Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  Mrs Canturi leaned back in her chair, not saying anything. Like she was giving me time. Finally, I stopped crying. I dabbed tissues at my face. Gradually, the space between the sobs grew longer.

  ‘I know it’s difficult,’ said Mrs Canturi, leaning forward and looking at me kindly. ‘Very difficult. But you do have a choice. By law, you have a choice. It’s not easy, but only you can decide. Then you have to live with the consequences.’ She leaned back into her chair, like it was up to me now.

  She was right about that. There was no easy choice. And it was up to me.

  ‘I can help you cope with your choice, but I can’t decide for you.’ She raised her palms to the ceiling.

  I sniffed. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s just hard. I don’t want to have to do this. To me. To anyone. I wish it would all go away.’

  Mrs Canturi stood up and kneeled next to my chair, so our faces were close. ‘I know. But it doesn’t sound like it will go away.

  ‘I think it’s time I checked up about the court order. To make sure your name is on the Airport Watch List. I’ll let you know where that’s up to. Hopefully later today. If not, by Monday. All right?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘That sounds good.’

  She stood up and stretched, and walked me to the door. ‘In the meantime, if anything gets out of hand over the weekend, please ring the police. Promise me you’ll do that?’

  ‘Okay, I promise.’

  Soraya dragged on my arm as we walked home along our street. I’d forgotten to go the long way around. But it didn’t matter anymore; the dog next door could tell we were coming. And today, instead of barking at us, it whimpered and disappeared. We had a truce. If only I could have that effect on Uncle.

  Uncle. The holder of the key to everything. I’d gotten nowhere talking with Baba and Mama. Everything was still going ahead. Mrs Canturi said I should try to talk to Uncle about changing the wedding plans, but I was pretty sure that would go badly. Especially after seeing him blow up at Rashid. And at the picnic. And at the camp. I shuddered at the thought of what else he could do to me. She didn’t understand what he was like.

  But I knew if I didn’t tell him how I felt, no one else would. Baba and Mama wouldn’t listen to my objections. They were carrying on as normal, as though there wasn’t any problem. Even if they knew there was—even though they knew I didn’t want to get married. Not now. Not like this.

  As I ran the options around and around in my head, I saw a boy sitting on the letterbox fence outside our flats. Someone in school uniform. He waved at me. It was Pratik! There was a sudden lump in my throat. What was he doing? My knees shook. He shouldn’t even be here.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Soraya.

  ‘Ummm. A friend,’ I said, checking there was no one around to see.

  ‘Hey, Az,’ he said. I could tell he was nervous too. But no way was he as nervous as me. ‘I haven’t seen you at the station,’ he said, ‘and I wanted to talk.’

  I nodded, speechless.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Soraya.

  Pratik gave a tight smile. ‘I’m Pratik. Hello.’

  ‘Are you Azra’s boyfriend?’ asked Soraya.

  ‘Ah, no,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so.’

  I cringed. At any moment, someone would see us. He needed to go. ‘Ummm. Pratik. Now is not a good time.’ My voice quivered.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, standing up. ‘I keep thinking about you. And about the chemistry camp. And what happened in the lab. It’s all my fault. I want to make it up to you. Fix it, if I can.’

  I shook my head. ‘Pratik, I know you mean well, but . . .’

  A car pulled in beside us, and beeped. It was Uncle, giving Mama a lift home. I felt the blood drain from my face. I was in for it now.

  Pratik looked at me. Then he looked at Uncle.

  ‘You have to go,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

  He frowned, and shook his head. ‘Don’t let them bully you, Azra,’ he said. ‘You’re way too good for that.’ Then he walked right past their car, and waved back at me.

  ‘Bye, Pratik,’ said Soraya, waving back, but I couldn’t move or speak. I was frozen like a statue, dreading what might come.

  Mama opened the car door, and shopping bags tumbled off her lap. ‘Here, give me a hand,’ she said. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘No one,’ I said. Surely she’d noticed? I hoped Soraya wouldn’t say anything. ‘Can I help with those?’

  Uncle got out and opened the boot, lifting out a box of groceries. He slammed the boot shut with his elbow and gave me a look.

  We followed him up the stairs. I was sure he’d seen Pratik. But he mightn’t be certain it was the same boy from the camp. I prayed he hadn’t noticed.

  What terrible timing. My last chance to talk to Uncle about the wedding. About delaying it. Or cancelling it. And now this chance was probably spoiled.

  Uncle dropped the veggie box on the kitchen bench, as I slipped in through the door. His shoes were still on and he turned as if to leave. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it was Pratik, after all. I took a deep breath. It was now or never.

  ‘Tea, Uncle?’ I said quickly.

  He looked up. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  ‘Uncle, I want to talk about the wedding,’ I blurted.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Bridal nerves?’

  ‘No,’ I said, my voice squeaking, ‘more than that.’

  He glanced at Mama.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ said Mama, ‘she’s just anxious.’

  ‘No, Uncle, it’s way more than that. I’m not ready to get married. I’m too young. The twins and Rashid are older than me, and they’re not even promised yet.’

  Uncle breathed in slowly, like he was working hard to be extra patient. ‘Azra, do I have to explain the obvious? They’re boys. No one will be interested in them until they’ve finished their education, and got their careers sorted. Until they’re responsible. Until they can keep a wife properly.’

  I heard my voice becoming shrill, though I tried to keep it normal. ‘But I’d like to finish my education first too, Uncle. And I don’t want to marry someone I don’t even know.’

  Uncle kept his voice controlled. ‘You’ll meet him soon enough; he’s a fine young man. Isn’t he, Nadira?’

  Mama nodded, like she had a metronome in her head.

  I took another deep breath and looked at her. I could see the fear in her eyes. Like she knew I had the power to keep the peace, or break it. But I couldn’t let go of what Mrs Canturi had told me. I had to say what I felt. He had to know.

  ‘That’s not enough,’ I said quietly. ‘Under Australian law, I have to agree to the marriage. And I won’t.’

  Uncle’s face darkened, and he smacked his hand on the bench so hard the box jumped and fell. Onions and zucchinis rolled over the floor. Mama rubbed her hands and prayed to the ceiling.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘It’s not up to you, it’s up to us, your family!’

  I edged back towards the door. Soraya ran and hid behind the curtain. Uncle was quiet for a whole minute, staring at the fallen vegetables.

  A surge of heat rose up inside me, like an erupting volcano. Pratik was right, Uncle was bullying us all. Look at us, Soraya in hiding, Mama cringing and praying, and me being forced into a marriage I didn’t want. It was too much to bear.

  ‘Do you want me to call the police?’ I shouted. ‘What you’re doing is illegal! I don’t have to marry anyone if I don’t want to.’

  He swivelled and fixed his eyes on me, stepping so close I could see his moustache hairs move in and out with each breath. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my ear to his mouth. He hissed, ‘So, you think you can go with an Indian dog instead? I saw you with him, you little tart. Ungrateful, deceitful slut. Now, you listen to me. You do what we say, you hear? Or there will be consequences. Don’t you talk to me about Australian law. In this country, women think they’re in charge. But you know nothing. Unders
tand? Nothing.’

  My scalp burned from my hair being pulled. He shook my head again.

  ‘Ow!’ I cried.

  He flung me away and I tripped over the shoe rack, slippers and umbrellas falling all around. Uncle loomed over me.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like me to explain?’ he said, stepping hard on my shin. I winced, but I wasn’t going to cry out again.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ he said, pressing down with his foot. My bones flexed under his shoe.

  ‘Don’t hurt her!’ cried Mama. ‘Please don’t!’ Soraya sobbed from behind the curtain.

  He eased off. ‘Well?’

  I wanted to call him a bully, but I was too afraid. His anger could incinerate the room.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, lunging for my throat. As I rolled up into a ball, the front door opened. It was Baba.

  I didn’t look up, but I could hear him. ‘What’s going on? In God’s name, what is happening?’

  Mama gave a loud sob. Uncle stepped away from me.

  ‘It’s her!’ he said. ‘Your lying whore of a daughter! Says she doesn’t want the wedding! Now, you explain that to Fatima and Grandma, and everyone else. Shameful, disobedient children. That’s all you’re good for. You sort it out!’

  ‘Leave my daughter alone, Zarar. This is way out of line. Get out! Get out now!’

  They scuffled at the door.

  ‘No, no!’ cried Mama. ‘Stop it!’

  Then the front door slammed. The gust loosened two coats from the hooks and they settled over me like camouflage. My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t swallow. Was anything worth all this?

  XXVII

  Denature

  to deprive (something) of its natural character or properties, so that it acts differently

  The whole weekend was very strange. As if we were all holding our breath. No one said anything about what happened with Uncle and me, and no one locked me in my bedroom, like before. I tried to study, but I couldn’t concentrate. If I had my phone back, I’d text Bassima and let her know what was happening. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t.

  A few times, I heard Baba and Mama speak in quiet voices, then they would stop when I came into the room. And the phone rang a few times, always for Baba. He answered in Urdu, but he didn’t say much. He mostly listened.

  I slept badly. I dreamed I couldn’t get on a train, to go somewhere I badly needed to go. I was always just missing it. Bassima waved through the window at me, but the doors had already closed. And then Pratik got on another one, going in the wrong direction. And then my ticket didn’t work in the machine and the inspector stopped me. It was hopeless, I couldn’t go anywhere. But I really, really needed to.

  In between disturbed dreams, I wondered if anything good would come of me telling Uncle how I felt. Could Baba stop him now? Was there even the smallest chance that the wedding might be cancelled? It was hard to be hopeful.

  On Monday morning, I was allowed to go back to school. Like life could still be normal after that argument with Uncle. I even hoped it meant that maybe the wedding plans were being reconsidered.

  Being back at school felt weird. It was hard to believe that the drama at home was real, when all my friends were stressing about the Year Eleven exams.

  In rollcall, Bassima asked me, ‘So how’s it going? Any progress?’

  I shrugged. Hardly. I thought of Uncle’s foot on my leg. My shin ached, and there was already a bruise. But then I remembered Baba telling Uncle to get out. Who knows what came of that? ‘Hard to tell,’ I said.

  We walked slowly past the lockers, towards maths.

  ‘Alesha rang last night,’ said Bassima. ‘She’s all ready to go, but you have to come see her this afternoon. She said there’s no time to spare.’

  I nodded. That sounded promising. ‘Okay.’ Then I worried about how to do that, with Soraya needing to be picked up. My head hurt.

  We’d only been in maths for five minutes when a runner appeared with a yellow note. It was for me. To go to the office. I looked at the message. It wasn’t from Mrs Canturi.

  As I walked along the corridor to the secretary’s office, I saw a man in a suit sitting on one of the reception chairs. At first, I thought it was Baba. But then I realised it was Uncle. My breath caught. Uncle! What was he doing here?

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, my legs suddenly heavy, unable to run. Even though a little voice inside told me I should.

  ‘Family emergency,’ he said. ‘We have to go. Your parents are both at the hospital.’

  ‘What! What happened?’ Was this for real? Or a trick? My eyes narrowed. My leg still ached. I knew I couldn’t trust him.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s bad. I’ll tell you on the way. There’s no time to stay here.’ He had dark rings under his eyes, like he was very tired. As if something bad really had happened.

  The school secretary called out, ‘Can you sign the register, please, Mr Ajmal?’

  He stood and smoothed down his trousers. ‘Certainly.’ He signed the book and gave her back the pen. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Hope everything is okay, Azra,’ she said.

  I nodded. This was too awful. ‘What sort of emergency? What’s happened?’ I asked as we walked down the path to the road. Sunlight glinted off the windshield of Rashid’s car.

  ‘There was a car accident. In my car,’ said Uncle. ‘Mama’s in hospital. Baba’s already there with her. Waiting for surgery to finish.’

  ‘Surgery! Will she be all right?’

  Uncle pressed his fingers against his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Azra. They don’t know yet.’

  I climbed into the back seat. It all felt like a dream. Poor Mama! How badly was she hurt?

  ‘Hey, Az,’ said Rashid. He looked pale and upset.

  ‘Rash,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe this.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, starting the car. ‘Totally sucks. It’s terrible.’ I thought I heard his voice crack a little. Perhaps we were all in shock.

  It was hot in the car. Really hot. They must have been parked in the sun for a while. I took off my jumper.

  ‘Here,’ said Uncle, ‘I’ve got some drinks from the shop. We’ll likely be waiting around when we get there.’

  He handed me a bottle of Pakola Fresh Lime. I swallowed a mouthful, then rested the bottle on my lap. I knew it was warm from being in the car, but it tasted a bit weird. It reminded me of an experiment we’d done at school. Something about esters. But which one?

  ‘Finish it off,’ said Uncle. ‘I’ve got plenty more.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m good for now.’

  Uncle looked at Rashid, like he was going to say something. But then he didn’t.

  Rashid drove slowly to the main road, and turned left towards Lakemba. Why was he driving so slowly? It wasn’t like him at all. And weren’t we in a hurry?

  ‘Why this way?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t they at Bankstown Hospital?’

  ‘No,’ said Uncle, clearing his throat. ‘They’re at Canterbury. No emergency beds at Bankstown today.’

  How dreadful, I thought. No room at the local hospital when you really needed it. A soft warmth bubbled up through my neck and jaw. My head and shoulders were heavy. Like liquid marshmallow. My eyelids drooped. I knew I needed to stay awake, but I couldn’t. Sleep was irresistible.

  As we turned the corner, the bottle tipped and spilled onto my lap. The liquid trickled over my trousers. But it didn’t matter. I’d mop it up, when I woke up. When we got to the hospital. Soon.

  Rashid tugged at my armpits. It hurt. Outside, there were taxis dropping off people with large bags. I never knew Canterbury Hospital was so big.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you need to get out.’ I tried to slide over the seat. My joints were all loose.

  ‘Shit!’ he said. ‘You’ve pissed yourself in my car!’ Had I? I didn’t remember doing that.

  His shouting seemed far away. ‘Uncle!’ he called, ‘get a wheelchair, will you?’

  Car
horns beeped. The sun shone through the back window onto my face. It felt nice. I wanted to sleep.

  ‘Ek, do, tin,’ Uncle counted, as I floated out of the car and into a saggy chair.

  ‘You’ll have to park, and bring the bags around,’ he said. ‘She’s too much to manage with the luggage as well.’

  A car door slammed. An engine started. My wheelchair slid smooth as melting ice over the wide floor. Like a frictionless air puck in a physics experiment.

  I wanted to ask where’s Mama? but the words wouldn’t come. My tongue felt solid. There were chiming bells and announcements, but I couldn’t understand them. It was a strange hospital. Where were the doctors, the nurses, the patients? The smell of disinfectant?

  Somewhere through the blur, I heard the same words. Passenger. Flight. Gate. Not hospital words. I knew I should understand, but I couldn’t. I sat in the wheelchair next to Uncle, in a queue by a red roped barrier. Rashid came over, carrying bags. Travel bags. Did Mama need these for her stay in hospital? It looked like a lot of stuff.

  ‘Thanks, Rashid,’ said Uncle. ‘Appreciate your help.’

  ‘Do you really think . . .’ said Rashid. ‘It seems too harsh. Not fair to do it this way.’

  ‘We’ve been through this enough,’ said Uncle. ‘Leave it to me. All right?’

  Rashid sighed. ‘Whatever.’ He seemed a bit sad. ‘Bye, Az,’ he said, patting my shoulder.

  That was friendly of him. But where was he going? Weren’t we all going to see Mama? I looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling.

  ‘Where’s Mama?’ I tried to say, but it sounded wrong. Like baby talk.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Rashid. ‘Take it easy, little sister.’ Then he walked away, across the wide white floor, towards the glass doors that led outside. Why wasn’t he staying with us?

  Uncle pushed me up to a counter. A woman sat high above us. ‘Passports and tickets, please.’

  Uncle gave her something, and then lifted the two large bags through a gap in the counter. The bags slid away from us, like magic.