Ayesha At Last(39)

When Ayesha had moved to Canada, the neighbourhood park was the first place she’d felt safe. With baby Idris in a stroller and three-year-old Hafsa toddling beside Nana, she would race to the playground after school, ready to lay claim to the geo-dome in the centre, a structure that stood nearly ten feet tall and resembled a metal lattice egg. When she climbed to the top, she would survey the park’s inhabitants: schoolchildren playing tag, mothers pushing babies on the toddler swings. Her eyes had lingered on the fathers kicking soccer balls or throwing baseballs to their children. Nana let her stay there as long as she liked. He knew she would join them on the ground when she was ready.

Now they approached the playground and took a seat on a faded wooden park bench. “I spoke to the imam today after Zuhr prayer,” Nana said. “Abdul Bari mentioned how pleased he is with Hafsa’s help. It seems Hafsa has many creative ideas for the conference, and she has offered to recite one of her poems.” Nana gave Ayesha a sidelong glance. “I am so happy to learn we have two poets in the family. Perhaps she was inspired by you, jaanu.”

Ayesha turned her face away to mask her blush. Her grandfather continued.

“Shakespeare enjoyed a good farce. Separated twins, love triangles and mistaken identity were his specialty. Yet it is through his tragedies that one learns the price of silence. ‘False face must hide what the false heart doth know.’”

“Hafsa isn’t Macbeth,” Ayesha said.

“Macbeth did not start off evil. It was the choices he made that sent him down a dark path. Hafsa is not as silly as she appears, and you are not as strong. Your father placed a high value on loyalty as well, but he was an idealist who died for his beliefs.” Nana stared at the play structure, cheerfully painted in primary colours and swarming with children. He turned to his eldest grandchild. “Beta, there is nothing worse than watching your loved ones suffer. Promise you will always choose laughter over tears. Promise you will choose to live in a comedy instead of a tragedy.”

Ayesha ducked her head to hide her confusion. Nana spoke of Syed as if he were a freedom fighter. She wondered what romantic cause her father had sacrificed himself for, and if it had been worth leaving behind his heartbroken wife, and children who barely remembered his face. Her mind raced with unanswered questions.

“Nana . . .” she started, but her voice trailed off. Her grandfather held himself so carefully, face lined with worry but filled with love. His brown eyes pleaded silently: Don’t ask me questions I can’t bear to answer.

Ayesha looked away. “I promise.”





Chapter Sixteen

Farzana pounced as soon as Khalid walked in the front door. “Where have you been?” she asked, wrapping a black hijab around her head. “I promised my friend Yasmeen I would visit today.”

“Have a nice visit. I can make myself something for dinner,” Khalid said.

Farzana fixed her son with a glare. “They are expecting you too, of course. You must drive me.”

Khalid protested that he was hungry and tired, but his mother only sniffed. “If you keep eating so much, you’ll get fat. Then it will be even harder to find a suitable wife. Hurry, I said we would be there for six thirty.”

The rush hour traffic was brutal, a forty-minute slog north before Khalid parked in front of a two-storey house with large windows overlooking a patterned-concrete driveway. Giant planters stood sentry on either side of the granite walkway next to a manicured lawn.

Farzana looked impressed. “So pretty, no?” she said at the daffodils blooming on the front porch.

His mother’s genial mood made Khalid nervous. “I’ll wait in the car,” he offered, but she insisted he join her.

“You’re not a dog. Make sure you eat whatever they offer and then ask for more.” She walked up to the double-door entrance.

Warning bells rang in Khalid’s head. “Ammi, what is going on?”

“I told you, we’re here to visit my old school friend. Also her youngest daughter, Ruhi. She’s nineteen and quite lovely. Make sure you compliment her on the chai she brings for you.”

Realization dawned: He was on his very first rishta visit. He was about to protest when he heard footsteps and giggling. The door was thrown open by Yasmeen Aunty, who greeted Farzana with rapturous air kisses.

Khalid hung back and felt eyes upon him. He looked down into the fierce gaze of a five-year-old boy.

“Ruhi Phuppo will NEVER marry you!” the boy said, and he kicked Khalid in the shin.

“Ow!” Khalid bent down to rub his leg. “What are you talking about?”

The little boy whacked him over the head with a stuffed orange tiger.

Yasmeen Aunty grabbed the little boy. “Adam, go to the kitchen for a special treat from your mother,” she said, smiling at Khalid. “My oldest grandchild. He’s very possessive of his phuppo aunt, my youngest daughter, Ruhi. She’s so good with children. Do you like children, Khalid?”

“Um . . . I . . . Yes. I suppose,” Khalid mumbled. Adam fixed him with an evil glare before trotting off in search of his treat.

On second thought, Khalid was pretty sure he didn’t like kids.

“Maybe I should wait outside until you’re done,” he said to his mother.

The women started laughing. “You never told me he was funny!” Yasmeen Aunty said to Farzana. Then she turned to Khalid. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Who knew you would turn into such a tall, handsome man? Please come inside. Ruhi will be right out.”