Authors: Monica Ali
James have job with company is call Bangla National Plastics. Sound like big big company but in an actual fact is only medium size of company. Lovely say 'It sounds so much like big company.' A few times she say this. Very much she loving husband James and this also cause for sad in her as he must work many hour away from home. This man I know him by knee alone. When he at home he push chair away from table and sit with leg cross with face inside papers. Even he eat a meal many time and face inside paper. Always I see his knee. If he passing me I washing floor or playing with baby and keep the eye low at the knee height. Every crease of trouser I have learn.
Lovely say there is difficult thing come in job. Two years now waiting on court case to clear Bangla National Plastic name. Also there is talk of ban the plastic bags. Lovely say 'When they see us on the street then they will be happy.' She really have care on her head.
In spite and even so most times she is good high spirit especially at party when you hear her laugh so nice to everyone. One day she tell me 'I missed my chances in life Hasina.' No dont talk like that is what I say to my mistress. Allah always will give another chance. He give to me and He give to you. She just smile at me and say how sweet you are.
She worry the cook up and leave for other job in house with real servant quarter. He is very expert cook and always his food admire by guest and friend. But I think Zaid will stay. He come and go in any case as he please. Miss the breakfast the lunch sometime he even miss cook the dinner. Lovely just say Oh you here and will you trouble to make some of your wonderful niramish for evening meal?
He is strange man. Always practise his kung fu move kick leg shoot arm chop hand even while he cooking. He small hard man like made of wire with little skin on top. No soft anywhere can crack nut in between the toe. When Lovely go out he watch the kung fu movie on video machine. Jimmy watching with him only time the boy come still. At night often Zaid going out. He say for few next month he must go out because election coming and his time is coming. Which is party you support I ask but he does not say. Maybe BNP maybe AL maybe Jamaat-e-Islami is how he tells. In morning time he has fresh cut or bruise but he do not say anything and I do not ask. Jimmy run at him with little arms going round like fans and shout KILL DIE KILL KILL KILL. They doing kung fu together. Bedtime now the boy give to me kiss and hug. Baby Daisy always want her face to me and she sit on my hip all day if only no work to do. When she smile she put her head back and show all her teeth. All my life I look for one thing only for love for giving and getting and it seem such a thing full of danger can eat you alive and now I stop the looking it come right up to me and show all it tiny little teeth.
Razia came when she was reading Hasina's letters. She had read them many times already so that now the words were in her mind even before her eyes moved over them.
Nazneen hid the letters under the cotton spools.
Razia fanned herself with a book. She wore the Union Jack top over salwaar pants. The loose folds of material in the trousers made her backside appear enormous. The trousers were designed to be worn with a long top and it was too hot to be wearing a sweatshirt.
'These bloody health inspectors,' said Razia. 'Closed the bloody factory down. Came with an interpreter and went around asking stupid questions. "Is it always hot in here?" I told them, "No. In winter you have to take a chisel and knock off the ice between your toes." And they wrote it all down in their stupid book.'
'How long will it be closed?'
Razia took off her glasses. 'At least it gives my eyes a rest.' She blinked hard. She picked up one of the glittery vests.
'Shefali tried to go out of the house wearing some little thing like this. I told her no way.' She replaced her glasses and rolled her eyes. 'Daughters! They are trouble.'
'How is Tariq?'
'Sons!' said Razia. She put the vest down and lit up a Silk Cut. 'They say they are closing the factory for Health and Safety, but everyone thinks it is something else. The people who came are from Immigration. But I have my passport. I said I would bring my passport but they didn't want to know.' She pulled at her top. 'British citizen. Nothing to hide.'
She fanned herself again and waved her cigarette at Nazneen. 'This top is too hot. Too hot.'
'Yes. It looks hot.'
Razia sighed. 'But I must wear it, from time to time. I hear what they are saying. Razia is a little touched. Crazy, crazy.' She clucked a little and made some crooning noises. ' "Razia is so English. She is getting like the Queen herself."'
'They always talk.' Yesterday, Nazma – whose brother-in-law had turned up unexpectedly – had popped round to borrow a pinch of saffron. She rolled into the sitting room holding up her hands. Can't stay, she said, can't stay; ready to fend off any onslaught of hospitality. But she stayed long enough to drop a few hints about Razia. 'Do you know? The woman
smokes!'
'Let them talk,' said Razia. 'If I stop wearing this now, they are going to think I listen to them.'
'If they have the time, let them gossip.'
'Come on,' said Razia. 'Let me help you. Or I
will
go crazy, crazy with all this sitting around. I'll do five zips for one cup of tea.'
Nazneen drank her tea and watched her friend. Through the open window drifted wafts of music and snatches of curry. It was the shift work. Main meals were cooked at all times of day or night. There was nothing to anchor them. Voices were raised in the courtyard and she looked out at a group of Bengali lads. One was kneeling next to a large pile of leaflets, which he was dividing into smaller piles. As she turned back she thought that one might be Karim, but she forced herself not to look again.
'They don't have jobs,' said Razia. 'They don't study and they don't have jobs.'
'You are lucky with your son.'
'OK-Ma, I am lucky. But I wish he would go out sometimes and make a few friends. I told him to go to mosque and make friends but he wouldn't go.'
'What about college? He has friends there?'
Razia considered. 'Yes, that must be true.'
They both listened to the sewing machine. Nazneen thought of Hasina. She thought of Hasina in the garment factory, how happy she had been. Her stepmother came into her mind, a young woman with a large nose ring, thick gold bands on her ankles. She came to the compound and she slept in Abba's sleeping quarters. She came suddenly and she went, and no more was ever said of her. She left no impression other than a young woman with a jewelled nose ring and gold ankle bracelets. Where did she go? Where was she sent? How long before the bracelets were melted down and spent? How long before she came to be where Hasina had also been?
Nazneen pushed her thumbs into her temples. Her mind was becoming too loose again, tramping this way and that without discipline. Under her breath she began to recite the Opening.
Praise be to God, Lord of the Universe, the Compassionate, the Merciful, Sovereign of the Day of Judgement! You alone we worship, and to You alone we turn for help. Guide us to the straight path
. . .
And show us where it leads, she said to herself.
'What?' said Razia.
Nazneen fiddled with her teacup. She wondered if they would take teacups with them to Dhaka, or whether they would be left behind.
Razia finished the last zip and drank her tea though it was nearly cold. 'I have to go back to work. The children need money. Tariq is going hysterical. This morning he did not even get out of bed. He needs money for books or he will fail the exam.'
'When did the factory close?'
'Three days ago. Not long, but Tariq is so anxious. I will have to break in myself if they don't open it. Or go to see Mrs Islam.'
Nazneen put the cup to her lips and tipped it to cover her face. It was empty. She repeated the action. But Razia, she saw now, was not hinting at anything. She did not know about Chanu's 'little arrangement' with Mrs Islam. And Nazneen, complicit in the sin, would not tell. Razia rubbed at her hip and adopted a feeble voice. 'Just bury me now. I am as good as dead.'
Nazneen laughed. 'Don't worry. Benylin Chesty Coughs can cure anything.'
Razia barked. 'When I was a girl, we gave respect to our elders.' She became feeble again. 'But I am practically dead. Take your fun. Take anything you want. Take my hip. I leave you my Ralgex.'
Nazneen snorted but Razia became thoughtful. 'We are always thinking: how does this woman come so high? Do you think that those who come so high think about us: how do they stay so low?' She worked her big shoulders. 'But we already know about her. It is just hard to believe.'
She had been the day before. She came with her sons and Chanu jumped around the room as though it were scattered with nails. He counted out the money loudly, and had got to seventy-five when Mrs Islam raised a spotted handkerchief and let it float onto the mighty ruin of her chest. One son undid the bag. The other said, 'Put it in.' Chanu put the rest of the notes back inside the showcase. The sons helped her to the door. One of them was trusted sufficiently to carry the Ralgex.
'How much are we paying?' said Nazneen.
'It's between friends,' said Chanu. 'She is doing me a favour. I knew her husband.'
Karim came the next morning to collect the vests. Before they had exchanged two words his telephone started up. He parked himself in the hallway. Nazneen saw him lean against the wall with one trainer pressed flat against the skirting board. She returned to the sitting room but did not know whether to stand or to sit. When he came in she made herself busy with folding.
'My father,' he said. He snapped the phone shut and holstered it.
She glanced at him. His hair stood up at the front, tiny short black feathers.
'He's always calling the mobile. I tell him not to waste money like that. He doesn't listen.' He flexed his leg, testing that it still worked. 'And what's he ringing up for anyway? Hasn't got anything to say to me, man.'
'He is worrying. Perhaps.'
'Yeah, man. Worrying and nerves. Out of his mind with worrying and nerves.'
Nazneen sat. She folded her hands in her lap. She smoothed the soft blue fabric of her sari and folded her hands again. She had once more forgotten to cover her hair.
Karim sat on the arm of the sofa. She did not know what she could say so she said nothing. Karim sat on the place where Chanu rested his head. The plastic sheaths had long gone and hair oil made the fabric shiny. She had thought the phone calls were about work, or other things – that she could not imagine – that belonged to the world out there and which she would never understand. They were from his father and that brought him a little step nearer her world. Still, she could think of nothing to say.
'He had to retire because of the nerves. Couldn't hang on any longer. Twenty-five years as a bus conductor, and now he can't even leave the flat. That's what you get, man. That's what you get.'
'Yes. Is what you get.'
He nodded with great vigour as if he had heard a new idea, one that would change his life for ever.
'I know what you're saying. That's what you get. All those years on the bus, getting called all the names, taking all the cheek. Kids giving him cheek. Men giving aggro. Got a tooth knocked out. Someone was sick on his shoes, man.' He looked at his trainers. They were clean.
'I make tea.'
She went to the kitchen and he followed. He leaned with his back to the cupboards. When Chanu was in the kitchen he leaned as well, but facing the other way, with his stomach resting on the worktop.
'He had to take early retirement and now he's just sitting at home biting his nails and calling the mobile. "Don't make trouble." He never made any trouble for anyone. Only trouble he made is for himself.'
Nazneen moved past him to get the milk. He smelled of detergent. A crisp, citrus smell of clean clothes.
He shook his head. ' "Don't make trouble."'
The tea was ready. But he showed no sign of moving. Would they drink standing up in the kitchen? Would she invite him to sit down with her in the other room? How would that seem? Would it be better to have him sit, while she continued to work? She decided that was the best plan.
'He thinks he is Mahatma Gandhi. He thinks he is Jesus Christ. Turn the cheek, man. Turn the cheek.'
She picked up the cups.
'What about Muhammad? Peace be upon him, he was a warrior.'
'Yes,' said Nazneen.
He looked at her as if he needed more time to absorb the impact of what she had said. He squeezed the back of his neck.
She was still holding hoth cups when his phone began to bleep. He flipped it open.
'Salaat alert,' he said.
'What do you mean?' She was so surprised she slipped into Bengali.
'On th-th-the phone. It's a service you can get. To warn you of prayer time.'
'Will you do namaz here?' She said it without thinking, in the same way that another time she had switched instinctively to English.
He rolled his shoulders. He stopped leaning. 'Yes. I will.'
He went to the bathroom to wash. In the sitting room, in the small space behind the sofa and in front of the door, she rolled out her prayer mat. 'I'll pray a little later,' she said. There was nothing wrong with it. No reason why he should not pray here; it only delayed her a short while.
'Allahu Akbar.'
He stood to attention, with hands raised to shoulder level.
He put his right hand over his left on his chest. She tried to stop the prayer words forming on her lips. To pray with an unrelated man, it was not permitted. She would pray later.
'Glory and praise be to You, O God; blessed is Your name and exalted is Your majesty. There is no God other than You. I come, seeking shelter from Satan, the rejected one.'
She heard the blood pound in her heart and she trembled because he would surely hear it. She closed her eyes. At once Amma came to her, shedding her famous tears, wailing with her hand over her mouth.
'He is God the One; He is the Eternal Absolute,'
said Karim. His voice did not falter.