A Girl Like That(72)
Masi’s eyes were hard. “We are your guardians and what we say is final.”
I stood up and faced my uncle, who was now shifting his eyes between the both of us, the way he had been shifting, tiptoeing around the house ever since Masi threw a fit at the doctor’s office. “Aren’t you going to say something about this?” I asked. “Or are you going to keep wearing the bangles she put on you when you got married?”
The clap of a hand, flat against my cheek. The kind that would leave a bruise. But for now I felt nothing except the cool metal of Masa’s ring, the tingling warmth it left behind. Slapping. A new first from my uncle.
There was silence.
Masa and I stared at each other. His ears and neck were red.
“Your aunt is right,” he said, lowering his arm. “You are not improving one bit. You are going out of control.”
Masi’s breath came out in a soft, satisfied hush. She wound her hand around Masa’s arm. “Come, Rusi,” she said in a brisk voice. “We will deal with this later. My dental appointment is at 8:15.”
*
I called Porus without thinking.
“They want to marry me off,” I blurted out the minute he picked up. “I was planning to skip school anyway and I have a plan, we can run away and—”
“Calm down. I’m coming.”
*
Traffic on the Al-Harameen Expressway was always heavy: vehicles raced on its lanes at speeds of over 120 kilometers per hour.
Porus refused to run away with me.
“Run away to where?” he asked. “And what will you do without a diploma or degree? Do you want to work in a deli like me?”
I didn’t, of course, even though I didn’t tell him that. “I could learn,” I said, before I could think too much about it. “How hard could it be?”
Porus turned the wheel and the car sped up to join the highway traffic. “Yeah. You could learn to slaughter baby lambs and goats. Really, Zarin, who are you trying to fool? Besides that, I’m no longer working at the deli.”
“What?” The news came as a shock. “Why?”
“I quit a couple of days ago. Doesn’t matter why. And don’t worry. Old Hamza phoned me last night. He said he would transfer my iqama for me if I wanted to continue working in Jeddah. He even offered to issue a No Objection Certificate! I have enough money to stay here for a couple of months and find another job. In the worst-case scenario—if I have to leave for a while—I can come back on a new employer’s visa without waiting two whole years, thanks to the NOC.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I lied.
I stared out at the traffic, which was now starting to slow down. When I told Porus to join the road leading to the expressway this morning instead of taking me to school, I had wanted to get as far away from Aziziyah and my aunt and uncle as humanly possible. Now I felt sick from being cooped up in this car and from realizing how much of Porus’s life I’d already messed up. Even though Porus would not admit it, I knew deep down that his decision to quit had had something to do with me.
I rolled down the window to get some fresh air. The smell of exhaust fumes and fresh tarmac filled my nostrils. Coughing, I rolled the window back up. Masa had mentioned something the week before about construction taking place over here; orange arrows marked the detours around the construction site. A flatbed trailer in front of us was carrying stacks of iron rods, probably to one of Jeddah’s industrial cities. The rods stuck out beyond the trailer bed, and from time to time Porus would mutter, “One thousand one, one thousand two” under his breath to keep a safe distance between the Nissan and the trailer. The sun glared down at us, making my head pound more than usual. There were no clouds.
“You will be okay, you know,” he said. “I will talk to them later if you want. They cannot be thinking of marrying you off. You’re much too young.”
I said nothing. I stared out the window, watched cars and palm trees blur by.
“Zarin, will you talk to me, please?”
“Talk about what?” I snapped. “About you making a proposal and then backing out when I accept it? Or should we debate the fact that you’re a liar like the rest of them? Why don’t you take the next exit and drive me home?”
Porus sighed. “That was not acceptance, Zarin. That was you looking for an escape route from whomever your aunt and uncle want you to marry. And I will keep missing every exit until you start talking to me about what’s going on in your head.”
I closed my eyes. “Isn’t it … isn’t it possible to fall in love with someone with time? You know how they say—marry someone who loves you instead of marrying the one you love?”
His jaw tightened. “What are you saying now? That you think you can learn to love me? With time?”
If I had wanted to be snappy, I could have pointed out that it wouldn’t be too much of a chore physically, at least. We had chemistry. He was a good—no, the best—kisser I’d come across. I could admit this much to myself now, after everything that had happened. But I knew I owed him more than that.
Love. I rolled the word in my head, felt it twist in my stomach. I had loved Fali, of course. That much was clear. As clear as the sun in the sky, the bright yellow of his eyes. Porus had been right about that: I was a sucker for tiny animals; butchering them would be out of the question. And my mother? I guess I loved my mother. Or the memories of her anyway. The memories that still existed outside the nightmares.