Madras on Rainy Days: A Novel (4 page)

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Authors: Samina Ali

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“Children begin to commit sins,” the
alim
continued. Noor nodded in agreement, her eyes still closed. “They don’t know better and do as their
Umrikan
friends. Drink alcohol. Go to dirty bars and dance with the opposite sex. I have heard that some of our girls are even wearing miniskirts and bikinis.
Tho-ba, tho-ba’”
he said, lightly slapping his cheeks to show repentance. “No shame left at all. This is all a sign the day of judgment is coming.”
“Our daughter is not like that,” Amme said, looking over the alim’s shoulder at the mirrors, then into the courtyard at the drizzle, then at her wristwatch. Even her voice sounded bored. “Her father is very strict with her. No phone calls from American friends, boys or girls. No going out of the house unless it is to attend classes. She’s been very … isolated.” She began to clean her toenails.
“Is this true, Beta?” he asked me.
“Very true,” I said, for it was, and I had always resented my parents for it. Isolation to prevent assimilation. If I happened to stay out late one night or got a call from a boy, Dad would beat me to remind me of who I was.
“My sister-in-law brings her daughter home each summer,” Abu Uncle said, nodding at Amme. He was making up to her now, noticing, I was sure, how the
alim
had not proceeded to connect my bleeding with America to offer me a simple cure. “Every year Apa leaves her home in the U.S. to bring her daughter to Hyderabad. Have you ever heard of such devotion, Alim-ji?”
Amme lowered her head and listened to my uncle’s praise.
I heard raindrops patter into the empty steel bucket by the well and thought it strange that the doves sat in the rain.
Abu Uncle smiled wide, showing most of his yellow teeth, as he leaned over to look into the
alim
’s face. Then, reminded that the old man was blind, he withdrew. But, as he talked, he leaned forward again. And withdrew again.
The
alim
nodded, as though considering my uncle’s words, but his expression did not change.
“Of course Layla isn’t like the girls you’ve heard of, Alim-ji,” my uncle was saying. “She’s a decent girl. Her parents are very strict. Very, very strict. They wouldn’t let Layla grow up American.
Ar’re!
What a thing to say! Apa brings Layla back every year so the girl won’t forget who she really is. Imagine the money it takes to travel back and forth every single year …”
Amme cleared her throat at the mention of money and Abu Uncle quieted.
“Good, good,” the
alim
said. “But one thing still confuses me.” He rocked silently again, his hands holding his ankles. The face of his watch peeped out and I glanced at Noor. Her head was down, eyes closed. No one seemed to notice it but me. “If all of this is true,” the alim said, “then why have you come to me? What are these dreams you speak of? And what is the cause of this flowing blood?”
“We don’t know why she’s having these dreams,” Amme said. She stared into her palms, as though questioning her own life decisions. “We wanted your help for that.”
“I do not mean offense, my sister, but I must ask you one thing. I beg you to be honest with me. Are you quite sure, my sister, that your daughter was as secluded as you say?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Amme said, but when she glanced at me, I thought I saw doubt in her eyes.
I grew uncomfortable and slumped into my veil, trying to hide from her and the
alim’
s dead eyes. No one had ever thought to question this before and I felt exposed. In fact, I began to feel convinced that the
alim
knew everything, that he was, at that moment, conjuring up all the events of the previous month. As though on a movie screen, I visualized the images displayed on the back of his white eyes. As he watched, I, too, recalled.
There was Nate, dark haired, gray-green eyes, his camera knocking against his jeans, following me onto a college bus after our shared photography class. And there was I, elated and afraid, having never
dated, but feeling I needed to now, boarding the wrong bus, already hiding my engagement ring. There we were, getting off at the first stop, then walking across campus, to my next class, and agreeing to meet for coffee. Now there I was, skipping classes to go sailing with him. There, wearing a bikini. Now, lying in the sun—as though I needed a tan. There, drinking beer. Now, returning home on time and complaining to my parents about the difficulty of college classes. Oh God, there I was, late at night, finding a way to get him inside the house. Now we’re making love, one floor below my mother. Early in the morning, he quietly leaves, easily, through the patio door.
No, I hadn’t the courage to sneak out of the house. But I had found someone willing to sneak in.
 
 
“DON’T BE ASHAMED, Layla,” Amme said, poking my thigh. “He’s like a doctor. Tell him about your dreams.”
I shook my head no. I had described my dreams to one person, my mother, and only out of fear. Since I was a child she had been saying the devil was inside me, trying to take control. So when I began having these dreams, I wondered if she might, after all, be right. Now, if Amme wanted, she could inform him herself, just as she had Abu Uncle and his wife—and who knows how many others. Besides, if it was considered improper for me to look into a strange man’s face, how then did she expect me to confide in that man about my sexual dreams?
“Go on and tell him,” Amme urged.
I turned away from her.
“May I?” Abu Uncle jumped in. “In her dreams, Alim-ji,” he whispered, “a man visits her. The dreams … how can I say this?” He grew uncomfortable and laughed. “I’m not sure what you will think, Alim-ji, but the dreams are sexual in nature.”
“I see,” the
alim
said. He cracked his knuckles, the noise like small thunder during monsoon showers. “What does this man look like?”
“She can’t see his face,” my uncle said.
“How long ago did this start?”
“She says a little over one month.”
“What has changed in the past few weeks?”
No one spoke.
“Beta,” the
alim
said, addressing me as Daughter. “What has changed in the past month?”
“In the past month?” I said, tracing a tile with my pinkie. “Very little has changed.”
“But something must have happened to start these dreams.”
“Like what?” I asked, laugling. But the other three only looked at me, even that blind
alim
, all their brows arched and foreheads lined. A bird flew into the mirrored living room and its black-and-red wings, its marble-sized head, were reflected over and over and over.
“I think there is a demon in her,” Amme finally said. “When she was a child, only a year old, she would jump on the bed, screaming,
‘Mai shai-tan hoon
—’” I am the devil. “All day long she jumped and screamed. I could not make her stop. And I knew then she was possessed. The moment we arrived in America it started. And now …” she shook her head and clucked in sadness. “Now that beast won’t let my child get married. I have heard, Alim-ji, that when a demon takes a liking to a woman, he won’t let her be happy with anyone else. I think this one is doing the same. He wants to keep Layla to himself.” She raised her head to address his belly. “Can you do anything to remove him?” she asked.
“I would be happy to make the demon go away, my sister. I can see that you are very upset.”
“She’s my only daughter,” Amme said. “My only child. I want her to be happy. Money is not an issue.”
The
alim
put up a palm. “
Nai, nai,”
he said. “Let’s not talk about money. I am worried only about the child. She is bleeding and having nightmares. This does sound like a very serious case. But, tell me, my sister, why is it that you have not yet taken your daughter to see a lady doctor?”
“We thought of you, of course,” Abu Uncle said, leaning toward the
alim
. “The girl is not sick, she needs the demon removed.”
“Please, Alim-ji,” Amme said. “The wedding begins the day after tomorrow. We need you to do something quick. We only just discovered this ourselves.”
“My sister, you cannot marry your daughter in such a condition. It is not possible.”
I straightened, almost smiling behind my chador. Perhaps there was a way out of this marriage? A reasonable way. Let the
alim
forbid it. None of my own objections had mattered, but if someone Amme revered protested, maybe she would listen. The
alim’
s words filled my head like a silly, catchy jingle I wanted to believe in, and in those few moments, I saw clearly how I was a ghost caught in these cultural ruins, not a ghost from the past, but one from the future, someone whose life had already been lived for her, not once, but a thousand times before, and there was nothing left for me to do but gaze at the scorched relics of my own existence.
“What are you saying?” Amme asked the
alim
. In her fear, she clutched the chador against her lips, and I saw her hand tremble. “Will this demon kill her if she weds?”
“No, no, you misunderstand me. What I am saying is that your child is not fit to marry. Are you, Beta?” He turned in my direction.
I wanted so badly to agree with him, but when the time came, I found myself thinking more about Amme’s happiness than my own. Perhaps if I had not seen her trembling, I would have been courageous enough to reverse all that had come before.
“How would she know?” Amme asked. “You are the
alim.
You tell us. We have come to you for help and now you are giving us more strain. What kind of help is this?” She snorted. “
Ageeb admi hai
,” she said under her breath, strange man.
“Hahn’”
Abu Uncle agreed. “What Apa says is true, Alim-ji. We cannot stop the wedding now. The invitations have been sent out. The chefs hired. The wedding hall rented. The date was set a year ago.
Ar’re!
We are not playing a game here. This is a serious matter. This is a wedding. Layla’s name has been linked with the boy’s. No one else will marry her now. Tell us something we
can
do.”
Amme nodded at Abu Uncle, silently praising him for standing up to the
alim
. My uncle nodded back, once, his lips downturned. confident.
The old man slumped in thought, his beard now reaching the hair on his chest. His brows were thick and overgrown, his blue irises shining through the white film. He folded and unfolded his hands as he rocked.
“Sister, if you do not mind,” he finally said, “I must say you are rushing this marriage. Perhaps you could postpone it until your daughter is better suited to meet her husband?” He sighed, his fleshy belly rising, then sagging. Over his sloped shoulder, I saw the black bird sitting on a brass rung of a chandelier, tilting its head this way and that as it contemplated its own reflections. “But you are the mother of the child and you will do for her what you think is fitting. There is nothing I can say that will change your mind?” He paused, and Amme and Abu Uncle lowered their heads, remaining silent. The
alim
muttered something in Arabic and spit over his shoulder. Then he said, “Who is this young man she will marry?”
“The boy’s name is Sameer,” Amme said. Behind us, the rain fell heavily again. Monsoons were like that. An outpouring, then a retraction.
“And whose son is he?”
“Ibrahim Mohammed’s.”
“Ibrahim? Yes, I know the man. Very gentle. Very caring.” The
alim
paused and played with his beard, the tips of his yellow fingernails poking through. Some strands were dyed red as though he had experimented with henna at some point, then decided to let the color fade and be natural. One eye turned toward Noor, who stood so quietly I wondered if she slept, and the other hung over my shoulder, to where the mourning doves perched. “I know the son well, too,” he finally said.
“He’s an engineer,” Abu Uncle said quickly. Degrees were prized here, often put on the back of names, like a doctor’s: Sameer Mohammed, Mechanical Engineer, Hyderabad University. My relatives
touted Sameer’s degree to let people know I was marrying an educated man. It raised family esteem.
“Yes, I last saw the boy when he was entering university. His mother brought him to me after Sameer broke his leg in that terrible accident.” He clucked. “The leg never healed properly. I blame the mother for the boy’s misfortune. She did not want to spend the money on an operation. Now the boy has a limp. The leg is shorter than the other. He is the one you are marrying, Beta? Yes, you are doing a good deed. Allah will bless you for it.”
I didn’t respond for a moment, surprised at what I’d heard. Then I changed positions, rising to sit on my heels, so that I could lessen the distance between the
alim
and me. White stubble grew on his reddish brown neck. My legs had fallen asleep and began to tingle. “I … I don’t think that’s the one,” I said, stammering and staring at the wet circles under his arms. “I’m not doing any good deed. I think you must be thinking of someone else.”
Abu Uncle moved away from the
alim,
half of his bottom hanging off the
takat.
Amme had forgotten her manners and stared directly at the old man’s face. “The boy has never limped before us,” she said. “Yes, you must be wrong.”

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