by Irfan Master
Adam held the banisters with such an iron grip that they started to wobble. He was scared of what he might do if he let go. He felt a hand on his arm and looked to see Farah smiling up at him, defusing his rage. He sat back and looked over at William. In the half-light of the gallery, Adam could see two tears, one from each eye, track their way down William’s face.
Twosilenttears, Two tears silent, Too silent tears.
Turning back to his mum, Adam understood what it had cost her to come here. Why she had been muttering to herself. She had such spirit – too much, Dadda had always said – but what if he had said instead that she had the right amount of spirit. To be somebody. To look after the family. Despite everything. But he never had. It had always been too much spirit.
Mr Akhtar stood with his mouth open, hands hanging slack at his sides. He had visibly flinched when Yasmin had stepped onto the stage. His mouth was making strange shapes as he tried to say something, anything, to appease the angry, upright figure in front of him.
‘Where are your words now? Here I am – help me. Help me to understand. Help me and my family to be in the community rather than the talk of the community. Help me to move out from the dark shadow of my husband. Help us understand my father’s actions. Help us look up to the sky, look forward. Because that’s why you’re here, right? To help.’
Mr Akhtar began to wring his hands, and some people began to mutter among themselves. The show was over, and Yasmin looked once more over the faces in the crowd.
‘I grew up with your daughters and sons. I’ve eaten at your houses, attended your weddings. You’ve come here today because you’re ashamed of me. Let me tell you something: I’m ashamed of you.’
Stepping off the stage, Yasmin wrapped the scarf around her head, threw it over her shoulder and, without looking back, stormed out of the hall.
Adam stared out over the shocked crowd. Farah tugged at his T-shirt and rubbed her eyes. Picking her up and holding her close, he led the three of them out of the hall and they followed Yasmin home.
Farah came down the stairs and sat on the bottom step. Setting her big book aside, she looked at her mother. Signing with deliberate care, Farah pointed at her. I’m worried about you. You look sad and quiet. Coming to sit next to her on the bottom step, Yasmin smiled.
‘You don’t have to worry. I’m OK. I’m always OK.’
Farah squinted and looked at her, making her laugh, the sound filling the air.
‘Now, are you going to put away your book for a little while and help me put fresh sheets on the beds?’
Farah nodded and smiled. I like sleeping in fresh sheets. It feels like everything is brand new.
Yasmin put her arm around Farah. ‘You’re right, I do too. Let’s go and make everything brand new again, at least for a while.’
The Greeks believed the heart was the seat of the spirit, the Chinese associated it with happiness and the Egyptians thought the emotions and intellect arose from the heart.
Farah woke with a start. There was a dull thrum from the machine next to her, a tube inserted into her arm. Next to her, curled up awkwardly in a low chair, was Adam, his black hoodie wrapped around him. Farah couldn’t see his face, just a shock of black hair. In the dimmed greenish light of the ward, it looked like a piece of night sat crumpled in the corner. Her head hurt. She remembered now. Her head hurt so much that she could no longer see. She remembered how each thought sent flashing pains zigzagging into her brain. She remembered how she could no longer make out shapes, no longer see her mum, William or Adam. The last thing she remembered was how she could no longer see the dot-to-dots in her book. They had been dancing around on the page, off the page, in front of her eyes. She had tried to swat them away. Had tried to catch a few of them and put them back on the page. William had been the first to notice. Always watching, always listening. Like her. He had been first to see that she wasn’t being herself. They had all come into the room then, and Farah had tried to explain. Had pointed to the book, and the jumping numbers, but the pain in her head had exploded, and after that she remembered nothing more. The pain was still there, but duller, further away. A memory flashed in her head, making her wince. Was it her memory? She remembered it clearly. Farah fought against sleep but it came flooding back and took her away, to when she was five years old and she remembered falling …
I live in the silent land the silent land the silent land where everything is drawn by my hand and where everything is old and new and quiet so quiet and connected to everything else dot to dot to dot to point to point to point to you to me to we to I and them and us them and us and us and them a world in white a world in dots and numbers a new world waiting waiting half finished waiting to be finished and me the drawer the scribbler the dot to dotter the point to pointer the maker line maker the incredible the fantastic the line defying pencil pushing pencil twirling joiner the pencil breaker the lead blotcher the picture completer the greatest of all lines is mine HB fine so fine until the end of time until the end of time.
A bigger heart is not a better heart.
The doctors explained that Farah had an inflammation in her brain due to a blood clot, probably caused by the fall she had suffered and most likely the cause of her reluctance to speak, as it had affected her brain function and her ability to make speech connections. They had said that they would wait to see how Farah would respond to treatment and whether the inflammation would reduce. Adam looked over at Yasmin, a little crinkly mess in the low chair, scarf wrapped around her head and covering part of her face. A cowl to shut out the world. She had barely left the hospital, despite William’s insistence that she go home and rest. Yasmin had smiled kindly and said that ‘a mother can’t go home, William’. Adam and William had come and gone, bringing fresh clothes for Yasmin and staying for a while before leaving. For William, hospitals were places of death, but he also knew them to be places where life bloomed or was reignited. Feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder, he turned to see Adam smiling down at him.
‘You look terrible,’ said Adam.
‘Thanks,’ replied William, returning the smile.
Adam went over to his mum and knelt down at her feet so she could talk to him quietly. Give him a hug, thought William, hold his hand, push the hair away from his face, anything! Just show him you care! I know you care, just show him! William shook his head to clear it. Yasmin whispered to Adam, who nodded.
‘Mum said we need to go home so you can rest, William. Seriously. You don’t look great and you know that you need to take care.’
‘I’ll feel bad if I leave.’
‘Just for a little while. We’ll come back with some food and clothes later tonight. Come on,’ urged Adam.
Yasmin made a shooing gesture to the pair of them.
‘OK, let’s go home, but we’ll come back in a while,’ said William, reluctantly standing up. He followed Adam out of the ward and down the corridor into the street, Adam keeping in step with him and trying not to rush him by walking ahead. He helped William onto the bus and into a front seat closest to the door.
These last few weeks, William had been a different person. A person who laughed, cracked jokes, helped out around the house. He was finally taking part in life and, despite the strange circumstances, he was enjoying it. But Farah’s illness had hit him hard, a heavyweight punch just under the heart, shaking him to the core. The light in his eyes had diminished a little and his belief in the life he had adopted had dimmed.
On the walk home from the bus stop, William stumbled. Grabbing his arm, Adam propped William against his shoulder.
‘It’s OK, William, we’re almost there.’
’No – this doesn’t feel right. Take me back to the hospital. I want to be with Farah. Please.’
Adam looked into William’s ashen face and held up his hands.
‘OK, William, we’ll go to the hospital. Just hold tight. I’ll get us a cab.’
The cab driver helped Adam half carry, half drag William through the emergency-roo
m doors. Slumping him down, he looked at Adam and puffed out his cheeks.
‘No fare. Hope he’ll be OK,’ he said, and patting William on the shoulder he left.
‘Take me to Farah,’ whispered William, tugging feebly at Adam’s sleeve.
‘We’re taking you to a doctor first. We’ll see Farah later, I promise,’ replied Adam, trying to spot a nurse.
William clutched at his shirt and groaned, sliding down his chair and sagging to the floor. A doctor came striding over and knelt down beside him. Barking a few sort, sharp instructions to the nurses, he called for a gurney.
‘I’m with him. Doctor, he’s with me.’ Adam was panicking. ‘Will he be OK? What’s the matter with him?’
‘He looks like he’s having a heart attack.’
‘No, that’s not possible.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He has a good heart in there – a transplant. A strong heart. It can’t have gone bad. It can’t.’
The doctor narrowed his eyes and patted Adam’s shoulder. ‘Look, don’t worry; we’ll look after him. He’s in the right place.’
‘You don’t understand. He’s got a new heart, a good heart. It was my Dadda’s.’
‘I can see he’s had a transplant. Please take a seat. We’ll take it from here and we’ll keep you informed. Please, take a seat.’
‘No. I’m staying with him. There’s no one else. Do you understand?’
‘OK, sure,’ replied the doctor, nodding at the nurses to roll William away.
Putting a hand on William’s chest and feeling the rough texture of the scarred skin, Adam willed himself to smile.
‘It’s all right, William, just a precaution. You know how they like saying that in hospitals. You’ve had a bit of shock and it just caught you unawares.’
‘Farah – I need to see her …’
‘Yeah, we’re going to see her. Just hold on.’
In less than five minutes, William was in a ward and plugged in to the hospital’s mainframe. The combination of drip, monitor and oxygen meant he was connected to life. Sinking down in a low chair beside the bed, Adam sighed, muttering to himself, ‘I hate hospitals.’
I’m sure this has happened to others and others but it has happened to me and him and them and us and so and so the day the door opened I saw and she saw that he was gonna stay and stay and I was not OK with that not OK not not OK and now now that he’s going to go I’m not OK with that not OK not OK and I remember seeing her in the hospital the day after and she was screaming screaming no longer able lungs on fire and it wasn’t talking but it was screaming and alive and screaming and her foot in my hand was tiny and I was only tiny small tiny but still she gripped my finger and coughed and screamed and he wasn’t there was elsewhere elsewhere angry man was elsewhere all fists and fits of angry fists beating down beat down into soft flesh her flesh my flesh flesh of our flesh and still we lived on Marrow long street Marrow shoulder to shoulder toe to toe to toe watching others news reporting watching others news and life went on and on and he was angry and the other he was sad angry and sad and we watching growing gaining taller shorter drawing on the lead broken lead drawing with broken stubs scraping on walls drawing on my head inside my head and onto cave walls scenes from my head and her head of hurt and punch after punch and hurt and slap after slap and hurt and kick after kick and so much for forever and forever and till death do us do us good and proper until the fat lady sings but she prays and prays and prays and pushes prayer into the air pushes a ball around a chain per second per tick per tick tock one beat on the beat one beat on the beat and he sits in a chair that is his not his and sinks and sinks and sinks throwing anchor after anchor after anchor overboard man overboard into the sink drowning drowning and there’s no saving for after no afters apart from the afters we all feel him me and them and us the sinking down into the sink without a plughole don’t plug the hole let all of it drain into the vortex of blood and water and blood and water and she sits and watches me and tips her head head tipping into the future and I do the head shake into the past don’t watch me don’t watch this this isn’t one to watch one for the future a future star watch yourself watch your self casting shadows onto the wall and ask said shadow your questions don’t ask me I’m only flesh and blood and mix and blood ask the shadow all questions about the future shadows stick shadows follow shadows long and tall shadows grow and bend shadows lie in wait shadows never die shadows never die.
It had been seven months since William had been given a new heart. Dr Desai couldn’t explain whether his body had rejected the heart or the heart had rejected his body, but it was plain that rejection was the catchword. William’s body felt as if it had been at war. Abdul-Aziz Shah’s heart had revolted. Claret waves had crashed against a cliff-face, attacking the atria and surging through the ventricles. William was left washed up on the shore, bleached and raw.
William watched as Mrs Shah, Daddima, sat in a chair a few paces from his bed. She was wearing a coal-black woollen overcoat and a sombre navy-blue tunic top with billowy trousers, and the usual white scarf, one end of which was flung over her left shoulder. She looked ashen and vulnerable. She felt William’s eyes upon her and began to speak. William didn’t speak Urdu, but he understood. It was a lament. Mrs Shah spoke about her life, her choices, her desires. She shook her head and pursed her lips when she spoke of Yasmin, but her eyes were defiant. She cried when she spoke of Farah and stopped to wipe her eyes with the end of her scarf. When she spoke of Mr Shah, the tone changed, becoming inaudible, breathless as she lowered her eyes and spoke to the floor. William listened to the rippling cadence of Mrs Shah’s voice in the half-light of the ward and slept.
When he opened his eyes once more, Yasmin was standing over him, peering at his face. Mrs Shah still sat her vigil in the chair. Her lips were moving rapidly and her face was creased in concentration. Adam, gripping his notepad, was perched on the end of his bed. All three were watching William, who raised his eyebrows in greeting.
‘We thought that was it for you, William,’ said Yasmin.
‘Yes. Almost. How is she? Where is she?’ asked William.
A tired smile crept onto Yasmin’s face as she looked towards the ward entrance. Farah was being wheeled in by a nurse, large book in hand, her head tightly bandaged and showing spots of blood. Seeing William, Farah’s face illuminated and for a moment Ward 38 was filled with something other than the weight of imminent death.
‘We have to take her back very soon,’ said the nurse.
Gently as he could, Adam lifted Farah out of her wheelchair and placed her near William. Setting her book and pen down, Farah held William’s left hand and unbuckled his watch. Holding the watch to her right ear, she nestled into William’s chest, legs tucked in, making herself as small as possible. As he had done before, William enveloped her with his arms as she listened to the trickle of his heart-beat.
After a while, William looked to see Yasmin shifting her weight from foot to foot.
‘Why did he do it? Why did he give away his heart?’ he asked.
Yasmin looked at William and sat down on the end of the bed. Farah had disentangled herself and opened her book. Both William and Yasmin stopped to watch her little hand’s jerky progress across the page.
Yasmin looked away.
‘I never told you, but it was my mum who gave the consent for the heart donation. Dad made her swear an oath so that she’d go through with it. It almost broke her. My dad had regrets, William. It frustrated him. I always felt that physically he was here with us but mentally he was away, walking with his disappointments. He wasn’t the best father or husband, but he always wanted to do the right thing. He had a good heart and that counts for something, doesn’t it?’
William looked up at that, but Yasmin was looking at something else, somewhere else.
‘Yes, that counts,’ he replied, watching her. She didn’t see him smile.
Adam stood watching William, halfway between the bed and the door. One fo
ot in this world and one in the next – William knew how that was. Using all his strength, William propped himself up and signalled for Adam to come closer. Adam shuffled towards the bed and stood over William. Taller now and wiser but more hurt, left hand nestled into his body. Black and bruised eyes regarded him. William had hoped it would be different for this boy, that it could be better. He had hoped to stick around and see to it.
‘You’re off then,’ said Adam quietly.
‘I reckon so.’
‘To the silent land …?’
‘Nah. I’m done being silent.’
‘You’re not going to start telling your awful jokes there, are you?’
‘It might be a start,’ replied William, smiling. ‘You gonna be all right?’
‘Yeah. Getting used to all this coming and going.’
‘You’re the best lad,’ whispered William.
‘I’m not the best anything.’
William shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I left the door open,’ replied Adam, glancing at Farah. ‘And look what happened.’
‘You remember the times you told me about Icarus?’
‘Yeah, I do. He fell too.’ Adam’s voice trembled.
‘But in that moment when he was closest to the sun, that moment when he was hovering in the sky, he lived more in that one moment than many people do in a lifetime. Just like I’ve lived more in these last few months than I did in my whole life before I met you.’