Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

This was the wheel that kept turning in Jaz’s mind. Raj had come back and Raj had changed. Or, rather, Raj had come back changed . There was something different about him. It wasn’t just that he’d begun to speak. Some new spirit was animating him, driving his engagement with the world. Jaz was happy about it. Of course he was — this was better than he’d dared hope for. He just wished he could understand how it had come about. Half jokingly he’d tickle his son, asking him, “What happened to you? Where did you go?” Half jokingly. Only half. The other half was steeled for some terrifying revelation.

What happened to you?

Where did you go?

Are you still my son?

One evening, Lisa asked him if he’d be happy to watch Raj while she went to a meeting.

“What kind of meeting?”

She looked embarrassed, made a vague gesture with her hand.

“It’s sort of like a book group.”

“Sort of like?”

Eventually he wheedled the truth out of her. It was a Jewish studies class. A group met weekly to read religious texts, “from a contemporary women’s perspective.”

“I know what you think,” Lisa told him. “But it’s not like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Anyway, it’s not what you’re thinking. They’re a really interesting bunch. I’ll be back around ten.”

dog

big dog

house

my house

my daddy

mine

The group became a regular part of Lisa’s life. She started going every Wednesday, cooking food and taking it with her in a covered dish. At home, she started to drop Hebrew and Yiddish words into conversation, particularly while chatting on the phone to her new friends: schlep, meshuggeneh, goy . Standing on the stairs, eavesdropping. Was he the goy? The outsider?

Then she announced she’d found a job. He hadn’t even known she was looking. She just dropped her car keys on the kitchen counter and told him the news. She was going back to publishing, as an editor for a small imprint that specialized in esoteric and mystical books.

“And you didn’t think to discuss this with me?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure I’d get it. And then when they offered it to me, I wasn’t sure I’d say yes. But then I did.”

“You said yes.”

“I said yes.”

“So who’ll look after Raj?”

“Don’t you even start that! You’re not working. You don’t seem to want to work.”

“Hang on, it’s still my money that’s supporting us.”

“I didn’t mean that. I know where the money’s coming from, and for the moment we don’t need you to get a job. I’m not criticizing, Jaz. I get it. We’ve been through a terrible time and we both need to regroup. But why shouldn’t I have this? Give me one good reason.”

“It’s just — well, it affects me. And Raj. And you just went ahead and did it?”

“Do you want me to turn it down?”

“No, but—”

“But what?”

“It’s not even like it’s a reputable publisher.”

“By reputable you mean mainstream? Oh, come on, Jaz. Why not just come straight out and give your little speech about science and testable hypotheses and all the rest of it?”

“I’m just trying to talk about Raj.”

“Well, so am I. Unlike you, I want to work. Five years, Jaz. Five years I’ve spent at home with him. Why can’t you give me this?”

“OK. It’s not like I don’t want you to have a life. I just — well, I wish you’d talked to me about it before you agreed. We’re supposed to be a family.”

Eventually they came to an arrangement. She’d work. He’d stay home with Raj, at least for six months. At the end of that time, they’d see how things stood. The unspoken variable was Raj’s condition. If he carried on improving, then all kinds of things might be possible. Daycare, school. They’d never allowed themselves to think like that before. The idea of making plans for the future was so alien that it induced a kind of panic in Jaz. Weren’t they just offering hostages to fortune? What if they opened up their horizons again, and it didn’t work out? After Lisa left for her first day in the office he sat at the kitchen counter with Raj, who was drawing a picture, a red crayon held tightly in his small fist. Raj looked up at him, aloof and self-contained. The picture on the pad was almost recognizable; some kind of aircraft, or perhaps a rocket.

that car

that house

go Daddy

go

more juice

flying

go flying

give more juice Daddy

A new routine began, the routine of walking. Twice a week, they walked to see Dr. Siddiqi, the speech therapist. She was young and attractive, her thick black hair falling over her shoulders in a shiny wave, or tied back in a loose ponytail so that stray strands fell across her face. She didn’t wear a wedding ring. Jaz would read a magazine, or watch as she worked with Raj, who seemed to like her as much as he did. She’d make up little routines and situations, asking questions, offering and receiving objects, giving praise when he successfully completed some new routine. Though he was developing a vocabulary, he had trouble with what she called the “pragmatics” of conversation. When to ask for something. When to say hello, or thank you, or sorry. After the sessions, she’d make time to talk to Jaz, describing Raj’s progress while the little boy played, or just sat rocking solemnly on a stool by their feet. Jaz felt a strong need to open up to her, to tell her secrets. He described the lack of progress in the investigation, his own suspicion that the abductor was someone who worked on the Marine base, perhaps one of the Iraqis who helped out with their strange war games. He wanted to say more. About Raj, about himself.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve all been through,” she said one day. He flushed with pleasure. From anyone else it would have been a banality.

Mummy’s book

Give Mummy’s book

Go here Daddy

Where are you Daddy

Waiting

Where are you?

One evening, while Lisa was at her study group, he found Raj standing in the living-room doorway, staring at him. There was something about the way he was watching, a self-contained intelligence that Jaz found suddenly terrifying. The question formulated itself: What are you? Not What are you doing? or What are you thinking? or even Who are you? What are you? What are you if you’re not my son? He poured himself a drink, told himself to get a grip, then spent the rest of the evening trying not to be in the same room as the boy, half hiding in the study but keeping the door open in case there was an emergency. When he heard Lisa’s key in the door, he almost rushed to be by her side. She scooped up Raj and cuddled him, luxuriating in the touch that she’d never been allowed before. She seemed to sense nothing out of the ordinary.

Later, as they got ready for bed, he tried to speak to her.

“Do you think it’s normal, how Raj is behaving?”

“More normal than he’s ever been before.”

“I mean — I don’t know what I mean.”

“You think he’s slipping back?”

“No, not at all. It’s just — I can’t help feeling something’s off about him.”

“Of course there is.”

“Not that.”

“Something …”

He couldn’t find the words. Lisa looked at him quizzically. Then she came and hugged him.

“I know, Jaz. I think we just have to trust in — you know. Just trust.”

“Do you ever think maybe it’s not him?”

“What do you mean?”