‘’Bout time,’ she said.
I switched off the light and slipped into bed. And I wished even more that Vanessa had been my roommate.
By eight forty-five, the corridor outside lab three jostled with four teams, including the one from Kate’s girls school. She huddled next to a friend, whispering and flicking her eyes at me and Tom. Her friend snickered.
Tom nodded at me, sheepishly. I gave him a stern look.
Joe unlocked the door and let us in, an army of white-coated students in plastic safety goggles. Two other teachers followed us in.
‘One team per bench,’ said Joe, walking around and handing each team a sheet of paper. ‘Your instructions are here. Your mission is to identify the five substances in the unlabelled bottles on your bench.’
Each of the bottles had a letter on it, from A to E.
‘These bottles each contain an aqueous solution of a single ionic compound. Because I’m not completely brutal, on the board are the names of the five compounds, as well as their solubility rules. Make small samples from pairs of bottles to see what happens, and then identify which compound is in which bottle.
‘When you have the answers, write them on the answer sheets and return them to Mr Adams here.’
Mr Adams waved.
Joe continued, ‘There’s equipment here on the front bench. If you need anything else, please ask. I remind you that if there’s any breach of lab safety protocols, your team will be immediately disqualified. Be extra careful—it’s Friday the thirteenth today. Any questions?’
No one answered. Bradley hopped from foot to foot, like he needed to pee.
‘Okay then, it’s eight fifty-eight. Your time starts now!’
Our team bunched together, heads close.
‘I’ll get the test tubes,’ whispered Bradley, ‘and the spatulas.’
Vanessa shook her head. ‘We need to draw up a reaction table first.’
‘We need all of that,’ said Tom, taking the lead. ‘Azra and Brad, get the test tubes and rinse them with distilled water. Pratik, get five droppers and two test-tube racks. And a white tile. Ness, can you draw up the table?’
I kind of resented that Tom had made himself the leader; I couldn’t forget the Kate thing. But we just had to get on with the competition.
We all hurried about the lab, fetching equipment, juggling around students from other teams. I made sure I kept well away from Kate. As I slowly drew up five mils of the blue Solution A, I thought I saw a face watching through the glass in the door.
It kind of reminded me of Uncle’s. And then I remembered that he and Baba were coming home today. And that Rashid was in some kind of trouble. And that Friday the thirteenth was the last day of camp. Which felt both lucky and unlucky, all at the same time.
I pushed back the thoughts as Pratik brought over Solution B. I willed myself to concentrate.
‘Ready for me to put this in?’ he asked. ‘Two drops at a time?’
I nodded, placing the test tube carefully into the rack with tongs. Pratik released the clear contents of his dropper. As we watched, our heads close together, the fluid turned a bright green.
He squeezed my shoulder with his safety glove. ‘You know what that means?’ he said, leaning in close to my ear, so that the other teams couldn’t hear.
I turned and whispered back into his ear, breathing in that same scent of apple. ‘It must be—’
The door swung open, slamming hard against the wall. Everyone looked up. It took what felt like forever for me to realise it was Uncle Zarar!
He marched into the lab, his eyes blazing at me. ‘What d’you think you’re doing!’ he said in Urdu.
I dropped the tongs and stepped behind my bench. Everyone turned to look at me, though they couldn’t know what he was saying. My throat closed, and I couldn’t speak.
‘How can you shame yourself like this? Letting strange boys touch you?’
As he strode towards the bench, I edged back. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as he lunged across the bench to take my arm, knocking the bottle off the edge. The glass smashed in a blue splash. Vivid drips cascaded down the wall, and all over Pratik’s lab coat.
‘What the?’ said Pratik, grabbing Uncle’s arm. ‘You leave her alone.’
Uncle shrugged him off and hissed in a low voice, ‘Leave her alone? You can talk, you filthy Indian.’
As Uncle twisted away, Pratik slipped on the blue puddle and fell. It was like watching a bad horror film in tunnel vision. My mouth went dry and my safety glasses fogged up.
‘Aaargh!’ It was Pratik. He was hurt, but I couldn’t tell how badly.
Then, suddenly, Joe was right next to me, and Tom was helping Pratik stand up, and everyone else in the lab had made a tight circle around my bench, like an army in white coats.
‘You!’ said Joe. ‘Stop that! I’m calling security!’
‘Stop?’ said Uncle, pulling me towards the door. He leaned over to Joe and said in a low voice, like it was a secret between them, ‘This young lady needs to come home now. She shouldn’t be here.’
Joe crossed his arms and stood with his feet wide, right in front of Uncle. I prayed Uncle wouldn’t hit him. But Joe was unfazed, his voice even and clear.
‘Let go of Azra,’ he said. ‘She must have permission or she wouldn’t be here. And you’ve disrupted an important competition.’
Uncle eased his grip on my arm, but didn’t let go. He kept his voice quiet, but spoke with long spaces between the words, like he was talking to an idiot. ‘Of course. I apologise. But Azra needs to come home to her family now,’ he said. ‘This is no place for her.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I disagree, sir,’ he said. ‘Azra has every right to be here.’
Uncle shook his head. ‘Waste of time,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Let’s go.’ He yanked my arm.
I looked to the door. Baba was watching everything from the corridor, his face pained.
‘Baba!’ I said, a thousand different emotions surging through me. Why didn’t he stop Uncle? Why didn’t he help me? ‘Can’t I stay here, please?’
He shook his head.
‘No, Azra,’ he said. ‘Not now. We must go with Uncle.’
Hot tears filled my eyes. Tears of shame, confusion, anger. I felt sick right through my belly. And then I realised that even if I stayed for the rest of the competition, I wouldn’t be able to think straight. And if I didn’t go with them? That wasn’t worth thinking about. There was no choice, I had to leave.
I let Uncle lead me towards the door, my eyes fixed on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ I said in a small voice as I passed Joe. ‘Really sorry.’
Joe put his arm up to block us. ‘You sure about this, Azra? Sure you want to go with this man?’
I nodded. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, though it plainly wasn’t. ‘He’s my uncle. And my father’s here too.’ I pointed to Baba. I could sense Uncle’s jaw tightening at Joe’s arm being in the way. He’d better put it down soon, I thought. I didn’t know what Uncle would do if he didn’t.
‘Security’s been called,’ Joe said. ‘They’re on their way.’
Everyone stared at me, silently holding their test tubes and tongs. No one was doing their experiment. I wished I could vanish into the air, evaporate into a gas.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said to Joe. ‘Just a misunderstanding. Please. Just let us go.’
Joe shook his head, like everything was deeply wrong. He was right about that. But he dropped his arm to let us through. And Uncle pulled me out the door.
I sat in the back of the taxi with Baba, both of us sagging into the vinyl seats. My throat was so tight, I couldn’t speak. Baba patted my hand. In apology? In sympathy? I pulled it away and looked out the window.
There was no one in the security hut as we drove out the university gates, and no one tried to stop us leaving. Uncle turned to Baba, his arm reaching behind the driver’s seat.
‘You’re too soft,’ he said. ‘Look what’s happened. Rashi
d yesterday, now this,’ he inclined his head to me, ‘while your back’s turned. She let an Indian boy touch her in front of everyone! And she whispered to him like it wasn’t the first time! You saw for yourself. You’re always saying she’s smart. Doesn’t look like it to me. We come all this way for her to be pawed like a whore! Not a minute too soon. I hope.’
A sob shook my chest. It wasn’t like that at all. I hadn’t let Pratik kiss me when he tried to. I’d only held his hand. Was that really so bad?
‘Stop snivelling,’ said Uncle, ‘you’ve had your chance; now, shut up and do as you’re told.’
‘It’s not what you think, Uncle,’ I said. ‘He was just excited about our experiment.’
‘Pah!’ said Uncle. ‘He was excited, all right.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean anything, Zarar. She’s a good girl, you know that,’ said Baba.
‘You’re a useless fool, Qasim. You’d be nothing without my help. I warned you. You should’ve made her wear the scarf, like I told you. The men here take advantage. Think the rules don’t apply. Anyone can see your children are trashing our reputation.’
Baba raised his palms, submissive. ‘That’s not true, Zarar,’ he said. ‘They’ve just got much to learn.’
‘Hmph!’ said Uncle. ‘Old enough for serious trouble. Five thousand in bail, no less.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Baba. ‘He’ll pay you back. I’ll make sure of it.’
I stopped crying. What did he say? Five thousand dollars? What had Rashid done?
‘And we’re not wasting any more time with this one. Not now Fatima’s agreed. After Ramadan, that’s it. Think you can keep her out of trouble until then?’
Baba nodded slowly. ‘Yes, of course, brother. Till after Ramadan, yes.’
‘I doubt it,’ muttered Uncle, his hand tightening into a fist.
Agreed to what? I held my breath. Ramadan started in a week. And lasted for a month. What exactly had Auntie Fatima agreed to?
Whatever it was, I could tell Baba wasn’t convinced. But whatever he thought, it wasn’t worth much. Uncle was the one in charge.
XIX
Half life
the time required for half of the atoms of a radioactive substance to decay
When we got home, Uncle shouted at everyone. Like he’d been holding it in for too long. First at Mama, blaming her for letting me go to camp.
‘But, Zarar, the teacher said . . .’
She twisted a tea towel in her hands, as tears slid down her cheeks and onto her blouse.
‘She’s always been a liar,’ said Rashid, like he was trying to be seen to side with Uncle. I guess he needed to, but it didn’t work.
‘Don’t you start! First I come home to your mess, and then I discover your sister’s not even at home, but staying away with strangers. Do I have to manage everything?’
I’d no idea where Soraya was then. She must’ve hidden somewhere. I wished I was still small enough to. Under a bed. Inside a cupboard.
Uncle insisted, ‘Put Azra in her room. Now!’
But Baba just stood there. So Uncle grabbed my arm and shoved me in himself. He didn’t even let me go to the toilet or anything. And then he locked the door from the outside. I heard him pull out the key.
‘I’m taking this with me! So you can do things my way. Properly. Teach you all a lesson.’
‘Zarar, please,’ I heard Baba say. ‘We’ll keep her at home. No need to be cruel.’
‘No need! There’s a need for something around here. And, Rashid! Stop grinning like a fool. You’re just as bad. Or worse. Get your face out of my sight.’
Rashid’s bedroom door slammed shut. Then Mama said something in a low voice, like she was pleading. I couldn’t catch the words.
Baba said, ‘Zarar, let’s be reasonable. I’m sure we can work it out. No harm’s been done.’
‘You hope,’ he said. ‘Fatima won’t be impressed if there has. After everything I’ve arranged!’
Everything he’d arranged? Was that what I dreaded it was? A promise? Already?
And then I thought of Pratik, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Was he all right? What would he think of me now? He’d probably never want to see me again.
Something clanked on the table.
‘Thank you, Zarar,’ said Baba, ‘we’ll manage it. Let’s not take things too far.’
Mama said goodnight in a small voice, and the front door closed. By then I was shivering, and got under the blankets. The flat was suddenly quiet. All I could hear was the dog barking next door. Then Uncle’s car started up, and he drove off.
Later, through the bedroom wall, I heard Mama and Baba talking in bed. But I couldn’t tell what they were saying.
I didn’t have my bag, or my phone, or my laptop. I had no way of getting in touch with anyone. I wanted to tell B, but I couldn’t. I knew she’d hear about what happened to Pratik from someone else. But not about what was happening to me.
Even if she did, what could she do? Her family wouldn’t meddle in our family business. Even if that business wasn’t right. And this wasn’t right, I didn’t deserve this. But, I promised myself, I would work out a way to make it right. Somehow.
Being locked in my bedroom wasn’t so terrible in itself. There were plenty of things I liked about my room. I had all my books, a shelf of my favourite sci-fi DVDs, and jars of rocks and seashells from long-ago picnics, all magnified in water.
And being alone in my room should’ve been okay too. I hardly ever had any space to myself, and I often wished for it. Though it did feel strange to be in that room without Soraya and all her fluffy toys. Sometimes she slid pencils under my door. As if I might feel like colouring in. I guess they were the only things she could fit through the gap.
But once the weekend was over, and I knew school was going back, and I was still locked up, with no idea about when I’d be allowed out, or what would happen when I was allowed out, that was truly awful. Especially as I felt more certain that something had been planned. Something with Auntie Fatima. Something after Ramadan.
Ramadan was hardly any time away! The more I thought about it, the surer I became. A promise must’ve been made. Now I had to find out to who.
Through the door, I tried to listen to the conversations on the phone and in the kitchen, but they mostly said Rashid’s name. It was as if I had disappeared from sight. And memory.
Uncle dropped by, at least every day, to check that my door was still locked. He came in the mornings, and sometimes at lunchtime too. Once even at the end of the day, on his way home from the shop. Every time his car pulled up, the dog next door went crazy. Barking like it had reasons to hate him too.
When he came up to the flat, I could tell by Mama’s voice she was anxious. She was scared of what he might do. Only when he’d gone would she let me out to take a shower.
Once in a while, my door banged, hard. Like it’d been kicked. It must have been Rashid. He would’ve thought it was funny to give me a fright.
I spent a lot of time lying on my bed and looking at the sky. And thinking about the camp. And Pratik. And wishing so hard I could talk to B. Was she even out of hospital yet? Was she okay? It was impossible to know without my phone, or my laptop. I didn’t know where they had been put.
The days were sunny and bright outside, but it stayed cold in my room. A chill seeped deep into my bones and I slept a lot. I wondered about Hajira running away from her wedding. And whether she was still in the government refuge. If she went home now, would they lock her in her bedroom too? I shivered.
My stomach churned. I hardly ate any of the food Mama brought in for me. She made me things I usually liked. Rice porridge. Chicken kebabs. Fruit salad. But nothing tasted right. It felt like I was preparing to fast for Ramadan already.
I prayed every day. But I was confused. Was it wrong to want something different from what my family wanted? Was it disobedient for me to want to stay at school, and go to uni, before getting married? And if my family really wanted me
to get married without finishing my studies, why did God make me so good at chemistry? Was this a test I had to trust in? A test that would turn out all right if only my faith was strong enough? How could I know what He had in store for me?
I sighed. It was hard to not know. Hard to get a clear answer. But it was even harder to believe that I was only stardust, a bunch of atoms reassembled at random. Losing heat. Tending to entropy. The second law of thermodynamics locked up in a third-floor bedroom in Wiley Park.
After six days, Mama let me out of the bedroom. She must have known Uncle wouldn’t be coming that day. Whatever. But I also knew it was so I could help out. Ramadan started tomorrow and there was always lots to do.
I still didn’t know if I was going to be allowed to go back to school. I hadn’t heard from anyone since camp. What would they be thinking? Or saying about me? I was sure B would’ve tried to get in touch.
As I plunged a stack of plates into the sink, hot tears slipped down my nose into the suds. The smell of the food on the plates made me dizzy—I’d barely eaten in days. I felt so bad for Pratik; he didn’t mean any harm. And for Joe. And for me.
I jumped when the phone rang. Mama hurried over, so I couldn’t get there first. It would be bad if Uncle discovered I was out of my room. And talking to the world.
‘No,’ I heard her say in English, ‘she’s not well. Not able to talk. Yes. Sorry.’
‘Who was that?’ I asked, scrubbing at a plate.
‘Nobody,’ said Mama.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘A nobody that speaks English and wants to talk to me.’
Mama shook her head. ‘Azra, don’t be smart with me. You’re already in too much trouble. We have to do what Uncle says. You know he’s the one who sorts everything for us. Visas, jobs, money. And, I hate to say it, the police. Where would we be without him? We’d still be stuck in Pakistan, living with Grandma Ajmal. I can tell you now, you wouldn’t like it. You think you’ve got a lot of chores here. Over there, we’d have to do them for the whole household. Truly, Uncle knows what’s best for us. And for you. You need to understand that.’
Promising Azra Page 17