Authors: Zeenat Mahal
shoes.
She waited. He didn’t say anything. So she took her change of clothes and went to the children’s
bathroom to give him some space. She’d taken all of Usman’s tantrums without a word, always
thinking she had to put it right because
she
must have done something wrong. Those days were far
behind her.
When she came out, she looked at the children for a while and thought of wriggling in with
Shahaan, when she heard a low, barely controlled hiss of fury, “Don’t. Even.
Think
. About it!”
He was holding the door open, now dressed in his usual pajamas and white crew neck, his eyes
boring into hers. She went past him into their room and lay down on her side of the bed. He followed
and put out the lights. In the thick dark silence, she waited for him to say something. She wanted him
to say anything that would tell her he was not this man who’d throw a tantrum because his wife knew
something he didn’t. She waited a long time.
She was just about to drift off, when suddenly, as if no longer able to stop himself, he whispered
furiously, “You know what? I want to know everything about you right now. Tell me everything.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“W...what?”
“It was embarrassing. I was as shocked as the Arabs.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was important. I had no intention of embarrassing you…”
She couldn’t help thinking of all those times she had ‘embarrassed’ Usman because she had known
something that he hadn’t or when he thought she had upstaged him for some nefarious reasons of her
own. At the end of the day, the male ego was the same.
She hadn’t expected Hussain to be that kind of man. He was so kind and thoughtful in so many
ways. He’d said all those things to Nudrat about her. Had he not meant them then, just as she’d
suspected? Was he really embarrassed, or just angry because she had unwittingly displayed skills he
didn’t have? Why was she even thinking about it? Why did she care?
“I wish you didn’t feel the need to keep me at such a distance, Shahira. I feel we’ve come a long
way since that stupid contract, and yet you’re determined to be a stranger. I get it. You were hurt. But
don’t let him win by turning away from love. Give life another chance.”
She wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“Every time I make an effort to make our relationship something more than this sad arid contract
we’ve got going, you do something, or say something to stress the damn thing. Like tonight. You’re
determined to shut me out. Don’t do that.”
Was that why he was angry? Because he’d felt shut out? She’d refused the earrings too. Or maybe
she was finding excuses for him.
“What do you hope to achieve with your effort?” she asked.
“I want a normal, healthy, happy marriage with you. Is that such a bad thing?”
“We hardly know each other. You know nothing about me, Hussain. You just said you didn’t even
know I could speak Arabic.”
“That’s my point exactly. Why don’t I know these things about you? I want to know. I don’t want to
feel like a stranger to you…just like every other man. I’m not, Shahira. Let me prove it to you.”
After a while he asked, “How do you know so many languages?”
“Only French and Arabic. I took the courses after my divorce. I like learning languages. I feel
empowered knowing things.”
He chuckled.
“Why’s that funny?”
“You still have a lot to learn. You know nothing about passion and desire and…”
“You…promised…”
Her voice was barely a whisper and she was immobile with something—was it disappointment in
him? But it was more than that. There was almost a sense of expectancy that was both thrilling and a
little frightening.
Hussain answered, slightly irate, “I know I did. And
I
remember that, but you didn’t believe me.
My word isn’t good enough. I’ve never been so insulted in my life, Shahira or been made to feel so
cheap.”
He
was
upset about the earrings, not about the Arabs. He was hurt at her refusal to accept gifts
from him, not because he felt she’d upstaged him.
≈
TEN
The next morning Shahira found her gaze magnetically turning to Hussain several times, so much so
that by noon, he wore a smug smile. Which chafed at her for no other reason than he was getting too
sure of himself. Probably because he had reason to be. Which meant that she was giving him signals
that were misleading. Because no way was she falling for him, that would be disastrous.
They spent their day sightseeing, Champs Elysees, again; walks along the Seine; they stayed mostly
on the Les Iles, the larger of the two islands that constitutes Paris. When Hussain wasn’t holding
Shahaan’s or Natasha’s hand, he was holding hers, which sent little shivers of thrill down her spine.
Or when he put his hand on the small of her back she felt a strange warm glow in the vicinity of her
heart. At times she caught him looking at her in a way that made her heart leap rather uncomfortably.
Sainte Chapelle was as beautiful as she had thought it would be, as was the nearby Notre Dame, in
all its Gothic glory. Both had gorgeous stained glass windows but the ones at the Chapelle were
breath-taking, she thought. The colors of the stained glass reminded her of glass windows in the
walled city of Lahore in the older houses. The Ile St-Louis, a small, almost village-like settlement in
the heart of Paris, had a wonderful provincial quality to it. Unlike the sleepy, quaint small towns of
England, this little town was loaded with another kind of classic allure and Shahira enjoyed its
Parisian charm immensely. They had ice cream from Berthillon.
Yum
.
She tried to cajole them into visiting at least one museum or art gallery, but the kids adamantly
refused, and Hussain capitulated to them laughingly. Later he addressed her, saying under his breath,
“Next time we come, I’ll take you to all the places these little monsters haven’t let you see.”
“Why would they let me see it next time?” she asked dolefully.
“
They
won’t be coming next time,” he replied drily.
Shahira looked at him sharply but he was busy with Shahaan, and again she experienced a sense of
foreboding. She had to talk to him about this. Natasha was used to his sporadic love and attention but
Shahaan was younger and he was going to take it very hard when Hussain vanished, as was his wont,
for long periods of time. That was his way and his life; he just had to understand that he couldn’t
destroy hers or her son’s. He was flirting with them both and that was not an option for her.
After dinner at a chic French bistro they went back to the hotel. The children, tired and full of food,
went to sleep within twenty minutes.
“Can we sit on the balcony for some time, if you don’t mind? I’d like a word with you.”
Hussain seemed far too pleased and gave her a slow incendiary smile, which she decided to
ignore, especially since his potent charm was beginning to work on her so compellingly. No, no, no!
She chided herself, first her ex-husband, the psycho and now this playboy? She was far too sensible
for these old tricks; only she’d never had the opportunity to actually experience these old tricks and
they were rather enticing and flattering, but, NO!
Unaware of her inner debate, Hussain replied charmingly, “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll get us
some coffee and join you.”
“It’s eight. If I have coffee now I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Hmm…I don’t see the problem. We can stay up late and talk or, if you have any other suggestion,
I’m open to all sorts of innovative ideas that you may have. You see,
I
made a promise which rather
constricts me. So…” he stopped suggestively.
Taking advantage of the pause, she fired, “Hussain, I really need to talk to you about some very
serious stuff so kindly lower the charm wattage and listen.”
He laughed. “You think? Do you find the charm wattage… distracting?” His mouth twitched.
He seemed to be enjoying this too much, so she plunged ahead and responded in a grave tone, “I
think I need to reiterate the message I gave you earlier, about keeping your distance from Shahaan.”
At his stunned expression she added quickly, genuinely, “Look I’m really grateful, I really am.
You’re giving him time, including him…us...in everything but the truth is that this is not your life. You
hired me to be a mother and to look after your own flesh and blood…”
“She’s not,” his voice harshly cut across her panicked tirade.
She stopped, confused, “I’m sorry…what?”
His jaw was clenched and his eyes were icy but there was something else behind the icy veneer
that she recognized instantly. Pain. She was no stranger to it.
He walked away from her side, and stood looking across the beautiful Seine, his back to her. After
a while, he spoke and his voice held regret, shame and a resignation that bordered on the tragic.
“I don’t think she’s mine. Rutaba wasn’t what you’d call a typical wife or mother,” he paused and
when he looked back at her, his eyes were full of contempt and fury. “She was a whore. She slept
with every man she met, while we were married. It was like a disease with her and I didn’t find out
about it until it was too late.”
He turned around to face her and his eyes were no longer full of emotion and his face was a mask.
“Actually, it was Nudrat who told me about Rutaba and her amorous affairs. I used to be the idealistic
eastern male, hoping to get a woman who’d love me, someone with old fashioned ideals that no
longer exist.”
Then he stopped, gave her a wry smile and said, “Or thought no longer existed.”
She couldn’t say anything. It was an alien and horrible concept to her. Her distaste must have
shown in her face because he laughed, a bitter sound to her ears, “I wasn’t much better, as you know.”
“What do you mean?”
He gazed back at her and replied with a shrug, “I carried on an affair with a married woman after
Rutaba’s accident. When her car crashed, she was with another man. They were both killed. How
could I stay on in a city where I had been so openly maligned and shamed by my own wife? How
those men must have laughed at me, doing business with me, while, my wife was sleeping with half of
them.”
He stopped but she felt his embarrassment and his anger acutely.
“Nudrat was married to Nasir and she’d been a good friend to Rutaba and well…Nasir and I
had…have known each other for years.”
He sighed and it seemed to her that he was revisiting the past in order to re-evaluate that time and
that version of himself.
“I guess, I was disillusioned and I was bitter. I’m not making excuses for myself, just trying to
explain to you that I became a different kind of man from then on. I changed from what I was to
someone I didn’t like very much. But strangely enough, I find myself turning into the man I was—the
man my mother raised me to be, and I had begun to think I was too old to have a change of heart…or
life.”
He added, “And that’s an opinion of me that you share, don’t you?”
He seemed to challenge her; and yet she had the feeling that he wanted a reassurance that indeed it
was possible for him to change, that she should reconfirm his faith in his own goodness, and in his
redemption.
“You’re mistaken if you think that,” she heard herself say, softly but with feeling. “I think we can
change whenever we want. We’ve been given the gift of consciousness and knowledge, free will.
Hussain, I think you’re very kind and thoughtful. You
are
the man your mother raised you to be.”
Smiling she added, “And I’m not sure that you’re all that old!”
He smiled and said in a teasing tone, “
That
old? Just some?”
She laughed and nodded, and couldn’t believe she was flirting with him. Thinking of Natasha and
what Hussain believed, she said with feeling, “Natasha is a darling child and she loves you so
much…”
“I know.” He looked disturbed again. “I love her, I do. For all practical purposes she’s my
daughter but I’ll never be sure and I don’t want to be sure, otherwise…you know? It’s better this way.
I never meant to be such a poor father.
“When we found out Rutaba was pregnant we were so excited—Ami and I—and she was so
pissed. She hadn’t wanted a baby, but I did. I bribed her with gifts and holidays and jewels…”
He laughed again a little bitterly, as if at himself.
“Nothing pleased her. Others could make her happy apparently. At least for the short durations
while she was having affairs with them.”
“I won’t deny I’ve had affairs with women but never with a married woman, except that one time.
I’ve never felt as disgusted with myself as I did then. She was no better than Rutaba and I was no
better than either of them. She and Nasir might have a strange kind of marriage but I had no right to
take advantage of their lack of scruples. They both have a rather relaxed code of ethics. I didn’t, and