Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  I shook my head. ‘No way. I’m not doing that. I told you why.’

  ‘I know, I know. I said that to Alesha. She said the second-best way is to talk to the school counsellor. Tell her what’s happening, and that you want a court order so they can’t take you overseas for the wedding. Tell her you don’t want to do it.’

  I looked out the window at the trees bending in the wind along the railway track. At least I kind of knew Mrs Canturi. But I didn’t think she’d understand.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ asked Bassima. ‘Can you do that?’ I tilted my head. ‘I s’pose it’s worth a try; I don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Good. But you have to do it straightaway. Alesha said it can take days to set up a court order, and you don’t know how long you’ve got, do you?’

  ‘Till September, I think. Or any time after Eid, depending on Rashid.’

  ‘So, two weeks, maybe three. Not long, Az,’ said Bassima, seriously. ‘This could all be in your past,’ she continued, waving her arm. ‘This library, this uniform, this backpack of unfinished homework.’ She paused, looking at a shelf of teen fiction. ‘Swear to God, Az, this time next year, I could be stressing about the HSC, while you and Marwa go to playgroup with your babies.’

  I looked at her unsmiling face. She was kind of joking, but it was true. I definitely didn’t want this part of my life to be over, not yet. Not until I’d done my HSC. Not until I’d shown I was way too smart to quit studying to become a wife.

  ‘And one other thing,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, if you think you’re being taken to the airport in a hurry, put a spoon in your undies.’

  ‘What?’ I looked around to see if anyone could hear her. Did she make this stuff up?

  Bassima smiled. ‘I’m serious. Alesha said it sets off the alarm at security. When they take you away to be searched, you ask for the police.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep a spoon handy.’ But I hoped I’d never need it.

  At recess, I went to the front office and lingered by the doorway.

  ‘Yes?’ said the secretary, looking over her glasses. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ummm. I’d like to see Mrs Canturi, please.’

  She looked at me closely, and pulled out a folder from a pile on her desk.

  ‘She’s not in today,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to make you an appointment.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, deflating inside. Alesha said I had to go to her straightaway. Was it too late already?

  ‘Seen her before?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  She scanned the page and sniffed. ‘Well, there’s nothing tomorrow, and Friday’s pretty full too. How about next week?’

  My eyes prickled. I could feel tears coming.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘Tuesday next week—lunchtime?’

  My voice trembled. ‘It’s actually really urgent.’

  She squinted her blue eyes at my belly. Dear Lord, did she think I was pregnant? I blushed. Was that the only kind of urgent appointment?

  ‘Urgent? Okay then. Be at her office at eight-fifteen tomorrow morning and she’ll work something out. All right?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, my voice wavering.

  ‘You know where her office is? In the annex past the principal’s office. Eight-fifteen; I’ll put it in her calendar.’

  I nodded and turned away. Even though I’d got an appointment, I felt heavy with doom. If I could barely get the school secretary to arrange a time in a diary, how could I think I’d be able to challenge my whole family?

  First thing next morning, I was sitting on the bench outside the annex. Mrs Canturi’s door was locked.

  Mrs Bardon walked past with a cup of tea. ‘Hello, Azra!’ she said. ‘Still powering along? Remember we’ve got the careers expo next month. There’ll be people from the universities with information on courses you might like.’

  I didn’t want to look at her, in case she could tell I was already upset. How could I tell her I probably wouldn’t even go to uni? That my family had other plans? She wouldn’t want to hear it. So I gazed down at her shoes. Brown, flat, leather tassels.

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Then Mrs Canturi came round the corner, jingling keys.

  ‘Morning, Maria,’ said Mrs Bardon.

  ‘Hi, Gretel, caught up in traffic—oh, hello,’ she said, seeing me waiting. ‘Are you on my list today?’

  ‘Leave you to it,’ said the principal, and slipped into her office.

  ‘Not sure,’ I said quietly. ‘The secretary said to come now.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, turning the key in the lock. ‘Come on in.’

  The room was small but bright, with a poster of a path through a sunlit forest. Mrs Canturi put her bags on the desk, and switched on the heater.

  ‘Should warm up soon,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’ She pointed to a green armchair. She sat on another one. Between us was a low table with a box of tissues.

  ‘I’m Maria Canturi, the school counsellor. I don’t think we’ve met before? If you could please tell me your name and which year you’re in, that would be an excellent start.’

  I nodded. ‘Azra Ajmal, Year Eleven.’

  ‘Thanks, Azra. Now, I want you to know that anything you tell me here is confidential, and I won’t discuss our conversation with anyone without your permission, unless I feel you’re at risk of harm. Okay?’

  I nodded. I sure hoped I wasn’t at risk of harm. Though being dragged overseas for a wedding I didn’t want was probably a kind of harm.

  ‘So, what brings you to see me here today?’

  I breathed out slowly. Where to start?

  ‘Is it a problem with school?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, no, not at all.’ My voice was almost a whisper.

  ‘A boyfriend problem?’

  I could never tell her about Pratik. Did she already know what happened at the camp? I shook my head again. ‘Not really.’

  ‘A problem with friends? Or with your studies?’

  ‘No.’ Though it was, kind of. A problem that I might not get to study. Ever again.

  ‘At home? A family problem?’

  I nodded. I took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’ I said it again in a louder voice: ‘Yes. It’s a family problem. A disagreement. About whether I can stay at school. Whether someone will let me go to university. About everything, really.’

  I could hear the concern in Mrs Canturi’s voice, and see it in her wide brown eyes. I knew she might be my only hope to find a way around this mess. To help me stay at school, and get me more time before any wedding got arranged. Without upsetting everyone.

  ‘Can you tell me more, Azra?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded, hearing my voice get stronger. I had to do this. For myself. Because all of it was about my life, and my future, and no one cared more about that than me. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  And I did.

  When I left Mrs Canturi’s room, I felt sick. I’d told her all my family’s secrets. Betrayed them. Opened them up to Australian police, and lawyers and judges, and things that they would do anything to avoid. But I still did it.

  Mrs Canturi said it was my right to not marry when I didn’t want to. Even if my family would like to do things their traditional way, and even if they thought they were doing the right thing for me, I was still an Australian citizen and certain laws applied. Even if I was born in Pakistan.

  She said I shouldn’t feel bad about wanting to make my own choices. But she warned that my family wouldn’t like me upsetting their plans. It might ruin my relationship with them. Are you prepared to do that? she asked. I said yes, but thinking about it now made me feel sick. I would miss them so much. And what would Uncle do to me? Would he punish Baba as well? Wasn’t there a way they could just leave me alone to finish school?

  Mrs Canturi said she could arrange a safe place for me to stay if I wanted. But if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to come back to school. It’d be too risky for me if
anyone in the family was angry. When she explained all of that to me, it felt like doors were slamming shut all around me. Even the ones I wanted to keep open.

  ‘Hey, Az!’ called out Vanessa. ‘What’s up? We’ve got physics now and you’re going the wrong way!’

  I shook my head. ‘Really?’ I had no idea of anything today; my head was scrambled by my unravelling life.

  ‘You look pale,’ she said. ‘Can I get you something?’

  Something? I looked at Vanessa’s narrow face, the light glinting off the rims of her glasses. Something like a family swap might do it. I shook my head. She was only being kind.

  ‘No thanks. Just lightheaded from Ramadan.’

  ‘Must be hard,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t do it. I’m always hungry.’

  ‘You get used to it, it’s not so bad.’

  You could actually get used to a lot of things, I thought. Even things you didn’t think were a good idea. Like betraying your family.

  When Soraya and I got home, Mama was already cooking. I could smell the onions from the bottom of the stairwell.

  ‘Hi, girls,’ said Mama. ‘Had a good day?’

  ‘Not bad,’ I said, prickling with guilt. I felt transparent, convinced that if anyone looked at me for long enough, they would see what I’d done. Like my skin was only one atom thick.

  ‘I learned a new game today,’ said Soraya. ‘Bin ball.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mama. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone throws a big ball at the bin, and you have to jump out of the way.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said, stirring the onions. ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘It’s not interesting,’ said Soraya. ‘It’s fun. Funner than spelling words.’

  ‘I see,’ Mama answered, adding cumin seeds to the pan.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ I asked.

  ‘Chicken curry.’

  Saliva flooded my mouth. It was nearly two hours until sunset prayers and dinner. It would be hard to concentrate on homework. Even though I had told Mrs Canturi what was going on, I had a feeling that telling her might have been pointless. Could anyone really stop what was going to happen?

  A loud knock at the front door made us all jump.

  ‘Who could that be?’ asked Mama, her eyes nervous.

  Soraya ran to hug her leg. The knock came again, louder.

  ‘Azra, get that, will you?’

  My throat tightened. Had I caused something to happen this fast? I walked like a robot to the door and opened it. There were two police officers, broad in bulky sweaters. A tall blond woman with an older man, both wearing dark caps.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said the policeman. ‘We’re here to check on something.’

  My eyes widened. Dear God, it’s happening already. I am in so much trouble. I wanted to undo it all, right now.

  ‘Does Rashid Ajmal live here?’

  I nodded, my tongue thick. What did he have to do with it?

  ‘Is he in?’ I didn’t know. I turned to the kitchen. On my first attempt to speak, no words came out. I cleared my throat and tried again, squeaking, ‘Mama, is Rashid home?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she called back in Urdu, reluctant to come closer. ‘Why?’

  ‘Sorry, no,’ I told the police, my fingers sweaty on the edge of the door.

  ‘He’s supposed to report to the station every Tuesday as a condition of his bail, and he didn’t show this week. Know anything about that?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Let him know we need to see him by tomorrow or his bail will be rescinded. Then he’ll have to go into custody until the hearing. Okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘Okay then,’ said the policeman, stepping back from the doorway.

  ‘Is that it?’ I asked, without thinking.

  ‘Yee-es,’ said the policewoman, ‘unless there’s something else?’

  My mouth was dry. It was hours since I’d had a drink. I couldn’t think straight.

  ‘Ah, ah . . . no, I don’t think so.’ I sounded so lame.

  She stared at me like she was X-raying me. ‘Well, if you do remember something, here’s my card.’ She watched me closely as I took it from her. I tried my hardest not to tremble.

  ‘That’ll be all, then?’

  I nodded quickly, wishing she’d leave.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Good evening.’

  She turned slowly, and they clomped their boots along the landing and down the stairs.

  I looked at the card. Sergeant Natalie Hughes. Bankstown Police Station. It felt like it was burning my fingers.

  ‘Shut the door, Azra!’ Mama called out. ‘You’re letting out all the heat.’

  I pressed the door shut and put the card on the shelf above the shoe rack. And shuddered.

  By sunset, Rashid and Baba still weren’t home. Mama, Soraya and I ate anyway. We were too hungry to wait.

  I was rinsing the plates when the front door burst open. Rashid came in first, scowling, and tripped on the doormat.

  ‘Hope you left some for me,’ he said.

  Uncle followed him in like an oversized shadow. ‘Not that you deserve any,’ he growled, ‘wasting everyone’s time.’

  Mama looked worried. ‘Hello, Zarar,’ she said. ‘Join us to eat?’

  Uncle looked into the kitchen. I hadn’t seen him since he’d locked me up. He was probably expecting me to be sulking. But when I remembered what I’d told Mrs Canturi earlier today, my stomach went cold as a rock. I waved the dish mop, trying my best to look unconcerned. ‘Hi, Uncle.’

  He waved back. He had no idea. There was a chill of sweat at the back of my neck. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time.

  ‘Smells wonderful!’ said Baba, closing the door behind him. ‘Nice and warm too,’ he added, rubbing his hands. Poor Baba. He was always trying to keep the peace. Even when things weren’t his fault. What would he say if he found out what I’ve done?

  ‘Please wash, and I’ll put out the food,’ said Mama. ‘It’s all ready.’

  ‘After you, brother,’ said Baba, gesturing Uncle towards the bathroom.

  Uncle cleared his throat. ‘All right then, I’ll text Shakeela. They’ve probably eaten.’

  He went up the hall. Mama looked at Baba with her palms raised.

  Baba whispered but I could still hear him. ‘Had to find Rashid and take him to the police station. It’s Uncle’s bail money, so they contacted him when Rashid didn’t show.’

  Rashid slumped on the divan and switched on the television.

  ‘Switch it off!’ said Baba. ‘You know we’re about to eat.’

  ‘Fine!’ said Rashid, flinging the remote onto the floor. ‘Where’s the food?’

  I put clean bowls on the table, and dishes of chicken, spinach and rice. Rashid reached for a bowl.

  ‘Let Uncle go first,’ said Mama.

  Rashid rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘I’m starving and it’s been a bad enough day without this shit too.’

  Uncle was already back from the bathroom. He stood right behind Rashid and said in a very quiet voice, ‘You shut your mouth, boy. I’ll teach you what’s shit and not. You hear?’

  Then he yanked Rashid up to standing position by the collar of his jacket, and put his face up close. Mama gripped Baba’s arm. Rashid tried to meet Uncle’s gaze but couldn’t. Uncle shook him, wobbling his head backwards and forwards.

  I’d never seen Uncle so angry. And this was only from Rashid being rude. What could he do over something major? Like a cancelled wedding? Or a broken promise? At this moment, I even felt sorry for Rashid.

  ‘Anything you’d like to say to me?’ said Uncle, still speaking softly.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, in a small voice.

  ‘What was that, boy?’ asked Uncle, shaking him again. ‘I can’t hear you.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Rashid, louder. ‘Sorry, Uncle.’

  Uncle glared at him for another full minute. It seemed like an hour. Then he suddenly
shoved Rashid towards the wall. Rashid banged his shoulder, then his head, but he didn’t fall. Mama screamed, then covered her mouth quickly, like she wanted to pretend the sound hadn’t come out. Soraya ran into our bedroom and shut the door.

  ‘Let’s not get out of hand here, brother,’ said Baba. ‘Everything’s all right now.’ Which it plainly wasn’t.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, Uncle sat down at the table. ‘Looks delicious, Nadira,’ he said, piling chicken onto his plate. ‘I turned up on a good night, eh?’

  We all breathed out. Rashid rubbed the back of his head, and looked warily at Uncle.

  When the men had finished eating, I cleared away the plates. Rashid excused himself and went into his room. Uncle stroked his moustache, looking satisfied. As I returned from the kitchen, he cleared his throat.

  ‘I hear you’ve got your passports,’ he said to Mama. ‘Only the visas to go?’

  I looked at Mama. How much time did I have? But she didn’t look my way. I perched on the edge of the divan, trying to look sociable, rather than desperate for details. Though I needed to find out whatever they could tell me.

  ‘And then all we need to do is book the tickets,’ said Baba. ‘What date are you leaving?’

  Uncle slurped his tea. ‘Second of September. Emirates via Kuala Lumpur. If your visas come in the next few days, you can probably get the same flight.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Baba. ‘We just can’t make plans for Rashid.’

  Uncle cracked his knuckles and sighed. ‘He might have to stay behind. Depends on the magistrate.’

  ‘Be a shame for him to miss out,’ said Mama. ‘Such a big family event.’

  Uncle held up his palms. ‘Inshallah.’ Then he turned to me. ‘And how are you, Miss Azra—I hear you’ve got some new jewellery?’

  Here we go, I thought. Let’s completely overlook the my bad niece goes to camp incident from last month, and dive straight back into the traditional wedding plans. But after that scene with Rashid just now, there was no way I was going to create any fuss with him tonight.

  ‘Yes, Uncle, I have. From Auntie Fatima. Gold earrings.’

  ‘So I hear! And not just any old earrings, something rather special?’