Who Will Catch Us As We Fall

by Iman Verjee

  He had come because he needed a break from the press of his unrelenting thoughts, because he craved the blinding oblivion of a drink and because he had a feeling the two men would be here. When the whiskey was placed in front of him, he caught the waitress’s bony wrist.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s busy with customers.’

  Marlyn had never made him wait before and her absence made his grip on the world slowly slip. Everything about him was collapsing into turmoil and he needed to steady himself again, feel in charge once more; the temptation and promise of the Kohli house grew and became potent.

  ‘Spending my money?’

  Today it was a relief to hear the gritty voice. Jeffery sipped thinly at his drink and said, ‘Please sit down and celebrate with me.’

  It was only him tonight, the man who had slammed his face into the bathroom mirror, and as he settled in the chair, tossing his jacket back, Jeffery glimpsed the metallic flash of a gun.

  ‘What is there to be merry about? I can only assume you have my cash.’

  ‘I don’t.’ He held his hand up to keep the man from interrupting. He was afraid that any disruption might cause him to falter, cause his decision to crumble. ‘But I have a plan on how we can get it together.’

  ‘What are you talking about, you crazy mzee.’ The man leaned forward to grab the lapels of Jeffery’s jacket. ‘I already told you, I want my money by Wednesday.’

  ‘And I can get you that tomorrow plus much more.’

  He was released with a shove. The man ran greedy fingers over the armrests. ‘Keep talking.’

  The keen interest on his face shone out under the white city lights, loosening some of the tension forming in Jeffery’s temples. He said, ‘We’ll have to do it tomorrow and it’ll have to be together. I have it all planned out.’

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  43

  Pooja sat at her dresser, brushing out her hair furiously. ‘I don’t understand why you won’t come,’ she said to her daughter. ‘It’s just a small flu.’

  Leena rolled over in her mother’s bed, burying herself deeper into the covers and away from Pooja’s annoyance. From beneath this weighty, protective cloud, she heard her brother say, ‘She has a fever, Ma, and a throat that’s so sore she can hardly speak. She won’t be able to talk to any boys, so what’s the point?’ His voice was light and teasing.

  ‘That’s not why I want her to come.’

  Jai was rifling through Raj’s closet, searching for a tie. ‘You want her to get married. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘So what if I do?’ Pooja spoke through a mouth held open in a wide oval, applying a generous coat of dark lipstick. ‘I got married when I was her age and look how happy I am.’

  ‘Things are different now, Ma. People don’t get married at twenty-one any more.’

  ‘The younger you are, the earlier you can start a family of your own.’ Swatting away groans from her children with a sunny tinkling of gold bangles on her wrist, Pooja continued, ‘So spoiled, you children are today. You think that all there is to life is studying and going out with your friends. You have no worries. When I was your age, I was thinking of my future, of your future,’ and she was out of the room, shouting for Betty to find her shoes.

  Jai stood at the full-length mirror and knotted his tie slowly, the silk cool in his fingers. He watched his sister, beneath the covers, and was glad that his mother had left them alone. Leena was going to London in two days and he knew that tonight would be the only possible time for Michael to meet with her. The tie kept slipping from his grasp, refusing to sit properly.

  ‘This evening I want us to go for a drink.’ He said it in a rushed whisper, guilty for going behind his mother’s back, of breaking that long-ago promise.

  The blanket came down, her hair everywhere. ‘I’m sick.’

  ‘Can’t you have one drink with your brother?’ Finally, the tie tightened, perfectly shaped. ‘A friend of mine is going to be joining us and I think you’d be interested in meeting him.’

  ‘Not you too.’ She threw herself dramatically back onto the pillows.

  He ran tidying fingers through his hair. ‘I saved you with Ma today, so you owe me.’

  She conceded. ‘Knowing her, I would be at the temple today and married by tomorrow.’

  He said goodbye and she listened to his footsteps rush down the stairs, her mother shouting something to Betty about dinner before the door closed and the echoes of voices receded, the house falling into a calming and much welcomed stillness.

  Betty listened at the bottom of the stairs for the girl but she couldn’t hear a sound. Usually, Betty waited eagerly for Sundays, when she would be alone for three hours, free to do whatever she wanted. Sometimes, she watched TV, always a colorful Bollywood movie with a woman draped in a sequined sari, surrounded by yellow daffodils or atop a snowy mountain, leaning her face up to a romantic, dark-haired man – both of them lamenting about their impossible love.

  It felt deliciously redemptive, after all those hours spent working, to put her feet up on the same couch they had, to touch her mouth to the rim of Pooja’s favorite cup and forget herself in the bright and foreign sounds of the movie.

  But today, she knew that even if Leena had gone with them, she wouldn’t have continued with her normal routine because everything around her was changed and nothing felt the same. She missed her cousin and the warm smallness of the kitchen – how close, in that raised one-bedroomed apartment, the sky had seemed, shot through with stars. And how much I miss him.

  She had been appalled when Jeffery had asked her to help him rob the Kohlis, his face intently close to hers and muddling her emotions. How foolish she had been leaving the house so abruptly that night, promising never to return when all she had wanted was for him to stop her.

  These thoughts caused a twisting, pinching regret within her and she was so busy fighting it that she didn’t hear the knocking, loud raps on the metal gate, and she followed them out, her rubber sandals slapping on the carbro driveway.

  ‘Betty, Betty. It’s me. Please open the gate.’

  Her insides fell weak with pleasure. In retrospect, the real reason why he was there should have crossed her mind but she had been vain and flattered, thinking he had come to make things right. She had trusted him and so, without any questions, Betty twisted the key in the lock and opened the gate.

  Earlier in the day, they had waited, half-perched upon the curb beside a row of kiosks just outside the turning into the Kohlis’ street. Jeffery watched anxiously out of the window while his two companions fussed with their teabag-like pouches full of fine grain tobacco. He watched as they dipped the brown flakes between their lower teeth and gums, occasionally rolling it with their fingers to keep the leaves in place.

  When the silver station wagon passed them close to eleven o’clock, Jeffery was certain it was Betty’s employers – the decorative mirrors on the woman’s outfit reflecting the sunlight and disturbing his eyes, the two men dressed in suits. The time coincided with the information Esther had given him, so he told the man to drive.

  That morning, he had left Esther at home, prying away her strong grip. ‘You promised you would take me today. How can you say that you’re too busy?’ Her words trapping him. ‘All these nights you’ve spent with your whores, I’ve never said anything. But after all the things you’ve done to me…’

  It was the first time either of them had mentioned what had really happened.

  Esther was at the bottom of the steps, clutching her handbag. After so many months, she was out of her nightgown and in a long-sleeved white blouse and printed skirt. ‘You owe me this.’

  ‘Maybe next week,’ and he had stalked away, shutting out her collapsing face with a firm slam of the door.

  Now, his bowels loosened uncomfortably with fear and beads of nervous sweat broke out underneath his shirt. But it was too late to turn back and he focused instead on consoling himself. I’ll convince Betty once I am inside. We’ll take what w
e need and then leave.

  So he had pointed out the gate to the men and climbed out of the car when they reached it, rapping loudly and calling out her name.

  ‘Betty, Betty. It’s me. Please open the gate.’

  He knocked and called, rolled his fingers into a fist and pounded. His voice began strong, then cracked into a blubber. He worried that she had gone out, that she didn’t want to see him, but then he heard her slapped and hurried footsteps and nodded quickly to the men behind him.

  She didn’t hesitate, pulling the gate open in welcome, her smile unexpectedly bright. ‘I was hoping you would come—’ Her words faltered when she noticed the pro-box rumbling behind him. ‘Who is that?’

  He opened his mouth to explain but one man had already burst from the car, quick on his feet and with such blurred movements that one minute they were facing each other and the next, Betty was pressed up to the gate with a gun to the back of her head.

  ‘Don’t scream,’ the man warned her. ‘Open the gate.’

  She was so distraught that the keys trembled within her fingers, missing the lock, and on the man’s command she handed them to Jeffery, who ignored her pleas.

  The white pro-box lurched into the driveway and the man pocketed the gun and told Betty, ‘You come with us but a single sound from you and I’ll tie you up.’

  ‘No need to do that, she’ll co-operate,’ Jeffery rushed to intervene, leaning down to Betty’s ear. ‘Just do as they say and no one will get hurt.’

  Her voice was thick, the words struggling through. ‘Jeffery, what have you done?’

  ‘They would have killed me and then come after you.’ He took her hands, pressing them close. ‘I’m doing this for all of us.’

  ‘But the girl is inside.’ Turning to his companions and grabbing one of them, she said, ‘There’s a girl inside – she’s sick. If you leave now, I won’t tell anyone you were here. Come back next week and I’ll help you.’

  Betty was slapped across the mouth, her head snapping back, and Jeffery felt it, a twin sting in his cheek.

  ‘Go back?’ They laughed and held their bellies. Jeffery shrunk closer to Betty as they were both commanded to move. ‘Twende.’ They threw a black balaclava at Jeffery, instructed him to put it on as they slid behind similar masks – stiff, weaved cotton that burned his skin in the heat.

  She met them on the stairs, four silent bodies creeping slowly upward. Upon seeing them, she was blinded by the ridiculous thought that her pajama shorts were too revealing and she wished she had put on some trousers.

  The men before her seemed equally bewildered. As if, just as she had found herself unknowingly revealed on the staircase, they were equally shocked to be there, with guns in their hands and struggling on the slippery, hardwood steps. For a surreal, distant moment, she thought Pooja might have given her too much cough syrup, causing her to hallucinate, but then the man’s gruff voice lurched her back to reality.

  ‘Turn around, back upstairs.’ He threw the gun in her direction and she screamed, ducking behind her arm.

  ‘Shut up!’ Panicked, one of them yelled, ‘If you make a sound, we’ll shoot.’ Something cold was pressed into her hair and her skin broke open in fear. She imagined blood, crushed bones and her body sprawled on the stairs – her family finding her that way, exposed and shameful. ‘Let’s go.’ His breath came at her rolled in scents of coffee and tobacco, her own voice from an unclear fog: You can take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.

  The gun moved from her temple to right between her eyebrows and its largeness startled her – a clunky, new pressure point in the center of her forehead. The man addressed Betty. ‘Show him where the jewelry is, hurry up.’

  Passing her, Betty’s fingers grasped hers – cold and tight – and Leena muttered, ‘It’s all in the third cupboard drawer. She keeps the key under her mattress,’ and then she was alone – between two surprisingly relaxed-looking men.

  ‘Where’s the money?’ one asked.

  Leena gripped the handrail, the floor sloping beneath her. ‘What money?’

  ‘Don’t play games. Your father must keep money in the house – all you muhindis do.’

  For the first time, she felt her fear as if it were a real, inescapable thing. She had been taught: If they come into your house, give them whatever they want and they’ll leave. They won’t hurt you. But she didn’t know if her father kept money in the house and, if he did, where it would be. The rim of the gun dug an imprint into her temple and a sob cracked in her throat. ‘Please, don’t.’

  The gun was removed slowly, his fingers, thick as anything, around her neck and forcing her eyes upward. ‘Where’s your bedroom?’

  Disgust swelling in her chest, puncturing her eyes with tears. ‘No.’

  ‘Your bedroom,’ he repeated. ‘Or I’ll shoot.’

  She thought it would have been better to die because nothing could be worse than being taken prisoner in your own home, surrounded by things that once made you feel safe. It was bizarre to have her head angled in the direction of her bedside table, where her favorite Winnie-the-Pooh teddy bear sat, having been passed down from Jai, while the man unbuckled his belt above her. He pinned her down, his knee on her chest, but as he went to undress, it lifted slightly and she took the opportunity to kick out. Her heel hit him squarely in the abdomen so that he doubled over and she scrambled up to leave.

  He got to her before she reached the door, slamming into her so hard that her head met the wall and the air congealed into small, multi-colored spots and her body collapsed unresponsively. He dragged her back down to the marble floor.

  ‘Fucking muhindi,’ he snarled in her ear. ‘You think you can just come here and take everything from us without giving anything back?’

  Slapping hands, struggling fingers as he tugged down her shorts. She dug into his skin with her nails, welded her thighs together and spat into his eye. ‘I’d rather die than have you do this to me.’

  A punch to her mouth, the iron taste of blood. She almost choked on it and had to release her grip on him to spit it out. Before she could turn back, he had pushed her legs apart. A sharp angry pain, thick fingers pressing down on her stomach, clutching her shirt so she couldn’t get away. His wet breath moistening her face, suffocating her, until she went slack.

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  44

  Three bodies swallowed in darkness, unmoving and bound by a terrible silence. When Esther reached out to flick on the kerosene lamp, Betty stopped her.

  ‘Don’t. I can’t bear to look at him.’

  His grasp was blind in the night. ‘Betty, just listen to me.’

  ‘Did they kill her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did they rape her?’ The sounds refused to leave her ears – shrill cries that ripped her arms and neck out in goosebumps, even now.

  Softly, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ohh.’ A trailing, wraith-like moan, reminding him of the ghost women his mother had once warned him about, haunting the edges of Mombasa town. Damaged and lost, left to their sufferings – Betty seemed like one now with the helpless ohh, the constant shaking of her head. ‘No, no, it’s not true. No, no.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ He would have comforted her if he could but everything of hers was pulled tightly away from him, shrunk back in horror.

  She spat, ‘You’re a coward and nothing but a petty thief and I wish I had never met you.’

  ‘And a murderer,’ Esther chimed in, wrapping her arm around her cousin and drawing her further away.

  ‘I did it for you,’ he protested weakly.

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Her voice was a hard warning.

  ‘It’s not my fault and I did it so that you—’

  To see her rise in such a tremendous state, a woman he had come to love for her unshakeable calmness, made him wince and lean back. ‘Today, you went into a house that wasn’t yours and you stole a woman’s wedding jewelry, violated her memories. Because of you, a young girl’s life was ruined.’

  He
wanted to put his fists in his ears. ‘I didn’t rape her.’

  ‘No one would have if you hadn’t brought them to the house.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ he mumbled, his conviction weaker this time.

  ‘And you did it all to save your own life.’

  ‘I could never have known it would turn out this way.’

  ‘And then you handcuffed me and put me in the trunk of your car. Brought me here and for what?’ she scoffed. ‘You think I want to be here? That I want to stay under the same roof as someone as vile as you?’ Spit gleamed at the corners of her mouth. ‘You should have shot me instead.’

  Esther rose. ‘It’s been a very difficult day. Why don’t you come with me?’

  He listened to the two women go upstairs – the soothing hushes of one and the unstoppable cries of the other. How the roles had reversed today and how much he had damaged Betty. He searched desperately for some solace. She has nowhere to go now – she has to stay here and eventually, maybe months or a year from now, she might forgive me.

  He nursed his whiskey, thinking back to his conversation in the car with the men.

  ‘You didn’t have to hurt her,’ Jeffery had said.

  ‘No,’ one of them had agreed. ‘But I wanted to.’

  And huddled over in the darkness of the kitchen, engulfed by the cool camphor of a now-lit kerosene lamp, Jeffery understood exactly what the man had meant.

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