I cleared the cups off the table. ‘Yes, they’re very fine.’
‘Go get them, Azra,’ said Mama. ‘Put them in and show your uncle. And check on Soraya while you’re there?’
‘Do I have to put them on? Can’t I just show him the box? I’m sure Uncle’s not really into jewellery.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Uncle. ‘Believe me, I have to take an interest in plenty of Shakeela’s adornments. And I want to see proof of my sister’s generosity and, er, style.’
He winked at Baba, who laughed politely. We were all treading carefully tonight.
‘Go on!’ urged Mama. ‘Hurry up!’
I put the cups on the bench, and slunk down the hallway. Soraya was colouring in on her bed.
‘It’s okay, Soraya,’ I said. ‘You can go back out. Everyone’s being friendly now.’
She sniffed but didn’t make a move. I sat down close to her, and gave her a hug. She leaned into me. Poor thing. She couldn’t understand all the arguments. About Rashid. About me. I hoped she wouldn’t have to go through this heartache with her own wedding. Maybe it would be different by then. Maybe I could clear the way for there to be something easier for her. I hoped I could.
After a minute, she wriggled away, and repositioned her colouring-in book further up the bed. It was time for me to go back out to show everyone. I sighed, and retied my ponytail.
The red box was still there on the desk. I pulled out the gold pendants and slipped them in. Anyone could see they were elegant and expensive. There was no way they didn’t mean anything.
I walked back into the living room, feeling weird wearing fancy jewellery with my school uniform.
‘See!’ said Mama. ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful? A real young lady.’
Uncle looked up. ‘Come closer, my girl. Ah, I see. Very nice. Good quality. Quite special enough for a wedding!’ He nodded approvingly. ‘There’ll be more of that once we get to Pakistan. A bride needs a solid jewellery collection to set her up, eh, Nadira?’
Mama gave Baba a worried look. I thought I saw him shrug his shoulders, just a little, but it was hard to tell.
I couldn’t risk saying out loud what I really thought about this wedding—my wedding, which no one had asked me about. Not now, not with Uncle here. I shook my head to jiggle the earrings. My jaw felt tight from fake smiling. And my heart felt like it had been stabbed with ice. By my own family. But I would need to act like I was in a Pakistani daytime soap. And pretend it was all okay. At least until Uncle went home.
‘They’re really lovely,’ I said. ‘I’m going to enjoy wearing them.’
Uncle gave me a wide smile, like everything was just as he wanted it to be. Like things were being done right for once.
As I put a plate of sliced oranges on the table, Uncle leaned back on the divan, flicking crumbs off his lap. He wasn’t in any hurry to leave. I kneeled down next to him.
‘Uncle?’ I said.
‘Yes, little sparrow?’
‘What’s Cousin Tarik like?’ I smiled sweetly, looking directly at Mama. She knew what I was doing. And I needed to know if there was any hope at all that this could work out.
‘An excellent young man,’ he said. ‘Clever and handsome. An engineer, like Baba.’
I raised my eyebrows. So he’d been to university. Maybe he’d understand a wife who wanted to study. ‘Really?’
Mama looked at the wall. Like this could all go horribly wrong. Perhaps she was praying silently.
‘Mmmm. Mechanical engineer. Good job on the railway. Auntie Fatima’s favourite! A little on the chubby side—his mother’s a very good cook.’
I forced a smile. ‘How old is he?’
‘No need to bother your uncle with all these questions,’ said Mama. ‘Don’t you have homework?’
‘No, Mama, not tonight.’ As if I needed to do homework if I’d be married to a railway engineer in Lahore next month. I sent her a grim look.
‘Ah well,’ continued Uncle, ‘I think he’s only a few years older than my twins. Twenty-eight or so? A good marriageable age.’
My heart sank. He was eleven years older than me.
Baba slapped his thigh. ‘Is that the time already?’ he asked. ‘It’ll be breakfast soon. These children should be in bed.’
Uncle stood up. ‘Better get going,’ he said. ‘See you in the morning, Qasim.’ He nodded to Mama and put on his shoes. Baba opened the door to let him out.
As the door shut, I glared at Mama. She looked away. I looked accusingly at Baba. He wouldn’t hold my gaze either. Neither of them wanted to talk to me.
I wanted to have an argument about it right now, but there was so much anger bubbling through my veins, I didn’t trust myself. I was angry as a volcano and needed a clear head to have the best chance of changing things. I took a deep breath, and went to the bathroom and locked the door.
In the mirror, I looked at myself and at those earrings. And even though I felt like shouting and crying, I found that I couldn’t do either.
XXIII
Exothermic
chemical processes that release energy in the form of heat
I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept rehearsing conversations with Mama, with Uncle, with Mrs Canturi. And every time I felt like I’d worked out a solution, there was a sick feeling in my stomach, telling me it wasn’t going to work. By the time Baba came to wake me for breakfast, I felt I’d only slept for an hour.
‘Up, up, sleepyhead,’ Baba called to me. ‘Come and eat quickly.’
I pulled a blanket off my bed, dragged it over my shoulders, and shuffled to the living room. Only Soraya stayed in bed. She was too young to fast.
‘Here, eat,’ said Mama, putting a bowl of hot porridge on my lap.
All I wanted to do was go back to bed, for a very long time. With half-shut eyes I heard the mosque’s distant call to prayer travel across the darkness.
Everyone quickly finished the food before we prayed on the living room floor, our heads facing towards Mecca.
As the sky lightened outside, Rashid stretched and went back to his room. Baba sat on the divan and quietly read aloud from the Quran. Mama carried the breakfast bowls into the kitchen, and rinsed them under the tap.
I pulled my blanket tight around me, and trailed behind her into the kitchen.
‘Mama?’ I said in a low voice, ‘when were you going to tell me?’
She pressed her lips together.
‘Why wouldn’t you let me know about it?’ I said, my voice rising.
Baba’s steady reciting continued in the next room.
‘Shhh, shhh,’ she said. ‘We didn’t want to upset you, after that problem with the school camp. And we didn’t want to make Uncle angry if you were difficult.’
‘Difficult?’ I said, trying to keep my voice down. ‘Is wanting to know about my own wedding so difficult of me?’
‘Shhh, shhh. It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘You don’t understand. Cousin Tarik is a good husband. Smart, educated and family. You won’t do better than that yourself! We’re only looking after you. We’re making sure you go to people we know, who we trust to do the best for you. You’re very lucky—don’t let Uncle, or anyone else in the family, think we’re ungrateful.’
‘But it’s not what I want,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to get married yet. I want to finish school, and go to university first. Doesn’t anyone get that?’
Mama sighed. ‘Do you really think it’s all about what you want? Do you think that everything in my life has been all about what I want? Of course not. You need to think about what’s good for the whole family, and fitting in for harmony’s sake. That way, everyone gets looked after. But nobody gets everything their own way. There’s plenty of give and take to make a good family.’
‘What if I don’t agree? What if I refuse?’
Mama turned from the sink to look at me, disbelief in her eyes. ‘But you can’t, Azra,’ she said. ‘It would be shameful to pull out now. This is a very good match. It didn’t just happen.
There was lots of effort in negotiating this. From many people. The two of you are very fortunate young people to be promised to each other. Everyone thinks so.’
I shook my head. ‘Please, Mama. It’s too soon for me. Later it might be okay. But not yet. And I didn’t promise anything to anyone. This is all a surprise to me.’
Mama wiped down the benchtop like she might press her hand right through it.
‘And I don’t even know the guy,’ I said. ‘How do I know we’ll get on? How can I be sure I’ll love him?’
Mama shook her head. ‘You’re too inexperienced to understand, Azra; you have to believe me. Love might not be there at the beginning but, with respect, it grows. Look at me and Baba. And Shakeela and Uncle. Arranged marriages are very successful, when they’re done with care. And yours has been. You should be grateful.’
As our voices got louder, Baba stopped reciting. I didn’t realise he was standing behind me until he spoke.
‘Azra. It’s Ramadan. Remember that good women are obedient. That’s what we’re asking of you. You need to trust we are making decisions in your best interest. We’re your parents. Of course we want what’s right for you, and right for the whole family.’
‘But, Baba,’ I said, ‘it’s not what I want.’
Baba looked pained. ‘It’s our way, Azra. Surely Allah is all-knowing and wise.’
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t argue against the Quran. It would be wrong.
Outside the living room window, the sky turned a pale blue. I understood now that it didn’t matter if I objected to the wedding—there was no possibility that I could refuse. It was outside what they could imagine. I’d been born into a certain way of doing things, and that was what was expected of me. It had always been expected of me, though I’d only just realised what that meant. Whether I liked it or not.
First thing on Monday, I went straight to Mrs Canturi’s office, but she wasn’t in yet. I sat on the seat outside and thought about how one thing leads to another, like in a chemical reaction. And if I could change one ingredient, or the temperature, or the relative quantities, it could completely change the outcome. I hoped that was true for my situation.
When the bell rang for first period, I jumped. Already? I pulled out a page from an exercise book and slid a note under her door.
Dear Mrs Canturi
I need to see you urgently. I’m in maths now but will come back at recess.
Thanks
Azra
When I got to maths, Bassima had already laid out her textbooks across the desk. She waved me over and slapped the seat next to her. I sat down.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You look terrible.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. No wonder after the morning I’d had.
‘You okay?’ she whispered, her forehead creasing in concern. ‘Getting serious?’
I nodded.
‘Shhh, girls; your attention, please!’ said Mr Henson. ‘Revising quadratic polynomials today. Open at page two hundred and fourteen.’
‘Tell you later,’ I mouthed at her. She nodded and opened her book.
A few minutes later, a pink-faced Year Eight girl came in with a note. Mr Henson looked at it, then up over his reading glasses at me.
‘Azra,’ he said, ‘you’re required at the office.’
He held up the note. It was from Mrs Canturi.
‘You’re excused,’ he said. ‘But can you finish the exercises at the end of chapter fourteen before the next class?’
‘Sure,’ I said. I wondered if I would ever come back to maths again. As I gathered up my books, Bassima raised her eyebrows, asking a silent question. Then she reached over and squeezed my hand.
‘Recess,’ I whispered to her, and slunk out the door.
Mrs Canturi’s door was open. I poked my head in. She was typing.
‘Azra! Come in, come in. Take a seat.’
She walked around from behind the desk and closed the door. ‘What’s happened?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I found out last night I’m going to be married to a cousin in Pakistan.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Canturi, sinking into one of the green armchairs. She checked her watch and scribbled a few words in a notebook. Then she put the notebook on the table and looked up at me.
‘That’s rather big news. Do you know when?’
‘Next month,’ I said. ‘In September.’
She squeezed both the armrests. ‘Gosh, that is soon. How old are you, Azra?’
‘Sixteen, miss. Seventeen next month.’
She leaned forward and tapped the end of her pen on the table. ‘And how do you feel about this marriage?’
I slumped back into the chair. I felt a lot of things. I thought about Mama and Baba, and how much I would disappoint them if I didn’t do it. I thought about Uncle and the look on his face when he stormed into the university. And then, again, when he pushed Rashid into the wall. And I wondered about Tarik. He might be okay, but he was so much older than me. I’d never properly met him. Not since I was four. I didn’t even know what his voice sounded like, let along what he thought.
‘Do you want to marry this cousin?’ she asked me again.
‘No,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I don’t know him at all. And I don’t want to leave school yet. I’m not ready to be married.’
Mrs Canturi opened her mouth to say something, but there was a knock on the door.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up.
She opened the door a crack. Another girl was there for an appointment. I’d probably taken her spot. Would Mrs Canturi ask me to leave now?
‘Oh, hello,’ she said to the girl. ‘No, I can’t now. Come back at lunchtime?’
I studied the forest on the wall. It looked calm and quiet.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, sitting back down. ‘You’re my priority for now.’
I breathed out. It was a relief to have someone who would listen to what I needed to say. And not argue with it.
‘Let me get this straight. Is your main concern not wanting to leave school yet? If you could marry your cousin in a couple of years, would that be okay?’
I stared into the forest again. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘My mother says he’s a really good match. But he’s eleven years older than me. And I don’t know him at all. He lives in Pakistan.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend already?’
My cheeks prickled. ‘No,’ I said, thinking of Pratik. ‘I’m not allowed.’
‘Would you like to?’
I looked down at my hands. Maybe I would like to one day, but to say it out loud seemed wrong. Disloyal to my family, and to what they wanted for me. And it was hard to imagine they’d choose someone I liked as much as Pratik.
I shrugged. There was no right answer to that question.
‘Would you like more say about who you marry?’
I nodded.
‘And more say about when you marry?’
‘Yes, definitely,’ I said, my voice clear and steady.
‘How strongly do you feel about this, Azra?’ Mrs Canturi asked. She looked at me intently. ‘You need to be very sure. I’ll tell you now, it won’t be easy to challenge your family. For many girls, it means losing contact. Sometimes for a very long time. Could you cope with that?’
I dropped my head into my hands. I felt exhausted. Like I’d been swimming upstream, forever. How could I go against my family? I couldn’t imagine living apart from them. What happened to Hajira after she rejected her wedding sounded awful. Living in a government home. Lonely and foreign. Was she even still there? I wasn’t used to staying with strangers. It was bad enough sharing a room with Kate at camp. When I pushed the hair back off my face, my hands were shaking.
Mrs Canturi shifted forward in her seat and cleared her throat. ‘There are a couple of options, Azra, if you want them. But first, you need to consider everything. Do you think you can tell your family you don’t want to proceed with the wedding?’
I thought about my conversatio
n with Mama on Saturday. And about Uncle, threatening Rashid the night before.
‘I have,’ I said. ‘They didn’t want to hear it. They think they’re doing a good thing for me. If I don’t go along with it, they’ll say I’m ungrateful. I expect I’ll be punished. I’ve already caused trouble.’
‘What do you mean by “punished”?’
I thought of the look in Uncle’s eyes as he pushed Rashid into the wall, and shuddered. ‘I don’t really know,’ I said. ‘But I’m scared.’
Mrs Canturi leaned back, her dark eyes magnified behind her glasses. ‘So you feel that a straight objection to the wedding is not an option?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it is.’
‘Are you certain the wedding’s going ahead?’
‘Pretty much. I got some expensive jewellery from my auntie the other day, and my uncle and his family have already booked flights. We’re just waiting on our visas.’
‘I see.’ The bell for recess went. When it stopped ringing, she carried on talking.
‘Well, you can go stay in a refuge right now, but you’ll need to go to court first to get an apprehended violence order so your family will have to keep away from you. I can come with you, if you like. But you won’t be able to come to school while that’s happening. Or after. It’s too risky. People can get very upset and do things they wouldn’t normally do.’
That sounded too hectic. I’d be in a refuge. Like Hajira. Surely there was some other way. I dropped my face into my hands. Everything was happening so fast. A secret promise. A concealed wedding. Dropping out of school before the HSC. Leaving Australia for I didn’t know how long. Who could say how the next few years of my life would turn out? It was nothing like I’d imagined at the start of Year Eleven. My future was sliding away from me, faster than mercury tipped from a bottle.
‘Or else we can request a court order to put you on the Airport Watch List,’ she said. ‘If you do get taken to the airport, they’ll have your name on a list and you won’t be allowed to catch the plane.’
The Airport Watch List? That sounded difficult too. I tried to imagine everyone all excited and ready to go to Pakistan for the wedding, and then getting outraged as the police took me away. And where to? And then what would they do? Keep on going to Lahore without the bride? They would have spent all their money on plane tickets. It was impossible. If I made either of those choices, my family would hate me.
Promising Azra Page 21