The House of Djinn (10 page)
Read The House of Djinn Online
Authors: Suzanne Fisher Staples
A
t Number 5 Anwar Road the silver tea service gleamed on the marble kitchen tabletop beside a butter cake under a blue-screened dome to keep away the flies. Leyla had spoken to Omar, and his father was settled at Jinnah Hospital. She was able to stay at home to get things ready for her luncheon. This time the occasion was her mother's birthday. She called her Aunt Tahira to tell her about Baba's illness.
t Number 5 Anwar Road the silver tea service gleamed on the marble kitchen tabletop beside a butter cake under a blue-screened dome to keep away the flies. Leyla had spoken to Omar, and his father was settled at Jinnah Hospital. She was able to stay at home to get things ready for her luncheon. This time the occasion was her mother's birthday. She called her Aunt Tahira to tell her about Baba's illness.
“He has fallen ill before, Auntie,” Leyla said. “These spells have landed him in the hospital three times. He stays up till all hours of the night gossiping with Khoda Baksh and Asrarâwhat do they think? That they're still boys? The hospital probably will phone at noon, just when everyone has arrived for a nice afternoon, and tell us to come and get him. Mark my words. Oh well. Khoda Baksh can bring him home.”
“Shouldn't we go to the hospital and see him?” asked Auntie Tahira. “Perhaps we should postpone the party ⦔
“There is no need to put off the party,” said Leyla. “He's tired, and he'll be fine once he's rested up. Everything is ready. I'm just waiting for Mumtaz to come and help. Just come at eleven-thirty, as planned.”
Leyla tried Muti's mobile phone to check and see the girl hadn't forgotten to come home early to help with lunch. Where was she? She was so irresponsible. Leyla would have to talk to Omar again about marrying Mumtaz off. She was an embarrassment, and Leyla was certain she'd bring disaster down on the entire family if they continued to spoil and indulge her. The old man even encouraged her to think she was as good as Leyla and her sisters and cousins. That in itself could not have any good result.
The call from the hospital came earlier than Leyla had predicted. At 11:38, as she and Amina greeted Tahira and her daughters and grandchildren in the front hall, Omar telephoned. But what he had to say was not what Leyla expected.
“Dr. Ghafoor says he cannot predict whether or when Father will awaken,” said Omar. “He believes his chances of regaining consciousness are better sooner, rather than later. He also thinks that if we stand beside him and talk to him he might hear us on some level. Mumtaz is here with me. Father also has asked for Jameel. I've spoken to Nargis and they're trying to get a flight. Will you please keep trying Nargis?”
“I have company coming for my mother's birthday. Auntie Tahira is already here.” There was no answer from Omar's end of the line. “Omar, do you hear me? I can't be on the
telephone all day. And Mumtaz is supposed to be here helping.”
telephone all day. And Mumtaz is supposed to be here helping.”
“I can't have my mobile on in intensive care,” Omar said, exasperation in his voice. “Just please try San Francisco. They must get here before ⦔ He stopped and Leyla sighed.
“Oh, all right. I'll try. Hold on.” With her other hand she picked up her mobile phone and punched in the number for Nargis in San Francisco. He was trying her patience.
“It's busy,” she said. It didn't occur to her to try Nargis's cell phone.
“You should send Tahira and your mother to the hospital,” Omar said. “Father asked for Jameel and Mumtaz. And now he's in a coma. This is serious. He may not recover.”
“But it'll ruin my mother's party!” Leyla said. “I have a houseful of people coming!” As they talked, Leyla tried Nargis's number again on the mobile phone. Still busy. “They're on the phone.”
“Keep trying her mobile phone, please. It's almost midnight thereâthey're probably trying to get on a flight,” said Omar. “And, Leyla, I insist that you stay by the telephone until you reach Nargis. You should send the others to the hospital.”
“As you wish,” she said, and hung up. Leyla tried once more to reach Nargis, but this time there was no answer. In San Francisco, Jameel and his parents had left a message on Omar's cell phone and finally had switched off their phones to get some sleep.
“Nargis is as unreliable as Mumtaz,” Leyla muttered under her breath. “Unreliable in every way.” Leyla sent Spin Gul, the second driver, to find her son, Jaffar, who was playing cricket in the maidan next to the canal. Since Omar insisted, she had no choice but to postpone her mother's birthday luncheon after all. When Jaffar arrived with his trousers grass-stained and dusty, sweat on his face and arms, Leyla clicked her tongue.
“Go!” she shrilled, her tension mounting by the minute. “Wash your face and hands. Change your shirt. You're as disreputable as your cousin.” Jaffar cocked his head.
“She's not my cousin,” Jaffar said, heading off obediently to the bathroom. “She's my aunt.” Jaffar could tell by the petulant set of his mother's mouth that he'd best do as she asked without argument.
Leyla thought she might as well make the most of the situation. If she had to waste the afternoon by the telephone, it was better that Auntie and her cousins and nieces and nephews should not be left here waiting for her. And once she got to the hospital it would have been unpleasant to have to sit there all alone. Auntie Tahira had kept her car and driver.
The sandwiches, cakes, and tea were forgotten, and everyone piled into the two cars, Tahira and her daughter squeezed into the back of her car with four children, and Amina in the other car, driven by Spin Gul, with Jaffar in front beside Spin Gul.
Leyla did not like being left behind. She went into the house to put away the food and the silver tea service and
to try telephoning Nargis again. But when she got to the kitchen, the marble-topped table was bare. She went to the fridge, and inside were the sandwiches and cakes, all wrapped in waxed paper and stored in plastic boxes. The inside of the refrigerator glowed with a strange bluish light, although the lightbulb was burned out. The ayah was off for the day, visiting relatives in University Town, and Leyla didn't know where the lightbulbs were kept.
to try telephoning Nargis again. But when she got to the kitchen, the marble-topped table was bare. She went to the fridge, and inside were the sandwiches and cakes, all wrapped in waxed paper and stored in plastic boxes. The inside of the refrigerator glowed with a strange bluish light, although the lightbulb was burned out. The ayah was off for the day, visiting relatives in University Town, and Leyla didn't know where the lightbulbs were kept.
Leyla heard the heavy front door slam, vibrating the windows in their frames. She went out into the hallway to find the front door shut and lockedâjust as she'd left it after saying goodbye to her mother and Auntie Tahira as they left for the hospital.
Leyla was not one to be frightened, but she was growing perturbed. Someone was obviously playing tricks. She unlocked the front door and walked out onto the veranda. The front gates were closed, but she was sure she would find the guards outside, napping in the guardhouse. In one furious movement she threw back the bolt and flung open the gates. The guards were at attention, and turned their starched gray turbans and turned-up mustaches toward her in amazement.
“Is something wrong, memsahib?” asked one.
“Did you see who came through these gates?” she asked.
“No one did, memsahib.” They both shook their heads.
B
y late afternoon, Baba's grand-nieces and -nephews grew restless. Their mothers and ayahs kept them outside the hospital, where the boys played cricket and the girls sat under a tree serving each other tea. But there were only small, flat stones for teacups, and they soon grew tired of pretend cakes when they had been promised sandwiches and real butter cake at Auntie Leyla's.
y late afternoon, Baba's grand-nieces and -nephews grew restless. Their mothers and ayahs kept them outside the hospital, where the boys played cricket and the girls sat under a tree serving each other tea. But there were only small, flat stones for teacups, and they soon grew tired of pretend cakes when they had been promised sandwiches and real butter cake at Auntie Leyla's.
Well past teatime, Amina and Tahira decided to take the children back to Number 5 Anwar Road. They had been fed biscuits and cold tea from a hamper the khansama had prepared, but these were small compensation for the missed sandwiches and butter cake, and by four-thirty they were irritable.
Selma had watched her brother Nazir from the other side of the visitors' lounge. He sat alone, like a small island amid a sea of male relatives who spoke in low tones about politics and cricket matches. But his appearance had changed since
Selma had seen him two weeks earlier at Number 5 Anwar Road. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed. He wore a fine silk vest over a white shalwar kameez. He was motionless in his chair, his face impassive, his hands hanging limply at the ends of his wrists over the wooden arms of the chair. He looked more alertâas if someone or something had shaken him out of a long sleep.
Selma had seen him two weeks earlier at Number 5 Anwar Road. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed. He wore a fine silk vest over a white shalwar kameez. He was motionless in his chair, his face impassive, his hands hanging limply at the ends of his wrists over the wooden arms of the chair. He looked more alertâas if someone or something had shaken him out of a long sleep.
Selma wondered whether Nazir thought he was next in line for the tribal leadership when Mahsood was gone. Despite Mahsood's tendency to behave as if he thought he'd live forever, Selma felt certain her brother had a plan for his succession, and she was certain it would not include Nazir, even though he was the last surviving brother.
Selma rested in a chair in the visitors' lounge for a while, crossing the hall to sit with Baba so Mumtaz could get up and stretch. Baba's old friend and spiritual adviser, Maulvi Inayatullah, came and stood beside Baba's head. Gently he reached out and turned Baba's head to one side so that it would face Mecca. Inayatullah wet a cloth with water from a jar and wiped Baba's face with it. Muti looked up at Selma.
“Inayatullah has brought Zamzam water from the Holy Mosque in Mecca,” Muti said. Inayatullah murmured a prayer as he worked. When he had finished, he stood back to make a space for Selma, who took the cloth and continued to stroke Baba's arms and face with it. Mumtaz took only a short break, and when she returned, Selma gave her her seat back and returned to the waiting lounge across the hall. She noticed that Nazir was gone.
Mumtaz also had noticed when Nazir slipped away. She'd always been aware, without knowing specifically why, that he was the family outcastâeven more of an outcast than she was. He had small, mean eyes, and Muti had always felt uncomfortable around him. At family gatherings she'd sometimes caught him staring at her. When her eye caught his he didn't look away. Now she thought of him as the tiger Auntie Selma spoke ofânot a toothless tiger, but one that sits quietly watching its prey.
Dr. Ghafoor stopped outside the waiting room a while after the others left. “Can I have tea sent to you?” he asked politely. Selma stood.
“I'm his sister,” she said in her rich, husky voice. “Can you tell me anything? I don't want to leave if there's any chance he'll awaken.” Dr. Ghafoor shook his head.
“He's been stable now for a couple of hours. That may be a sign he'll make it through the night. But it's impossible to say with any certainty.” Selma nodded and rearranged her white lawn dupatta around her face. She crossed the hall to look down at her brother in the bed. He had not moved of his own will or changed his expression in the many hours she'd been there.
“I'll go home now and eat something,” she said to Muti and Omar. “I'll sleep for a few hours, and come back so you two can get some rest.”
“Why don't you get a good night's sleep and come back early tomorrow?” Omar said. “I'll telephone you if there's any change at all. Leave your phone by the bed.”
Muti had always suspected her aunt came infrequently to
Number 5 Anwar Road because she was repelled by the currents of tension that ran through everything that happened in the house. Now she realized the irregularity of Auntie Selma's visits had to do with the secret she had kept for ten years. Muti used to think that perhaps she might stay with Auntie Selma if something happened to Baba and life at Number 5 Anwar Road became unbearable without him there to keep the pinprick level in check.
Number 5 Anwar Road because she was repelled by the currents of tension that ran through everything that happened in the house. Now she realized the irregularity of Auntie Selma's visits had to do with the secret she had kept for ten years. Muti used to think that perhaps she might stay with Auntie Selma if something happened to Baba and life at Number 5 Anwar Road became unbearable without him there to keep the pinprick level in check.
Omar went to the other side of the bed where Selma stood, and kissed her softly on the cheek.
“Unless I hear from you, then, I'll come back early in the morning,” she said.
Mumtaz walked down the hall with her aunt. They said little until they reached the stairwell. Mumtaz turned to Selma. “I can't go to Cholistan with my mother,” she said. “Will you tell her for me?” Selma took her arm and held on to the railing with the other hand as she went slowly down the stairs.
“Don't worry about your mother,” she said. “You have enough on your mind at the moment.”
“I don't want to hurt her,” said Mumtaz when they reached the bottom of the steps. “And I'd like to see my grandparents. But I need to get used to the idea that she's hereâthat I have a mother!” Muti always remembered her grandparents as she'd left them standing side by side in the desert as they said goodbye to her. “Would it be all right if I went to Cholistan a little later?”
“Let us see what happens,” Selma said, taking Muti's hands. “You are a good and strong girl, Mumtaz. You will
get used to the idea, and you and your mother will find a way to be close again. She's having difficulty, too, having to adjust to knowing you're no longer a child.”
get used to the idea, and you and your mother will find a way to be close again. She's having difficulty, too, having to adjust to knowing you're no longer a child.”
Muti kissed her aunt, then hurried back upstairs to Baba's bedside. Soon she was engrossed in telling Baba everything she remembered about first coming to Number 5 Anwar Road. She didn't notice Maulvi Inayatullah praying at the foot of the bed or Omar leaving to use his mobile phone outside. When Omar came back he touched her gently on the shoulder.
“I've just spoken with Nargis,” said Omar. “They'll be on a flight that leaves in a few hours. They'll be here tomorrow, after midnight.” Muti's heart skipped a beat. Until that moment she had believed Baba would recover, but if Jameel was really coming from America, she thought, it meant they believed Baba was about to die.
Dr. Ghafoor appeared in the doorway. Omar shook his head in answer to the doctor's unasked question. Muti looked up and saw that the light had faded from the room's fly-specked and bird-splattered window. A nurse brought a lamp and plugged it into a wall socket. They had turned off the overhead light because it was too harsh. The nurse also brought a second chair, which Omar placed on the side of the bed opposite where Muti sat stroking Baba's hand and talking to him.
Muti didn't notice when Baba's breathing slowed and became shallower. His cheeks grew pale and his features sharpened. Omar sat across the bed from Muti, staring up at the ceiling.
Dr. Ghafoor came and went, but Mumtaz never paused in her detailed recital of the events of her life. She told Baba things she didn't even know she knew, much less remembered: how her mother had not wanted to marry her father; in the end her father had sent his faithful servant Ibne to fetch her on his magnificent white stallion; how her mother had fled with Zabo to the fort at Derawar. She talked as if she was in a trance, and she talked without ever repeating herself.
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Baba did survive the night, and when Muti realized it was morning her hopes that Baba would recover soared. Auntie Selma came back looking as if she hadn't slept at all, and stood beside Muti's chair.
“You really must get some rest,” Selma said to Muti. The nurses showed her to a small, bare room with a cot, and Muti lay down. She slept without dreaming for several hours. Someone had pulled a shawl over her, and she awoke not knowing where she was. And then she remembered. She looked at her watch. It was late afternoon. She rose and walked quickly down the hall to Baba's room. There she found Omar sitting with his head in his hands, a hamper of food at his feet. Selma sat beside Baba, talking gently to him.
“You should eat something,” Selma said, lifting her eyes to Muti's briefly when she entered the room. “Nothing has changed.”
Mumtaz reached into the hamper that Khoda Baksh had
brought from Number 5 Anwar Road and selected a limp chicken sandwich wrapped in waxed paper from Leyla's canceled luncheon the day before. She nibbled at it tentatively. It was soggy and stale, and she bolted down the rest of it to get something into her stomach. She poured some tea from a thermos into a cup and sipped it. It was still hot. She felt better.
brought from Number 5 Anwar Road and selected a limp chicken sandwich wrapped in waxed paper from Leyla's canceled luncheon the day before. She nibbled at it tentatively. It was soggy and stale, and she bolted down the rest of it to get something into her stomach. She poured some tea from a thermos into a cup and sipped it. It was still hot. She felt better.
Dr. Ghafoor came in and listened to Baba's heartbeat, then read the monitor that recorded his breathing. When the doctor was finished he straightened and turned to Selma, Omar, and Mumtaz.
“His pulse is very weak,” he said. “His breathing is very shallow. There isn't much time ⦔
Nobody said anything, and the doctor folded his stethoscope into his pocket and left the room. The three of them took turns sitting with Baba, keeping watch. From time to time Omar left to use his telephone. Muti lost all track of the passing hours.
Late in the evening Muti awoke. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep with her head resting on Baba's arm. Selma slept in a chair in a corner of the room. Omar was asleep in the chair across the bed.
The hospital was still and quiet, and Muti was sure that Baba's voice had awakened her. She had the strange sensation that she was still sleeping, but she shook her head and tried to remember. What he'd said was “I cannot wait. You must do as I ask, child. All will be well.”
At about the same time she became aware that the hand she held had grown cool. She looked up and Omar was alert
across the bed from her. Something had awakened him, too. Maulvi Inayatullah had come in from the lounge across the hall. They all understood immediately. Omar placed his hand on his father's chest, but felt no heartbeat, no slight motion of lungs expanding to fill and contracting to exhale. Inayatullah moved to his old friend's side and gently reached out to touch Baba's closed eyes.
across the bed from her. Something had awakened him, too. Maulvi Inayatullah had come in from the lounge across the hall. They all understood immediately. Omar placed his hand on his father's chest, but felt no heartbeat, no slight motion of lungs expanding to fill and contracting to exhale. Inayatullah moved to his old friend's side and gently reached out to touch Baba's closed eyes.
Omar ran to the doorway and called for the doctor, who came into the room some minutes later, fitting the wires of his spectacles over his ears. Dr. Ghafoor placed his stethoscope on Baba's chest and leaned over his body, his head turned to one side as he listened for a heartbeat. Muti focused on the dark haze of beard that covered Dr. Ghafoor's cheeks and repeated a prayer over and over:
Let Baba come back.
When the doctor finally straightened he shook his head.
Let Baba come back.
When the doctor finally straightened he shook his head.
“He just slipped away,” said Muti, through tears that closed her throat and ran down her face. “I just noticed he'd grown cooler.”
The doctor pronounced Baba dead at eleven o'clock in the evening.
Khoda Baksh had been keeping watch in the hallway outside his old friend's hospital room on the second floor. He had left the chowkidar at the hospital gate in charge of the car. He slept sitting upright on the floor, his back against the wall of the hallway, and was awakened by quiet shuffling in the room across from him. The light was shining beside the bed, and a nurse was pulling a sheet up over Mahsood Jameel Muhammad Amirzai's head. Mumtaz wept quietly in
the chair beside him, the end of her dupatta pressed over her mouth. Selma stood beside her, one hand on Muti's shoulder. Omar was in the chair in the corner of the room, talking to Selma.
the chair beside him, the end of her dupatta pressed over her mouth. Selma stood beside her, one hand on Muti's shoulder. Omar was in the chair in the corner of the room, talking to Selma.
“The funeral will be tomorrow,” he said, his voice weary. “Will you take care of the food? Leyla is at home. In the morning, after people are awake, she'll do some telephoning, along with Asrar. Khoda Baksh will drive Asrar and me to the airport in a little while to pick up Nargis, Tariq, and Jameel. Their flight arrives around one-thirty a.m. If you can't reach me on my mobile, try Leyla.”
After all the time they'd spent watching over Baba as he lay in the hospital bed, it seemed strange that his body lay there, but he was no longer in it. After a while they went their separate ways: Selma to the haveli, and Omar and Mumtaz to Number 5 Anwar Road.
In the car Mumtaz felt Omar's eyes on her. They both sat in the backseat. She looked up, and he started to speak but couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say. She'd noticed just before they left the hospital that his face looked older by ten years than it had a day earlier, when she'd said goodbye before going off with Fariel in the morning.
“I'm so sorry, Omar,” she said. He put his hand over hers on the seat between them.
“Mumtaz, I heard what you told my father,” he whispered. “Is it true? Your mother is alive?” In the light from the streetlamps his eyes looked like black holes in a pale mask. Muti looked at Khoda Baksh in the rearview mirror to see whether he'd heard, but his eyes were on the road and
she realized Omar had spoken so softly she'd barely heard his words.
she realized Omar had spoken so softly she'd barely heard his words.
“You told Baba,” he said. “I heard you. Is it true?”
Muti couldn't think what to say. She didn't remember telling Baba, but how else would Omar know? She couldn't lie to him, but she'd promised her mother and Auntie Selma she'd never tellâshe'd meant to keep the secret as faithfully as they had. Still, if there was anyone she could trust â¦
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