Unmarriageable

by Soniah Kamal

  A tremendously lovely day it had been, and tomorrow they were going to a play she’d been eager to watch, and she would see Darsee again, and she was not going to let anything spoil her evening, not even the addition of Bungles and party.

  The next morning at breakfast, Nisar and Nona were still marvelling over how Darsee was not the snob they’d been led to believe he was.

  ‘Lady calls him Dracula,’ Nisar said as he poured milk into his oatmeal. ‘And Pinkie painted such a Frankenstein picture of him, I expected him to push us over a cliff for being middle-class professionals. Even Jena, who defends everyone, never defends him. Why you women insist on maligning perfectly first-rate men, I don’t know.’

  Nona flicked a raisin at him. ‘Let’s not canonise Valentine Darsee just yet. There is still the matter of Wickaam’s accusations. However, I must say, even I was surprised by how nice he seems.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Alys said unhappily. ‘I’ve always said one’s opinion regarding anyone is only as good as how one is treated, but I confess, I’m to blame for the generally unfavourable impression of Darsee. I was biased after hearing him say mean things about me in private to Bungles. That, in turn, affected everyone’s perception of him.’

  ‘But Wickaam?’ Nona said. ‘Darsee certainly does not seem the type to go around stealing inheritances. But, then, Goga didn’t seem the type either.’

  ‘In Darsee’s case,’ Alys said, blushing, ‘I have it on good authority that Wickaam is lying about the whole inheritance thing.’

  ‘What!’ Nona and Nisar cried out simultaneously.

  ‘I can’t tell you how I know,’ Alys added wretchedly, ‘but trust me when I say that Wickaam is a liar and a deceiver and Darsee is innocent.’

  ‘We trust you,’ Nona and Nisar said. ‘But are you positive?’

  Alys nodded.

  Nisar whistled.

  ‘Well, well,’ Nona said, raising her brows. ‘Alys, the innocent Darsee’s attentiveness to us is due to you. He certainly seems to like you.’

  Alys stared at the black pepper sprinkled on her scrambled eggs. ‘He just likes that we’ve both lived abroad and that I actually read and don’t just pretend to in order to come across as intellectual or unique. That’s all it is, Aunty Nona. No need to give me that look.’

  Alys and Nona spent the afternoon at Liberty Market, going from boutique to boutique and checking out what new designs people were spending good money on. They also visited Redmon Book Gallery, where Alys spent her own good money. In fact, throwing guilt aside, she splurged. She leapt on a fresh copy of Jamaica Kincaid’s A Small Place and also bought Leila Ahmed’s A Border Passage, Jessie Fauset’s Plum Bun, Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance, and Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel, Persepolis, which she knew Qitty would love to read too, and Mari would appreciate the pretty arabesque booklet with all of God’s ninety-nine names explained.

  They returned home well in time to get dressed for the play. Even fussing over attire was fun. Nisar settled on a smart shalwar kurta. Nona wore slacks and a floral blouse with a lapis necklace. Alys decided on a black peshwas with a black paisley print and mirrored bodice, matching dupatta and thang pyjamas, black heels and accessories from Nona’s silver jewellery, which she preferred to her mother’s gold and precious stones.

  Ajmer dropped them off at the main entrance to the Alhamra Art Centre and then drove to the car park to wait. The play was in Hall One. Darsee was waiting for them in the entrance with their tickets. He looked good, Alys couldn’t help noting, in charcoal trousers and a slim-fit black shirt. He greeted them as if they’d all been best friends forever, even Babur, who, upon Darsee’s enquiry, informed him that he’d got into Cornell University and been offered a scholarship. Alys had not thought she could be any prouder of her cousin, but the look on Darsee’s face proved her wrong.

  They climbed up the circular stairs to the vast auditorium and stepped inside the carpeted amphitheatre. Their seats were near the stage, and as they wound their way down the aisles, Darsee, Nona, and Nisar stopped to greet friends. When they finally reached their row, Alys saw that Bungles and his sisters were already seated. Bungles jumped up as soon as he saw Alys, his entire face a smile. He stepped over many toes to meet her and greeted her with such warmth that Alys almost forgot his weak will. She was delighted to see Hammy and Sammy looking ready to faint at her reappearance in their lives.

  In order to annoy the sisters further, Alys hailed Bungles with jubilant camaraderie, even as she merely waved from the aisle at the sisters and Jaans, who was complaining loudly about being dragged here when he would have much preferred the invite to a weekend of boar hunting.

  Alys was thrilled to see Juju stepping over shoes to welcome her with a giant hug. As Alys hugged her back, she caught Hammy squinting at Sammy. Good. Let her fret. Alys was also very happy to hear Juju use the tag ‘bhai’ – brother – when she addressed Bungles. It was clear that the two shared nothing but a sibling-like camaraderie.

  Darsee introduced Nona as the proprietress of Nona’s Nices. Sammy shrieked. She loved Nona’s Nices cakes! She congratulated Nona on the upcoming Indus Civilization Award. She and Hammy had received an award last year for their sanitary-napkins company, and this year they were presenters and had been sent the list of recipients. Hammy advised Nona not to be nervous during her thank-you speech, despite how prestigious an award the Indus Civilization was. After all, wonderful women like them deserved every accolade they received.

  The second Hammy and Sammy became cognisant of Nisar and Nona’s relationship to Alys, their expressions soured. Alys was sure that the prestige of the Indus Civilization Award must have fallen accordingly. Neither Nona nor Nisar missed the dynamics, and they were most bemused by the fluctuations in their social status. Babur too was mistaken for a somebody at first, and then his star also fell, only to be back on the rise at the mention of Cornell, though Hammy and Sammy looked as if they were about to ask to see his acceptance letter.

  ‘Alys, it is so good to see you,’ Bungles said yet again. ‘How are you? How is your family?’

  ‘Everyone is well,’ Alys said. ‘I’m in Lahore for a holiday with my uncle and aunt.’

  ‘Jena didn’t come?’

  ‘She was here for a few months a little while back.’

  ‘Jena was here?’ Bungles frowned. ‘In Lahore? Why didn’t she contact us?’

  Before Alys could answer, Hammy asked, ‘Alys, how long are you in Lahore? You must visit us.’

  ‘But,’ Bungles interrupted Hammy, ‘wasn’t Jena supposed to be teaching?’

  ‘She was,’ Alys said, ‘but she wasn’t feeling well and took some time off from work.’

  ‘Is it her ankle?’ Bungles asked, alarmed.

  ‘She’s fine now,’ Alys said.

  ‘How is Cherry?’ Hammy called out in a thick Pakistani accent.

  ‘Hammy,’ Darsee said, ‘have you changed your accent?’

  ‘No,’ Hammy said.

  ‘Then are you deliberately mocking Sherry’s?’

  ‘No,’ Hammy said, turning pink.

  ‘Good,’ Darsee said.

  Alys looked at him with yet-new eyes.

  ‘Alys,’ Sammy said in a conciliatory tone, ‘are you the only fortunate one of your family to be getting a proper holiday?’

  ‘No,’ Alys said, ‘my sister Lady is in Karachi.’

  Hammy said, ‘How very exciting for her. Lady’s first time in K-chi?’

  ‘First time staying with a friend in Karachi,’ Alys said.

  ‘And who is that lucky friend?’ Hammy said. ‘Jeorgeullah Wickaam? He’s a close friend of yours, isn’t he?’

  Juju winced and Alys quickly replied, ‘Actually, that man is no friend of mine. And please, Hammy, do not be absurd. Of course my sister has not gone to stay with any man.’

  The lights began to dim, and Bungles returned to his seat and Alys slipped into hers. Next she knew it, Darsee was sitting beside her. Alys could smell his cologne.

/>   ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, leaning into her. ‘Hammy has no idea about … how upset Juju gets at Wickaam’s mention.’

  Alys kept her eyes straight ahead and muttered, ‘No problem.’

  The play began, and for the next couple of hours, she concentrated as best as she could on the three Urdu short stories by Ismat Chughtai that the three actors had chosen to recite as monologues. The first, ‘Touch Me Not’, contrasted the pregnancy experiences of a prostitute versus a girl from a good family. The second, ‘Mughal Child’, was about a dark-complexioned man married to a fair-complexioned lady and the effect on his self-esteem. And the third, ‘Housewife’, explored class-based sexuality and domestic violence. When the lights turned on, the actors received a standing ovation and Alys glanced in Darsee’s direction, sad that the evening was ending.

  They exited the theatre, chattering about their favourite stories. Jaans was boasting about napping through the play, and Darsee and Alys inadvertently exchanged a wry glance.

  In the car park, Nisar and Nona thanked Darsee yet again for the excellent evening.

  ‘Dinner?’ Darsee suggested eagerly, but unfortunately Hammy complained of a bad headache and, since they’d all come in his car, Darsee called it a night.

  In the car, Hammy’s headache became bearable enough for her to hold forth on what a snob Alys Binat was about her aunt’s award and Cornell-Babur, and didn’t Juju agree that Alys was overly tanned and junglee, wild-looking?

  Juju glanced at her brother and then said softly that she thought Alys was so nice and that she liked her tan and thought her unusually pretty.

  Hammy laughed. Juju had no need to be civil about Alys for Valentine’s sake.

  ‘Remember, babes?’ Hammy said to Darsee. ‘When you first met Alys you thought she was the most ratty thing you’d ever seen, and then, after she came stomping in from a walk in a public park without a dupatta, you generously decided her eyes were nice enough. I wonder where you stand now.’

  ‘No need to wonder,’ Darsee said. ‘Since then I’ve come to the conclusion that Alysba Binat is one of the most good-looking women, if not the most good-looking woman, I have ever set eyes on.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The next morning Alys was curled up in an armchair in Nona and Nisar’s living room, holding Sunlight on a Broken Column to her heart, when there was a knock on the door and a servant let in Darsee.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I came to thank you again for diverting the conversation away from Wickaam last night.’

  ‘I’m glad I was able to,’ Alys said, slipping the book in her lap. She wished she’d bathed and that she wasn’t in her peacock pyjamas. She buzzed the kitchen and asked Ama Iqbal to bring chai.

  ‘Where are your uncle and aunt?’ Darsee perched on the armchair opposite her.

  ‘We had so much to discuss about the play that we stayed up all night and then went for a halwa puri breakfast this morning. When we came back, they finally went to sleep.’

  ‘Why are you still up?’

  ‘Life is short,’ Alys said joyfully. ‘I’m not sleepy.’

  ‘Lack of sleep is not good for your health,’ Darsee said. Then he flushed as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

  Alys felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, how is Raghav? Did he conquer K2?’

  Darsee smiled. ‘As much as K2 allows itself to be conquered.’

  ‘And how is Annie?’

  ‘Trying to convince her mother to let her Nigerian boyfriend visit; otherwise she will pack up and move to Nigeria, which she just might do if Farhat Kaleen would agree to move with her.’

  Alys laughed. The book slid to the floor.

  ‘So you are reading Sunlight.’ Darsee picked it up. ‘I thought you might not read it after …’

  They were silent for a second, each thinking of Islamabad and what had transpired there, his patronising proposal, her condescending rejection.

  ‘I just finished it,’ Alys said. ‘I was rereading the ending. What a beautiful meditation on memory and place. It so perfectly captures the nuance of the difference between houses and homes.’

  ‘You liked it, then?’ Darsee said.

  ‘I loved it.’

  ‘Me too. What exactly did you love?’

  ‘Everything. The way Laila struggles between the secular and the religious, the way Abida and Nandi embody class and gender issues. The way Laila is forbidden to love a poor man.’

  Darsee’s smile faltered. ‘Yes, the love sto—’

  The door opened and Ama Iqbal brought in the cordless phone. It was for Alys. It was Jena.

  ‘Jena,’ Alys said, ‘I’ll call you back. What? Slow down. What do you mean she’s run away? With whom? Of course I’ll leave for Dilipabad immediately. Uncle and Aunty too. Have you called Falak Khala? We’ll all be there soon.’

  Alys hung up. Tears dripped off her chin. When had she started to cry? Darsee was kneeling before her with a box of tissues.

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ he said.

  ‘No one is all right.’ Alys took out a bunch of tissues. ‘My sister Lady has run away with Jeorgeullah Wickaam.’

  The colour drained from Darsee’s face.

  ‘She was in Karachi, staying with a school friend, very respectable family. She left a letter saying she and Wickaam were eloping. I think you know what that means. They’ve been together for four days, and if they were married I know Lady would’ve called home to show off. She just turned sixteen. She probably believes he loves her and will marry her. She will get pregnant, he will abandon her, and I don’t know what we will do. My father left for Karachi as soon as he heard this morning. But what can he do? Why didn’t I warn my family about Wickaam? Why?’

  Darsee stood up abruptly. ‘I’m sure you want me gone.’

  Alys’s heart sank, and after a moment she simply said, ‘Yes. Go.’

  As she watched him leave, Alys realised the depth of her feelings. She loved him. More important, she liked and respected him. As the fact of that admission settled within her, Darsee closed the door behind him and Alys knew that, had there been even a smidgen of a chance between them, it was gone forever. To be connected to a family ruined by Wickaam in the same way Juju herself had nearly come to ruin was not something Valentine Darsee would ever inflict on his beloved sister, and Alys was sure Darsee, at this very moment even, was thanking his lucky stars that she’d previously spurned his proposal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Alys, Nona, Nisar, and Falak arrived in Dilipabad by mid evening. Nona was going to miss the Indus Civilization Awards ceremony, but no honour any of them brought to the family could ever compensate for the dishonour Lady had dealt them. As they entered the front door, they could hear Mrs Binat wailing. She was in the living room, laid out on the sofa, a thermometer by her side. Jena was wrapping up a blood-pressure monitor. Mari held a cold compress to her mother’s head. Hillima rubbed the soles of Mrs Binat’s feet. Qitty was huddled in a corner.

  ‘I keep getting panic attacks,’ Mrs Binat said with a great sob when she saw her brother and sister. Nisar and Falak hurried to their baby sister’s side with cries of not to worry, God would fix everything.

  ‘I keep asking God, What did I do to deserve this? You should’ve seen Barkat’s face when he found out. The last time he looked that way was when he discovered Goga had cheated him.’ Mrs Binat clutched Falak’s hands. She wouldn’t let go of her big sister’s grip. ‘My poor Lady. My poor Lady. Kidnapped by that ganda aadmi, dirty man.’

  ‘He did not kidnap her,’ Alys said. ‘She eloped.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Oh, Lady, Lady, my innocent baby, where are you! Imagine that man, Wickaam, a python let loose in my den of bunnies, and now he is squeezing to death our bachee, our baby bunny, which would be perfectly fine if only he marries her.’

  ‘He’s never going to marry her,’ Alys said. She tried not to think of Darsee and how fast he’d fled. ‘Wickaam is a f
ortune hunter and Lady has zero fortune.’

  Mrs Binat’s eyes welled up. ‘You were the one who brought Jeorgeullah Wickaam into our house.’

  ‘He was the lawyer assigned to us, remember?’ Alys said guiltily. ‘For the Fraudia Acre case.’

  ‘The case is over, con man has run off again, not a penny will we ever see from that manhoos – accursed – land, and now Lady is being plundered for free. Someone hand me my tranquillisers. I want to be tranquil. Better yet, I want to be dead.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Falak and Nisar said in distress.

  ‘God has abandoned us,’ Mari said, gripping her inhaler. ‘If you ask me, we should all kill ourselves. Better that than endure society’s taunts for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Oh, Mari,’ Nona said. ‘Let us have faith that this will come to a good end.’

  ‘Nona jee,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘my sweet sister-in-law, someone has done bura jadoo – ill-will magic – on us. Useless Uterus Sherry married so well. Jena dumped by Bungles. Alys a failure. And now my Lady. Ill-will magic. No other explanation.’

  ‘The explanation,’ Alys said, ‘is that he targeted Lady and she likes to make you-you eyes at everyone, and this time she went too far.’