Who Will Catch Us As We Fall

by Iman Verjee

  As he pressed himself closer to a cactus to make space for her, Leena was touched by his generosity. It was that, and a need to feel close to him once again, that made her ask, ‘Michael, what’s a faggot?’

  He closed the book and placed his palms on top of it. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s what Tag called Vickram.’ She sat beside him, pressing the backs of her thighs against her hands.

  He had heard his Aunt Fiona use the word. She had returned at three o’clock in the morning from her night excursions, stumbling and bumping into even the few pieces of furniture they had. She had smelled of something strong, like bleach, and her weave was in tangles, her skirt riding up over her long thighs. Throwing off her thick-heeled platforms, she let them land wherever they wanted. The thud of the heavy shoe beside his face stirred him to listen to his aunt’s conversation with his mother.

  ‘I swear sometimes I think he loves me,’ Fiona was saying.

  ‘Isn’t that a part of your job?’ His mother’s words were curt, slightly disgusted.

  ‘This is different, Angie.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about what you do.’

  ‘But you won’t believe what I saw today.’ Fiona leaned in closer. ‘I met him at the bar and afterward, we went to the motel.’

  ‘Fiona…’

  ‘Just listen. It’s this dingy place and we got a room where there were two beds and two other people already there.’ At her sister’s look, Fiona shrugged. ‘He hasn’t been paid yet and can’t afford anything fancier but it didn’t bother me at first.’ She lit up a cigarette and the traces of smoke carried across the living room, threatening to make Michael cough and reveal himself. ‘But then we started hearing these funny sounds from the next bed – I swear, sis, deep grunts and not a woman’s either. Aieesh. Two men sharing one bed! I got out of there straight away, didn’t even finish the job. I know what you think of me but even I still have some values. I would never share a room with faggots.’

  ‘Hush, Fiona – can’t you see Mike is sleeping over there?’

  ‘Sorry, sis,’ she had giggled. ‘Anyway, I don’t know how we’re going to make the rent. Business is really slow these days, obviously because there are men out there who would rather fuck other men.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask for help from the man who’s in love with you?’

  ‘I can’t do that to him.’ Fiona’s voice had grown almost tender. ‘You should see him – he’s so lonely.’

  Michael tried to think of a way to say this to Leena. ‘I’m not sure how to explain it because I don’t really understand it myself. But I don’t think it’s something you should call other people – it sounds hurtful.’

  ‘Tag says we shouldn’t speak to him.’

  At the mention of Tag’s name, Michael’s voice turned hard. ‘I think you should make your own decision.’

  ‘I like Vickram,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t want other people to talk about me. Do you think I’m horrible?’ She grew embarrassed under her confession.

  ‘Not at all. But I think you should do what feels right.’

  ‘How do I know what that is?’

  Michael played with the old edges of his book. He wished he could follow his own advice – his confession sat at the tip of his tongue. ‘Knowing what’s right isn’t the problem; it’s about not being afraid to do it. But once you do,’ finally looking up at her, ‘you’ll see that doing what’s right is the easiest thing in the world.’

  Sunday afternoons at the compound were unhurried and still. After an indulgent lunch – which included, more often than not, inviting several neighbors over – lethargy stole in and the women left the housework to their maids and gave their children an hour of respite as they climbed into their beds, cocooned between cool sheets and behind drawn curtains, for a two o’clock nap.

  It was during this secret hour that Tag came to fetch her. He found her in the high-ceilinged living room, one leg dangling off the couch as she cooled herself with a home-made paper fan. A cartoon was playing on the TV but it was too hot for her to pay attention to it.

  ‘Let’s go.’ He hovered impatiently at the door.

  ‘Where?’ Her feet had already swung to the floor, ready to follow.

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  She didn’t realize where he was leading her until she stood before Mrs Laljee’s house, just outside the window, a thick row of green money plant growing downward from a pot set on the sill. Tag picked up the clay urn and handed it to her, leaving the wall beneath exposed.

  ‘Let’s do it here,’ he said to the other boys, who had been waiting for them, crowded over a cardboard box. Tag left her on the outside of the circle, peering into the window, cupping his hands against the wire netting. ‘All clear.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ She didn’t like the feel of all the boys around her, their hissing words and almost hysterical laughter. She was ready to turn back to the boring tranquility of her house before it was too late.

  Tag ignored her. ‘We better hurry. They could come back at any time.’

  ‘Wait – what are you doing?’ Her voice rose in a slight panic as they pulled out cans of black spray paint from the box. She stepped closer but Tag blocked her way, holding out a can.

  ‘Are you going to help or not?’

  Michael’s words came back to her; she felt sick watching them, heads bowed together, fingers moving swiftly. They guarded their cruelty, hiding it from her. She stepped back, distancing herself from the terrifying scene. ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘I knew I couldn’t trust you.’

  The disappointment on his face made her stomach clench and as she spun around to leave, he caught her arm, twisting it around her back.

  His breath was hot in her ear. ‘You better not tell anyone.’ He shoved her and she stumbled onto the street, her vision blurred.

  Michael was folding some bedsheets as she came sprinting toward the house, and on seeing her he quickly dropped what he was doing.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he called after her, reaching out to grab her elbow. ‘Leena!’

  But she ran from his concern – the compassion in his eyes made her feel wretched – and threw herself down onto the couch, the sounds of the cartoon drowning out her tears.

  It was a fearful sight. Even in the fading light, it refused to dull, to go away, and people looked on from half-drawn-back curtains, calling each other on the telephone.

  ‘Did you see?’

  ‘Can you believe it?’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘But it is the truth… isn’t it?’

  Leena listened to her mother, the phone cradled close to her ear, and she turned away with a feeling so heavy that each movement was difficult. Though she closed her eyes, tried to fill her mind with happier thoughts, the message still came through, black and jagged and sharp.

  Jai was furious when he saw it.

  ‘It’s just like them.’ He was pacing the small patch of lawn when she emerged from the house, wanting to escape her mother’s conversation.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tag.’ He pointed toward Mrs Laljee’s house. ‘Who else would be responsible for such a thing?’

  ‘You don’t know that it was him.’

  There was something in her voice, a crack of fear, that stopped her brother in his tracks. ‘Did you have anything to do with this?’

  Her eyes filled with tears once more, stinging the already red-rimmed eyelids.

  ‘Jai, come on. Give her a break.’

  Remembering the distressed way she had come sprinting into the house, Michael came to stand between the siblings. Jai crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the two of them, and felt a stirring of jealousy, an unusual emotion for him, seeing the way his friend stood defensively before his sister.

  ‘Have you seen what they’ve done?’ he asked Michael.

  Michael had been busy all afternoon helping his mother. Following his friend’s pointing finger, he saw it for the
first time. His chest dropped, sickening his stomach. Behind him, a sob broke in Leena’s throat and though he wanted to comfort her, he was frozen, glued to the words.

  GOD HATES FAGZ

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ She reached out to tug Michael’s unresponsive arm. ‘You have to believe me – I didn’t do it.’

  He was still staring at the message, so fixed on the hate that came rushing from it that he barely heard her. She felt him stiffen under her fingers, and fresh tears, this time for letting him down, stung her skin.

  ‘Did you know they were going to do it?’ Jai asked.

  She had never been able to lie to him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should have stopped them.’

  You should have done what was right.

  Michael turned to face her and she could hear his words again; how different the look on his face was now, rigid and angry. He felt the insult more acutely, realizing how easily it could be altered to fit him – another outcast in this small compound.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. It was so hard, Jai.’

  ‘That’s not an excuse.’ Her brother turned away and repeated, ‘This is just like them. With everything that’s new and doesn’t make sense – all they want to do is make it disappear. Like our friendship with Michael, Dad not going to the temple and now this.’ He shook his head. ‘You should have stopped them.’

  Leena’s chin trembled and Michael felt it like a pang in his chest. He wanted to comfort her but she was already backing away, turning to run and out of his reach.

  ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on her,’ Michael told Jai, after she had gone.

  ‘No one ever is.’

  They heard the familiar chugging of his father’s Nissan; Raj was returning from an afternoon meeting and the sight of him through the half-open window lifted Jai’s spirits. His father would know what to do.

  Jai chased his father into the house, waiting impatiently as Raj slipped off his shoes with a satisfied aah!

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘In a minute. Open the window for me, will you?’ Raj fell back on the couch.

  Jai obeyed, pushing back the white net and swinging it open. His father twisted his body so that it was half-facing the street outside. He searched in his back pocket for his Embassy Lights packet, pulling one out. As his eyes looked up, the cigarette went slack between his fingers. His mouth fell open in shock.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  From across the street, immersed in the dulling blue light of evening, the scrawled words appeared even more malicious and Raj had to pause to steady his breath.

  ‘Someone wrote it this afternoon.’ Jai chose to keep the details to himself.

  ‘How come it’s still there?’

  ‘They’ve been too embarrassed to come out.’ He turned to his father, who had lit the cigarette and shut his eyes, inhaling slowly. ‘I think we should help them clean it up.’ He spoke rapidly. ‘All it needs is one coat of paint. If we start now, we can finish before it gets too dark.’

  Raj glanced at his son in surprise. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with you.’

  Jai stared at his father in confusion. ‘It has everything to do with me. You taught me that. Stand up for the little guy, be the hero.’ He couldn’t help the bitterness that tinged the last word.

  ‘I did but I should also tell you that you have to choose your battles carefully.’ Raj chewed down on his lip. ‘Mrs Laljee and her son can handle their own fights.’

  ‘Can’t Michael handle his?’ Jai retorted.

  ‘That’s different.’ Raj’s eyes went involuntarily upward to the photo on his right.

  Jai hated that photo more than he ever had in his life. ‘Why? Because Pinto only saved Africans?’

  His father bristled but kept his voice calm. ‘We have to look at the bigger picture,’ he tried to explain. ‘There are only so many battles you can fight before fighting becomes meaningless.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to fight for what’s right but now I understand what you meant.’ Jai was self-righteous and didn’t care that, for the first time, he was raising his voice at his father. ‘You just want me to fight for what is right for you.’

  Raj threw out his cigarette. ‘You won’t go and help and that’s final.’

  He watched his son leave – long strides to the door and then hurried footsteps echoing throughout the house. Jai’s words stuck with him, but more than that, it was the way in which he had said them. He lit up another cigarette, staring at the framed newspaper clipping and losing himself within it. He fought to clear his mind, telling himself that it was absurd to feel reprimanded by your own son.

  ‌

  25

  The house was lit up in celebration of her parents’ wedding anniversary. The flat was transformed into a wild tapestry of color, from the vermillion roses her father had bought her mother that morning to the orange jalebis, the chocolate-covered Indian desserts sprinkled with pistachio shavings and silver trays with intricately engraved handles holding wine glasses and scotch tumblers, pristine under the bright, indoor lamps.

  Angela ushered them out of the room. ‘I have to get things ready for the party and you’re both in my way.’

  They stepped out into the growing coolness of the evening. She felt the pinch of smoke in her nose, a charcoal tickle; someone was burning something outside the gate, in the makeshift slums not far off.

  Michael was playing with Jai’s old yo-yo against the bougainvillea tree, and though Jai bounded toward him, Leena lagged behind. He always went home by six o’clock and to see him here now, close to seven thirty, felt peculiar and thrilling. There was something different about him in the fading daylight, his dark profile sharp against the lurking street shadows, which made her hesitate. She had never noticed that he was taller than her brother, that he had grown into his broad shoulders, the wide and flat span of his upper torso sneaking down into a slim waist. Then she saw the glint of his smile, as gentle as ever.

  ‘Hi, Leena.’

  He appeared so much older then and she felt a burst of nervousness, suddenly hating the puffy sleeves of her dress, its childish pink and yellow rosebud pattern. Her hair seemed ridiculous in its curly, wired locks and she pressed it down in vain. His voice cut through her thoughts.

  ‘You look very pretty.’

  ‘She looks like a poodle,’ Jai said.

  ‘Not at all.’ How heavy his voice was, pushing the world into a spin.

  They settled down on the grass, Jai easily and the other two uncomfortably – both conscious of their movements so that they dodged, banged, sorried each other on their way down.

  Trying to break the awkwardness he felt, Michael said, ‘Looks like you’re having a huge party.’

  ‘My parents’ anniversary. You know how Indians are – you have to invite everyone otherwise someone might be insulted and never invite you to one of their parties ever again,’ Jai said.

  ‘It must be nice to know that many people – to feel like you’ll never really be alone.’

  Having had the chance to observe this muhindi culture for many months, Michael had come to appreciate the close-knit community they formed – even, to a certain extent, the sense of obligation and loyalty that bound them to one another.

  ‘My father thinks it’s full of busybodies sticking their ears, noses and mouths wherever they don’t belong.’ Jai looked back at the house where the guests were starting to arrive. ‘I’m beginning to agree with him.’

  ‘What about you, Leena?’

  She stopped fussing with her dress. Blinked twice. It felt strange to be asked for her opinion, to be looked at with such keen interest.

  ‘What’s the point of thinking about it so much? It’s just the way it is,’ she replied.

  ‘That’s exactly the kind of mentality that got us here in the first place,’ Jai snapped.

  ‘Come on, Jai.’ Michael calmed his friend. ‘We’re all entitled to our opinions.’

  ‘Not if they’re
wrong,’ he muttered, but Michael ignored him and kept smiling at her. It started a quiver in her chest – a slight but detectable change that thickened the blood in her veins.

  A little ruffled, Jai stood, brushing off his trousers. ‘I’ll bring you out something to eat, if you want,’ he said to Michael.

  ‘A few samosas wouldn’t hurt, I guess.’

  Jai beckoned for Leena to follow him but she stayed rooted to her place. ‘You can join us inside,’ she said to Michael. He had always been so kind to her and today she wanted to be that for him.

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  He caught her arm as she stood up to leave. Leaning over, he tucked a flower behind her ear, grazing her neck – the smooth skin behind her hair that she had never paid much attention to before. Now, its presence was a ceaseless vibration. ‘Bougainvillea are your favorite, right?’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words were insufficient but there was nothing else she could say.

  He released her elbow too soon. ‘Your mother is waiting for you.’

  Her walk back to the house was measured and thoughtful, pausing at the step where her mother had come out. Pooja’s gaze was fixed above Leena’s head, her eyebrows knitted, the gold-hoop ring in her nose glinting. Then she reached out and snatched the flower from her daughter’s hair.

  ‘Hey!’ Leena grasped the blank space near her ear, surprised and saddened by what her mother had done.

  ‘I don’t want it in your hair.’ Pooja pushed her daughter into the doorway, crushing the petals between determined fingers and tossing them, ripped and drained of color, onto the step. ‘It’s dirty and probably full of ants.’

  That night, in bed, Pooja said to her husband, ‘Do you still want to move house?’

  He turned to her in surprise, pulling off his reading glasses. The party had exhausted him; it was always nice to be around friends but he had reached a stage in his life now where he craved some degree of peace and quiet. ‘I do.’

  ‘How long will we have to wait?’

  Raj bolted upright, trying to catch up to the implication of his wife’s words. When he spoke, his words were fast with excitement. ‘There are two houses I’ve been looking at seriously.’