by Siya Turabi
He squatted against the wall that bordered the roof until his eyes became used to the lack of light. He tried to gather his thoughts. But the clash of metal and horns from the city streets beyond the grounds didn’t allow this. They pounded on his ear drums until he wanted to shout ‘Shut up!’ at the top of his voice.
He stood up and looked over the wall. A guard walked across the yard, rifle in hand, towards the back of the house. The door to the roof clicked behind him and Hassan dropped to the floor behind the wall, in the shadows.
‘Hassan.’ It was Maryam.
‘Over here.’ He stood up.
‘Why was the cook…?’ Maryam began.
‘We can’t talk here. He might see us from below.’
‘Come on.’ Maryam went down the stairs in the dark with care and Hassan was happy to follow her, through her bedroom and out into the back corridor. At one end of the corridor was a glass doorway that led to the stairwell at the back of the house.
‘Is that door locked?’ he asked.
Maryam checked; it was. They crept down the long corridor lined with smaller rooms. At the other end, they entered another bedroom and off this was a bathroom.
‘I’ll go and tell my uncle what’s happened,’ Maryam said.
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I need to think. Please just wait till I’m ready. Please.’
The truth was that he didn’t know what to do.
‘The cook’s hanging around,’ she said.
‘He’ll never find me here. Maryam, I’ll tell you everything in the morning.’ He was exhausted and she saw it too.
‘You can sleep here,’ she said, pointing at the four-poster bed in the middle of the room.
She was about to leave but she stayed beside him, both of them looking at the bed. It was draped with heavy curtains tied to the posts. Two folded sheets lay on top of the bed and the mattress was so thick it looked like a ship.
‘My uncle knows that you’re back,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him that you’re asleep.’
‘I need to give you this,’ he said. He held the camera tightly for a few seconds. It gave him a feeling of some kind of permanence, however fleeting, and he needed that now. He handed it to her. ‘The film inside is important. It’s best if you keep it. I’ll explain in the morning.’
He started to make the bed when Maryam left. There was no lightbulb, but a candle lay on a plate on a side cupboard with a box of matches. It was in the semi-darkness of that one candle that he created a nest for himself, protected by the impenetrable world that belonged to Maryam and Amina.
He went over to the shutters, closed by day to shut out the heat. He opened them to let in air now. He went outside and stood on the balcony which was shielded by the mosquito mesh affixed to the teardrops and swirls of the wooden framework. He remembered his first time here when Maryam was telling her stories. That felt like so long ago that it was like another life, but he still tried to imagine the people of her stories through the mosquito mesh. He moved closer to it and put his hand up to rest on the ledge.
He leant forward and his hand slipped through the gap where the netting joined the wooden frame; the gap was bigger than he remembered. It had made him stumble the first time he was here and he imagined Maryam’s hand on his elbow, steadying him.
He looked out over the courtyard, the gates, and the dry land that lay like a carpet up to the boundaries of the world outside. He thought of taking a picture but it was too dark and anyway, his camera was with Maryam now. Mir Saab had spoken of night lenses that he had used in the jungle. They’d work for the jungle of Karachi too, he thought. His mind went back to Maryam. He refused to think about the fact that she was leaving soon. They would be going to Harikaya any day now. Mir Saab had promised.
The power cut ended abruptly and the city lights came back on. The lights made the sky brown, the colour of the river Indus flowing through Harikaya in the rainy season.
There was movement down below. A foot appeared from the doorway of the servants’ quarters. Hassan stepped back into the shadows of the balcony. The whole body was there now – in the courtyard. It was the cook. Someone came out behind him. Hassan’s head was stuck to the meshing, pressing it forwards to see who it was. It could only be Kulsoom. Her shirt and trousers shone in the dark as she walked behind the cook, who turned around and hid her from view. What were they doing? Hassan stepped back into the darkness but he could still see them.
The cook was drawing aside Kulsoom’s scarf and bringing his face down to her shoulder. Her head was back; perhaps she was looking at the stars. Hassan stepped forward again, this time with his hand pushing out the meshing so he could get a better view. It was a mistake. The meshing rattled and the cook looked around and then up. Hassan jumped back and stood still. A few seconds later, he heard footsteps and peered over again. The couple were walking off towards the gates.
Hassan felt sick. How could Kulsoom stand that man? He went to lie on the bed, fully clothed.
He shifted restlessly about, too hot with his clothes on but too tired and tense to take them off, even his waistcoat. He checked the clock by the bed. It was midnight and his body was beginning to settle. He lay flat and felt sleep begin to wrap around his body, but just as it did, a door creaked. It had to be the glass door that Maryam had checked before. His own door was not completely shut and he heard footsteps, tripping lightly across the floor.
‘Son of a bitch.’ It was the cook’s voice.
Other doors were opening along the corridor. The cook was checking the rooms. Hassan had to get out.
He seized his sandals then crept towards the balcony. The shutters had to be quiet. He had to be quick and quiet. That hole, where was it? There. The outer ledge was thin, almost too thin, but he held on tight to the frame as he tucked in the mesh again. Once the hole was invisible he turned to face thin air. He thought he could make the tree branch. He had to risk it; he couldn’t stay here, no matter what. He jumped and grabbed hold of it, swinging from there to the ground. A silent drop.
The balcony shutters were opening. He hid behind the tree and the cook stood behind the mesh. The cook’s breathing was heavy. He risked a great deal going up there to find Hassan.
The cook vanished. Hassan ran to the back of the servants’ quarters.
The cook had to be coming down, but if Hassan was quick…
The hole. There it was.
He was on the other side.
He ran.
Chapter Twenty-Three
There was no moonlight, only a cloudy sky that no stars could break through. Snakes and lizards didn’t matter; he just wanted to reach the bees. His footsteps remembered the way in the darkness. His feet and arms held back the branches instinctively.
Inside the masjid, Hassan paced the chamber like a caged tiger. Should he go back or stay? He stepped outside. All was quiet. The cook would never think to come here. He went down the steps and stopped at the bottom to look at the city sky, pretending it was full of stars like in Harikaya and that the distant traffic were reeds in the wind that snapped as people rushed past on bicycles along the track back to the village. Snap, snap, snap. He was there again, even if it was just a story in his head unfolding on that track. He imagined walking in the opposite direction to all the other villagers, through the fields under the starry night, nearer the forest now. The smell of the rains was stronger. It was a sweet smell. The trees stood before him under the moon, and a silhouette with a silver outline. His father? He ran to greet him but the form became clearer. The man’s hair was long and matted. The beekeeper. His body was thick and strong. His eyes stared at Hassan and changed colour as the night sky moved through them. Hassan was about to speak but the beekeeper’s form dissolved into the darkness of the trees behind him.
It was time to go back into the masjid and he turned to climb the steps but then stopped. He heard a distinct rustling; someone was moving in the leaves. Then all was quiet. Someone was watching him.
He counted, one, two, three… a
nd then he turned suddenly and jumped onto the first step and then stopped. There was the beating of wings and he turned around to see the crow. His crow, with the white spot. It landed on the top step with a worm in its mouth. Hassan crouched down. ‘You followed me, didn’t you?’ The crow swallowed the worm. Both of them were silent for several seconds. It was good to know the bird was with him. ‘I have to go now.’ Hassan looked back as he opened the door and stepped inside. He bolted the lock behind him.
Something stronger than his own fear had made him stay: a wall of invisible power that exhausted him the more he fought against it. He sank down against the pillar cradled by the humming of the bees in their nest. The city of combs looked majestic. The bees accepted his presence; he was one of theirs.
The humming was a great wall of sound and he noticed that there was a new tone to the humming. The births of the drones must have happened and he had missed it. He had missed the first stirrings of the newly born from inside the nest. The humming touched him out here on the floor. Young bees. Workers, drones and the queen. He leant back. The bees were busy with their young.
He sat thinking. He would wait here for now, with the bees, and sneak back to the house in the morning where he would find Maryam to work out a plan. Maryam… his stomach leapt. The cook had got so close to Maryam and Amina, but he could do nothing to them. Not to the mir’s daughter and niece. Playing with Hassan’s life was one thing, but playing with theirs was another thing altogether. They had to be safe.
The floor was not as soft as the bed he had just come from, but he was soon asleep and when he opened his eyes again, daylight was pouring onto the floor. He was greeted by the humming, but there was a markedly different feeling about the nest.
He unbolted the door and went to the forest to empty his bladder. As soon as the water left him, his throat felt dry. He swallowed a few times. There were puddles of rain on the ground but he wasn’t thirsty enough to drink from there. There must have been showers overnight. That meant the rains would be coming soon in Harikaya, if there were already signs here. He had been gone one night and now another. As soon as he got out, he would explain everything to Mir Saab and they would go Harikaya – any day now.
His chest lifted, yes, there was hope.
There was always hope. His stomach rumbled. There was no water but it was still too early to go back to the house; the cook would be prowling around, waiting for him. He went back inside.
On the floor was a dead bee, its body empty of life. He knelt down. The others were at work; not even death stopped them. Bees were arriving back from the early morning journeys to flowers, carrying yellow drops of pollen on their legs, food for both young bees and adults alike, as well as those just out of their cells.
Hassan sat down to save energy. He would leave, just not now. But his stomach roared and, worse, his thirst was growing. The floor swayed under him and he put his hand on it to steady himself. He would make it, he told himself, but it was hard to fight the dizziness that was coming over him. The humming was growing louder, as if competing with the sounds of his stomach.
A cluster of bees broke off from the bigger nest. They formed a ball that approached him and stopped in front of his chest; their humming penetrated the emptiness inside him.
He drifted in and out of sleep with the bees close by, feeding him with their energy until they left again. They must have sensed the presence of another human, for when they left, there was a knock on the door. Hassan stood up, as if in a dream, and went to stand behind the door.
‘Hassan.’ It was Maryam’s voice. He unbolted and opened the door in a flash. She was alone, carrying two bottles of water and some chocolate. She came in but stopped after just a couple of steps when she heard the humming, which was growing louder and more intense.
‘It’s all right,’ Hassan said. He led her by her arm to the pillar across from the nest. Another human was here to share their temple. He offered her his place in front of the pillar and took the water that she gave him, drinking a whole bottle in one go. He wanted to run up to her and wrap his arms around her, thank her a million times for coming, and tell her how scared he was. Instead, he sat down on the floor in front of her.
She was looking at the bees with wide eyes.
‘The bees are friends,’ he said.
The humming grew steady again. Her gaze moved slowly from him to the nest and then back to him again.
‘They’ve been teaching me,’ Hassan said.
Here, in the temple of the bees, Maryam was like a human queen bee. Everything, even the curiosity of the bees, revolved around her. Two or three bees approached her and she stayed still. More came near to her, getting very close. Her stillness was tense but they felt no threat from it.
‘The rains are coming,’ he said. ‘Did you see the puddles outside? We’ll need to speak to ask Mir Saab to book the plane tickets today.’
‘What happened? Why did you leave the room?’ she asked.
‘The cook found me. I had to run here.’ He grasped his shoulder. The pain rushed through his nerves like ants crawling inside his skin.
Maryam didn’t react and her expression was serious.
‘What’s wrong, Maryam?’
‘Tell me what’s been happening.’
‘I told you.’
‘How did the boat design get in your room?’
‘Boat design?’ It took a few seconds. ‘Oh yes. I found it on the floor in the living room. I forgot to ask Mir Saab if I could have it.’
Her stare was like a glass knife.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ he said. ‘Mir Saab had thrown it away. I liked it.’ It was then that he understood. ‘You don’t think I…?’
‘The cook found the paper in your room this morning. He used it to accuse you.’
‘They think I leaked the information to the press?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mir Saab too?’
Her silence made him tense. He stood up and paced the floor.
‘Maryam, everything I’ve told you is the truth.’
‘But not the whole truth.’
The sound of humming cushioned his pain, in his body and in his heart. The water was more than good. Only sips but it was heaven. The chocolate eased his pain like the humming. He chewed slowly until it melted.
‘Before I came here, my father took some black honey from the forest.’ Another swallow. His face was hot and his hands soaked in sweat. ‘He fell from the tree and the beekeeper saved him.’
Maryam’s mouth opened.
‘Yes,’ Hassan nodded. ‘The beekeeper is real.’
‘And you kept it secret.’
‘I had to. Mir Saab’s guards came at night but my father escaped.’
‘You were worried that my uncle would start another search for your father,’ she said. Her voice was quiet.
‘The cook knew everything. He threatened to tell Mir Saab about my father.’ Tears dropped that he brushed away angrily. ‘The cook wanted me to get information from Mir Saab. He said he would find a way for me to get back to Harikaya in time to save my mother’s eyes. I only told him that Mir Saab likes animals. I thought it would be harmless. I was desperate.’
Maryam didn’t react.
‘When I realised he was the thief, I decided to play a trick on him to prove he was guilty.’
‘And it didn’t work.’
‘I nearly died,’ Hassan took a breath. ‘He knows some dangerous people.’
‘He’s hurt my uncle too.’
Hassan touched the honeycomb in his waistcoat pocket. Safe. And his camera? He stopped.
‘Do you have the camera?’
‘What?’ Maryam asked. Her attention was with the bees again.
‘My camera. I gave it to you last night.’
‘Yes, you told me the film was important.’
‘The market,’ he said.
‘The market?’ Maryam said.
‘He was there at the market. The cook was there. I have a picture of him.’ H
assan stood up, both fists in the air. ‘Maryam, I saw him with two people. He swapped the plan of the boat for money.’
‘And you took a photo?’ Her voice was hopeful.
‘Yes.’
‘And it’s in the camera?’
‘The evidence,’ he said. ‘Where is the camera?’
‘I gave it to Ali Noor this morning. I asked him to have the pictures developed urgently. Mir Saab knows a place that can do them quickly.’
Hassan paced the floor. ‘This is my only chance.’
Maryam looked at the bottles and the chocolate. ‘Ali Noor will be going to pick the pictures up soon. I’ll go with him. I’ll make sure they don’t get lost. You wait here.’
He was at the door when she reached out for the handle. He put his hand there first.
‘Maryam, I need to get back to Harikaya. The bees are about to swarm here. That means they will swarm in Harikaya soon.’
She looked around the temple, saw the urgency of the bees, heard their changing tones. She took it all in.
‘I won’t be long. I’ll knock and say my name when I come back.’ She stood up. ‘Do you think the beekeeper’s waiting for you?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think he is,’ Hassan said.
She went to leave through the door and some invisible force rose from his body and it flew to her. She turned around.
‘I’ve forgotten what my father looks like,’ he said as she looked back.
Hassan set about watching the bees when Maryam left. The activity around the nest seemed slower. A few bees, workers no doubt, were taking a rest, hovering around the cluster that clung to the nest on the outside. More emerged from the inner depths. They were waiting for something. Despite their slowness, there was urgency. Hassan remembered his father’s words.