Spirit of a Mountain Wolf (22 page)

It is too late for that
, Razaq thought. Mrs. Mumtaz knew from the beginning. How else could she keep such a hold over him?

Razaq fingered the picture made up of Urdu squiggles. How clever Tahira had been. No one would know that she could write or he could read. It took him a while, but he worked it out.
Tu kia hai
, she had written,
how are you?
Kash ke hum millen, I wish we could meet
. The note did as much for Razaq as the dream had.

Was it just a dream to think he and Tahira could marry? Could they even have a normal relationship? He thought of his parents. He was old enough to realize his father had shared his mother’s bed sometimes; had heard their low whispers when they thought he was asleep, his father’s chuckle, their embracing. That was what he wanted with Tahira, but would everything that had happened to them flood their minds every time they tried to dance?

He groaned—he had to think of a different word. Love. Could love cover the dirt and shame he carried daily in his mind and body?

When Majeed did visit, Razaq wasn’t even expecting it. He had to think quickly for a few seconds who the man standing in front of him was.

“Razaq? Are you okay?”

“I didn’t think you would come.”

Majeed stepped further into the room. He stood so close to him, Razaq had to steel himself not to step backward. He had decided to trust this man if he returned.

Majeed’s smile was sad and he spoke softly. “I am truly sorry. There is always much to do. So many children . . .” He stopped and glanced back at the door. “I can bring some good men from the Protection Center—supporters who work against the trafficking of children—and a good policeman to take you to a safe place.”

Razaq cut in: “There is someone else here.”

“It works best if we only have one of you to worry about at a time.”

“Then I want you to take a girl. She is only twelve—” Razaq checked himself, “Maybe thirteen now, but she is the youngest here.” He thought of Danyal, but shut his mouth. It would be good to get everyone out, but Majeed sounded busy. “Can you see her?”

He paused. Would Majeed want to dance with Tahira once he saw her? She was very pretty. No, Majeed wore a different expression on his face than most of the men who came to the chakla. “Her name is Tahira.”

“What about you?” Majeed said. “We could take you and come back for her. Someone wants to see you.”

Majeed must mean his uncle, but Razaq clamped his heart shut. “I could not go and leave her here,” he said simply.

“Then we will try to get you both out. She is not your sister?”

Razaq shook his head. He knew it was possible Majeed wouldn’t bother with Tahira if he said she wasn’t, but he stood his ground. “I love her as much as a sister. We were in another house together.”

Majeed’s eyes widened. “A training house?”

Razaq nodded.

“You can tell me where this house is?”

Razaq hesitated. “Inshallah, after we are away from here.”

Majeed smiled then. “Accha, I see you haven’t lost your spirit.”

Razaq thought about that. Before the dream of climbing the mountain, he had felt like a captive wolf, frustrated and hopeless. Maybe a little of his spirit had returned after all.

“You will know when we come,” Majeed said. “Just be ready.” He turned to face Razaq again before he opened the door. “It may take some time, so do not lose hope.” Then he whispered Tahira’s name.

Razaq inclined his head to show he had said it correctly.

When the door closed, Razaq didn’t know whether he had been clever or a fool. What if he had put Tahira into more danger? He pulled out the picture she had drawn. There was a space at the bottom. He folded the paper and carefully ripped that piece off. He should have asked Majeed for a pencil. Would Bilal bring him one? He thought about what he would write. He would have to do it as a picture, too. He would draw the mountains with his letters rising to the top, ready to soar off the paper. He would tell her Majeed was coming; to go with him.

When Bilal brought dinner, Razaq asked him for a pencil.

“Where would I get a pencil?” Bilal said.

“One of the girls?” Razaq knew Tahira must have one but didn’t want to remind Bilal about Tahira. He changed the subject. “Where is Danyal’s room?”

Bilal glanced at him. “Ismat’s old room, near Tahira’s. Why? You thinking of breaking out of here and visiting him?”

Razaq tried to grin at the joke, but felt as if he had been shot like a wild goat eating his father’s crop.

Bilal sat on the bed and pulled out his pouch of cigarette papers. He had an assortment of tobacco, paan, and other things Razaq wasn’t sure of. “Here, share this with me. It will get you through the evening. You won’t feel a thing.”

“I won’t massage so well either,” Razaq said.

Bilal blew smoke in the air and a sickly smell hung around Razaq’s head. Razaq had smelled that before in the mountains, when he had passed men sitting together over a hookah.

“How will I get rid of the stink?” he said.

“Mrs. M won’t mind. How do you think she gets the new girls to lie still for the customers?”

Razaq thought back to the few times he had seen Tahira. Her eyes had seemed unfocused at times. He hoped Majeed came soon. The men he had known who smoked hashish or opium in the mountains were very soon controlled by it. His father used to say men like that couldn’t make a decision unless they consulted the hookah pipe first.

“Razaq?” Bilal shoved him playfully. “You’re far away today.”

Razaq held his head in his hands. “I am sick of being locked up. I wish the police would come and close the chakla.”

“Ha. The police are some of Mrs. M’s best customers, except they don’t pay—she pays them when they visit.” Bilal tipped his head and grimaced as Razaq looked at him. “I feel bad for you. It is not good for anyone to be locked up, but kissing Neelma?” He made a stupid face.

“You believe that?”

Bilal stared at him, his lips pursed. “So it is like that, is it?”

“It is best not to say anything,” Razaq said quickly. “Neelma will just think of something worse.”

He thought of the hug he had given Tahira. It was a dangerous thing to have done.

Bilal nodded. “I don’t think Mrs. M is fooled by Neelma, otherwise she would have—” He made a chopping motion with his hand.

“Then why lock me up?”

Bilal searched his face, then blew smoke in it. “Maybe she thinks bushes don’t shake without wind.”

Razaq felt a cold shiver come over him. What did Bilal know?

Then Bilal laughed. “What could you get up to locked in a room?” He handed over the iPod. “Here, have a turn while I am here.”

It took Bilal a day to find a pencil. He also brought another note from Tahira. He dropped onto the bed and and rested his back against the wall. “If I thought you two could truly write, I would have to report it to Mrs. M.”

Razaq stared Bilal steadily in the face. “It is just scribbling and a picture, as you can see. She doesn’t have much to keep her happy. I thought I would do one back. Would you not do the same for your sister?”

Bilal didn’t speak for a moment, then he inclined his head. “I had a sister. I hope she is happy.” Then he added quietly, “I hope she thinks I am dead.”

Razaq sighed. He knew what Bilal meant. “I am sorry. All of mine died in the earthquake.”

Bilal glanced at him. “So that’s why you like Tahira.”

Razaq lifted his chin. Let Bilal think that, although he knew there was more to it. When he had hugged his sisters goodnight, it had never felt like holding Tahira did. He drew his mountains for Tahira.

“Accha, nice picture,” Bilal said, watching over his shoulder. “You must miss those mountains. I would have liked to see them.”

Razaq heard the wistfulness in Bilal’s tone. He understood that note of finality, too, as if Bilal had come to the end of his life. It was how he had felt a few days ago. He kept quiet; empty words like “Inshallah, one day you will” would have been insensitive.

“Was there snow?” Bilal had another cigarette rolling in his fingers.

Razaq smiled. “Much snow in the winter; now it would be melting in the lower areas.”

“How did you keep warm in your house?”

“I made a fire in a hollow in the dried mud floor. My mother cooked over it and this warmed the whole room. We had no windows—that helped to keep the cold out. We did everything in that room—ate, slept, told stories at night. If men came to visit Abu, they sat outside with a fire.”

“Lakes? Rivers?”

“Zarur, certainly. It took many hours to climb down to the village above the Indus. But there was a quicker way. To cross the mountain stream.”

“A bridge?”

Razaq shook his head. “There are no bridges in Kala Dhaka. A basket with a rope. You pull yourself across.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Bilal finished his cigarette and threw the stub in Razaq’s bucket.

“Ji. Lots of things are dangerous in the mountains. Guns, wild dogs, bears, the Indus if you fall in.” Razaq’s voice grew quiet as he added, “And earthquakes.”

Maybe it was the talk of what they had lost that made Bilal say no more about pictures and scribbles; he just took Razaq’s piece of paper. “I will give this to your little sister, bhai.” It was the first time Bilal had called him “brother.”

“Shukriya,” Razaq murmured with his right hand over his heart.

Weeks went by and Razaq went through the motions of his life, thinking about the stupid thing he had done. Every time his door banged open, he jumped, only to find it was Bilal with dinner or the shaver. He thought about the fear that had him in its jaws. It was true that terrible things happened, but if he could only change his thoughts, the fear would have less hold over him. It was the same idea that he had tried to explain to Danyal. It was like tracking a wolf: he couldn’t show fear or the wolf would sense it, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid. His father had told him that was what courage truly was. “Which man does not feel fear?” he had said once. “But the courageous man is not bound by it. He does what he has to regardless.”

Razaq didn’t dare think of his uncle and how he wouldn’t want him when he knew all about him. Majeed had promised him a safe place, and it was that safety he wanted for Tahira. Maybe with Tahira gone, he could escape by himself, join Zakim. Though who knew how Mrs. Mumtaz’s rage would manifest. It would be like a bomb exploding. Surely she would realize he was behind the raid when it happened. If it ever happened. Razaq sighed.

He was between customers and it was getting late when he heard a commotion in the dancing room. “Razaq!” It was Tahira.

He slammed up against his door. It shook, but didn’t give: it was still bolted on the outside. What was happening to her?

Then he heard a man’s voice. “Razaq!”
Majeed
. He still didn’t know Razaq was locked in.

Razaq rested his head against the door. At least Tahira would leave. It was a pity Majeed had called his name for now Mrs. Mumtaz would know for sure the part he had played.

Then he heard a slight noise above the raised voices heading outside. A scratch on his door, the sound of a bolt being slowly and carefully drawn. Razaq pulled open the door. Danyal stood there, a grin on his face that made him look like his old cocky self.

“What have you done?” Razaq whispered.

“No one will know it was me. Look.”

They both stared out the front door. Majeed had Tahira by the hand. There were three policemen and two other official-looking men with him. Mrs. Mumtaz was trying to shove money in their faces.

“Come with me,” Razaq said.

Danyal shook his head. “I wouldn’t be fast enough. Someone has tipped off Mr. Malik; Murad is here. He has a pistol.”

Razaq quickly checked the group outside.

“Tahira is safe,” Danyal added. “Murad keeps away from policemen who won’t take bribes.”

Mrs. Mumtaz was walking up the steps, cursing. Razaq had left it too late. He dashed toward the courtyard, while Danyal bolted his door. Razaq took the steps to the roof three at a time. He ached from not exercising, but he would have to be a mountain goat this night. He checked behind him, but Danyal wasn’t there. He reached the roof and ran along it to jump across a narrow gali to the next roof. Sooner or later the buildings would surely change to single story and he could slide to the ground.