Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  “Excuse me,” I called to them, “sorry to bother you, but I don’t suppose either of you have seen this woman?” I handed them the picture and explained when the older of the two frowned at me, “She’s my wife… she left that restaurant last night, but she… she’s not come home yet.” The younger one shook his head and tutted,

  “Sorry, buddy, I haven’t seen her.”

  “She would have been with a tall, blonde woman, and two men.” I said, “Please, are you sure?” The older mans face hardened,

  “Yeah, I saw her. She threw up in my cab!” He snarled, “And her Yankee friends got out without paying.”

  “I… I’m so sorry-” I stuttered and reached for my wallet, “please let me pay.” He shook his head,

  “Don’t worry about it, buddy, her friend paid when I visited them again this morning.” He frowned, “She didn’t come home?”

  “No.” I said, “Where did you take her?”

  “Dropped her blonde friend and one of the guys about three blocks that way,” he pointed, “she went to Durham with the other guy.”

  He handed the picture back with pity in his eyes; it was too bitter to swallow, so I spat his sympathy on the ground,

  “Thank you.” I grunted and strode to the front of the line. Carla got into the taxi just as I snarled our address at the driver. We returned home in silence because there was nothing else to say.

  Ritu

  He comes every day, and I just stare at him while he talks.

  He won’t look at me; not while his finger prints are still tattooed on my throat. Not while my swollen cheeks remind him of what he did.

  Not while my defiant glare reminds him of what he thinks I did, but I know he did. He did all this to me.

  Ritu

  Two weeks of sickness and dizzy spells were the only celebration I had after getting my acceptance letter. Eventually I had to go to the Doctors; Jalils orders. They took my temperature, my blood pressure, and some blood before I fainted in the waiting room and they ordered me to wait in an empty office.

  In case they needed me to go straight to hospital.

  So I stared at the ceiling while Nazneen rocked bruised and cheerful Mitun, already attempting to run before he could walk, and whispered stories to him in Bengali. The words were like trickling water and birdsong; I slept until the Doctor shook me gently. Her wide green eyes were startling in her blue-black face,

  “Congratulations, Mrs Siddiqui.” She smiled and her face seemed to split in two. Nazneen stopped speaking and raised her head, “You’re pregnant.” Her smile dropped when she saw my face,

  “No.” I said as the world span and pulsed, “I can’t be.”

  “I assure you, you are.” The doctor said and tilted her head to the side, “I’m sorry if this is bad news.”

  “You don’t- I can’t be!” I pushed myself up and staggered, “I’m on the pill! I take pills every day to make sure I don’t get pregnant!” My feet slipped from under me, but I caught myself with one hand before hitting the ground, “Please check again.” The nurse sighed, but the doctor must have seen something on my face that convinced her. She nodded,

  “What pill do you take Mrs Siddiqui?”

  “Logynon.” I said, “Every day. I took one this morning.” They helped me back onto the bed and took another vial of blood. The doctor showed it to me and said,

  “I’m going to mark this with a pen. So I know it’s definitely your blood.” She left with the nurse and Nazneen put Mitun on the plush carpet,

  “Bōna, are you not happy?” She said as she wiped tears from my face, “I thought you wanted children?”

  “Yes, but not now.” I wailed and covered my face, “This can’t be happening to me! How can it… I won’t be able to finish my dissertation if I’m this ill.” The future was changing again; lecture halls became a dimly lit kitchen where the clock showed two am, and a tired woman struggled to change a nappy, make a bottle, and refrain from crying all at once. “How can this happen?” I begged her for an answer, “I’m careful. I’m always careful.”

  “I know, Bōna, but Allah has a plan for us all.” She looked sad for me; I loved her even more for it, “Maybe this is meant to be?” I shrugged and pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. It’s a mistake, I reasoned to myself, it has to be. People make mistakes all the time. It was someone else's blood.

  There was no other explanation.

  But when she came back I could see it on her face. She sat on the bed beside me and explained two simple truths; I was, indeed, pregnant, and furthermore no traces of the contraceptive pill were in my blood at that time. Not even the kind of faint ones that would be found if I had skipped a day. Nothing.

  Nada.

  I stared at Nazneen.

  “You saw me take the pill on the drive here.” It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded,

  “I did. She took it in front of me today, and yesterday about lunch time. She forgot to do it in the morning.” She said. I rubbed my face and stared at the doctors kind worried face,

  “My husband picked up the pills for me. They must be defective.” I took the bottle of pills from my purse and showed her, “Look; only two left.” The doctor took the bottle and dropped the two pills into her hand, frowned and looked at the bottle again.

  “Mrs Thakur would you leave us please?” She smiled at Nazneen, “Nurse Roberts will take you to the waiting room.” Nazneen hesitated until I nodded.

  “What’s wrong?” I pushed myself to the edge of the bed and clenched my fists,

  “Mrs Siddiqui these are not logynon pills.” She said slowly, “They’re the wrong size, shape and colour. Have you had this brand of pill before?”

  “Doctor I never needed contraceptives until I got married.” I said, and she blinked at me,

  “Of course not.” She sighed and rubbed her temples, “I don’t know what these are, but they’re not contraceptive pills. I could check for you, but I think they’re most likely sugar pills. I doubt your husband would put you in danger if he wanted a child.”

  “Sugar pills?” Nothing made sense, “As in placebos they give in medical trials?” Her face was the only thing in the room that wasn’t blurred. She nodded, “Why would he… do you think it was a mistake.”

  “Well it’s possible.” She said, “If the pharmacy made a mistake your husband might not know any better-”

  “My husbands a Doctor.” I said, dry throat cracking, “He works in a hospital.” The Doctor sighed and reached into her desk before helping me stand.

  “You should go home and rest.” She said as we exited her office, and then pressed a card into my hand, “This is my personal number,” she whispered, “if you want to talk about your options, call me.”

  My options.

  Nazneen reached for me with one arm and kissed my forehead before we got into the car,

  “Everything will be alright, Bōna. You’ll see.” She said with simple kindness, but I found myself wondering if she had known.

  “I need to see Jalil, can you take me to the hospital?” I said suddenly as we neared the intersection. Her mouth was thin and worried, but she nodded and we turned away from home. She locked the doors when we pulled into the car park,

  “Ritu, what’s happening?” She said with as much force as I had ever heard her use.

  “Jalil gave me sugar pills, not birth control.” I whispered and turned to look at her. Her face drained of colour, her mouth slipped open. The horror in her face was enough to tell me that she had no idea, but I had to ask, “Did you know?”

  “What?” She gasped,

  “Did you know?” I demanded and slammed my palm on the dashboard, making Mitun jump,

  “No! Ya Allah, Bōna, no of course not. Why would he do that?” She covered her mouth with a palm and fought tears,

  “I don’t know.” I growled, “But I’m going to find out.”

  She called after me, but the pounding of my heart in my ears drowned out the sense she was,
probably, speaking.

  “Where is Dr Siddiqui?” I demanded at reception,

  “Ma’am if you want to see a specific doctor you’ll need to fill out-”

  “I’m his wife!” I snapped, “I don’t need medical attention I need to talk to my husband so I suggest you do your job and call him down here.” She stared at me for a few second, “Now.”

  “Okay, ma’am.” She said, “I’ll call him.”

  So I fumed between an elderly woman clutching a crying toddler, and a builder whose arm was soaked in blood. And I waited. And I watched thirty minutes drag by on the clock while the faces around me changed and evolved.

  “Ritu?” Jalil came hurrying round the corner, but stopped and pursed his lips when he saw the bottle clutched in my hand, “Come with me.” He said,

  “No.” I stood and shook the bottle at him, “I’m pregnant.” One of the nurses clapped her hands together and laughed,

  “That’s…” her smiled faded when I looked at her,

  “And according to my Doctor these are sugar pills, not birth control. So can you tell me, Jalil, why you gave me these?” A dead silence fell in the waiting room. A woman in the corner made a sound of disgust, and though Jalil was angry he could tell that the masses were against him.

  “I didn’t-”

  “Yes you did.” I snapped, “You gave me these and I want to know why you did even though I told you that I didn’t want to have children until after I graduate.”

  “It must have been a mistake.” He said and raised his palms,

  “So you’re telling me that you’re just stupid then? You don’t know the difference between actual pills and placebos?”

  Jalil swallowed and clenched his fists,

  “My office. Now.” He said lowly,

  “No.” I raised my chin, “If you want to talk to me I’ll be at home.”

  Outside I slumped into a bench and pulled the card from my pocket. Dr Steyn. I tapped the number into my phone and waited,

  “Dr Steyn?” I gasped when she answered,

  “Mrs Siddiqui.” She said, “How can I help you?”

  “What are my options?” I bit my lip and let a few tears fall as Nazneen walked towards me; she hadn’t went home. She was a good sister.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Dr Steyn said,

  “Tomorrow.” I gasped quickly and hung up. Nazneen sat next to me,

  “He did it deliberately?” She whispered,

  “I think so.” I sobbed, “God why would he do this to me?” I moaned as she slipped an arm around my shoulder,

  “I don’t know, Bōna.” She said. Her arms tensed around me, “Jalil.” She said, “What have you done?”

  “Nothing.” He said, “I did nothing.”

  “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. On top of everything else, don’t you dare lie.” I slapped the arm of the bench. He sighed and tapped his foot,

  “Well…” he cleared his throat, “we’re going to have a child now-”

  “Are we?” I snorted, and Nazneen froze,

  “Bōna don’t say that.” She whispered,

  “What?” Jalil snapped, “Of course we are.”

  I pushed Nazneen away and stood,

  “No. We’re not.” I said to him, and clicked away from them both, ignoring Nazneens calls. If anyone was having a child it was me. He had no right, none at all, to call it his. Ours. Not when he had forced it on me.

  His child? More of a nine month rape.

  Rizvi

  Carla hovered, half off her seat, when the taxi stopped, but I was in no mood for company. Her kind eyes flitted across my face again and again,

  “Thank you so much,” I said hoarsely, “for everything. I mean it.”

  “I know,” she smiled and reached for my hand, “I’m just sorry that we found out something so…” she shrugged, “I hope she comes home soon. I hope she’s ok.”

  “I have no doubt that she is.” I said and looked away, “Tell Sanjay not to come over tonight. I need to talk to Adra.” She nodded,

  “Of course. You’ll call if you need us?” She said,

  “Yes.” I nodded and handed the driver some money, “Call when you get home safely?” She nodded, I shut the door, and the taxi pulled off. I was alone with a thousand thoughts of which none were particularly happy.

  But a light was on in the house. One I couldn’t have left on.

  The house was filled with the smell of cooking, and music echoed through it, low and familiar. She was watching a musical. I closed the door quietly and sneaked up the stairs like a whipped dog. Our room was almost untouched, but her clothes from the night before were crumpled on the floor beside the wash basket. They reeked of smoke and wine.

  They must have been the last straw because suddenly it was too much; she never picked up after herself. She’d leave dishes for days if I didn’t clean them. She talked to everyone but me, and now this. These inconspicuous, slinky, smoke scented clothes that had made my bedroom smell like shit when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and pretend the full day had never even happened. I grabbed them and came down the stairs two at a time, careless of the noise,

  “Adra.” I shouted, roared really, though we had never so much as had a proper argument in the past. She rushed from the kitchen,

  “My God Rizvi, what’s wrong?” She stood in her bare feet, makeup-less and clearly suffering for the previous nights excesses. I threw the clothes at her, and she blanched,

  “I’m sorry Rizvi I should have called.”

  “Maybe you should have got your boyfriend to do it for you.” I spat, and though I knew I must have looked and sounded like a madman I couldn’t stop it all. I watched from above.

  “What?” She laughed, “Rizvi I know I stayed out, but I was with Cherry!”

  “Liar.” I hissed, “Do you know what I’ve been doing today? Do you?” She shook her head dumbly, “Well first I tried to call you, then I tried to call Cherry, and then I called the police.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth and the colour drained from her already tired face, “Then I spent two hours calling hospitals because I thought you might be hurt or dead. And then we went to the restaurant and I called my Nānī because I don’t have your parents’ number. ” Her face drooped and paled further, if that was possible,

  “Rizvi…” she bit her lip, “I’m sorry.”

  She was sorry.

  “That’s it?” I said, “No explanations. No telling me that it wasn’t what it looked like. You’re not even going to try to deny that you cheated on me?” She looked away, “We haven’t even got to the part where I met the taxi driver who’s cab you threw up in on the way to Durham.”

  “It was a mistake.” She said,

  “Of course it was. It always is when people cheat, but-”

  “Getting married.” She said and raised her chin, “Getting married was a mistake. My Amma told me that a green card was worth the compromise, but it isn’t.” She turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her while I gasped and flailed like a landed fish.

  Ritu

  It took twenty minutes to move the wardrobe in front of the bedroom door, but the ten minutes of rattling and shouting when Jalil came home made it all worthwhile. He threatened, snarled, and begged by turns before sleeping on the couch. I watched him leave in the morning, moved the wardrobe back, and strode past Zahra on my way to the car.

  “Where are you going?” She scuttled after me like an overgrown bug,

  “None of your business,” I snapped and slammed the door behind me. I knew what my options were, in all honesty, but I needed to hear them out loud. Adoption or a child you never wanted; what would you pick? I mulled over the question in the waiting room while my phone buzzed again and again. A sour faced woman tutted and bounced her baby on her knee when it rang for a fifth time,

  “Sorry, is something bothering you?” I set my jaw, and died of embarrassment on the inside,

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” She frowned,


  “No.” I grunted and lifted a magazine. When had I become this person? This hard, angry woman who confronted others? I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t like her.

  “Mrs Siddiqui?” Dr Steyn motioned for me to follow her, “Glad you came back.” She said and motioned to the spare chair in front of her desk before pulling her own chair around to it. We stared at each other for a few moments before she sighed and crossed her legs. “So, how are you feeling about all this?”

  “All this?” I croaked, “All this being the fact that my husband deliberately got me pregnant against my will, and that my career, my education, and my chances of a life out-with this marriage are over?”

  “Plenty of women have lives of their own after having children.” She said,

  “Not in traditional South Asian households they don’t.” I shook my head and started to cry, knowing that wasn’t fair, “Not in my household.” She pursed her lips and sighed,

  “Mrs Siddiqui there are other options for you, you know?” She scratched her nose and gave me a level gaze,

  “I can’t put it up for adoption.” I sighed, suppressing the hiccuping sobs as best I could, “Jalil wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Have you considered termination?” She leaned forward, “I ask only because it is my job to give you all the information you might need.”

  “Termination?” I knew, of course, that it was an option, technically, but had never actually thought about it. “You mean abortion?” She nodded,

  “I know it’s a big decision-”

  “Do it.” I said quickly, maybe too quickly,

  “Mrs Siddiqui-” she raised her eyebrows

  “Do it. I won’t have this forced on me, I won’t, I-” I fell into sobs, and she reached over to take my hand