by Irfan Master
Lifting his head, Adam looked right into Laila’s eyes. The storm had subsided, leaving the calm ripples of sunlight playing on water. This was the closest she’d ever been to him, and he noticed her bottom teeth were slightly uneven. They stayed like that for a time, sucking in air, letting tired limbs relax and beating hearts catch a normal rhythm. Putting her hand on Adam’s chest, Laila sat up on her knees and leaned in until their foreheads were touching.
‘Can you feel my heartbeat?’ asked Adam.
‘Yes. It has a strong rhythm,’ she replied.
‘William says he’s all out of heart. He’s got nothing else to give.’
‘You’re all heart, Adam. You have nothing but heart. Let yourself see it.’
Laila looked at Adam and smiled. Pulling him in close, she brushed Adam’s brow with her lips.
‘Now, we climbed all this way to see something, didn’t we?’
Nodding, Adam stood up and grabbed her hand.
Laila knocked on number 117 and waited. A girl opened the door and smiled. Seeing Adam, she frowned.
‘You all right? You’re not preggers, are you?’ asked Saira.
‘No!’ replied Laila, laughing. ‘We just need to see something out of your living-room window. Are your mum and dad in?’
‘Nah, they’re at Auntie Nasreen’s, innit. The lifts broke so they’ll stay over. Did you two climb up here?’
‘Yeah,’ replied Laila, stealing a glance at Adam, who looked a bit sheepish.
‘For real, you climbed up?! Craaazy. You’d better come in, eh.’
Saira turned to Adam.
‘What can you see from up here that you can’t see from down there …?’
Adam approached the window, just a few feet away. As he edged closer, the familiar blood-red colour filled his vision. Putting both hands on the window-sill, he laughed, the sound filling the room. He heard Laila approach, the gasp that escaped from her throat, the shock that filled his ears. Saira was next, still confused about what was happening. Standing next to Laila she pointed down, eyes widening.
‘You … Is that … you? Did you do that?’
‘Yeah. It was me,’ Adam replied, unable to tear his gaze away.
‘We’ve been watching it for months. Each day I wake up and there’d be a little bit more. At the beginning we tried to guess what it would be, but nobody could. People been talking about it up and down the tower.’
Laila looked down at the image in front of her. A stretched canvas of trains on which was painted a giant heart with arteries and ventricles, but that was not all.
‘It’s a fist too,’ said Saira. ‘Can you see it? When the sun goes down and it’s all shaded and shadowy, you can see a fist in the heart or it turns into a fist, I don’t know. I stare at it when I come home until it gets dark.’
Laila leaned into Adam and shook her head.
‘You been doing all that, all these months. It’s incredible,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
Adam looked down at his work. The sun was closing fast now and the image was turning from a crimson heart into a shaded fist, as Saira had said. It had worked. He hadn’t been sure if it would, but it had.
Turning to Laila, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I did it.’
‘With you, I get the feeling there will always be times when you don’t know why.’
Saira looked from Adam to Laila and shook her head. ‘If you ain’t preggers, you soon will be if you carry on like that.’
Laila pretended to cuff her and laughed.
‘We’d better go,’ said Adam reluctantly.
They said goodbye to Saira and turned to leave.
‘Saira, you can’t tell anyone it was Adam. Promise?’
Saira held up her hands. ‘I can’t promise nothing like that,’ she protested.
‘You have to, otherwise he’ll get arrested. You know that. Promise me.’
‘OK, I promise,’ replied Saira, rolling her eyes.
Laila hugged her and said goodbye. Turning to Adam, she slipped her hand into his.
‘Going down?’ she asked.
Adam laughed. ‘Going down’s going to be a lot easier than coming up.’
‘True, but it was worth the climb, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it really was,’ replied Adam, taking the first step.
‘Only from the heart can you touch the sky.’
Rumi
Adam felt them before he saw them. Two blocks of shadow emerging to stand in his way. They would expect him to plead, to ask for more time, to run, to cry. The canal path was quiet and deserted. No talk, nothing worth saying as they grabbed him and held him, lifting him off his feet. No fists, not this time. This time they had to make a statement. He knew it, sensed it, but he didn’t know what the statement would be. They knew their business, these two. A few bruises sometimes, a few cuts some other times and a few broken bones all other times. But this time they had snippets of information that meant being creative in their punishment. Which meant making a symbolic statement. Now they were speaking, shouting scalding words meant to scare but which made no difference to Adam, but there was something else, something about the way they held on to his arm and hand. His left hand, his drawing hand. Now for the first time there was fear, now there was the beginning of panic, but he was too proud, his will too strong to show this, to cry out. They mouthed words, grinning, letting the idea settle in Adam’s head, a little seed sprouting thorns in his mind, pricking the walls of his imagination, and then he knew. He knew what they intended, and from far, far away he admired their brutal creativity. Their need to find answers was as urgent as his. Their willingness to use whatever tools they had to hand was impressive. Adam shook his head in wonder, smiling. That stopped them for a brief moment as they took in his calm, his wonder at their imagination. But it was brief. He felt himself falling, his left hand being pulled out in front of him. The larger shadow sat on him, fixing him to the ground as the smaller shadow pinned his left hand at the wrist, a brick in his free hand. A russet-coloured brick the same colour as every house on Marrow Street. Adam flexed his fingers, his flaring hand imitating the movement of a floating jellyfish. The flickering beating of a heart. Looking Adam right in the eye, the smaller shadow brought the brick down.
‘Step away before you get rushed, dun kno,’ said Tank, Strides standing next to him.
Brick looked up, eyes narrowed, and turned to Block.
‘Walk away, bruv. Nuttin to do with you.’
‘He’s one of ours, bruv, and you just hurt him. Step away from him before you get touched.’ Strides took a step forward, but Tank held out a hand to halt him. Block leaned down and whispered something into Brick’s ear.
‘I know you, fam, but this is official business – his family owes us. Ain’t no disrespect to you, bruv. We just the messengers,’ said Brick.
‘You broke his hand. His tagging hand, bruv. That’s some deep message.’
Strides walked up to Brick and eyeballed him, inches away. Brick held his ground.
‘You know our family, bruv. Orders is orders, you get me.’
Tank walked up to stand beside Strides and pointed his finger in Brick’s face. Block stood nervously to one side, looking from Brick to Tank.
‘I know your don and he knows me, fam. He knows my name.’
‘Business is business,’ replied Brick.
‘Tell him, if he wants to discuss this business to come see me.’
Brick took a step back and nodded.
‘All right, yeah. I’ll tell him.’
Brick and Block backed away, watching Tank and Strides.
‘Next time I see you, cuz, it won’t be about business,’ said Tank.
Brick nodded but carried on walking, with Block still looking over his shoulder at Strides.
Adam lay in a foetal position, his broken hand nestled into his chest. He had made out snippets of the exchange between Tank and Brick. Strides came over and gently helped him to stand. Tank brushed him down and look
ed at him.
‘This not the place for you, fam. Come. Let’s get that hand sorted.’
‘Never know, might add some new angles to my spraying,’ replied Adam.
Tank shook his head, but what Adam remembered the most was not the pain filling his head, but Strides’s growling laughter echoing in the canal tunnels as they walked back into the light.
In under a minute your heart can pump blood to every cell in your body.
Adam watched as his mum paced the length of the living room, arms folded across her chest, lips pursed. He looked over at William, who shrugged and shook his head. Adam looked down at his notepad, flicking through the pages at the hundreds of little drawings he had sketched. A lot of them were of Farah bent over her low table joining up the dots in her book. Some were of William with his right hand hooked over his shoulder, protecting his heart. There were many of Laila, sitting on a park bench, leaning against a wall, smiling, grinning, hands fluttering. There were a lot of Laila, Adam thought, smiling to himself. He flicked through, trying to spot sketches of his mum, and realised for the first time that every drawing of her was a silhouette, a shadowy scratched-out blur. And in each she was either ironing or cutting onions or hoovering or folding clothes. Always straightening out, cleaning up, putting away. Adam tried to remember if she had always been like this, or if she’d changed since his dad had left. In all of his drawings, he had never once drawn her face. She never stood still long enough for him to draw her at rest. She stopped pacing for a moment to look at Adam’s hand, now bound in a cast.
It was only Adam’s insistence that he would sort it that had stopped her going to the police. Brick and Block hadn’t been around again, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Adam had made some enquiries about the money owed, with as yet no answers. But he had one more person to ask. Yasmin turned on her heel and walked out of the living room.
‘What’s up with her?’ asked William, keeping his voice low.
‘Dunno. There was a phone call earlier …’
‘Maybe we should go out to give her some space?’
Farah looked up at them as they whispered and came to sit in William’s lap. Burrowing her head into his chest, she signed, expressively yet concerned. William still couldn’t sign, but was getting better at understanding her.
She’s not happy because people are talking about her.
‘What people, Farah?’ asked Adam.
People. Just people all around.
‘What are they saying?’ asked William.
Horrible things about her, like they did before.
‘But she doesn’t usually care about that stuff. She’s heard it all before. She stopped caring about all of that years ago. There must be something else.’
She’s angry about the other things they’ve been saying.
‘What other things, Farah?’
About William. She pointed.
‘What have they been saying about me?’ asked William.
I don’t know. Just things about him and us and her and me. Horrible things.
‘I’ll be back in a while,’ said Yasmin, voice sailing through the corridor and into the living room. The door slammed behind her, making Farah jump.
‘I’m going to follow her,’ said Adam, pulling on his trainers.
‘I’ll come with you,’ replied William.
Me too, signed Farah.
William looked at Adam and shrugged. ‘We can’t leave Farah here, can we?’
‘Come on, Farah, shoes on. Let’s go, quick before we lose her.’ Adam was already moving towards the door.
Yasmin was marching down the street, skirts swirling around her. Adam, William and Farah followed at a safe distance. Taking a left at the end of the street, she crossed over. William clutched Farah’s hand as they crossed the road, following in Yasmin’s footsteps.
‘I know where she’s going,’ said Adam. ‘She’s going to the community centre.’
‘Why there?’ asked William.
‘Because that’s where they meet. The do-gooders who decide who’s good and who isn’t. They have meetings where they discuss “things”. To give a verdict without a trial.’
William watched the slight form of Yasmin striding up the street and felt his heart jump. He’d never seen her truly angry, not in a loud and terrible way, but he knew her anger simmered under the surface.
Yasmin stood outside the entrance to the community centre she had been to many times before for weddings, engagements, birthdays, following deaths and for numerous other functions. A centre that was supposed to be all things for all people in the community. Yasmin pulled the door open and strode past a confused-looking receptionist. Something in Yasmin’s eyes told the woman it would be best to let her pass.
‘Should we go in?’ asked Adam, trying to peer through to see where his mum had gone.
William stood still, uncertain.
‘Come on, let’s go in,’ Adam said eventually. They heard voices in the main hall and ducked left, making sure they weren’t seen at the reception. Adam knew a way up to the gallery, where they could see and hear everything. Down below was a gathering of people old and young sitting on chairs. At the front was a short man talking in a loud voice. Adam knew him; it was Mr Akhtar, he lived four doors down from them. The curtain always twitched when you walked past his house. Adam wasn’t really sure what he did, but he did know that he worked at knowing what everyone in the whole neighbourhood was doing. There was a little stage in the hall set up for meetings and performances, and the man strode around the stage using every inch of it. Holding court, making the most of the opportunity to be listened to. Everybody wanted to be listened to, but surely there were better ways than this. The man continued to talk about the difficulties of being a part of a community and staying close to your friends and family. Farah nudged Adam and made a yapping sign with her hands and pretended to be falling asleep. Adam smiled and nodded in agreement. Then his speech began to take another turn and Adam heard his Dadda’s name being mentioned.
‘As you all know, since Abdul-Aziz died, that poor family has suffered. We all know that. But. The goings-on in that household have to be discussed. We, as a community, have a responsibility to uphold our values and help others who have lost their way or are struggling to cope. I know we don’t live in a perfect world and that we have problems with other families in our community, but there’s a limit to what we can observe and not take action. I can see some of you nodding. You understand, don’t you? This is an extreme case, but I think we can help. Over the last few months, I’ve seen police visit their house, I’ve seen two men who looked quite dangerous and a lot of trouble visit and loiter outside the house, but most worryingly of all, almost every single day I’ve seen a man – I know some of you have seen him also – visiting the Shah house. When he first started visiting, I thought maybe he was a solicitor or social worker. You see? We are modern enough to understand that these things are needed. But he came every day, and that was worrying. I am not one to interfere, so I said nothing to anyone, but then I began to see him walking the streets with the little one, Farah. Holding her hand and taking her to the shops to buy sweets. And some days I see him entering the house, but not leaving until the next morning. I was shocked, let me tell you. I began to wonder what kind of hold this man had on the family. It was such a shock to me, I admit, when I saw the two of them walking towards the park; I called the police because I was so concerned. I followed this up by calling up the police and asking who he was, and they explained that he was “a friend of the family”. And now I have found out the truth. You all know that Abdul-Aziz Shah decided to leave his heart to be donated. That was shocking enough for most of us to hear. But this man I’ve seen wandering around, he was the one to receive it.’
The hush that had settled on the assembled crowd was broken by a few gasps and muttered prayers.
‘I was in shock too. But what could I do? I wanted to be discreet, but felt this could only be solved as a community. The moth
er, Yasmin Shah, we know has a troubled past. Being separated from your husband can’t be easy, and then trying to raise two children … We can all understand how it is for a woman alone. But still, to take a man into your house and let him roam the streets free with your child … It is too much. She needs our help.’
Adam was so angry he wanted to hurl a chair over the banister right at Mr Akhtar so that it would land square on his head and shut him up. Even Farah looked agitated and annoyed that this man could say such things. Only William looked calm and sat leaning against some stacked chairs, shaking his head. He held up a hand to placate Adam.
‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,’ he said quietly.
Now a seated figure had stood up and was walking towards the stage. Adam stood up too. It was Yasmin.
William was staring right at Yasmin and saw the expression on her face.
‘She’s going to kill him,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Adam, scowling.
Yasmin had wrapped a scarf around her face to keep from being recognised and hung back at the edge of the room, keeping to the shadows. Stepping towards Mr Akhtar, Yasmin let the scarf drop. There was another gasp, but this time it was uncomfortable and there was a lot more shuffling. Yasmin looked out over the crowd, defiant, eyes resting on each face, letting them know she had taken note of who was there. Turning to Mr Akhtar, she laughed, the sound echoing around the hall, bouncing off the walls and filling all the awkward spaces in between.
‘Is this how it’s done then?’ she asked. ‘A nice cosy discussion about all the problems in the community. A nice informal chat with tea and samosas and some homemade chutney. Make you feel better, does it, discussing our “problems”? Make you feel as if you’re part of the solution, does it? Is this supposed to be community work? Where were you when I needed you? Where were you when my family needed you? You all knew about my husband. You all knew what he was doing, what he was into. You all knew that he hit me, beat me, he … hurt me, hurt Adam, Farah … she was hurt by him … How could you not see? Did you call the police then? When you saw me walk to the shops with my bruised face. Did you call a meeting then? But you’d rather smear this man. This innocent man, whose name is William, who walked into our lives. Who has been nothing but good to us. He has said little, hasn’t judged us and we haven’t judged him. We accepted him and he us. He appeared and he stayed. Which one of you was willing to do that for us? He is part of our family, both physically and spiritually – do you understand?’