Pisgah Road

by Mahyar A Amouzegar

  She looks at the two remaining shot glasses. I touch mine and then we both take the shots. It burns my throat. I take a sip of the cider. I say, “I love the name, you know. It’s part of me now. It is me.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to hear it even though I didn’t mean for it to be. I thought you would correct me, but you didn’t and Daniel didn’t. And to me it fits you.”

  I want to purge the feeling out of my body, but it still nips at me. I made her feel connected to her brother for a moment and I never knew about it. It’s funny how a little curiosity can solve so many problems. We tend to just accept things without thinking or questioning. I’m thinking this and yet I don’t dare to ask Gabrielle about why she is here with me and not with her husband and her kid. I should ask her, but I don’t. Perhaps I’m afraid of her answer. No! In fact, I am terrified of her answer. I look at my watch. It’s already Saturday. I don’t want to tell Gabrielle that, so I say, “I’m sorry, Gabrielle, but I’m beat. Do you mind if we call it a night?”

  She nods with an understanding. “You’re not Superman after all. I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch, okay?”

  She stands up and kisses me on the cheek and says goodnight. She doesn’t want to be escorted to her hotel. I insist and walk with her the short block, but don’t go in.

  She pauses at the door, uncertain. Then she asks, “Are you going to see Daniel tomorrow?”

  This was inevitable, the quandary of going to see him. It would be a lie to say that I had not planned it. I had. I want to see him. I need to see him. He is here and ten years is a long time. “Not tomorrow. Sunday.”

  She is dismayed. “You should go tomorrow.”

  I want to say, “Tomorrow is Sunday,” but this is not a moment for levity. I know why she wants me to go on Saturday. I know why and I know I should. I am playing games and I shouldn’t. I consent. “Okay. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  She smiles. I’ve made her happy. It’s amazing the pleasure we get for making the people we love happy. Her little smile made me content for the moment.

  “Will you wait for me? I want us to go together.”

  That was expected too. I want to go with her. I think I need to go with her. I need to show Daniel that despite it all Gabrielle and I can be friends. I nod and then I say good night and walk back to my room. I’m very tired, but need to send an email. It’s a simple email to the manager of sales at Atlantic Engineering telling him that the contract has been signed. I turn off my computer and stow it in my bag. I will not turn it on until I go back home to deal with the consequences of my action. I know Gabrielle is safe and that is all I care about at this point. I am too tired to think about other consequences, so I simply collapse on the bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I

  I sleep until noon. It’s Saturday, June 27, 1998. There were so many ways for me to come to this point in time and like most people I wished I could go back and take the right path. Of course, it is never possible and we must live with the consequences of our decisions, and today will be the day that I must face mine. I still have money to spend and I could spend a lot of it in a fancy restaurant. In fact, I probably could spend a lot of it in this hotel, but I know where I should go for lunch and unfortunately it won’t cost me a lot of money. It’s far but worth the drive.

  I take a long shower and brush my teeth twice to make up for the night before. I change and walk downstairs to get a cab, but change my mind and go to the café in the lobby. I want to have a coffee and I don’t want to get it on the run. I want to sit down somewhere quiet and nice and enjoy the day’s first cup of coffee. And this place is inviting with heavy velvet chairs and gorgeous Persian carpets.

  I’m given a table next to the window so I can see the people passing by, though they can’t see me. It’s raining a bit so people are moving faster than normal. It’s not a heavy rain, but rain makes people move fast. No one wants to contemplate in the rain. Rain brings on decisiveness. Cybil kissed me because it was raining.

  The coffee is served in a bone china with a couple of biscuits. It’s deliciously creamy and only a hint of bitter taste. It’s a wonderful start to the morning. I grab the morning paper but don’t really pay attention to the headlines. I’m more interested in the people outside. I drink my coffee while keeping my attention on the movement of the people. It stops raining and with it everything slows down to a normal speed. People are no longer interesting, so I finish, put a ten-pound note on the table and leave the hotel.

  The doorman hands me an umbrella. I take it without thanking him and step outside. I go back in and give him five quid and thank him. He says it is not necessary to tip him. I walk outside and he opens the door for me again. He’s young and is wearing a heavy red coat with a white starched shirt and perfectly ironed trousers. He is better dressed than I am. He calls a cab before I even ask for one. I tell him I want to go to Harrow and he conveys the message to the cabby.

  “Do you know where the Punjab Restaurant in Harrow is?” I ask the driver.

  He doesn’t blink an eye. He thinks for a moment and then, “The one on Station Road?”

  “I think so,” I reply.

  He nods again and drives away. He starts to make a right turn but I cry out, “Could you avoid A5?”

  He nods and turns around and drives towards Brompton Road and then Cromwell. We are in South Kensington. I sit back and open the window. It’s raining again and I smell the soft scent of it in the air. We take a right turn on Warwick.

  “Can you drive by the park?”

  He stares at me through the rearview mirror, but doesn’t say anything. He turns on the radio and moves the dial to BBC 1. “Y’wanna stop?”

  “Please.”

  He makes a right turn and we are in front of Holland Park. I just wanted to see the park again. We used to play in the field. It’s a long walk to it but I just wanted to see the park. I want to tell Daniel that I visited the park.

  “Wan’ ge’ ou’?”

  “No. One look is fine.”

  “Grea’ par’, ‘olland. Go in when y’ve more time.”

  “I used to play ball there when I was in college.”

  I say college, but he knows I mean high school. He nods again and drives on. We’re back on Warwick that turns to Holland Road. The rest of the ride is going to be boring — going through Shepherd’s Bush and North Kensington. I have no memories of those places. We’re on A40 and will stay on the road for ten minutes or so. I close my eyes and think about what I have to say to Daniel.

  The cab stops in front of Punjab Restaurant. It looks exactly like the last time Daniel and I visited it. The huge red sign outside of the restaurant proclaims authentic Punjabi food. The bright green and red colors with overly decorated walls reinforce the authenticity of the claim. I pay the cabby. I walk inside and the powerful sweet and pungent smell welcomes me back. This is Daniel’s favorite restaurant. It’s a Halal place, so no alcohol is served, but Daniel loved it. I take a seat next to the large window. The lunch menu is still cheap. One can get any Karahi dish with Naan, rice and drink for five quid. The special is only good Monday through Friday. Daniel used to order Karahi chicken. It’s still there for six pounds. I order the same with some garlic Naan, onion Bhaji and lassi. The whole meal will be less than ten pounds. The last time I was here was May 14, 1988, a lifetime ago, but I still remember every single word. I remember everything about that day because it became a monumental day for everybody, but especially for me.

  II

  “I don’t know why you love it here. It’s so far and the food is just okay.”

  “It’s cheap, ain’t it?” Daniel rejoined.

  That’s his answer to most things. I tell him, why do you drive all the way to Southampton to buy a sofa, and he tells me, because it’s cheap. It’s not cheap if you consider the cost of gas and the long drive. He doesn’t care. He loves to drive. He borrows his cousin’s truck to haul the junky sofa back.

  “So tha
t’s why you’re dating, Alice? She is cheap?”

  “Y’know it, man.”

  Alice is not cheap. She demands attention. Alice was regimented and she demanded the same from her friends. By then Daniel and Alice had been dating for several months. We all liked her very much but we still thought it wouldn’t last. And it didn’t, but not for the reasons we thought. She came to hang out with us on their second date.

  She didn’t really. She had agreed to stop by and say hello, but didn’t want to stay long. She was already upset because Daniel had promised her a romantic dinner, but had forced her for a quick stop at the Queens Arms.

  Daniel offered to buy us a round. He had even agreed to get me a pint of cider. He grabbed the waitress and ordered seven bitters — Fullers London Pride, of course, and a cider. He added my order with a visible disgust. Alice wasn’t happy. He hadn’t asked her; he’d assumed. She stopped the waitress and told her she wants a glass of Chardonnay. Daniel was revolted. To him a glass of wine is a major betrayal of the great culture of pub drinking. Alice must have known that. He makes sure his dates know about his disgust for wine drinkers in pubs. It was a challenge. We looked at each other and our eyes said they wouldn’t last too long. She didn’t cancel the extra beer though.

  “Where’s Alice now?”

  “In the car.”

  I laughed thinking he was joking, but he was dead serious. I looked out the large glass window and could see Alice’s dark hair through the window of the Camaro. She had the window rolled down and I could see she was putting on some makeup.

  “Why is she in the car?”

  “She ‘ates Indians.”

  “Then why are we meeting all the way here to have fucking Indian food?”

  He shrugged off my question and looked at the menu even though he always orders the same dish. Alice walked in and said hello. She likes to kiss on both cheeks. She sat down next to Daniel.

  I liked Alice. She was different from Daniel’s other girlfriends. She didn’t want to constantly please Daniel like the others who had acted more like groupies than girlfriends. She liked Daniel and put up with his idiosyncrasies and more importantly with his friends. She didn’t touch her white wine when it was served. She grabbed the extra bitter and drank that. She was just trying to make a point. I liked that about her and so did Daniel.

  “We can go somewhere else, Alice,” I offered.

  “Why? I love Indian food,” Alice said.

  Daniel gave a brief smile before turning serious again. “Try their Karahi dish. Best Karahi in London, possibly in the world.”

  “What’s Karahi?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why are you recommending it?”

  “Because it’s the best Karahi dish in the world.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Karahi.”

  Alice didn’t get it. She was frustrated by Daniel’s deadpan humor. The waiter showed up. Daniel ordered Karahi chicken, but Alice was still studying the two-page red and green menu. It had dozens of dishes; half of them say Karahi something.

  I said, “You always order the same dish, Daniel.” He didn’t care. He loved his dish. Alice was taking her time and the waiter was no help with his explanation.

  “It’s a stew, madam.”

  “And?”

  “In a cooking pot,” he insisted.

  Alice wanted more information.

  “It’s just an Indian wok, Alice,” I offered.

  “Get the Karahi chicken,” Daniel insisted. “It’s the best in the world.”

  He was in a good mood. She finally did, and was happy when she saw the dish. Alice and I had ordered mango lassis. Daniel had ordered orange juice but it was too plain for him. He went back to his car and brought his little flask. He was very careful in his maneuvers. He loved this place and didn’t want to be banned for bringing alcohol to a halal place. After that he could eat his food with delight. We were in the middle of our meal and it was mostly Alice who was talking. She was telling us about her life in Europe. Daniel and Alice were planning to go to Italy for the summer.

  Daniel rummaged through his leather jacket as if he had just remembered something. He took out four tickets and put them in front of me. At first I didn’t pay any attention, but then I noticed the logo, 1988 FA Cup Final. It was a sold out game between Wimbledon and Liverpool.

  “Wow! How did you get these?”

  The game was set for four hours later. We had been going all over London looking for tickets. We had finally settled on watching the game in the pub. But then, in front of me, there were four tickets for the game. Liverpool had won the football league earlier in the year and was slated to beat Wimbledon easily. Daniel and I had our money on Wimbledon. It was no Arsenal but it was London.

  Daniel was casual about the whole thing. “I had to kill a couple of tourists but it’s worth it.” He was so serious that Alice did a double take. I was still shocked.

  “Who is the fourth?” Alice asked. She didn’t really like football, but she was trying to be enthusiastic as to support Daniel. This was one of her compromises.

  “‘Who’s the fourth,’ Alice? Are you implying that one of them is for you?” Daniel grabbed the tickets and put them back in his jacket.

  “I’m sorry I thought you’d want me to come.”

  Daniel looked at her with his serious eyes and frowned eyebrows. He then looked at me. “Don’t be an ass,” I said. He burst out laughing and his face shone. He grabbed Alice and kissed her on the head.

  “I’m just teasing, darling. I’d love it if you come with us. That’s if you want.” Daniel had been trying to be courteous to Alice. He had recognized that she was not like the others. He knew he couldn’t push Alice.

  “I’d love to come.”

  I was sure she didn’t know why this game was so important to us or what Daniel had done to find these tickets. He was showing great honor to Alice by inviting her knowing that she didn’t love the game. He had no patience with people who didn’t get soccer. Alice was trying.

  She was still waiting for an answer but then it dawned on her. “Gabrielle, right?”

  I looked at her and Daniel laughed loudly and hugged Alice tightly. He was proud of her. He said, “Good for you, girl.”

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t know after so many years I had realized that I was in love with Gabrielle. She didn’t know that Daniel had been pushing me to be less timid. He had been pushing me to be more aggressive from the first day I met him. He was the one who encouraged me to take Cybil on a date. Cybil was so unapproachable, so prim that it took me two weeks to find the courage. It was always so easy for Daniel.

  Alice asked, “What? Isn’t Gabrielle your girlfriend?”

  “Only in his dreams, darling, only his dreams. But you’re right she is coming.” Then he turned serious again, “Gabrielle would kill me if I didn’t give the ticket to her and I mean it literally.”

  He was still looking very serious but couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes. My face was the color of boiled beets. Alice was polite and didn’t stare, but Daniel was enjoying the moment too much. He grabbed his drink and banged it against mine and then took a long gulp. He ordered another and poured half of the content of his flask in it. I knew we would stop at a pub before going to Wembley. That’s part of the ritual of English football.

  Gabrielle showed up an hour later. He had told her about the game earlier that morning. She came over and kissed everyone. She was very excited about the game. She sat next to me and held my hand. I was wondering if this was considered a date. If it were, then it would count as our third.

  Wimbledon defeated Liverpool, one-nil.

  The biggest upset in the history of the competition, Wimbledon’s first and most likely last. We couldn’t believe our luck. We had won. Daniel and I made tons of money because of our loyalty and we were celebrating with thousands of other people. Everyone was embracing and kissing one another. It was going to be a night of celebra
tion. The four of us made a circle and were jumping up and down like crazies, like everyone else. It was a strange sensation to be there with thousands of fans, coming to the stadium expecting a giant thrashing, yet hoping for a graceful loss and then beating the Goliath. Daniel was saying this was better than sex.

  We started to move towards the parking lot but the crowd was too excited and thousands of us were moving en masse. I was holding Gabrielle’s hand tightly for fear of losing her. Daniel and Alice were ahead of us and I could see their heads bopping up and down as they glided through the masses. We were all walking on air. We pushed our way to the parking lot and found Daniel’s yellow car. They were nowhere to be found so we hung around the parking lot. The party was continuing and no one had gone crazy yet. But we knew it would come. We were dancing with the rest of the people. We were all drunk with victory and I felt jubilant and brave. I kissed Gabrielle, a true kiss and not because we had won. She kissed me back and Alice was right, she was my girlfriend. That was Saturday, May 14, 1988, the last time I was in this restaurant.

  III

  My Naan, onion Bhaji, lassi and chicken all came at once. The place has not changed in ten years. I eat slowly, savoring a taste that I have not had for a decade. I never thought it would take me this long to come back, but the night of the Wimbledon victory not only cemented my connection to Gabrielle but also my first real fight with Daniel.

  We had always chided him for driving recklessly and inebriated. We had admonished him like most teenagers did, with a guarded sense of awe and indestructibility of youth. I don’t know why I picked that night to be serious about it. All afternoon I had been walking in a trance. Daniel was pushing me to do something. He kept saying, “Even Alice has noticed. Don’t be such a pussy, man. If you love Gabrielle go for her.” He kept saying it and when she arrived I felt like I was in a dream. I saw from the outside, just an observer as I went through the motions. I watched the game constantly aware of Gabrielle’s body next to me. Every time, she jumped for joy or squeezed my hand when the game became tense, I wanted to grab her and kiss her. I don’t think I noticed as much of the game as her movements.