Unmarriageable(46)
Amid a chorus of commiserations, Sherry’s condolence rang out. She ruffled the seven-year-old motherless Isa’s hair, smiling at him with all the kindness she contained.
‘Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon. From God we come and to God we return.’ Kaleen glanced resignedly at his daughter and sons. ‘But we miss her, and my poor children are left bereft of a most splendid mum.’
He explained that he’d returned to Pakistan because it was difficult to raise obedient and virginal children in the promiscuous English mohol, atmosphere, with no motherly guiding light among the temptations of pubs and clubs. Also, he’d received a job opportunity too incredible not to accept, from a big-name patroness. She’d even introduced him to the most select of the select crowd, who in turn, all, by the grace of God, required his services in one capacity or another. Kaleen stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, and it was clear from his expectant expression he was waiting to be asked what he did.
Mr Binat obliged. ‘What do you do?’
‘I am,’ Kaleen stood tall on his tippy-toes for a second, ‘a physiatrist.’
‘A psychiatrist?’ Lady said. ‘You’ll have lots of business in this town, though no one will admit coming to you.’
‘Not psychiatrist!’ Kaleen snapped. ‘Physiatrist. It is not the soul’s trials I fix but the body’s tribulations. Don’t ask how much I make, because you will all faint.’
‘Faint in a bad way?’ Alys half smiled as she looked at her father, then glanced at the door. Where was Wickaam? He was quite late.
‘In a good way.’ Kaleen frowned. ‘In a very good way. Is that not true, Nisar?’
‘It is.’ Nisar nodded. ‘There is such high demand for physiatrists and pain management that Kaleen is setting up his private practice.’
‘Oh,’ Mrs Binat said. She and Falak exchanged glances, acknowledging that if Farhat Kaleen was going to be an important member of society and mint money, then it was unwise to dismiss him. Mrs Binat and Falak simultaneously moved to the edges of the sofa, and Mrs Binat patted the centre.
‘Kaleen, you sit here and tell us all about your dearly departed wife, God rest her soul.’
Kaleen perched between the two sisters; Mrs Binat ordered Lady to introduce his daughter to the other teenage girls in the room, and she urged his sons to enjoy the appetisers, as long as they left plenty of room for the scrumptious dinner Nona had planned. The elder son settled on the edge of the couch and took a handful of pistachios. Sherry marched the younger son over to the children rehearsing carols for the show they planned to perform.
A sudden hush came over the room as all eyes turned to the entrance, where a dashing man stood with a bouquet of glitter-sprinkled red roses.
‘Is that him?’ Jena’s eyes widened at Alys. ‘You told me he was decent, nice, and trustworthy, but I suppose you forgot to mention that he looks like a film star.’
‘I didn’t forget,’ Alys said. ‘I just didn’t see how it was relevant.’
Alys hurried to greet Wickaam. He apologised profusely for being late – friends had coerced him into accompanying them to see the fairy lights strung all over town. Nona assured Wickaam he was not late at all, and Nisar added that he’d taken his own kids to see the city dolled up, although the decorations were for Pakistan’s founding father, whose birthday fell on the same date as Christmas, a happy coincidence.
Wickaam complimented Nona on her bungalow, the Christmas decor, the tree, the lovely colour of her walls and even lovelier shade of her burgundy lipstick, and, upon gleaning that the art on the walls was her own, he complimented Nisar on being the luckiest of husbands to have secured such a multitalented wife.
Alys introduced Jeorgeullah Wickaam to everyone. Wickaam could tell a good joke, and soon Nisar and the menfolk were slapping him on his back as if they were all old friends. Wickaam watched the children’s Christmas show attentively. Afterwards, to their delight, he mesmerised them with coin tricks. He helped the cook bring out dishes from the kitchen and arrange them on the dinner table around the green-and-gold-candle centrepiece. He praised Nona’s menu, praised the cook’s cooking, praised even the grocery stores from where the ingredients had been purchased. He was full of compliments for all the women. Someone’s voice was angelic. Someone’s hairstyle perfectly framed her face. Someone’s shoes reminded him of royalty. He told Mrs Binat that she was a stunner.
Mrs Binat’s heart fluttered. What a handsome man! What a solicitous man! What a gracious man! So conscientious of Alys! Thank God Alys had started to take a little more care of her looks. Bronzer dusted her cheeks and eyelids, and she was wearing a fitted embroidered kurta with bell sleeves that accentuated her bonny shoulders and waist. And, miracle of miracles, high heels.
When Lady put on film songs, every young person rose to dance. Mrs Binat noticed that Kaleen did not look pleased at his daughter’s participation. Mrs Binat, in turn, was most gratified to see Wickaam force Qitty up. Considerate man! Amazing human being! True hero! In any case, Wickaam was paying special attention to each of her daughters, and Mrs Binat prayed fervently that one of them would win the lottery of becoming Mrs Jeorgeullah Wickaam.
Kaleen was feeling a bit green over having his thunder stolen by this smooth-talking fine-looking devil. It occurred to him that perhaps the devil might be a suitable match for his daughter. He asked Wickaam where he worked and how much he made. Wickaam informed everyone that he’d studied in New York, that he was back in Pakistan and was working as a junior lawyer, and that he was just starting out but he hoped, prayed, and planned to go places.