over the damp grass. Other girls stopped to point at us, but I didn’t care. The cut under my bandage ached, but it wasn’t important. We’d got into the state finals, and nothing else mattered.

  After chem prac, Mrs Kaminski called us over for ‘a quick word’. Vanessa, Bassima and me, that is.

  ‘Azra, have the others told you about the state chemistry camp? It’s three days at the University of New South Wales. Two days of experiments and lectures. The last day’s a team competition day, like the heats yesterday, but this time it’s the state finals—’

  ‘But,’ I interrupted, ‘I didn’t compete. Are you sure I can join in?’

  Mrs Kaminski nodded. ‘Yes, I checked already. Because your name was on our original registration, you’re still part of our team.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. Three whole days of chemistry, at a university! It sounded amazing.

  ‘Now,’ continued Mrs Kaminski, ‘the state chem camp is Wednesday to Friday in the second week of the July school holidays. Is that good for everyone?’

  Vanessa bobbed her head up and down. Bassima gave a slow nod.

  ‘It’s residential, so you’ll be staying on campus. Mr Jefferson and I will also be there, as team coordinators. Here are the permission notes; please have your parents sign them as soon as you can.’

  Baba had agreed I could go to the next science event, but three days away from home? I’d never stayed overnight anywhere without my family. I hoped that wouldn’t make him change his mind.

  We walked slowly up the science block corridor.

  ‘Wow!’ said Bassima, fidgeting with her earrings. ‘Three days at the university! How cool!’

  It was cool. Excellent even. And Baba had already promised I could go. Kind of. I crossed my fingers and hoped that his promise would still hold.

  At lunch, we shuffled into the winter sunshine. It was almost warm out of the wind.

  Bassima shooed some Year Eight girls off the silver bench. ‘They’ll get their turn,’ she said. ‘They need something to look forward to. Besides, I need to sit down.’ She winced. ‘I keep getting these hectic cramps. Like my period can’t decide what to do.’

  ‘Sounds bad. Have you been to the doctor?’

  ‘Nah, it comes and goes. I’ll probably grow out of it, or something. Maybe I’m hungry.’

  She peeled open a falafel wrap. I pulled out a samosa, left over from the picnic.

  ‘Well,’ she said, chewing. ‘How cool will it be to go to uni for a few days? We can imagine it’s u
s in two years’ time.’

  I looked at my lap. ‘Yeah.’ But would it be?

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Bassima. ‘You’re pretty quiet, considering you just found out about chem camp. I thought you’d be stoked.’

  ‘Yeah. You’d think so. But—’

  Bassima put down her lunch.

  ‘But what? Don’t you think you’ll be allowed to go this time either?’

  I sighed. I didn’t know.

  ‘I should be okay. But there’s some weird stuff just starting to happen. Like, Baba isn’t so interested in how I do at school anymore. And Mama’s suddenly extra keen on teaching me how to sew. And yesterday at the picnic . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me they’ve promised you already?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, they wouldn’t. Not without asking me. I know they’ll want to arrange something, and when they do, I’m sure I’ll get a say. But still . . .’

  ‘What, Az? You’re scaring me.’ She looked at me intently. I focused on an old plastic spoon on the ground.

  ‘Nothing specific. Just lots of little things.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Well, at the picnic, Mama and Auntie both said I shouldn’t really worry too much about studying. And Uncle said I could maybe go to uni “later”. Meaning not straightaway.’

  ‘Sounds suss,’ said Bassima. ‘Later than what? Did they say anything else? Mention any names?’

  ‘No. But it feels like they’re starting to make plans. And I don’t know what kind of timeline they’re thinking of. For a promise. Or a wedding.’

  Saying it out loud made me feel sick. I wrapped up the rest of my samosa. I couldn’t eat it now.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ said Bassima, watching a train accelerate along the tracks beyond the school fence. ‘It’s not like they don’t know you’re good at school.’

  Another train slowed, brakes squealing, and stopped on the tracks.

  ‘Remember Kamilah?’ I said.

  Bassima nodded. ‘Yeah. Dux of last year. Only allowed to study med science if she went back to Egypt and got promised first.’

  ‘Did she?’ It suddenly felt important to know all about it. Like a map I might need sometime.

  ‘Yep. No one argues with her mother. But Kamilah’s at uni now, and the wedding’s not for ages. Not till after she graduates. S’pose she can change her mind about it in the meantime, if she wants. Until then, everyone’s happy.’

  Maybe they were, or maybe they weren’t. I shivered, I couldn’t help it. A promise was hard to break. She was as good as married.

  When Soraya and I got home, Baba was kneeling over an open suitcase. Scattered around him were shoes, folded tunics and a pile of underwear.

  Rashid watched from the kitchen, eating an apple.

  ‘Baba!’ I said. ‘What’s happening?’

  He looked up, distracted. ‘Girls! Back so soon?’

  ‘Same as usual. You going away already?’

  Baba shook his head. ‘Bad times, bad times,’ he said. ‘Grandma Ajmal is very sick. Very sick. Might even die.’

  Grandma Ajmal was a hazy memory for me, from thirteen years ago in Pakistan. A stooped, white-haired woman with whiskers on her chin. Two of her bottom teeth were missing. I was frightened when she pulled me close for a hug.

  ‘Oh, Baba,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Baba waved his arm. ‘It’s dreadful. Dreadful. She’s in the hospital. Uncle Zarar and I are going to see her. Hope we’re in time,’ he added, pressing a pile of shirts into the case.

  ‘Can I help, Baba?’ I asked. ‘Do you have everything?’

  ‘Ai-ee!’ he said. ‘I don’t know! Whatever I’ve forgotten, I can buy in Lahore. At a quarter of the price!’

  ‘When are you going?’ asked Soraya.

  ‘This afternoon, sweetheart,’ said Baba.

  She sat down beside him on the rug. ‘Baba,’ she said, ‘can I come?’

  He lifted her onto his lap. ‘That would be much more fun,’ he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘But we need to look after Grandmother, who is very, very sick. And it will be difficult. Next time, my darling.’

  ‘Awwww,’ said Soraya. ‘It’s not fair. I’ve never ever been to Pakistan. When’s my turn?’

  It was true. Soraya had never been there. On the wall near the bathroom door was a photo taken soon after we arrived in Australia. Uncle and Baba stood at the back, with the rest of us on a divan. Omar and Javid sat on Auntie’s lap, Rashid and me on Mama’s. I was four, with short plaits and tiny teeth. Everyone looked serious. Farzana and Soraya weren’t even born.

  ‘Soon, my precious. I promise. You know what, I can’t take you now! You haven’t got a passport. That takes weeks. One day, we’ll all go back and have a lovely holiday. But not this time.’

  He kissed her on the forehead and set her down on the rug. ‘Now I really must hurry, Uncle will be here soon,’ he said.

  Then I remembered the note in my bag. I had to ask him. ‘Baba,’ I said, ‘before you go—’

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘Soraya, sit on my suitcase, will you, so I can close it?’

  She sat cross-legged on the worn Samsonite case. As he padlocked the strap, a car horn tooted.

  Rashid looked out the window. ‘Uncle’s here!’ he called. ‘With Omar, by the look of it.’

  ‘Ai-ee! So soon!’

  I had to be quick. It was terrible timing for me to be bothering him with this.

  ‘Baba, I’ve got another science competition. There’s a note for you to sign.’

  Baba looked pained. ‘I can’t do this now. Ask Mama.’

  ‘But I have to take the note back to school,’ I said. ‘It won’t take a minute.’

  Three knocks shook the door. Rashid opened it to Uncle. Baba jumped up, dragging his suitcase.

  ‘Zarar! I’m coming, I’m coming.’ Baba looked over his shoulder at me. ‘When I get back,’ he said. ‘I promise. Bye,’ he went on, hugging Soraya. ‘Look after your mother.’

  ‘Baba, please?’ I said, as he hugged me.

  ‘We’ll sort it later. I’ll be back soon.’

  Uncle frowned. I could tell he thought I was being a nuisance. ‘Don’t hold up your father. We’re already late.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘don’t worry about it.’

  Baba pulled his bag towards the stairwell. ‘Talk about it when we get back, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. But it wasn’t.

  Mama came home after I’d put Soraya to bed.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, kicking off her shoes. ‘We didn’t close until eight and then I had to get the bus. Anything to eat?’

  ‘Vegetable curry on the stove. And rice. Shall I get you some?’

  ‘Thanks, Azra. Such a lot happening at the shop. Bad timing for Grandma Ajmal to get sick. Though I guess she’d rather not be in hospital again. Where’s Rashid?’ she asked. ‘He’s left all his mess on the floor, again.’ She flicked away pistachio shells and righted an empty Red Bull can.

  ‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘He went out.’

  She lay down on the divan, resting her arm across her eyes.

  ‘Can’t tell if I should sleep or eat!’ she murmured.

  I put a bowl of curry on the floor beside her. A few minutes later, she sat up.

  ‘Baba get away all right?’

  ‘Think so. Uncle came with Omar. Should be on the plane by now.’

  Mama nodded, a spoonful of curry halfway to her mouth. ‘Hope Grandma gets better soon. Last time she had a turn like this, they were gone for a whole month! Shakeela and I will die on our feet if we have to do this for too long. Then they’ll have to come back and bury us wives.’

  ‘Mama!’ I said. ‘What would Baba say if he heard you say that?’

  She smiled. ‘I know. I’m being naughty. I don’t want her to die, or to suffer, but she pulls those men back to Lahore every time she gets a chance!’ Then she gave a big sigh. ‘Thanks for dinner, Azra, I do appreciate that you can be relied on,’ she sai
d, picking up more of the discarded shells. Like she was thinking that she couldn’t rely on Rashid for much. Wherever he was.

  I seized my chance. ‘Mama, I asked Baba before he went, but he didn’t have time; Uncle was in too much of a hurry. I’ve got a permission note to be signed. For another science competition. In the school holidays.’

  ‘Another one? So soon?’

  ‘It’s the next level. A big competition. Baba promised I could go, remember?’

  ‘All right, meri jaan, I’ll look at it tomorrow. Too tired for reading notes in English tonight. Okay?’ She stood up and stroked my hair. ‘When I get home tomorrow. Now it’s time for bed, for both of us.’

  I gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Mama.’ Maybe it was good to have Uncle and Baba away for a while. Maybe things were going to work out the way I wanted them to, for a change. Maybe we could all relax a little, and do things how we wanted. For a little while, at least.

  The next day in class, Bassima and Vanessa handed in their signed notes, and Mrs Kaminski asked me if I could please remember to bring mine in ASAP, as time was running out.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘No problem.’

  After school, as we walked along the path to the station, Bassima asked, ‘You okay with permission for the chem comp? Need some help?’

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t think so. Fingers crossed. Mama should be okay, she said she would.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ she said. ‘Urdu forgeries my speciality. You know the teachers never double-check them. It all looks the same to them.’

  I snorted. ‘Thanks. But only if I’m desperate. Even if you signed for me, they’d notice if I disappeared for three days in the holidays. Think I need the real thing signed.’

  ‘Okay. Just offering.’

  We crossed the road to the station, and started down the steps.

  ‘Speaking of chem camp, did we walk past Tom already?’ She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.

  I shook my head. ‘Didn’t see,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he had something better to do.’

  Bassima narrowed her eyes. ‘You messing with me?’

  ‘I don’t know, B— perhaps he’s on detention. Or finishing a maths assignment. Or sick with the flu.’