Desh

by Kim Kellas

  ‘I hurt but I can’t see the pain. No-one can. When I cut the pain is released and there it is. I have matched the inside to the outside. So I can physically see it. Otherwise I am just going quietly mad inside my head and all this pain’s not real. I don’t have the strength to fight Dad anymore. I don’t have anything to fight him with and all Mum would want is for me to get along with my husband and not bring shame on the family. My grandmother was married when she was eight. She didn’t have the luxury of choice. Why do I feel I’m entitled to it? If I put aside my preferences, I make Mum happy and the family goes on. Could I make this marriage work? Are his hands so very different to the others? Jay or Ojo or Dwayne? I let them touch me.’

  She fell asleep on the floor with her face resting on the open page and came to, some while later when her phone pinged and vibrated on the paper. The screen lit up with a text. Neil wanted to call – he needed to speak to her. What could be so important he had to call? Her mind raced. It might be that her job had gone. She wouldn’t be surprised if head office had decided enough was enough. It had been three months, not three weeks after all.

  Up on the roof was the only place she could go to take the call. At least there, she’d be guaranteed some privacy. As far as she knew, she was the only one who ever went up there. So she kept it to herself and didn’t go too often. If the others knew, she’d lose another patch of peace. Near the appointed time, she sat cross legged with the phone in her lap and waited.

  “Aila? You there, Princess? How you bearing up?” The voice came through a metal tunnel.

  “Neil, I can’t believe you’re ringing. It’s so good to hear from you.”

  “Are you alone? Can you be overheard?”

  “I can’t say much, but there’s no one around. Why? What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve been speaking to Shafia. She showed me your text. She’s worried sick. You need to know the Forced Marriage Act was passed here in November. Just listen. If you’re happy with what’s happened that’s fine. Ignore me. But if you’re in trouble there’s a way out. Contact the Forced Marriage Unit in London when you get back; they’ll help you. It’s completely confidential; your father need never know.

  “Come on hun, hold it together. Hang in there. You don’t even have to ask about your job. I want you back in one piece. You don’t have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to. No one’s forcing you, but I’m here for you.” The phone went black and he’d gone.

  Aila stayed on the roof and looked out over the lake. It was five in the afternoon in London. Another day and she might have been in the lake, face down. The air felt soft with the scent of henna, a peculiar waft of roses and bitter chocolate and she thought of her mother. Every birthday, her father gave Nessa Roses perfume and the smell of it restored her. There might be a way to endure this. Hope seeped back into her veins and that night she slept without a knife under her pillow.

  The following evening, after the children had been battened into their beds, and the mosquito nets drawn over them, she sat on the sofa beside her mother and the conversation turned to the newlyweds. Mazid would have to get back for uni soon and her father wanted to get everything organised. “Once the visa application goes through,” he said, “we’ll send a ticket for Sobia. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Will you be sending Gourab’s application at the same time?” said Aila.

  Sadhan smiled at Mazid as he answered “I would think so.”

  “And then he’ll start his new life in my bed.”

  Mazid glared at his sister, outraged that she would to speak like that, but Aila turned to him “Tell me bro, when did you first find out about my husband? I’m just trying to figure it out because as I remember it, you two seemed to know each other quite well, when you brought him into my room, you know, five minutes before I was married. How did that happen?”

  “This isn’t the time, Affa.”

  Aila uncrossed her legs and leant forward. “No? Strikes me as the perfect time. There’s no one else around, and here we are. One big happy family. So come on, when did you first meet him?”

  Sadhan tried to answer.” We’re not talking about you at this point. Your brother has to leave soon.”

  Aila kept her eyes on Mazid. ”Well? When was it?”

  “Three years ago.”

  “What?”

  “I met him last time we were here. There was a meal arranged in Sylhet to appraise him in person, and that was the first time. Dad had done the research back then. His family were the right caste and Maryam’s father knew him.”

  She turned to her mother. “And you knew about this?”

  ”Shuna, I knew they met, but it wasn’t a favourable outcome. He turned his back on your father during the meal, so I thought that was the end of that. It wasn’t until this April, on your birthday, that your father decided to progress the proposal.”

  “All I ever asked was to marry someone from London. I would have been happy without a grand wedding, without a proper sari even, if you’d found me someone I could at least get on with. I thought you cared about me. How could any of you think this was right?”

  Nessa spoke through tears.” I don’t think you realise how bad things are. We have no money; your father was just doing the best he could.”

  “Well that’s not strictly true, is it? There’s the fifteen grand I borrowed. But here’s the thing. If you leave me here, I’ll lose my job, the loan will go into default and you lot will lose my salary. And I really wouldn’t hold out much hope of a janitor earning enough to support us all. So don’t bite the hand that feeds you – or give it away. Just get me on a plane home now.”

  Sadhan stood over her. “You’re so high and fucking mighty. Think you’re too good for this family. So what’s all this?” He grabbed her arm and pushed the sleeve back. “Who wants a woman with sliced up arms? You said you wouldn’t do this again. Three years ago you lay in that hospital bed, looked me in the eyes and promised.”

  Aila pulled her arm away. “Get me home and it won’t.”

  Three days later she had a ticket back to London.

  ‘Finally Dhaka Airport. Never thought I’d see you again, and after today I never want to. The Janitor thinks I’m being careful with his paperwork because I’m falling in love with him. But he’ll never see me again. I did it. I pulled it off. I have so much to get down on the plane. Names dates places. It’s all evidence for the Forced Marriage people. If I can get out of the marriage without bringing shame on the family I’ve got to give it my best shot.

  Do not befriend outsiders I get told, but they’re the ones who’ve saved me. I can’t wait to see Neil and Shaf. I can’t wait to taste real food again. Nandos. Peri peri chicken wings, chips, and proper Coke. It’s been the longest three weeks of my life.’

  Hibernation

  God knows how they made it home. The minicab took the longest, most torturous route from the airport through frenzied sleet. Sadhan snarled while the driver, one of his contacts, peered myopically through frantic wipers and Aila held her mother’s hand in the back seat. Finally the car pulled up outside the house and never had the crooked path and ramshackle porch looked so good.

  They shuffled their bags through freezing slush and, once inside, no-one spoke. Instead, they moved like zombies through the cold airless rooms. Sadhan flicked through the mail and Aila went straight to her room and shut the door.

  The next time her eyes opened, white numbers flashed on the clock radio beside the bed. She woke to a chill morning and listened to the news to get her bearings. There’d been a slump in sales over Christmas and retailers were suffering – poor retailers – and Gordon Brown wanted to see broadband in every household in Britain. Dad would be thrilled

  She lay back in the hollow of the sheets and felt the heaviness descend again as she slid into a state of dozing and dreaming, broken only by raging thirst, until sometime later s
he woke in the afternoon, groggy and depleted, to the sound of banging and her father stormed in.

  He’d had enough. When was she going to get up? Mazid had gone back to university and her mother needed help.” You’re the saviour of the family. Get off your fat arse and do something.”

  The door closed and the sting lingered. Days, not hours, had passed in a dormant state and though she knew she had to stir herself into action, the simple act of getting up seemed insurmountable. The suitcase lay open on the floor with the clothes spilled out, lifeless and deflated. She stared until her eyes began to ache and then, for the first time in days, she tuned into the sounds downstairs. When she heard her mother’s voice in the hall and her father’s heavy steps, she knew he’d left for the restaurant, so she pushed the sheets back and sat up.

  Downstairs, Nessa was curled on the sofa not watching the television. Aila noticed the black pouches under her eyes had deepened. But Nessa dismissed it, saying her back was bad and she just needed to rest. The best thing would be for Aila to sort herself out and get back to work, then her father would calm down.

  So Aila decided she’d drive to work. If that’s what her mother wanted and she was sure she’d be okay on her own, then so be it. Being Friday night, she knew Neil would be on shift and the thought of seeing him lifted her spirits; that and the prospect of driving again.

  It felt so good to sit in the Peugeot and the roads were like old friends as she weaved her way to Norbury and timed it to arrive as the shift ended. The last of the members were leaving the club as she slipped inside the main doors. “Not going to say hello then, stranger?”

  Neil looked up from the reception desk. “Oh my God. Aila? What the hell!” He opened his arms wide. “Come here to me.”

  “I have missed you so much.”

  “It’s okay, you’re okay now. Let me lock up and we can talk.” He clicked the main lights off, said, “I won’t be long,” and disappeared upstairs.

  While Aila waited behind the reception desk, she realised she should have taken time to get dressed. She blew into cupped hands to check her breath, then wiped her hands down the grimy folds of the faded black burkha as Neil came back.

  He joined her behind the desk. “What the hell has happened to you? “ She tried to answer and stumbled at first, but Neil listened and asked questions that encouraged her to go on. The headscarf fell back and exposed the patch of white scalp, but she didn’t try to hide it, and when she finished, he stroked her hair.

  “So this uncle Chacha,” he said, “who’s not long for this world, he wants to see his family right and his granddaughter Sobia, married. So it’s decided she’ll marry your brother and if the whole family is going to Bangladesh for a wedding they might as well make it two. Your parents hear about some guy for you, whose family are acceptable which makes it an arranged marriage. Yes? Like Shafia’s, except if Shaf had said she didn’t like the guy that would have been the end of it, whereas you couldn’t.”

  “In a nutshell, yes, and my cousin Maryam, the one in Stepney I told you about, is married to my mother’s sister’s son, and her husband knows the Janitor’s family.”

  “ The ‘Janitor’ being?”

  “Don’t make me say it.”

  “All right. While all this was happening then, I saw a documentary on forced marriage,”

  “I didn’t have you down as a documentary type.”

  Neil smiled, “I only watched because of you, missy. How do you think I knew about the Forced Marriage Act? Did you know girls as young as thirteen are taken and married off, school goes back after the summer, and they don’t?”

  “That’s different, that’s Pakistan. I’m Bengali.”

  He considered this for a moment, “Nah, you’re just nit-picking. Look, the thing is, those girls were young – just kids, whereas you’re twenty-two and you’re Aila, sharp as a tack and sexy as hell. I know you; there’s nothing you can’t handle. You run this place – yeah you do – you play with the bad boys and I thought you had your father wrapped around your little finger. How’d this happen to you?”

  “I guess I didn’t see it coming.”

  “You must’ve sensed something.”

  She leant back against the wall. “Looking back, I did sense a threat, but I was more concerned about being stuck in sodding Sylhet for weeks and I didn’t expect my father would do that. I trusted him.”

  “As you do. So, on the day, when he came into your room and then all those people came asking questions, the penny must’ve dropped. If that was me I’d have said no, this ain’t happening, everybody out, the wedding’s off.”

  “Would you, though? This is family, remember. How could I? And think about it, even if I wanted to, I had no money, very little phone credit and who’m I going to call? The police? I’m in a remote village forty miles from the nearest airport with no car and my father has the passports. If I’d refused, it would have brought shame on my parents in front of the family and the whole community.”

  “Strikes me they’re the ones who should be feeling shame.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” she said to her feet.

  He turned towards her, “I love my folks, but they don’t rule my life.” Then he touched her shoulder, gently. ”Don’t be upset, please. Let’s agree to disagree, if you promise me you’ll make the call.” He took hold of both her shoulders and made her face him, “Hey, come on. Why the tears? “

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s just hitting me” and she wiped her nose with the sleeve of her burkha. “God, look at me. I’m a mess.”

  He wrapped his arms around her,” I have to say I’ve never seen you looking worse,” and stroked her hair until the tears subsided into sniffs. “What are we going to do with you, eh? When’s my Princess coming back?”

  “What would you suggest?” she asked, lifting her face to his.

  “Step one – you should start looking after yourself and I really think you should see a doctor. You’re not well, hun. Step two, let’s put our heads together.”

  They hatched a plan that would allow Aila to tell her father she’d return to work on Monday, but could work her own hours and ease back into full time when she felt ready. She could take any time she needed and, yes – she promised to contact the forced marriage people. He took out his wallet. ” Good, here’s the number,” he said, “for when you’re ready.”

  On the drive home, she imagined telling her father that an outsider, a white man – a Kafir – had come to her rescue and no, he didn’t want a piece of her; neither did he think of her as a cash cow or a commodity to be sold on. Instead, he thought she was sharp as a tack and sexy as hell. But Neil was right – she needed help.

  So Aila made an appointment at the surgery with the only female Asian GP and the following day, Dr Farhad looked at the bald patch at the front of her scalp, examined the burning ulcers in her mouth and listened closely to her version of events. She stopped at the mention of the ceremonial drink, and asked to hear the details again, which struck Aila as odd. In the grand scheme of things a few sips of tradition hardly mattered.

  But Dr Farhad wouldn’t let it rest and again she asked what Aila remembered and used words like ‘penetration’ and ‘coercion’ and ‘forced marriage’ – official words for private pain buried deep, then she decided a pregnancy test should be done along with STD tests, including the HIV virus. There may be no need she said, when Aila’s hands started shaking; nonetheless, it can’t hurt to be sure and, under the circumstances, she’d be derelict in her duty if she didn’t.

  Aila’s stomach growled as she left the surgery. The swab had been humiliating and she hated that Dr Farhad had a glimpse of her life. So now people knew and doctors knew and the government have called it forced marriage and declared that it’s against the law. Yet it’s what happens and it’s what her parents expected of her and her father shouldn’t be con
sidered some kind of criminal. Darth Vader maybe, but only she had the right to pass judgment on her family.

  Sadhan shouted when he heard the porch door slam. “It’s nothing to worry about, just got some cream for the ulcers,” she called back. The smell of Dunhill hung in the hall.

  Upstairs she closed the door and took stock. A hunched black thing stared back in the mirror and there was a strange odour, like pepper, around her. At the surgery, had she imagined the doctor recoiled when she leant forward to speak? She pulled the headscarf back and a trail of hair came out in her hand. She looked again at the suitcase on the floor and realised she’d been in a dead place too long.

  Bangladesh had broken her mother too. The pain in her back that they’d taken to be just natural wear and tear, reached screaming point in the days before they left Syhlet. By the time she came home, she could hardly walk. Still, it took all Aila’s powers of persuasion to get her to admit she needed help, until finally Nessa capitulated and made an appointment with Dr Farhad. Two days later she was sent to St Peter’s for tests.

  Sadhan hated hospitals. People went in and never came out he said, so Aila had to drive and she’d instigated the whole thing, so of course it was her fault. He argued about the route, shouted at the speedometer and snapped at the orderlies in the lift. As soon as he walked into reception, though, he went quiet.

  Aila guided her mother through all the forms and questions and followed as they wheeled her to round for blood tests and ultrasound and finally the consultant’s office, and all the while Sadhan stayed in the waiting room. Then they drove home in silence.

  Later that night he launched. “It’s your fault she had to go to hospital. You broke her back.”

  “Like hell,” she snarled back.” Let me tell you what the consultant said. She’s very good – and very thorough. The tiredness, the bad back were there before, we know that, but something else caused the latest bout of pain. Something like a recent trauma.”