Unmarriageable(41)

‘Knowing how these rascals operate, I wouldn’t bank on heartfelt anything.’ He shrugged regretfully. ‘By the way, please call me Wickaam.’

‘Call me Alys.’

‘A-L-I-C-E?’

‘Pronounced the same but spelt A-L-Y-S.’

‘I had a kebab roll recently,’ Wickaam said. ‘It came wrapped in a magazine page with the photo of an elderly woman, and her name was A-L-Y-S …’

‘That’s Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s wife.’ Alys stopped at a light and glanced at him. He gave her a blank look. ‘Faiz? Poet, leader, communist, agnostic. His wife, Alys, was from England but she became a Pakistani citizen. Your meal came wrapped in her column.’

‘My apologies,’ Wickaam said.

‘No need to apologise,’ Alys said as the traffic light turned green.

‘True! It was a very good kebab roll.’

Alys laughed.

‘Bol ke lab azad hain tere: Speak, your mouth is unshackled,’ Wickaam said, quoting Faiz. ‘Of course I know who Faiz is. I was just playing with you.’

‘Thank God,’ Alys said. ‘I was like, oh no, a lawyer ignorant of his country’s heritage.’

‘I think,’ Wickaam said, ‘you’ll be pleased to know that historical preservation is one of my great passions. Have you been to England?’

‘When I was much younger.’

‘With every step one is met by monuments to scientists, artists, thinkers. We Pakistanis have zero appreciation for anything except bargains and deals.’

‘Easier to commemorate history when you’ve been the coloniser and not the colonised.’

‘Whoa. I just meant history, not our purchases, should define us.’

Alys gave a small smile. ‘I wrestle with how to incorporate history. Can any amount of good ever merit the interference of empire? Do we never speak English again? Not read the literature? Erasing history is not the answer, so how does a country put the lasting effects of empire in proper context? Not deny it, but not unnecessarily celebrate it.’

Wickaam shrugged. ‘Best to concentrate on the future.’

‘But the future is built on a past, good and bad. It’s troubling when someone takes a book and makes a shoddy film out of it and then comes the day when no one has read the book and everyone thinks the shoddy film is the original.’

‘Come now.’ Wickaam winked. ‘You have to admit that films are better than books.’

‘Never!’ Alys said fiercely.

Wickaam raised his hands, surrendering. ‘Tell me about yourself, A-L-Y-S. What is your great passion? Are you single? Married? Children? Am I getting too personal?’

‘It’s all right. Single. Happily single, much to the disappointment of many who prefer that single women be miserable. And I don’t know if it qualifies as a great passion, but I teach English literature.’

‘I knew I should have said I loved books! Now you’ll hate me!’

‘I won’t hate you!’ Alys exclaimed. ‘You were honest when most people would just say what’s expedient.’

They arrived at the acre. Alys parked by a ditch next to a meadow. The late afternoon had grown chilly, and she took her black shawl with silver lining, which she’d flung onto the back seat, and wrapped it around herself. She and Wickaam walked onto the land, an expanse of grass with the scent of fresh earth.

‘What did you plan to do with this?’ Wickaam said.

‘My father was going to build his retirement home and homes for me and my four sisters. One big happy family till death do us part sort of a thing.’

‘That sounds so nice,’ Wickaam said. ‘It is a blessing to belong to a loving family.’

‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’

‘Zaberdast! Wow!’ Wickaam said.

‘It’s from Anna Karenina. Tolstoy’s novel? Russian author?’ Alys smiled. ‘There is a film, I believe.’

‘I will watch it.’

Laughing, they walked on, stopping at a small pond. A couple of boys were scrubbing buffaloes deep in muddy waters, shrieking as they flicked water at each other.

‘Photo op,’ Wickaam said. ‘Poor little naked brown children bathing with domesticated beasts of burden in beatific nature: an authentic exotic snapshot of rural health and happiness. I should sell such pictures abroad to make my fortune.’

‘I’m sure the idea has already been signed, sealed, and delivered,’ Alys said. ‘And won the Pulitzer.’

‘Oh well,’ Wickaam said, ‘I’m too late to every party. Mediocre luck.’

‘Mediocre luck is what I have too and I’m quite happy.’ Alys’s gaze followed a flame of a butterfly as it settled on a buffalo. ‘I mean, you might not be able to fly to London and Dubai for healthcare, but at least you’re not suffering because you can’t afford any.’

‘A-L-Y-S glass half full. I like that you’re content. Very lucky.’

Alys blushed. ‘As content as a single girl in this country can be when all anyone ever asks her is why she isn’t married yet, and they tell her she better hurry up before her ovaries die. It’s you men who are lucky. You might be asked about your marriage plans, but everyone leaves you alone the second you mention career. If we women mention career, we’re considered aberrations of nature or barren.’