Mahsood stretched his jelly-like muscles and sat up in bed.
The sun shone through the bedroom window, and birds chirped in the garden outside.
Ya Allah. He’d overslept. Mahsood leaped to his feet and dashed to the closet. He grabbed a blue salwar kameez off a hanger, pulled it on, and looked around.
Where was his wife anyway? He swung the bathroom door open. She must’ve gone down to help Ilma tayi with breakfast. Mahsood shoved his toothbrush in his mouth and smoothed his hair back with a bit of water. With houri moving into the family mansion, things got on the right track. Finally. And in this house, they had no choice but to sleep together. He gave his reflection a lopsided grin. All was well…except… He dried his face with a towel and stomped out of the washroom.
One thought had nagged him since yesterday. Be what it be, he had to know. Standing over the bed, he jerked the blanket to the side.
Pristinely white bedsheets glimmered in the morning light.
He pulled off the rest of the covers and tossed them on the floor.
Not a speck. He closed his eyes. Nothing to give him doubt or…hope. To make him ponder the issue, rolling it over in his mind day after day. He sat down and dropped his forehead on his palms. Not that he hadn’t expected this from her. But, deep down, he yearned for houri to be different. The woman whom he’d caressed and called his wife was no better than that whore from the Diamond Bazaar, whose painted, pockmarked visage haunted him for years. And though neither his parents, nor Yasmine, or her father had learned of his indiscretion, Allah knew everything and doled out punishment to all. Mahsood raised his head and reached for the Quran that lay on the bedside table. He opened the book and found the paragraph that he’d read numerous times before—‘an adulterer can only marry an adulterer.’
He was stupid to think that Allah would permit his marriage to innocent Yasmine. Since he’d plunged his body into sin, he couldn’t pretend to any respectable woman. And now his disgrace morphed into a new form—the prostitute's sagging physiognomy gave way to his wife’s clear blue eyes. Mahsood leaned back and covered his face with his hands. He had wedded an adulteress. Allah, have mercy on him.
A bang shook the bedroom door.
“Beta, it’s seven-thirty.” Gafar tayaa’s voice resounded in the hallway.
“I’m coming, tayaa.” Mahsood jumped up and hastened outside. “As-salamu aleykum,” he said, hurrying after the uncle’s receding figure.
“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.” The old man croaked as he descended the stairs.
Mahsood caught up with him and supported his arm. He slowed to Gafar tayaa’s pace and walked with him to the dining room. There, Mahsood collapsed on a seat across from Awad, and tayaa sprawled in an armchair in the corner. The old man usually had his bed tea before dawn.
Awad peeked up from his phone. “You okay today, cousin-brother?” he asked.
Mahsood nodded and picked up a puri and a bit of jam.
In the adjacent room, dishes clanged and women chattered.
Mahsood glared in the direction of the kitchen and put the puffy bread down. “I’m ready.”
Awad sized him up. “Okay, then. Let’s head out.” He got up first.
In the next twenty minutes, the three of them got into Awad’s Land Rover and drove to one of Gafar tayaa’s petrol stations situated not far from the house. Once on the parking lot, tayaa climbed out of the back seat and proceeded toward the front entrance, while Mahsood followed Awad to the rear of the building.
A small backroom, designated as an office, contained two desks with computers and several well-worn chairs. A faint smell of petrol and dust permeated the space and the furniture.
Awad settled at one of the workstations, and Mahsood occupied tayaa’s table across from his cousin-brother. Mahsood turned on his machine and opened his email. A new message from Father sat in the inbox.
‘Kasim Basra found buyer for part of land. How are your documents going? Don’t drag out this business. Kasim asked for you several times. He doubts your intentions for his daughter. Write to him.’
Mahsood pressed his lips. He had to stop this farce with Yasmine. He could no longer deceive himself. Allah would never allow him to be with this girl, and going against his will was futile and sinful. Taking a deep breath, Mahsood typed a response.
‘Father, due to some circumstances, I can hardly marry Yasmine. Gafar tayaa convinced me of such. Please let Kasim know when you see fit.’
Tayaa would back him on this, and Father listened to no one except for his older brother. Mahsood reread the email a few times and sent it. Kasim would be furious.
He clicked on a spreadsheet with employee payroll and reached out for the accounting textbook that lay on the desktop next to him. He picked up the volume, stared at it for a moment, then threw it back down.
Cursed book. How dared houri palm it off to him? Everything of hers irritated him—her loose blond hair, her revealing clothes, and her provocative, laid-back manner of speaking. Mahsood slammed his fist on the tabletop.
Awad peered at him and shook his head before returning his attention back to the screen. He hunched over a compact laptop as his fingers tapped on the tiny keyboard.
Back in the day, Awad used to stroll around rice plantations, his shoulders spread, stopping here and there to give important instructions to laborers. Mahsood would trail after him, dreaming of the time he too would walk the land of their ancestors and numerous workers would watch him with apprehension. After Awad had left for America and married Ruby, Mahsood had taken his place as the heir of the clan. But what a strange irony fate held. He was following in his cousin-brother’s footsteps once again. Would he continue on this path to reach the same ending? Mahsood leaned back in his chair and rubbed his neck.
“Awad,” he said.
“Mmmm.” His cousin-brother stared at the monitor.
“Do you regret divorcing her?”
Awad clicked his mouse a few times. “No. Some women are not family material. She was one of them.”
Mahsood nodded. “You don't want to marry again? Ilma tayi would find you a suitable girl.”
Awad’s divorce had made him an object of ridicule in some Pakistani circles, but he could get a bride from a less affluent family.
His cousin-brother grimaced. “Having lived here so long, it’s hard to get back to how things were. With time, you’ll understand, little cousin.”
“Then why not marry Rachel? Your parents approve of her.”
“Just because you are standing with one foot in a boat, doesn’t mean your second one is no longer on shore.”
Mahsood frowned. Awad vacillated between the past and the present. Will he too one day balance between the two worlds, old and new? Changes slithered into his life, altering one small detail after another, and he learned, adjusted, and transformed to fit his new reality. He would never become completely American, but he wouldn’t remain a Pakistani either. What did they call it nowadays? A burger-kebab… He snickered and shifted his gaze back to the number-filled table on his computer.
From time to time, his eyes lost focus, and his thoughts deviated from the task. How should he act after he got home? Pretend as if nothing had happened, or…what? He had no moral ground to reproach houri. Mahsood ate tiffin at his desk while flipping through income statements. In the afternoon, he inspected the store and the pumps and later searched for petrol stations to buy on the web. When the sun disappeared behind the horizon, he got into the car along with tayaa and Awad and headed home. His heart pounded as they approached the mansion.
Ilma tayi met them on the porch. Shadows from the dim light of the wall lamps flickered on her face, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. “I worry something happened,” she said tugging at her dupatta. “Jane not home. Still.”
Mahsood glanced at Gafar tayaa.
The old man proceeded into the house and took off his chappal shoes. “It is not so late. She could be delayed at her job,” he said as he contemplated the large gilded clock situated on the central wall of the great hall.
Tayaa had told him that houri was an accountant. But, why would a bookkeeper work at nighttime? Mahsood caught Awad’s gaze and furrowed his brow.
“Beta, dial her,” Gafar tayaa said.
Mahsood pulled his phone out of his salwar pocket and halted with his finger hovering over the digits. “I don’t have her contacts.” He bit his lip.
Awad chuckled.
Shaking his head, Gafar tayaa reached for his mobile and read out Jane’s number.
Mahsood entered the digits on his device.
“The wireless subscriber is not available.” A metallic voice narrated the standard message.
Mahsood hung up. “No answer.” His stomach tensed. Did she go back to the apartment? He ran up the stairs, into their bedroom, and swung the closet door open.
All her things were in the same places as the night before.
He called her again.
Same result.
Ilma tayi served and cleaned up dinner, and after many protests, sent the twins to bed.
Sitting in the living room, Gafar tayaa frowned and every few minutes checked his wristwatch. On a carved sofa next to him, Ilma tayi stared at a handicraft in her hands, but her knitting needles remained motionless. Awad studied his toes, and a TV show played in the background.
Mahsood dialed the number again. “Doesn’t pick up. Answer machine.” He locked his fingers together. Allah had brought him to houri and allowed them to marry. He was merciful and just. He wouldn’t take it all back.
“Ahem….” Awad glanced at them. “Abbu, ammi, go rest.”
“Yes, beta. We should. You stay up and wait.” Ilma tayi put her craftwork into a basket and stood up.
Gafar tayaa got up after her. “Shabba Khair. Wake me up if you need me.” He followed his wife into the great hall.
“You too should go, cousin-brother,” Awad said, his eyes on the patterned rug under his feet. “Those things happen. Unfortunately.”
Mahsood jerked in his armchair. “Do you know something? Where's she?”
“Of course, I don’t. Just guessing…”
Mahsood clenched his fists. “What?”
“She could’ve gone to a club or out with friends. Don’t look at me with those scary eyes. It’s normal here. That’s where I would find Ruby when she disappeared.” Awad’s words trailed off into a hush.
Mahsood crossed his arms. No. That couldn’t be. Whatever wrongs houri had committed, she couldn’t have fallen that low. “How did you used to find Ruby?” he asked. First, he had to locate Jane, and then figure out what and with whom she was doing. And if she did something improper…Allah help him.
“Usually I called her pals. If you remember, we met in college, and I knew many of her batchmates.”
Mahsood stroked his forehead. He didn’t know Nessa’s number. Or houri’s mother’s. “What about Rachel? Call her.”
Awad raised his eyebrows. “She’s probably sleeping by now…but okay.” He put his phone on speaker.
Several long beeps sounded before Rachel picked up.
“Sorry to bother at this hour,” Awad said. “You don’t happen to know where Jane is?”
“Oh…Jane?” Rachel yawned. “Probably burning the midnight oil at RAF Construction. Not like she’s got anywhere else to be.”
Mahsood exhaled. “Where is it?”
Rachel dictated an address in Montgomery. 72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYKOLnwaTD5
