‘Do you think so?’ Bassima asked, concern crinkling her forehead. ‘He did sneeze a couple of times in the chem comp!’
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Anyone could tell the real reason she was so excited about the NSW chemistry competition. And it wasn’t the chemistry.
She bent over and rubbed her stomach. ‘Ooh. There it goes again.’
‘You should get it checked out, B. It’s been bothering you all day.’
‘Yeah. If it’s still happening tomorrow, I will.’
Her train pulled in. She looked up and down the platform. ‘Well, this is me, then,’ she said. ‘I guess he’s not coming today. Good luck with the note.’
She stepped onto the train, and hovered by the doors for a minute. As the tail of her train snaked towards Bankstown, Tom walked slowly down the stairs. Too late for B, I thought. And not with his usual bounce.
‘Hey, Az,’ he said. ‘How’s things?’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But you don’t look so great. You all right?’
‘Nah. Feeling a bit off. Hot and cold. And sick in the guts. Just want to go home and lie down.’
‘That’s no good.’
‘Should be fine, just a bit shit. Bassima gone already?’
I nodded. ‘Yep, that last train.’
‘Right.’ He looked extra pale.
‘Maybe you should sit down, Tom?’
He stared intently at the tracks. ‘Nah, I’ll be okay. My train’ll be here in a mo. But I was just wondering, about B . . .’
‘What?’ I said. ‘You can ask me, it’s okay.’
‘Ha—it’s nothing,’ he said, looking up. ‘Hey—here’s yours.’
The silver face of the train curved into the platform. I stepped up to the door. ‘See ya. Get better.’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
And the doors slid shut on whatever it was Tom wouldn’t say. About B.
XI
Thermal cracking
the decomposition of a substance by heating it in the presence of a catalyst and in the absence of air
At the infants school, I was extra patient with Soraya. I even carried her bag for her. She couldn’t help only being five and getting tired after a whole day in class. Besides, Mama was going to sign my note tonight. Everything was feeling sweet. Until, outside the old house, the dog lunged at the gate with an angry bark. I jumped, my shoulders past my ears. Soraya shrieked and grabbed my waist.
‘Shut up, you stupid dog!’ I shouted. No one came out of the house. ‘Come on, Soraya.’
The dog growled and snuffled under the gate.
All the way up the stairs to the flat, the fright jangled. I didn’t even notice the smell of cardamom and onion until we were well inside.
‘Hello, girls!’ Mama called from the kitchen. ‘Javid’s at the shop with Auntie, now his half-year exams are done. I so need an early night!’
I dropped my bag on the divan. It was cosy inside, but I could still hear the dog barking outside. ‘What’s with that dog?’ I asked. ‘It tried to eat us on the way past!’
‘Dogs!’ She shuddered. ‘Don’t understand why people want them.’ She stirred the pan. ‘If your father was here, he could sort it out.’
‘Mama, I’m hungry,’ said Soraya.
‘Food’s nearly ready, sweetheart,’ said Mama. ‘Ten minutes more.’
‘Where’s Rashid?’ I asked.
‘Haven’t seen him. Extra shifts, maybe?’
‘Maybe,’ I said, but I doubted it. ‘Hey, I’ve got the note for the chemistry competition. It needs to go back tomorrow.’
‘Okay,’ she said, chopping coriander leaves. ‘After dinner.’
‘Cool. Bassima’s going too, and Mrs Kaminski and another girl from my school. It’s in the holidays, and it won’t cost us any money.’
Mama slid the chopped leaves into the saucepan, the green tang spicing the room. She wiped the chopping board with a tea towel. ‘So, when is it?’
‘In the second week of the holidays,’ I said. ‘On the Wednesday.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘At the University of New South Wales, in Kensington.’
‘Kensington!’ she said. ‘In the eastern suburbs? That’s a long way for one day. How will you get there? And home again?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Kaminski will take us there in her car, and then home again. On Friday.’
As I waited for that last piece of information to land, she crushed a clove of garlic with salt and added it to the pan. She wiped her hands on her apron, then turned to look at me.
‘So, it’s for three days, not returning home to sleep?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. But our teacher will be there too. You can talk to her. It’ll be fine.’
Mama shook her head. ‘Did Baba know all of that?’
I shrugged. ‘Kind of.’
‘I’m not sure about this. You’ve never stayed away with school before.’
‘But, Mama,’ I pleaded, ‘Baba promised! Remember? Bassima’s allowed, she’s from a good Muslim family. Why don’t you speak to Bassima’s mother about it?’
She stirred the pan for at least a minute before replying. ‘I don’t think so, I don’t want to cause bother. It’s not right for me to question what other families decide. It’d be easiest if you don’t go. I don’t want to upset Baba or Uncle by making a wrong decision, and I don’t know any of these people. Azra, if anything happened, I would never forgive myself.’
‘Mama, please! Baba said I could.’
‘Not this time. Maybe when Baba gets home, he can decide.’
‘But we don’t know when he’ll be back!’ I shouted.
She dropped the chopping board into the sink with a bang, and glared at me. ‘Don’t raise your voice at me. Can’t you see it’s difficult for me too? What if something happens to you? I’ll feel so responsible.’
‘Nothing bad is going to happen. I only want to go on a school camp. It’s so unfair! Doesn’t what I want count for anything?’
I dropped onto the divan and buried my face in a cushion. Outside, the dog started barking again.
I hated the dog. I hated my mother. I hated how I wasn’t allowed to do things that everyone else could. It wasn’t fair. Why did being an obedient daughter mean I couldn’t do things I wanted?
Soraya hung by the bedroom door, keeping out of the way. I hardly ever shouted; she knew something wasn’t right. She disappeared into our bedroom and closed the door.
Mama called to her. ‘Come eat, Soraya, it’s ready!’
She came out clutching her fluffy rabbit.
‘Here, Az,’ she said, handing it to me. Like she knew I needed a cuddly friend. I took it with me into our bedroom and slammed the door for Mama’s benefit. And then I stayed in there for the rest of the evening, fuming. I’d never shouted at Mama like that before. But I really didn’t care. She wouldn’t stop me from going to camp. I would work out a way. Somehow.
In the morning, I got up when I heard Rashid coughing in the kitchen. I didn’t want to face Mama—I wasn’t going to apologise. I’d go to school early and do homework in the library. At least there, they encouraged people who studied, I thought bitterly. I filled up the kettle for tea.
‘You’re early,’ said Rashid. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Everything. What do you care?’
He looked a mess, his hair sticking up in a non-intentional way. And he stank of tobacco.
‘What’s with you?’ I said. ‘You look terrible. Where’ve you been, anyway? Mama thinks you’re doing extra shifts. But not looking like that, you’re not.’
‘Hah!’ he said. ‘Not that you need to know. Exploring a business opportunity. With Cameron.’
‘A business opportunity?’ He had to be joking.
He nodded, looking pleased with himself. ‘You’ll see. I’ll be driving around some fancy wheels before you know it. Better than Omar’s.’
‘Oh. Sounds impressive. What is it then? Selling drugs? Or som
e other dodgy thing?’
He shook his head and coughed. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What then?’ I asked. What else could it be? He didn’t know how to do anything special.
‘Not for you to know, little sister,’ he said, a superior look on his face.
‘Whatever.’
I added hot water to last night’s tea and broke off a banana. ‘I’m out of here.’
Rashid squinted through bloodshot eyes. ‘You’re keen. But not as smart as you think you are.’
I didn’t bother answering. He was such a jerk. I pulled the front door shut behind me, and ran down the stairs.
At recess, I went straight to the science staffroom. I knocked on the door and Miss Gibson, the head science teacher, opened it. She was tall and shrivelled and definitely the oldest teacher in the whole school.
‘Yes?’ she asked, holding a mug with a picture of a test tube. It read, ‘If you’re not part of the Solution, you’re part of the Precipitate.’
I was definitely part of the precipitate. Or the chemistry comp was. ‘Hello, Miss Gibson,’ I said. ‘Is Mrs Kaminski here, please?’
She looked back in the staffroom. ‘Where’s Irene?’
Someone called out from behind the door, ‘Try lab two.’
‘Get that?’ said Miss Gibson. ‘Lab two.’
The door to the lab was closed, but through the window I could see Mrs Kaminski directing Mr Ridge over conical flasks and stoppered test tubes. I knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called out, holding a rack of test tubes in each hand. ‘Hi, Azra. Got that note for me?’
I shook my head, my throat tight. ‘Actually, no.’
Mrs Kaminski put the racks down. ‘Hope there’s not a problem?’ she asked. ‘We really want you on the team.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I really want to be on the team.’
Mr Ridge set down a box of clamps on the bench. Mrs Kaminski looked over to him. ‘Thanks, John, I’ll do the rest.’
‘As you like,’ he said, vanishing into the prep room at the back.
‘Is it that you’ll be away?’ she asked. ‘Is that the problem?’
I shook my head.
‘You know, it’s a great opportunity,’ she said. ‘You’d always regret not going.’
‘I regret it already!’ I said. Then I regretted almost shouting at her.
Mrs Kaminski sighed. ‘Azra, I can’t help if you don’t tell me the details. I’m not a mind-reader.’
I knew that. But it felt hard to explain my life to her.
‘Why don’t you sit down here, and we’ll discuss it,’ she said, pulling out a stool.
I slumped onto the stool, feeling like a waste of space. A drain on everyone’s energy. They were only trying to help me, and all I did was make things difficult.
‘Well, it’s like this,’ I started slowly. ‘My father’s away in Pakistan because my grandmother’s very sick. And because my mother doesn’t want to upset anyone by making a wrong decision, she won’t let me go to the chem camp.’
Mrs Kaminski looked perplexed. ‘What’s her objection?’
‘Well . . .’ I thought for a minute. ‘She thinks I won’t be properly supervised,’ I said, looking down at the tap on the laboratory bench. ‘And if Baba isn’t here to make the decision, then she won’t either.’
‘Oh, Azra,’ she said. ‘They don’t make it easy for you, do they?’
I shook my head, suddenly feeling sorry for myself. Tears stung my eyes and my bottom lip wobbled. Mrs Kaminski put her arm around me.
‘It’s okay, Azra, don’t cry. Perhaps I can phone your mother and explain?’
A big sob lurched out of my chest. ‘I don’t think that will work,’ I gulped. ‘I really don’t.’
Mrs Kaminski squeezed my shoulder, and spoke quietly. ‘Don’t be upset, we can work something out. Tissues?’ She reached under the demonstration bench for a box.
I dabbed at my face and blew my nose loudly. ‘Thanks, Mrs K,’ I said, my voice thick with snot.
‘Wash your face at the sink,’ she said. ‘Cold water always feels better when you’ve been crying.’
As I wet my face and dried it off, Mrs Kaminski placed two beakers on each bench for the next prac. When she was done, she pulled up a lab stool and sat close to me.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘What if we were to go see your mother and talk through all the possible issues? Perhaps after school today?’
I frowned. ‘It’s complicated. After school, I have to pick up my little sister from her school, in Wiley Park. My mother works in Lakemba, at Uncle’s shop. I never know what time she’ll be home. What with my father away.’
‘Okay. How about we go at lunchtime? We should be back before classes start. If you need a note, I’ll fix it. Sound all right?’
I nodded. ‘Thanks, Mrs K.’
‘Meet me at the front office when lunchtime starts. I should probably check . . .’ She pressed both her hands into the bench, like she was unsure about something. Then she shook her head. ‘No, it should be fine.’
As I headed for the door, Mrs Kaminski called back, ‘Do you want to call ahead to let her know we’re coming?’
If I rang Mama at the shop, she’d worry there was an emergency. And if I told her why we were really coming, she’d get mad. Like she thought I couldn’t leave it alone.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t think we need to.’ Best to catch Mama off-guard.
It was busy on Haldon Street, so we parked on a side street, near a house with shopping trolleys in the front yard.
Mrs Kaminski looked out of place: too well-dressed for a local Anglo, in her tan leather jacket and woollen trousers. Like a visiting lawyer or something.
We walked past the biryani kitchen and a Turkish bakery to Uncle’s shop. A big sign above the door showed the name in Urdu, Arabic and English. Spice Bazaar.
The ding-dong of the bell was triggered as we walked through the beaded curtain. After the sunshine, it was dim inside. It took me a moment to focus on Auntie Shakeela, hurrying towards us between stacks of imported food.
‘Azra!’ she exclaimed in Urdu, her purple dupatta trailing from her shoulders. ‘Why are you here? Everything all right?’
Mrs Kaminski turned to her, offering her hand. ‘Mrs Ajmal? I’m Irene Kaminski, Azra’s chemistry teacher. Pleased to meet you.’
Auntie Shakeela looked puzzled as she limply offered her hand.
‘Ah. Actually, this is my auntie,’ I said. ‘Is Mama here?’ I asked Auntie Shakeela. I suddenly dreaded that she mightn’t be and I’d already lost my chance to surprise her.
‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘She’s out the back, packing spices. Shall I go get her?’
Phew. I shook my head. ‘No, no, it’s fine. We’ll go out to her, if that’s okay?’
Auntie nodded. ‘Fine, yes, that’s fine. Nice to meet you.’
We squeezed past a pallet of imported chickpeas, the Urdu script covered by stickers with the list of ingredients in English. Most school holidays, Soraya and I stuck them on. It took forever. You could tell the ones Soraya’d done. They were never straight.
Out the back, the television played Pakistani daytime TV. On the screen, a woman wept extravagantly, a black lace scarf over her head. I shooed a random tabby cat out through the roller doors. It was always hanging around like it lived in the shop, even though it didn’t.
Mama was using a long spoon to fill plastic packets of turmeric. When she saw us, she jumped up in a cloud of orange dust.
‘Hello, Mama,’ I said. ‘This is Mrs Kaminski, my chemistry teacher.’
Mrs Kaminski stepped close, holding out her hand. ‘Hello, Mrs Ajmal; nice to meet you.’
Mama put down the spoon, and wiped yellowed fingers on her apron. ‘Hello,’ she said slowly. ‘Is something the matter?’ She didn’t take Mrs Kaminski’s hand.
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘Nothing the matter at all. We’re here because of a special opportunity for Azra. I heard you had some
reservations, and I wanted to be able to answer any questions you might have. Explain to you what an honour it is for Azra to be invited.’
Mama looked at me. She could tell what this was: a permission-note-sized trap. Mrs Kaminski kept talking, oblivious.
‘As you know, Mrs Ajmal, Azra is one of our very best students. We’re extremely proud of her.’
Mama nodded.
‘I love teaching her chemistry class. Azra must have a very supportive family to be such a top student.’
Mama gave a small smile. Not exactly supportive, I thought. But it was clearly difficult for her to resist the compliment. I felt a flicker of hope.
‘So, I’m here because of the state chemistry camp. It’s a very special honour, and we really want Azra to come along. I’ll also be going, and will supervise our three girls. I’ll take them to the camp myself, and stay at the university both nights.
‘I wasn’t sure if you knew all those details, Mrs Ajmal. And I wanted to reassure you that it’s well organised and safe.’
Mama looked at me. She knew what was happening, but she wasn’t done yet. She cleared her throat, and rubbed her earlobe as she searched for the right words in English.
‘Mrs Kaminski, thank you for your help with Azra,’ she said. ‘This is very good. And thank you. Thank you very much. She likes to go to school.’ She paused for a moment.
The woman on TV beat her forehead with her hands. I knew how she felt.
‘But it is more difficult for us here because school is different. More complicated than Pakistan. We are Muslim, and this also makes complications. With this camp, we do not want Azra to have any problems.’
Mrs Kaminski nodded. ‘Of course. I understand. I have two young daughters myself. But I will be at the camp the whole time. And we both know that Azra is very responsible. I don’t expect any problems.’
Mama watched the cat stretch on the pavement outside. The woman on TV stopped crying, and held gold jewellery to her face, looking into a mirror.
‘Will the food be halal?’ Mama asked.
Mrs Kaminski paused. ‘I don’t know; I can check. I’m sure it can be arranged.’
Mama nodded. She was running out of objections. Auntie came and stood by the doorway.
Promising Azra Page 9