Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed. The bones in her broken fingers grated together and the nerves burned. Fire spread through her hand and up her arm, and she couldn’t think anymore. She may have begged, pleaded, bartered for mercy; she had no idea. The tears she had tried to hold back ran freely down her cheeks, and she didn’t care.

  “You tell me there was no man before my boy, yet you call out for Charlie. You love Charlie. I heard you with my own ears.” He let go of her hand and she pulled it to her chest, trying to cradle her mangled hand, but her injured shoulder only added to her pain. When she looked down, she could see bones sticking out of thin flesh of her middle and index fingers.

  “I have known no man but Yasar.”

  “You are a liar.”

  “I’m telling the truth.” He grabbed the hair on top of her head and yanked back sharply, wrapping his hand about her throat and squeezing, slowly applying pressure to her windpipe and cutting off the flow of blood to her brain.

  “You’re getting boring now. So I’m only going to give you one last chance, Hazaar.” He increased the pressure a little more. “If you don’t tell me about this Charlie of yours I am going to tighten my fist.” He flexed his fingers to emphasize his point. “I am going to do it slowly. Very slowly. I’m going to squeeze until all the blood vessels in those pretty eyes of yours burst and the whites turn blood red.” He leaned in closer to her, and she could make out the spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, the smell of garlic on his breath from the curry he had eaten at dinner making her stomach churn. “I’m going to keep squeezing until you pass out.” He tightened his fingers. “Just.” They tightened a little more and the spots swam in front of Hazaar’s eyes. “Like.” Her vision blurred, and she could feel the pulse pounding in her neck against his obstructing fingers. “This.” Her pulse pounded as death came calling. The black of his pupils began to spread, eclipsing first the dark brown irises, then the whites of his eyes and quickly spreading until black was all she could see.

  *

  “Wake up.”

  The water was cold and shocked her back to awareness for the third time. Her dress was drenched and clung to her body. She was shivering; she could see it in her hands, hear it when her teeth chattered, but she couldn’t feel the cold. All she felt was disappointment to be awake and facing him once again.

  “Tell me about your man Charlie.”

  “There was no man.”

  “Don’t make me do this again, Hazaar.” He wrapped his hand around her throat again. She could feel the bruises under his fingers, tender and aching as he began to press. “Soon even this added entertainment will become boring.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, Abu. There was no man.” He started to squeeze. “I always knew you were a truly evil bastard.” Her throat closed beneath his fist, and she almost wished that this time she wouldn’t wake up. She smiled as the blackness began to envelop her.

  “No.” He let go of her neck. “Oh no, you don’t get what you want, Hazaar.” He tapped her cheek as she automatically sucked a great lungful of air into her body. “No, you will answer my questions. You will tell me what I need to know.” He threw some old rags into a pile on the dirt floor and grinned as he set them alight. She stared at him as he crouched on the other side of the flames. His face twisted in a lopsided sneer shadowed evilly by the licking flames.

  “You think you’re some sort of avenging messiah, Abu, torturing me, for what? The honour of your family? Pride?” She laughed. “You are a devil. Sitting there across the fires of hell. And that’s where you think you’ll send me? Is that right, Abu? You want to send me to hell?”

  “It’s the only place you deserve to be, you filthy whore.” He grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled her foot toward the fire. “Who is Charlie?”

  “No, no. Please, don’t do this. Please. Please.”

  “Tell me who he is!”

  There was no way out. There was no escape, no release, no second chance. She could continue to deny Charlie and go to her grave with the heaviest weight she could imagine burdening her soul, or she could finally set it free. Time seemed to slow down as she fought him trying to hold her foot over the growing flames. She could smell the acrid odour of burnt hair and knew that the tiny hairs on her skin and his hands were being sacrificed. She closed her eyes and imagined her greatest fantasy as the flames kissed the sole of her foot. She pictured her daughter laughing as she ran down the grassy bank to the edge of the water at Loch Ness. She watched as Charlie scooped her into her arms and spun her in the air as the odour of burning flesh began to overpower the damp smell of the cellar. She saw Afia put her little chubby baby hands on Charlie’s cheeks and plant wet kisses on her face. She heard herself scream as the heat on her foot went cold and spread across her flesh. It felt as though the only choices she’d had up to now had been trying to decide between the lesser of two evils.

  “If this is the way it’s going to be, then I will be true to myself. There is no sin in who I love. I love Charlie. There is no evil in this room but you, Abu.” She yanked her foot from him and the chair fell backward to the ground, making her scream as her shoulder hit the concrete. “I have known no man but Yasar—”

  “Still you lie.” He towered over her.

  “Charlie isn’t a man.” She struggled to her knees and faced him. “Charlie is a woman. She was my lover, my best friend, and the love of my life.” She pulled the nightingale pendant from beneath her clothes. “I was ready to give up my family for her. Just to be with her. Then Hatim got involved with you.” She laughed in his face. “I had to choose to save my father and brother, or stay with Charlie. I chose wrongly.”

  “A woman? Charlie was a woman?”

  Hazaar sniggered. “Yes, Charlie’s a woman. Short for Charlotte.”

  He stared at her incredulously.

  “An amazing, incredible woman, in fact.”

  Abu stared at her, then at his hands. “You have lived in my house. You have touched my son. Touched me. You are an abomination.” He stared at her and then back at his hands. “You have brought shame to my family.”

  “What shame have I brought, Abu? No one knows.”

  “Allah knows.”

  “And you think he cares?”

  “Yes!” His face was red and blotchy. “You have disgraced me. My son. All of us. You…you…you…whore!”

  She laughed at him. “Is that the best you can do? Whore?”

  He grabbed the pendant at her neck and tore it from her. “The best I can do is reclaim my family’s honour. You will pay for the crimes you have committed.”

  “The only crime I have committed was to give up Charlie. That was my crime. And my punishment has been the prison you have held me captive in for all these years.”

  “You and your perversion will be cleansed from this earth.” He held the silver bird in his fist and shook it in front of her face. “I will send you to the fires of hell.” A smile spread over his face as he said it. “I will even start the fire for you myself.” He opened his palm and held the bird by his fingertips. “A nightingale, no?” He tossed the pendant into the remains of the fire smouldering on the dirt floor.

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. They both knew.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The North of England, then

  “For God’s sake, smile,” Charlie’s mother said. “Contrary to popular belief, Charlie, it won’t crack your face. It’s your graduation, remember? You know, the big day you’ve been working toward for the past three years.” She tugged on the shoulder of the black dress robe and adjusted the hood slightly.

  Charlie tried to shrug her off. “Mum, stop fussing. It’s fine.”

  “Mum, whatever you do, don’t lick your handkerchief and wipe her face.” Beth bumped shoulders with Sarah and grinned.

  “I’d never do that,” her mother said as she stuffed the cotton-and-lace square back into her pocket.

  Charlie chuckled. “Old habits die hard, hey, Mum?”r />
  “Yup.” She wrapped her arms about Charlie’s shoulders. “I am so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “Now, go join your class and get your diploma. Your dad’s already found us seats. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Hey, Charlie.” Beth pulled her into a tight hug. “Will she be there?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Well, if she is, remember one thing for me, okay?”

  “What?”

  “Regardless of the decision she made, she loves you.”

  “Well, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  “Charlie, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but you know as well as I do that she loves you. She will always love you, and one day she’s going to realize that she made a huge mistake. All we can do is hope that she realizes it sooner rather than later.”

  Charlie tried to pull away.

  “No. Remember she loves you, and she’s going to be hurting too. If you see her, if you have to talk to her or anything, remember that and don’t do anything to make the hurt worse. For either of you.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, Flipper.” Charlie pulled away.

  “Go ahead, mock. It won’t make you feel any better if you do.”

  Their mother took hold of Beth’s hand. “Come on.”

  Charlie watched them go and realized she was seeing Beth in a new way. Gone was the gangly, awkward teenager, and in her place was a beautiful young woman of whom Charlie was immensely proud. As much as she joked, she knew Beth was right, and as angry and hurt as she felt, she knew that doing anything to hurt Hazaar would only make her feel worse. She turned around and tried to avoid looking at anyone, because the only face she saw on campus was Hazaar’s. It didn’t matter who she was talking to, her professors, classmates, even the woman in the cafeteria, all she saw was Hazaar.

  She’d loved her time at university. Loved the classes, her friends, the sense of freedom she’d found in the music, but now all she wanted to do was be away from the buildings that reminded her of everything she had lost.

  The woman who had mended her heart, only to shatter it against the pillars of faith, duty, honour, and expectation would be in the auditorium; she had no doubt about it. It was Hazaar’s graduation too. One of her last days of freedom.

  Charlie shook her head. It was her choice.

  She drifted through being lined up and led into the auditorium. She fidgeted on the uncomfortable seat through speeches she didn’t hear, and the procession of students crossing the stage and receiving their scrolls. Hands were shaken, photographs taken, and smiles spread across every proud face. Charlie was at the edge of the stage when she finally saw her sitting on the front row. She was so surprised that she missed the first step and almost fell. She caught herself in time, but the motion had drawn attention to her. Hazaar looked at her and their gazes locked.

  Hazaar’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Charlie wanted desperately to wipe them away and comfort her. She wanted to run from the stage, take her in her arms, and make everything right again. It was a fantasy, and she knew it. It was a dream she could never have again, and it cleaved her heart in two when she saw the tears track down Hazaar’s cheeks.

  Charlie knew she was moving across the stage; she could feel her body moving, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Hazaar’s. She didn’t want to. If this was the last moment they were to have together, she didn’t want it to end. She didn’t ever want to have to say good-bye or admit it was truly over. She didn’t think she could do that. She didn’t think she was strong enough to survive losing her heart again.

  But she could see it. It was there in Hazaar’s beautiful, weeping, chocolate brown eyes. Love. It was still there, shining like a beacon, calling her to safety, calling her home.

  “Charlotte Porter, congratulations.” The dean held the scroll out to her with one hand, and the other waited for her to shake as he pulled her attention from Hazaar.

  “Thank you.” She shook quickly, smiled for Beth’s camera, and fled the stage as quickly as she could. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she looked back to see Hazaar, to look into her eyes again, to feel alive again.

  The chair was empty.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The North of England, then

  “Do you know the young man’s name yet, Hazaar?”

  “I’m sorry, what was that, Auntie?” Hazaar smiled at the older rotund woman. Hana Shallam had been her mother’s best friend for as long as Hazaar could remember.

  “Keep your arms up, child.” She pushed Hazaar’s arms higher and tucked a pin into the fabric at her wrist. “I asked if you knew his name yet.”

  “Oh, yes.” Hazaar frowned and faced front as her mother twisted her head.

  “Keep still,” her mother said.

  “Ow.” She arched her back as the pin her mother wielded dug into the skin between her shoulder blades.

  “I told you to keep still.”

  “Sorry, Maa Jee.”

  “So? Who is he?” Hana finished tacking the sleeve and moved to the other side. “I go away for a few weeks, I come back, and she is being married off.” She shook her head slightly, and Hazaar knew what she was thinking. She smiled. It normally took around twelve months to make all the proper preparations for a good wedding, and trying to do so in the few weeks they had usually meant that the bride-to-be was in trouble. Hazaar wanted to laugh at the thought. I am in trouble, just not the I’m-pregnant-so-I-have-to-marry-the-stupid-bastard kind of trouble.

  “Yasar Siddiqi. He and his parents flew in from Peshawar yesterday.”

  “Hmm.” She tucked some pins between her lips and spoke around them. “Not a local family then, Nisrin.”

  “No. They are a good Pakistani family, Hana. It is a good match and good for the business. It will bring good things for Hatim’s future as well as Hazaar’s.”

  Hazaar let the conversation revolve around her, moving as they directed, holding her arms up, straight out, to the sides while they adjusted the wedding dress her mother had made for her over the past weeks. The rich red silk and gold trim wrapped around her body like a boa constrictor moving in for the kill. She feared one wrong move would cause it to crush her.

  “Ay, ay, ay. No.” Hana rubbed a scrap of cloth over Hazaar’s face. “No crying. You will stain the silk.”

  Hazaar hadn’t even noticed the tears. “I’m sorry.”

  Hana smiled gently at her. “Don’t worry. All brides are a little nervous. It’s natural, but don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  Hazaar nodded and let them continue with their task, barely noticing when they pricked her with a needle on occasion, so deeply was she immersed in her own thoughts. As much as she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Charlie. She couldn’t focus on the fast-paced wedding preparations. She knew that the marriage contract had been drawn up and agreed to by the fathers of both the groom and the bride, which meant that the bride price had already been negotiated and agreed upon. She wanted to laugh. I wonder how they’re going to discreetly present me with bribed officials and heroin?

  So much of the normal buildup had been forsaken in the speedy preparations. The proposal party and the official engagement party had both been sacrificed. And rather than months, they had but a few weeks. A few weeks that were almost over. In two days, she would have to sign the contract and sit through the celebrations that would go on around her. She would have to endure all that came after that. In just two more days.

  “Are you ready for tonight, child?”

  Hazaar turned to Hana. “I’m sorry. What was that, Auntie?”

  Her mother slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Pay attention, Beti. Anyone would think the plans for your wedding were boring you.” She laughed gently.

  “I’m sorry. Daydreaming, I guess.”

  “I said are you ready for tonight? For the Mehndi?”

  “Oh.” Hazaar shrugge
d, then flinched as her mother’s pin found the tender skin of her lower back. “Ow.”

  “Keep still. I wouldn’t have to make such adjustments if you hadn’t lost so much weight, Beti.”

  “I’m sorry, Maa Jee.”

  “So what time are they arriving?” Hana smiled.

  “The Siddiqis are arriving at six.” Her mother pulled the zipper down on the dress. “Step out, Hazaar.”

  Hazaar did as she was bidden and wrapped the robe Hana passed her around her body.

  “Is it a large party attending with her, Nisrin? Would you like some help with the preparations?”

  “Hana, my friend, I would, but the party will not be a large one. I would be honoured if you would also attend to help with the henna ceremony tonight.”

  Hana beamed with pride. “It would be my pleasure and an honour.” She took the dress from her mother’s hands. “This will take me barely a few minutes to adjust, then we can make our preparations.” She turned to Hazaar and kissed her cheek. “We will make you proud, child.”

  “I have no doubt, Auntie.” And she didn’t. Despite the rush and the small number of people attending, she knew that her mother and her friends would create a celebration that would show the Siddiqis what a good family they were joining with. Tonight was just another part of that.

  Hana pinched her cheek. “Now, go get ready.” She nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “You have much preparation to do, and now is not a time for a bride to be rushing.” She laughed. “There will be many years of that to come, so enjoy the peace and quiet while you still have it.” She chuckled as she left the room, and Hazaar turned toward the bathroom.

  “Beti,” her mother said, “I know you are nervous. I understand.”

  Hazaar turned to her mother, her head cocked. “You do?”

  She nodded and smiled gently. “All brides worry as the big day approaches. It is natural. You worry about being a good wife, and eventually, a good mother. Every woman does.”