Tahmima Anam - The Good Muslim

‘Hello,’ Maya said, leaning back as far as she could.

‘Do feet-salaam,’ her mother whispered.

‘Oh, no need for such formalities,’ Mrs Bashir said, releasing Maya. ‘Sit beside me, you must be tired. Joy told me you’re a very busy doctor. Very independent-minded,’ she said, waving her arms.

Joy crossed and uncrossed his legs. Maya tried to catch his eye, but he was looking the other way. ‘Maya,’ Ammoo said, her voice like warm milk, ‘why don’t you tell Mrs Bashir what you did today? Will you have another cup of tea, Mrs Bashir?’

‘I have to wash my hands,’ Maya said. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital. You wouldn’t want to catch TB, auntie.’

Mrs Bashir blinked, smiled through her surprise. ‘Please, beta, go right ahead.’

At the sink Maya caught a glimpse of herself. Her eyes were small and tired, and her braid had become ragged. She splashed water on herself and retied her hair.

Joy was waiting for her outside the bathroom. ‘TB?’

‘Well, there’s been an outbreak. I wanted to warn your mother.’

In the living room, more tea had been served. Maya sat as far from Mrs Bashir as she could and stared at the ceiling. Mrs Bashir looked expectantly around the room. Her eye caught the basket beside Maya’s chair.

‘Do you knit, Maya?’

‘No, not me.’ Had Joy told this woman nothing? ‘It’s Ammoo’s.’

‘I’m just a novice,’ Rehana said. ‘Something to do with my hands. I thought I’d start with a scarf.’

Mrs Bashir’s voice trembled when she said, ‘I used to knit too. For my husband.’

They had found their common ground. ‘Maya, why don’t you and Joy sit in the garden for a while while us mothers have a talk?’

Outside, Joy tried to take her hand. She shrugged him off.

‘You want to go for a drive?’

‘No, let’s walk. We need candles; the electricity’s been going off at night.’

They left through the kitchen door. As soon as they had crossed the road, Maya turned to Joy. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ He searched his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘I told my mother I wanted to marry you, and she said the proper thing to do would be to pay a visit to your house. She insisted.’

He wanted to marry her. Marry her . She suppressed the tiny cheer that went up, unbidden. Marriage was a life sentence. ‘Do you do everything your mother says?’

‘No.’

Why hadn’t he said anything to her? ‘And did you think of consulting me first?’

‘Of course. But I thought it would be best if I appealed to auntie.’

‘That’s pathetic.’

‘Look,’ he said, inhaling sharply, ‘there’s no conspiracy here.’

‘It’s pathetic and you are just trying to make me feel guilty. You know how much she wants me to get married — you’re just using it against me. She’s dying, you know.’

‘I thought she was in remission.’

‘Well, it’s just a matter of time. Don’t you know I think about giving her some comfort — wedding, babies?’

‘I thought you didn’t want any babies.’

‘That’s not the point. The point is I have never given her anything.’ Would it be for herself, or for Ammoo? She might never know.

‘Well, then, all the more reason not to delay.’

‘You don’t care whether I love you, you just want to take advantage of my position?’ They were at the park now, where the road curved. She turned, marching towards the small cluster of shops on the corner.

‘Maya, please, I know you don’t mean that. Why do you always have to talk that way?’

‘Because I’m a hard-hearted woman, that’s why. You shouldn’t want — shouldn’t even dream of marrying me.’

‘I dream, I can’t help it.’

‘Well, I can’t help myself either. You can’t marry me. You can’t marry me and turn me into one of those women, with the jewellery and making perfectly round parathas and doing everything my mother-in-law says and only letting nice words out of my mouth.’

‘Think of all the nice words you have stored up. Since you’ve used up all the nasty ones.’

‘Don’t joke.’

He flicked away the cigarette and stopped in front of her. They had arrived at the shop, which was dimly lit by a hurricane lamp. The shopkeeper recognised her and waved. ‘I’m not joking. I want to marry you.’

‘You can’t. Go now, I have to buy the candles.’ She walked away from him and up to the shopkeeper’s counter, ordered the candles. She heard his footsteps retreating, and she lingered, buying oil, soap, eggs, chiding herself for listening out for him, for hoping he would come back, beg her again.

When she got home, he was leaning on the bonnet of his car.

‘Drive,’ she said, flinging herself into the passenger seat.

He was slow, almost casual, as he backed out of the driveway. She pressed her face against the window and the breath dragoned out of her, hot and fierce.

‘Where do you want to go?’ One hand on the steering wheel, the elbow poking out. It made the blood pound in her ears.

‘Just drive. I don’t care.’ Don’t cry, she told herself. It’ll be so stupid if you cry. ‘You could have asked me yourself, you know.’

‘I wanted to get your mother on my side first.’

‘She is on your side. Everyone is on your side.’

‘There isn’t a side.’

‘You just said.’

‘No sides.’

‘Do you even love me?’

He shifted into fourth. Relaxed on the clutch. Smooth as forest honey.

‘So you don’t even love me.’

‘You have something against marriage?’

She turned to face him. ‘How old am I?’

‘I don’t know, twenty-six?’

‘Thirty-bloody-two. You think I would be thirty-bloody-two without a husband if I didn’t have a problem with marriage?’

‘Here I was, thinking it was just a matter of the right man.’

‘There is no such thing.’

‘No such thing as the right man?’

‘They start out all right, but then, somewhere along the way, their egos turn to glass and you have to spend your whole life with your arms around them, making them feel better while your own life turns to shit.’ She banged her fist on the dashboard.

‘Is this about Shafaat?’

‘Shafaat — what? Oh, you’re jealous now. Exactly what I meant. Ego like an eggshell. And stop smiling, damn it, this isn’t funny.’

‘Stings like a bee,’ he said quietly, marshmallow-tender.

They were near Paltan now, and she leaned out of the car to see Paltan Maidan, the vast open field she knew so well. The car turned and she saw a brightly lit sign. She banged on the window. ‘Stop here — stop. Stop the car.’

He braked, jolted. ‘What?’

She wrenched open the door and flew out of the car. ‘What’s this?’ It was dark, and hard to see beyond the gate, but she caught sight of what looked like a Ferris wheel and, beyond, the plastic animals with human faces that told her this was a playground, a children’s playground. SHISHU PARK, the sign said.

Maya screamed. ‘Shishu Park!’ She pulled at the gates. ‘Did you know?’

She could see Joy getting out of his car and coming towards her. He must know why she was crying now, and pulling at the gates. ‘Who did this?’ she said. ‘Who did this?’

‘I don’t know.’ He stood a few feet away from her, smoking a cigarette. At first she thought of sitting there, right there in front of the gate, and waiting for someone to come and explain to her why Paltan Maidan had been turned into an amusement park. She dragged her hands across the bars. Joy finished his cigarette and came up behind her and put his arms around her. Then he led her to the car, opening the door for her before getting in and starting the engine. By the time they had turned around, she had wiped her face on the end of her sari.