‘Cat swallowed your tongue?’ said Mama. ‘Go try it on. It’s not just for looking at.’
‘Sure,’ I said, draping the heavy fabric over my arm. As I half-closed the bedroom door, Mama called out, ‘Put the earrings on too!’
Here I am, I thought, dressing up as the full bridal package. Eid Mubarak. Happy Eid. My last as a single woman, and not even seventeen. I shuddered to think what might be ahead for me. As a reluctant bride.
It was too depressing. I sighed and pulled the kameez over my head. The heavy beading hugged my body, and rippled with silver and purple as it swung. At least my aunt was generous. With an eye for quality. Quality like me, a clever bride for her favourite son. Clever enough to keep him company. But not clever enough to get away. And then a sudden thought flashed through my mind—about Mrs Canturi and the Airport Watch List. Maybe I was clever enough to get away? I crossed my fingers and hoped.
‘Come out, show us!’ called Mama. ‘Don’t be shy.’
‘In a minute.’ I pulled out the earrings. Felt the weight. Gold. Transition metal. Group 11. But was there any use knowing that now?
XXV
Dissolution
the process in which one substance gets dissolved into another
It was dark and cold when Baba woke us in the morning.
‘Eid Mubarak,’ he said, shaking Soraya’s shoulder. ‘Time for prayers.’
Mama had laid out our clothes already. We dressed quickly, throwing coats over the top.
Rashid strode down the hall, his keys jangling. ‘Eid Mubarak,’ he said. He looked happy. Not in jail, back in his car, and pretty much allowed to get on with his life as normal. I pushed down a quiver of resentment. It looked like he was even going to be allowed to go to Pakistan with us. While all I wanted was to not be allowed to go.
‘Happy Eid,’ I replied.
We trailed down the stairs as Mama locked the door behind us. Other neighbours were starting up their cars as a pale dawn touched the edge of the sky. Our breath condensed into clouds under the orange streetlights. When we squeezed into Rashid’s car, the seats were cold, and smelled of damp.
‘Hurry up, you lot, I’m starving,’ said Rashid.
‘Me too,’ said Soraya. ‘Be a fast driver, Rashid!’
Baba shook his head. ‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘It’s good to have you driving again, son. Let’s enjoy it for a while, eh?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rashid, turning the corner a little too fast. I leaned into Soraya.
‘Ow!’ she said. ‘Don’t squash on me.’
‘Not my fault,’ I said. ‘Car’s not big enough.’
Rashid caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Lucky you won’t have to put up with it for too much longer.’
I held his reflected gaze for a moment.
‘Red light!’ said Baba.
‘Damn!’ said Rashid, braking hard.
‘Ow!’ said Soraya, her head smacking into the seat in front.
Mama crossed her arms. Her jaw tightened.
Happy Eid, everyone, I thought.
After dawn prayers at Bicentennial Park, with about a thousand other people and prayer mats everywhere, Rashid drove us to Auntie and Uncle’s for the Eid celebrations. After being out in the early morning cold, we were all really hungry.
When we arrived, the food was spread over two low tables. You could taste the sugar suspended in the air. No wonder Eid is called the festival of sweets.
To start, there were minced chicken kebabs with warm naan, and mutton biryani. And dishes of vegetables, and rice with almonds. But, best of all, there was Auntie Shakeela’s sheer khurma, a rich vermicelli pudding full of dates and nuts.
I took off my coat and shoes by the door, uncovering the new shalwar kameez.
‘Oh my,’ said Auntie Shakeela as I stepped into the room. ‘Isn’t that stunning?’ She lifted the hem to feel the weight. ‘Excellent quality,’ she continued. ‘She’ll get all the attention in that, won’t she, Zarar?’
Uncle looked up from chewing an almond crescent, his fingers white with icing sugar. ‘Mmmm,’ he said, ‘very nice. Make sure you put that one in your suitcase, eh?’
‘Of course,’ said Mama. ‘Fatima will want it put to good use.’
I cringed. It was like I was an investment. A decoration for Tarik. I pushed away a sudden thought about the wedding night. It would be so embarrassing.
‘Come sit,’ said Auntie. ‘Eid Mubarak! Let’s eat.’
After enough sweet treats to make Soraya and Farzana giggle and squeal, and practically give the rest of us diabetes, Uncle pulled out Eidi, envelopes of money for the children.
‘Yay!’ said Soraya. ‘Can we go to the rides now?’
Baba shook his head. ‘Bit later, meri jaan.’
I looked at the envelope on the table. This was my last one. I wouldn’t get any more after this. Either because I’d be a married woman, or an ungrateful rebel no longer welcome at Eid.
‘Dreaming about the wedding?’ asked Auntie, breaking my thoughts.
My skin prickled. ‘No,’ I said, ‘not really.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘it’ll be fun. I know this wonderful mehndi painter, not far from Grandma’s; she’ll do you beautiful hennaed hands. Much prettier than your science scribbles. And, of course, we’ll do lots and lots of shopping!’
‘Thanks,’ I said, trying to fake a smile. It was the last thing I wanted. Or needed. But I couldn’t tell her that. She was just trying to be nice.
Next time I saw Bassima was in chem prac.
‘Gah!’ she said. ‘I’ve totally OD’ed on sugar. My skin is a disaster!’ She tugged her hijab down over her forehead, covering a dusting of red pimples.
‘All that sugar gives me the jitters,’ I said, ‘but at least we can eat lunch again.’
Mrs Kaminski stood up to write on the board. ‘Girls,’ she said, ‘these are the revision tasks for the exams. Only four weeks till the end of Year Eleven!’
Four weeks, I thought. Who knew where I’d be in four weeks? Probably not sitting exams. Not here, anyway. I sighed.
‘Everything under control?’ asked Bassima in a loud whisper.
I shook my head and whispered back, ‘Nuh. Way out of control.’
‘Azra?’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘Something you’d like to share with the class?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, miss, no.’
She smiled at me, as if my life was somehow back to normal. She had no idea.
Bassima carefully tore out a page from the middle of her exercise book. I watched her write.
Alesha’s onto it. Sorting some paperwork. Ready next week. Hold on!
She slid the page across to me. I mouthed, ‘Thanks.’ As I slipped the paper into the front of my textbook, I sure hoped I could hold on until then.
When Soraya and I got home from school on Thursday afternoon, Mama was waiting, her wheeled shopping basket propped against the front door.
‘About time!’ she said. ‘Rashid’s taking us to the mall.’
Soraya flopped onto the divan. ‘I’m tired. Do we have to?’
‘Yes, yes. Get up. I’ll buy you an ice-cream.’
Soraya sat up. ‘Really?’ Mama hardly ever bought us ice-creams.
‘What’s the rush?’ I asked. No one had mentioned it this morning. Why the big hurry now?
‘Not such a rush. Auntie asked us to bring some things.’
I had to think fast. I didn’t like how this felt. ‘Do I need to come too? I could mind Soraya. And I’ve got homework.’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Of course you do. You always do. But not tonight. Rashid?’ she called. ‘Ready?’
Rashid’s bedroom door opened and he came down the hall.
‘Take the bag,’ Mama said to him. ‘Come on, girls.’
I sighed, and put my shoes and coat back on. There was no getting out of this. I knew it was shopping for the trip to Pakistan. What more was I going to have to go through for a wedding I didn’t want?
&n
bsp; We parked on the second level and entered the shops near the food court.
‘Ice-cream?’ asked Soraya.
‘Later,’ said Mama. ‘We need to go to Kmart first.’
‘Awww,’ she said, ‘you promised.’
‘I’ll take her,’ said Rashid. ‘We’ll meet you in the food court in an hour.’ How come he was being so helpful?
Mama pulled five dollars out of her wallet and gave it to him. ‘Thanks; see you then. Come on,’ she said, leading the way into the store. I could see Vanessa, in a Kmart uniform, at one of the checkouts. She was busy scanning buckets, and didn’t look up. Mama charged ahead.
‘Here we are,’ she said, standing before a rack of bras and knickers. ‘You need nice new underwears. Here,’ she said, pulling down a red lacy bra, ‘this looks good.’
My ears heated up, and I felt the colour spread across my face. I hoped no one—not Vanessa, not anyone from school—could see me here, doing this, with my mother.
A plump, grey-haired woman in a black vest approached us. ‘Can I help?’
I cringed. I knew what this was about and it was too much. Clothes for my honeymoon. Only Mama and Soraya ever saw me in my underwear at home.
‘Yes please,’ said Mama, ‘my daughter needs nice new underwears. These half-price ones.’
The woman looked at me in my coat and school uniform. ‘Size ten?’ she asked. ‘B-cup?’
I wasn’t sure, but I nodded anyway, not looking at her. I wished I could evaporate on the spot.
‘How about these?’ She held out a handful of frilly bras with matching knickers. ‘You can try them on over there,’ she said, pointing to the change rooms.
‘Thanks,’ I said, not looking at her face. I shuffled after Mama. She walked in first, past a lady sorting coathangers.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ said the attendant, ‘you can’t bring that in here.’ She pointed at the wheelie bag.
‘Oh,’ said Mama. ‘I’ll wait outside then.’
Inside the curtained cubicle, I took off my coat. Could this get any worse? I felt awful about the expense. And much worse about the wedding night, and being seen by a man in these lacy bras. The rest I couldn’t bear to think about at all.
‘How you going in there?’ I could hear Mama calling. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes, Mama, just trying them on.’
I undid my white cotton bra. It was cold, even in the shop. I leaned forward into the red bra and hooked it up. And looked at myself in the mirror—part terrified, part amazed. I looked like a woman in an underwear catalogue. A woman meant to be seen by a lover.
I shivered. I was so not ready for this, especially with a man I didn’t even know.
‘Is it good?’ Mama called out.
‘In a minute,’ I said. ‘A couple more minutes.’
‘Choose two,’ she said. ‘Two bras, two knickers.’
At the checkout, Mama was pleased. ‘Bargain!’ she said. ‘Good day for shopping. Happy with those?’
I nodded meekly. Happy with my red and black lingerie? Not sure that was the right word. Appalled. Embarrassed. And anxious, about preparing for a wedding I had to get out of.
I looked across the banks of checkouts. I’d steered Mama to the one furthest from Vanessa. Thankfully, she was busy scanning socks for an old man. I crossed my fingers Vanessa wouldn’t look up and see me, or my new underwear. I faced away from her the whole time we waited in the queue.
‘This way,’ said Mama, dragging her wheelie bag ahead.
‘What else?’ I asked.
‘Books for the children, and Aussie honey. Here.’ Gifts for my Pakistani cousins. This trip was definitely happening. My heart sank into my feet.
We stopped outside Bargain Books.
‘Get some sticker ones, or counting ones. Easy ones for English lessons,’ said Mama.
I flipped over some books on the table.
‘With kangaroos,’ she said, ‘and koalas. Here’s twenty dollars.’
After I paid, I waited outside the shop. Then I saw Mama waving to me from over by the escalator. Rashid and Soraya stood beside her, finishing off ice-cream cones. I had almost reached them when I heard my name.
‘Azra!’ I turned to look. ‘Azra! Over here!’ It was Pratik at the Joost! bar. I’d totally forgotten he might be here. My pulse quickened.
‘Hey,’ I said, twitching my hand in the tiniest of waves, and kind of pointing to my mum. Like it wasn’t a good time to talk. Rashid saw me, and spun his head around.
‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Is that the dirty Indian from the boys school? The one that was all over you at the camp?’ he hissed.
I shook my head. ‘He’s not a dirty Indian. And he wasn’t.’
‘Let me talk to him,’ he said.
‘No, Rashid, leave it.’ I didn’t need a scene and Pratik didn’t deserve it. He’d copped enough from Uncle already.
Rashid marched over to the counter. Pratik looked at me, alarmed, and stepped back. I didn’t blame him. He already knew my family was crazy.
‘Don’t chase my sister, mate,’ I heard him say. ‘She’s taken.’
I couldn’t look at them. I wanted to disappear.
‘Got that?’ I heard Rashid say. I cringed.
Pratik said something back, but I couldn’t hear what. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. It was hopeless. He’d have to be mental to want to talk to me again now.
‘Come on,’ said Mama, ‘there’s more to do. Don’t bother with any of that. You know we agreed not to discuss what happened at the camp.’
I shook my head. ‘But,’ I started, before realising it was impossible to explain it to her. ‘Yes, Mama. It doesn’t matter.’
As the escalator descended to the food court, I couldn’t bring myself to look back. And, after everything that had happened, what was the point?
Baba was home when we got back with the shopping. A long plastic wallet from Flight Centre lay on the table.
‘Got the tickets today!’ he said. ‘Not long now. Second of September. Same flights as Uncle.’
Soraya jumped up and clapped. Only ten days to go. Snap.
‘What about Rashid?’ I asked. ‘And the sentencing hearing?’
Rashid snorted. ‘Kind of you to be concerned,’ he said, ‘but I’m not going.’
‘Going to the hearing?’
‘No, dumbarse, Lahore.’
Why was he being so mean to me again? I could never tell what kind of mood he’d be in. ‘Don’t call me a dumbarse. You’re the one who got arrested.’
‘Hey!’ said Baba. ‘Enough of that. Rashid can’t come with us. Mr Khan says that whatever happens, he won’t be allowed to go overseas for at least a year. And we don’t want to wait that long, do we?’
Was there no chance of stopping this wedding? My stomach turned. How could no one see I wasn’t ready? How could nobody understand it didn’t have to be this way?
‘I’m happy to wait,’ I said boldly. ‘It’s only another year. That way, Rashid could come too, and I could finish school first.’
Baba sighed deeply. ‘Not this again. It’s all arranged. Uncle’s gone to a lot of trouble with the wedding plans, and we can’t tell how long Grandma Ajmal will live, after all those health scares. She’s so looking forward to it. We’re not changing the date now. All right?’
I nodded. It wasn’t all right. But it was clear. The wedding was going ahead, the timing was fixed, and what I wanted counted for nothing. My throat felt so tight, I couldn’t speak. I looked over at the Kmart bag with the new underwear in it, and my lower lip wobbled. Two hot tears slipped down my face.
‘Little sparrow, don’t be upset,’ said Baba, coming over and putting his arm around me. ‘Don’t be so concerned about Rashid not coming with us, all your cousins will be there. So many cousins, you’ll hardly notice he isn’t there!’
As if I cared whether Rashid could come or not! I only cared whether I could get out of it.
Baba looked at Rashid. ‘We’ll take lots of photos,
son. And please keep out of trouble for the next ten years, so you can come to Soraya’s wedding, eh?’
‘My wedding?’ said Soraya, eyes wide.
‘Not for a while,’ said Mama. ‘Too soon for you to be worrying.’
But not too soon for me. Almost too late.
XXVI
Nuclear fission
the process in which a large nucleus gets split into two or more smaller nuclei, releasing lots of energy
Next morning, I went to see Mrs Canturi first thing.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, moving two boxes of pamphlets off the armchair and onto the floor. ‘What are the developments?’
My heart raced. I felt so guilty coming back to tell her about all this. Like I was a spy reporting on my own family. Betraying them. Which I was.
‘The wedding’s set for September the fifteenth. Plane tickets are booked for September the second. At home, there’s lots of talk and preparations.’
Mrs Canturi sighed. ‘And have you told them you don’t want to do this?’
I nodded. ‘As much as I can without causing a huge argument. They keep telling me it’ll be okay. But it’s not what I want. It’s what they want.’
Mrs Canturi looked at the calendar on her desk. ‘Nine days. Not long. Anything you’d like me to do?’
A magic wand would be good, I thought. Or a spaceship. Or a TARDIS to take me into the future, so I could miss the wedding entirely. But I didn’t say any of those things out loud.
‘Do you think it would help if I spoke with your parents?’
I shook my head. That would only make things worse. It was already shameful that I’d discussed private family matters with a stranger like her.
‘Okay then, do you want to leave home now? We could put you somewhere safe.’
Safe? What was safe? Being apart from my family didn’t feel safe. Being with them was all I knew. But staying at home was only leading me to the wedding, steadily closer every day. Tears welled up. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what to do. It’s all bad.’
She pushed a box of tissues across the table.
Ragged sobs tore my voice. ‘Either I throw away this life,’ I sniffed, ‘to marry a stranger . . .’ I blew my nose. ‘Or I throw away my family. What’s worse?’
Promising Azra Page 23