A Sister to Honor (17 page)

He thought he would leave a message, but to his surprise, Dr. Springer picked up. Why, he wanted to know, was Shahid calling him on a Saturday?

“My friend Afran says you are the best therapist. And the counseling center is closed today.”

“So am I.”

“You answered your office phone, sir.”

“Only because my daughter's having a playdate down the street. I'm catching up on paperwork.”

“Then perhaps Monday, sir?” Shahid calculated. He had Shakespeare first thing Monday morning; he'd have to skip.

“I'm booked solid Monday.” There was a pause. Shahid imagined Dr. Springer shuffling papers, drumming his long fingers. “Oh hell. Can you be here within the hour?”

“I can do that, yes. Thank you, sir. I am grateful, sir.”

But Dr. Springer was tougher than he looked with his horn-rimmed glasses and skinny arms. He wrote things down on his yellow pad in his crabbed handwriting, and Shahid couldn't tell what pieces of the puzzle he was putting together. He asked about Shahid's studies first, then about his family, about his sister. All fine, Shahid insisted. She was going back to Pakistan; everyone was happy about it. But then why had he shirked practice? Stress. One of his teammates had been injured, was in the hospital. This had been upsetting to him. “We were roommates,” he volunteered. “Freshman year.”

“I see.” Another scrawl on the yellow pad. What was the man writing?
Looks guilty. Sounds guilty.

Now they were one down on the team, Shahid babbled on, and the Harvard match approaching, and so the stress had affected his sleep, and his stomach; he was better now, though, and with Dr. Springer's blessing he would return and play on Friday. The doctor nodded, scribbled, asked more questions. “If you could simply speak,” Shahid finally said, “with Coach Hayes—”

“Shahid, you've come to me as a therapist. Not as a personal advocate. Now, my next opening is Tuesday morning.”

“You can tell her you saw me today, though.”

“I can. You want that appointment?”

The man was skinny but firm. Shahid shook his head, defeated. “I cannot come Tuesday,” he said. “I've got to take my sister to the airport.”

“You mean she's going back home
now
?” Dr. Springer sat forward.

“It is what our father wants.”

“Is it what your sister wants?”

“I think”—Shahid looked earnestly at his watch—“we are out of time.” He met the doctor's eyes. Brown like his own, behind glasses like Afia's. It came to him that Dr. Springer was a Jew. Like Gus.

They made the next appointment for Thursday morning. He would have to cut class. But by then he would have flown to Doha and back. He would throw himself on Coach Hayes's mercy for the missed practices. He would tighten his budget to repay Carlos. And with Afia safe in Nasirabad, he would be able to breathe again.

That was what Shahid was thinking as he walked away from the Victorian house where Dr. Springer had his office, down the driveway wet with melting snow. He drew in deep, welcome breaths of the moist air. He'd cleared one hurdle, two if you counted the warning he'd sent with Gus's accident. He felt bad for Afia, he felt lousy for Gus, but no one had been killed, and the outcome would be for the best. For everyone.

As he crossed the street to his car, he heard a door open. He glanced at the only other car on the street, a royal blue Hyundai at the opposite curb. The sight of the man who stepped out stunned him.

“Asalaam aleikum, Shahid.”

“Khalid!”

“Someone said you had walked into town,” Khalid said in Pashto. “I saw you on this street. Thought I'd wait. Give you a lift.”

Khalid was in jeans and a gray sweatshirt with the Nike slogan,
Just do it
. His beard was cropped close. He looked diminished by the Western clothing, a slight fellow with a narrow face and a hairline receding prematurely. Around his neck a scarf in a tartan plaid. Smirking, he sauntered across the street. His left foot dragged a bit as it always did. Khalid, definitely Khalid. But Khalid didn't belong on this street. Or in this town. This world.

“What in Allah's name are you doing here?” Shahid asked. “When did you come? Why—”

“Let me give you a ride.”

“I have a car.” Shahid took a step back, as if his brother would grab him. He was fearful but also amazed. Khalid in America! Khalid almost beardless, in jeans, like a graduate student! “No one told me you were coming.”

“No one knew.” Khalid blew on his hands, then stuck them into his jeans pockets. The jeans were new, creases down the front. “And no one will know.” He smiled briefly; raised and lowered his eyebrows. “I flew into Boston.” He stamped his feet. “A cold, wet country you have here.”

“It's warm for February. What are you doing here?”

“I have business in this country. And someone had to tell you.”

“Oh no,” Shahid said. His lips went cold. Afia self-poisoned. Afia hanging from a rope. “She didn't—”

“She did.”

“No.” Shahid backed against a picket fence and sank into a crouch. “No. No. No,” he moaned. “I told her—if it hadn't been for—but she wouldn't—” His eyes burned. He felt Khalid leaning over him. Finally he looked up. “But you don't care, do you?” he said. “You hate her. You hate both of us.”

“My feelings have nothing to do with it,” Khalid said calmly. “It is the third picture she has posted online. She is not just shaming us. She is mocking us.”

“Wait.” Shahid pushed himself back up against the stone. “You mean Afia's not—”

“Dead? Is that what you think I came thousands of kilometers to tell you?”

Shahid shook his head. He was desperate for sleep. Of course Khalid had not come to tell him that Afia had committed suicide. Khalid must have left Nasirabad at least twenty-four hours ago, must have planned the trip even longer. And Baba, last weekend, had known nothing about what was happening with Afia; had known only of two photos. Shahid made himself back up. Pictures. Photos online.
That
was what Khalid had come to tell him. “But Baba knows about this second photo,” he began.

“Third photo. And for this, brother, there is no excuse.”

Shahid shook his head. “I am tired of hearing about photographs. Photographs are not witnesses.”

“She is leaning over a hospital bed, in this one. There is a man in it. We see him clearly. He is a Jew. She is kissing him. He is touching her—”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Her breast. And so we know, brother, that you have lied.”

“Take that back.” Shahid stood up from his crouch. He stepped close. Khalid even smelled different, like cheap hotel soap and American clothes. “I don't know why you came, but you have no idea what's going on here—”

“I have a very good idea.” Khalid spoke rapidly, his eyes quivering with excitement. “You pledged your life to keep your sister's virtue. Your sister who is engaged to be married. She consorts like the black whore she is with this Jew and you allow it, you encourage it. Then she flaunts her black appetite until the whole world knows.”

“The whole world. Really. And this ignorant world—it thinks Jews are bad because Israel is bad because it oppressed Palestinians, which is the same as Obama sending drones—”

“Stop. We are not talking politics. Everyone in Nasirabad knows. Zardad's family knows. Farishta knows because none of the women will talk to her, no one will serve her at the market, she goes into the street fully covered and she is spat on. Her little girls know because they come home from school with their heads bloodied from the rocks that are thrown at them. Baba knows because to replant the fields they burned down he has to hire guards, guards from outside because no one in town will do the work, they are too ashamed. So you see, brother, we all have a good, an excellent idea of what is going on here. The solution? You pledged your life. Do I take it from you now that you betray your pledge? What do you think? Is this what is going on here?”

“I have not
betrayed
my
pledge
.” Shahid spoke through gritted teeth. So this was what all those calls from Baba were, the calls he had ignored. The temptation to punch Khalid in the face came close to overwhelming. He jammed his fists into the pockets of his jacket. “I have an arrangement with Baba. I am sending Afia home. You have no business interfering. I could've used the money you just spent—”

“The money is nothing,” said Khalid quickly, “compared to what her shame is costing us. You had better understand. If you send her home, you only force Baba to do what you are too corrupted to do.”

“That's not true. We are catching the problem in time. We agreed, so long as she returns, if she remains engaged to Zardad—”

“Zardad
knows
. You think he would keep such an engagement?”

“If he knows, then who told him? Hm? You, Khalid? You, who want Afia dead no matter what? Even if it shames you, too?”

Khalid opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He tucked his loosened scarf back into his sweatshirt. He rocked back on his heels. Slowly, he lifted a canvas backpack from his shoulders and reached inside. “Blood,” he said, not taking his jittery eyes from Shahid's, “cleanses honor. We gave your way a chance because we loved you. I knew it was doomed, but I told Baba, I said to him, ‘If you can bear the risk of letting Shahid try once more, we will all sleep easier in the end.' He said he could. And he has paid the price—a heavy, heavy price. Now it is time.”

From the backpack he withdrew a white flannel bag. Shahid didn't need to ask its contents; the shape and weight were obvious. As if moving on its own, Shahid's hand reached out. The revolver slid into his backpack, its weight almost that of another textbook. He said nothing. Words seemed to form and melt in his head, leaving his tongue glued to his palate. “Where are you staying?” he said at last to Khalid. “How long are you in the States? Does Baba know you're here?”

Khalid made a fist almost playfully and tapped Shahid's forehead with his knuckle. “No need to worry your brains,” he said. “I have somewhere private to stay. When our honor is restored, I can go about my business.”

“What sort of business—” Shahid began.

But his stepbrother had started toward the blue car. “Sure I can't give you a lift?” he asked, sliding sunglasses over his eyes.

As Khalid started the ignition, Shahid came back to life. He reached into his pack to retrieve the gun.
This is not the way
, he would say,
and I am not the one
. But Khalid waved through the tinted window and took off down the glossy black street. Backing up against the fence, Shahid sank into the wet snow, put his arms around his knees, and rocked himself, like a mourning woman.

I
t wasn't the loss to Trinity that depressed her, Lissy explained to Ethan on Sunday morning. It was Shahid letting down the team. “Thursday he tried telling me he'd been running a fever and was all better now. I mean, really? Did he learn that from his American teammates? Next is he going to claim a grandparent's bogus death?”

All of them still sported pajamas, Ethan with the
New York Times
spread over the coffee table, Lissy and Chloe on the floor with Chloe's “Dora in the Zoo” puzzle, the pieces spilled out for the fourth time. “I'm sure the guys respected you for holding the line,” Ethan said over the top of the front page.

“Fat chance. They wanted to win.” She told him about finding Shahid's sister at the hospital. “I dropped her at Gus's place, I guess she's minding his pets. There's another little secret I'll have to keep from Shahid. Good Christ.”

She lifted herself onto the ottoman. Chloe was finishing the puzzle now, methodically and with no hesitations.

“Good Christ what?” said Ethan. “What do you mean?”

“What's Shahid's role in this? The girl's twenty years old, not married yet, it's America.” She shook her head. “Afran said,” she went on, “that whatever happens next, it's not like I could have controlled any of it. That sounds like a threat, damn it.”

“There!” Chloe pressed the last piece into place. Animals grinned and clapped their hands around a frolicking Dora. “I need to go potty, Mamí.”

“Can you go by yourself?”

“
Sí sí
.
”

When she'd trotted out of the room Ethan came to sit in the armchair behind the ottoman. He squeezed the back of Lissy's neck. “You're tense.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She bent her head, let him work his magic. “Remember,” she said, “when I'm on the other side of all this—the squash season, you know, and the campaign—we said we'd get away.”

“Where to?”

“The camp, maybe?”

“In Hadley?” He snorted. “I'd love that. But it needs a week of solid work. No one's been there in three years.” His thumbs dug into her trapezoids. “Maybe you'll feel better,” he said, “if I tell you your boy came to see me.”

“Shahid?”

“He called and stopped in. I can't tell you more than that.”

She twisted around. “And? What'd he say to you?”

His grin was crooked. “What is there about ‘not more than that' you don't understand, Coach?”

She sighed. He was right, but still. “I just want him back. The way he was.”

“For Harvard.”

“For life. Look, I'm glad he came to you. He's got another appointment? Because I told him—”

“He's got another appointment. I gave him a slip for you. But Liss, honey, listen. This isn't a confidence I'm betraying. It's a central cultural fact.”

He was leaning forward now, serious. “Okay,” she said.

“Afia dating Gus. In the place Shahid comes from, that kind of thing doesn't happen without consequences. I've watched your boy, over three years now. He is one cool cat. Something has unhinged him. And when punishment gets meted out, in these cultures, it's often the brother doing the meting out.”

“Are you implying that Shahid had something to do with Gus's car? Ethan, these guys are both on my squad. You don't get it. They are
brothers
.”

“Not by blood. Anyway, I'm not talking about Gus. I'm talking about the sister. Afia.”

That girl again! Lissy rued the day she'd helped Shahid get the admissions forms to Smith. “Shahid loves Afia more than anything,” she said. “If he's found out about Gus I'm sure he's pissed off. But—”

“Not just pissed off. Dishonored.”

“Hey, look.” She slipped to her knees, across the coffee table from him. She reached out her hands and took hold of his shapely fingers. “We talk about honor all the time, on the team.”

“Not this kind of honor. There are places in this world that do not tolerate a woman's baring her face to a man, much less the kind of thing that's gone on with Afia and Gus.”

“You're saying because Shahid's Muslim—”

“This isn't about religion. It's about a—a sort of tribal code.”

“Shahid's taking a job at Harvard next year. He eats bacon. He dates girls.”

“Liss, honey, none of us really leave our roots behind. If Shahid's family's putting pressure on him, if his hand is being forced—”

“You just think that way because of the guys you've worked with. The prison guys.”

“I know something about violence, yeah.”

“But those are all abusive boyfriends, jealous husbands,” she objected. “That's not Shahid.”

“They're people who think they own someone. Crime of passion, crime of honor—people make these distinctions, Liss, but believe me, when it's someone you care about—”

Chloe was back, her pajama bottoms twisted behind her fanny. Lissy straightened them and took her onto her lap. She was getting so long, all arms and legs. “You okay, cutie?”

“I want to get dressed. Go outside.”

“In a sec.” She turned to Ethan. “You know what I'm going to do?” she said. “I'm going to get them together. One on one. With me to mediate. They'll come to some sort of understanding, and then we'll move on. Just to get through the season.”

“Not sure that's a good idea.” Ethan drained his coffee. She could feel him, wanting to tell her about his session with Shahid. But he held back.

“It's the best I've got. Can you and Chlo go somewhere this afternoon?”

“You come too, Mommy.” Chloe reached her arms around Lissy's neck.

“You want to bring them here?” Ethan said. “That's nuts. You could prompt a fight as easily as a reconciliation.”

“It's a neutral place. You and Chloe could go to the Discovery Zone or something. Just for like an hour.”

He shook his head, but he knew how stubborn she could get. He wasn't going to argue with her. “How can you be sure you'll find these kids?”

“Oh, I will.” She kissed Chloe on the forehead, then set her down and stood. “Your job may be to know how their minds tick,” she said to Ethan, “but mine is to know where they are.”

•   •   •

S
he got Shahid on his cell. He'd been for counseling, he said, and she said great, and could he drop by her place around four? When he hesitated, she pointed out that she had the place to herself. By afternoon, when Chloe woke from her nap, she was excited about the Discovery Zone, and Ethan had corralled another day care dad to meet them.

“Just don't get your hopes up,” Ethan warned as Lissy dispensed hugs.

“That's not what we coaches say,” she countered.

She headed for the Med Center. Tomorrow, she realized as she passed the town green, was Valentine's Day. Hearts and balloons had appeared out of nowhere. Devon seemed invaded by cherry reds, Pepto-Bismol pinks. She found Afia planted, as before, by Gus's bed, but this time Gus was awake.

“Hey, Coach.” Gus was propped by what looked like an inclined board. His carroty hair stood out from his head in corkscrews. On the side table where his lunch might have been sat an empty plastic cage, the size and shape of a small picnic hamper. As Lissy drew close, a white rope lifted off Gus's forearm. From its tip, a tongue flicked out at her. “Meet Pearl.”

“Hi, Pearl,” Lissy said with forced nonchalance. Snakes made her skin crawl. “Could you put her back? Hi, Afia.”

“She is not permitted,” said Afia, glancing nervously at the door. With her head scarf draped across her neck, her hair fell in dark waves over her shoulders.

“And you got her past the nurses—?”

“In my girlfriend's big-ass handbag,” said Gus, stretching his arm over the plastic bin until the snake slithered off and wound itself into a knot in the corner.

Afia snapped a yellow lid onto the cage and lifted it by its handle. “Gus says Pearl must be handled,” she explained as she tucked it into a green leather shoulder bag that looked, as far as Lissy could tell, custom-made for transporting a snake cage. “I cannot do it. In my country, snakes are dangerous.”

“Some might say they are here, too,” said Lissy. “Can I borrow you for a little bit?”

“Borrow me?” Afia frowned.

“I mean, can we talk about something? I'll make you some tea. At my house.”

“But why—”

“Just for a little while. Okay with you, Gus?”

Gus sighed. Lissy watched his eyes travel quickly down Afia's body. “You have to go soon anyhow,” he said. “Last bus to Northampton at four.”

“Hey, I'll drive her to Northampton,” Lissy said, seeing an opportunity. “It's just an hour.”

“I will have to take Pearl back,” Afia said.

“Let me get a last peek at her, then.” Gus pushed himself up the inclined bed. “And a hug from you,” he added to Afia.

The girl blushed and glanced sidelong at Lissy. “I'll be by the nursing station,” Lissy said. “They let you out tomorrow, right?” she added to Gus. But he was already unzipping the green leather bag, and he merely nodded.

The halls were plastered with hearts and Cupids. At the nursing station Lissy found Gus's mother, peppering the staff with questions about Gus's discharge. Ellen Schneider was a Smith alum, the daughter of a state senator, a figure of sorts in the Berkshires. But though she lived just the other side of Pittsfield, Lissy had seen her at no more than a half dozen games in three years. “You say he should get on crutches as soon as possible,” Ellen was saying. “But it's winter out! What if he slips? And he can sleep downstairs in the study, but there's a step down to the bathroom. Oh hi, Coach.” She pushed back her streaked hair and shook Lissy's hand briefly, her fingers small and cool. “Can you believe insurance won't cover another day here? He broke five vertebrae, for God's sake!”

“Two,” countered a weary nurse. “We'll be sending a physical therapist.”

Ellen pulled Lissy into the hallway, out of the nurses' earshot. “Can you do something about this?” she asked.

Raising her brows, Lissy caught a look from the nurse over at the station. It was funny, how parents believed in her power. Ellen Schneider no longer saw her as a woman, or a faculty member, or even an administrator. She was Coach, and Coach called the shots. “I don't have any jurisdiction here, I'm afraid.”

Afia emerged, her scarf secured, the leather handbag tucked under her arm. “Get that thing away from me,” Ellen whispered.

Afia looked frightened. “Gus says tomorrow you will start to feed her.”

“I will throw food into the cage, yes. I'll fill that water bottle since it's outside. But no reptiles ride in my car or live in my home.”

“That's a good reason,” said Lissy, “to get Gus mobile as soon as you can. Meanwhile, Afia and I have a rendezvous.”

“Rendezvous?” The girl looked wary, as if she were about to step back. Lissy took her elbow and steered her away from Ellen Schneider and the nurses.

“You'll see,” she said. “It'll be okay.”

A cool wind was blowing outside, harbinger of a return to winter. As they bundled into Lissy's car, she thought she caught sight of Shahid pushing out from the revolving doors of the hospital. “Isn't that—” she started to say. But Afia was busy settling the snake cage on the car floor, and the man Lissy had mistaken for Shahid headed for a blue Hyundai and not Shahid's beat-up red Civic. As they pulled out of the lot, the Hyundai stayed behind them for a while, and in the rearview Lissy saw her error; this guy was taller than Shahid, with a cropped beard, and dark glasses despite the gray day. When he turned the other way at the top of Winter Drive, she let out her breath. Ethan's paranoia had come into her head, turning her favorite player into a stalker. She knew him better than that.

By the time they pulled into Lissy's driveway and saw Shahid's Civic, Afia's quiet good humor had diminished to an unreadable meekness. She asked quietly if she might bring the snake cage indoors so it wouldn't get cold. “So long as we don't let little Pearl out,” said Lissy. She led the way inside. Her players knew she kept the Winter Drive house unlocked, and until he went home this year, Shahid had spent winter and spring breaks here. Already, as she kicked off her snow boots, she smelled the Darjeeling he liked to brew for himself.

“Coach,” he said as they entered the main room. He uncoiled from the couch. He looked tired. “You said four o'clock.”

“Sorry to make you wait,” Lissy said. She heard Afia in the hallway, setting down the leather bag with the cage and hanging her coat; she shucked her boots before she entered the main room.

“Asalaam aleikum, Shahid lala,” she said.

“Wa aleikum salaam
.
What's my sister doing here?” he asked Lissy.