The Sand Fish (23 page)

H
ow beautiful Jassem’s words were. Throughout that day and for the many days that followed, all that he had said rolled in Noora’s head like gentle waves, lifting her aspirations with every rise and spreading security with every dip, in an open and mild sea.

She was sure Jassem had meant every word. She had spotted the earnestness in his voice from the moment he had opened his mouth; his promises had caused her to drop her defenses and they had numbed the alert that tingled at the tip of her ready tongue. And now, along with a smile, she carried his thoughts with her as she drifted into the courtyard and flopped onto her back in the dancing night-shadow of the
sidr
tree. Its leaves rustled above her head and the cool air that caressed her face reminded her of time’s passing. Soon, her tummy would spread so big that she would have to waddle like a duck.

There was the moon, a thin sliver that shied away in a blanket of sky peppered with countless stars. Just as she did every night, she watched them, those flickering stars. On this night, they seemed to have taken away the moon’s silver glow. She wanted them to point her in the right direction, but this time the thought of running away did not fully occupy her mind. This time she was looking for another kind of guidance. She searched for some order in the stars and found it in one group that seemed to belong together as a family of sorts, forming what looked like the peak of a mountain.

At the crest, the stars beamed a steady and sure light, establishing their place in the cluster, just as Lateefa had established her place in the household. At the bottom, the stars were so fragile they seemed to be dying and they reminded her of Shamsa. And then, in the middle, in the body of that flickering mountain, the stars were erratic. They twinkled and dimmed, again and again, confused as to what they wanted to do, needed to do—just as she was.

She placed her palm onto her belly and stroked it. “Our child,” she whispered, but there was none of the confidence that Jassem’s voice had exuded. “Our child,” she said again, slightly louder. This time her voice wobbled with guilt at her deceit.

Noora rounded her eyes wide till the inky sky swallowed the stars within it. Blackness! How could she bring a child into Jassem’s life that wasn’t his, grant this child the gift of his generosity? She pictured a leech, fat with the blood of someone else. So, too, was her child, to be nurtured and groomed, nourished and educated, through someone else’s wealth and kindness.

She closed her eyes and buried her cheek in the sand. Up and down she rubbed her cheek, felt the rough bits of tiny, white coral chafe her skin till it burned. She didn’t care. She
deserved it, the pain, and more. She would keep rubbing her face till it bled. But she stopped short—there was a noise.

It came from the animal enclosure in the corner of the house by the men’s
majlis
. She heard the scratch and ruffle of fabric over the flaps of the chickens’ wings and the shuffles of the goats’ hooves.

Was it a thief? Noora sat up and spat out the grains that had slipped through her lips. There was a shadow marching toward her. She was about to wake up the household with a scream, but then she recognized that shadow. At once, she wished it were a thief.

Hamad didn’t bother to creep under the cover of the arcade. He was crossing the courtyard like a fearless camel. His feet dug deep into the sand, indifferent to what they trampled on.

Noora jumped up. She wanted to scold him for not thinking of the position he was putting her in. She wanted to push him back into the dark. But he was by her side already, clutching her wrist and pulling her to her room.

He pushed the door open with his leg and yanked her in. The lamp blazed, dangling on a nail in the wall by the window, and she could see the surge of his breath balloon his chest. His brows knotted in a frown and he swallowed her with his stare.

Noora stiffened and held her breath tight. Only when he spun around to peer out the window did she slacken, puffing out all the air that she had held.

“Safe,” Hamad said. “Safe so far, but we don’t have a lot of time.”

She had mistaken his urgency for anger. She shook the tension out of her neck and inhaled some control into her voice before whispering, “What are you doing here so late? How did you get in?”

“I managed,” he said. His eyes remained focused on the courtyard. “Now, come on, don’t waste time. Hurry.”

“Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “And what are you talking about, anyway?” Noora’s heart was racing. Even though she was comforted by knowing that Shamsa was not on the other side of the wall to hear them, there were the others. She had to get him out of her room. “Tell me what you want and leave,” she ordered.

He snapped his head back at her. “What do you mean? Did you think I would leave you in this horrid place? Come on now, pack quickly, and carry only what you need. And let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Away, to a better future.”

“I can’t,” Noora said, and let her hand slip to her stomach. For the first time, she felt she had to protect the baby that was being formed inside her. “Where have you been, anyway? You disappeared. I was sick, near to dying, and you disappeared.”

“I was made to disappear. I was told not to come back. I was told I wasn’t needed anymore.”

“Who told you? My husband?”

“No, not your husband,” he muttered, and dug into his pocket, pulling out a knotted bundle. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” His fingers fiddled to open the knot. “What matters is that it is done. Look.”

There they were: a handful of pearls cupped in his thieving hand.

“We are all set,” Hamad said, and he pushed the pearls closer to her face. In the dimness, they looked gray. Noora tried to pick out the shine in them, but all she could see was another shame Hamad was asking her to share.

“We don’t have all night,” he said. “I have planned everything.”

But Noora could not hear him. The thuds in her chest were deafening in an air that had stopped moving, and all she could think about was that he wanted her to become a fugitive. She would never be able to come back to Wadeema or even return to her mountains. She would have to live in exile forever.

“We will hide in Leema for a few days,” Hamad continued, “till the British steamer can take us over to—”

Finally she cut him off. “You did it,” she whispered. “You really did it.”

He scrunched his nose. “For us,” Hamad said, the lilt of puzzlement dampening the bounce in his animated voice.

“I thought you had given up the idea. But you didn’t. You stole them.”

“Borrowed them.”

“Stole them.” Her voice was louder, and she tapped her mouth with her fingers to remind herself to keep it low. “How did you find the keys?”

“I managed.”

“Managed, managed, managed,” she croaked. “You stole them, Hamad. You stole them.”

“All right, whatever you want to call it, but it’s only for a little while. I will return their worth when I make money. I have told you that before. Now, come on. We have to rush.”

A blast of hot air shot out of her nose. “You think you can just come and take me wherever you want, whenever you decide?” She rooted her fists to her hips and pushed out the roundness of her tummy. “And what about my situation? How can I travel with you, with this child I am carrying? You know I’m with child, don’t you?”

The haste in Hamad slackened, and he slipped the pearls back into his pocket. “Is that what’s worrying you?” He stepped
closer to her and slowly lifted both hands to settle on her shoulders. They felt heavy, burdened, but she did not shake them off.

“You shouldn’t worry about that,” he continued. “The child will have a father in me and a mother in you.”

Even in the lamp’s weakening burn playing on his face, she could see the yearning and desire in his eyes. They were begging for her consent, her approval, her blessing. Tiny twitches teased his eyelids, but he would not blink. She felt a pinch in her heart as she watched those eyes, moistening just as a puppy’s when yearning for its master’s affection.

Noora could not look at him anymore. She lowered her head to her chest and rolled it from side to side, mumbling, “No, Hamad, no. I can’t come with you. I have to stay here. This is my home and this is my family. When I was sick, it was
Ommi
Lateefa who healed me; it was Jassem who asked after me. So much care they gave me,
masha’ Allah
, and now you want me to take from them their pearls and this child—their dream—and run away?”

“It may be their dream, but it’s not their child,” Hamad said. His voice was as soft as velvet. And yet Noora heard only the threat in it.

“It’s hot in here,” she said, wriggling out from under his hands. She paced to the door and stuck her head out. “So hot, don’t you feel it?” She pulled her head back into the room, even though she dreaded what Hamad might say next. “No air,” she insisted, and strode to the washroom. He followed her, and she could feel his eyes on her as she tilted the earthen jug, poured some water into her cupped hand, and splashed her face.

“Of course, you had to keep it a secret,” he said, quietly, “but not with me. You don’t have to pretend anything with me.”

Again and again, Noora soaked her face, till the water dribbled down her neck and doused her dress. Still the heat of worry would not evaporate.

“It is my child.”

There. He said it.

Noora stiffened. The secret was out, but to admit it would let loose a whole string of problems. “What are you talking about?”

“I said, I know it’s my child,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“It is not your child!” She spat the words as if she had just tasted a rotten piece of meat. “It’s Jassem’s.”

“Jassem’s?” Hamad said. “If he could, he would have had at least ten by now. Hah! The whole village, no, the whole of Leema—no, no, no, the whole of India—knows he can’t have children. Don’t you know how many mystics and healers he’s gone to see in Bombay? And each one promised him the same thing: ‘This time it will work,
arbab
.’” He wagged his head. “All that money he poured into the visits and treatments. And in the end, nothing.”

“Just talk, old people’s talk,” Noora muttered through pursed lips. “Sometimes you can be so silly, imagining the stupidest things.”

“Me? Imagining the stupidest things? I don’t imagine anything. I see and I understand. It is you who are blind, you who can’t see that you have been played with, made to believe a lie.”

“Words, words, and more words,” Noora said, dabbing her wet face with her arm and mumbling into her elbow. “That’s all you’re good at, making up words to mix me up.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Now Noora turned to look at him. It seemed the color was
draining out of his face. There was alarm in his strained glare and his lips were a squiggle of puzzlement. She sneered and looked away.

“You haven’t guessed, have you?” he said, his voice remaining even. “You haven’t even felt that there was something very strange taking place. What, you think it was normal for us to have been together all that time, encouraged by your protecting
Ommi
Lateefa?”

“
Ommi
Lateefa is very nice to me now.” Noora remained crouched by the earthen jar, hugging her knees to her chest. She didn’t want to face him. So she fixed her eyes on the tiny puddles of water that had formed at her feet after all that agitated splashing. “She loves me like a real daughter.”

“Lateefa saw the wild in you. She planned it all, so that you and I could be together, so that you can have a child for her and Jassem.”

The shock burst out of her mouth in a yelp. Quickly, she drew in her lips as tight as she could. What was he saying? Was he making up vicious stories so that she would run away with him? She wanted to know everything—but she could not, would not, let her curiosity stray.

“Where do you think I was all this time?” he said. “She didn’t want me around. She told me to go!”

“What cruelty,” she said, her voice quivering with uncertainty. “How could you be so heartless to think of something like that? And anyway, if it is true, why did you go along with it?”

“I didn’t…,” he said, and stopped. There was pain in his voice, and finally she felt it was safe to turn around and look up at him. He was frowning, and Noora could see he was struggling with what he wanted to say. He tried to speak again. This time his mouth opened, but no words came out.

Noora stood up and slowly nodded her head, “I think you had better stop making up stories. I think you’d better go now.”

As she walked past him toward the door, he clutched her hand. “No,” he said quickly. “Listen to me. I’m not making these things up. I didn’t know Lateefa’s plan at first, but then I understood. And I couldn’t say anything.”

Noora glowered and he let go of her hand, as if her fingers had suddenly turned into hot coals.

Hamad bent his head down. And when he spoke, it was into his chest. “You see.” He paused and swallowed hard. “You see, I loved you and that is why I kept quiet, just so that I could see more and more of you.”

Such simple words, so hard to utter and so filled with truth. Of that, Noora had no doubt. He was opening his heart to her. And that’s what had first attracted her to him. But now she found it irritating. He was throwing away his manhood and opening his heart like a woman.

His arms hung limply by his sides, and his shoulders caved all the way to his chest. His eyes were shut tight, and Noora sensed he was waiting for her to pull him up. He was waiting for her to tap her finger under his chin and, with the soft touch of a rose petal, lift his face to hers.

When that did not happen, he began to slowly straighten up. There was none of the agility she was used to seeing in his graceful build, only the awkwardness of a rising camel, heaving the thick curve of its neck, unfurling its lanky limbs, all the while knowing it would have to stumble into a stand.

Only Hamad didn’t stumble at the end of his sluggish rise, just kept his eyes closed as his begging hands floated up toward her. With fingers spread open, he kept them in mid
air and waited for her touch. But she was not about to give it.