Andrea Busfield - Born Under a Million Shadows

“So, is everything okay?” Haji Khan asked as we watched him, and as Pir practically spun himself into a woman around him, inviting him for tea, offering him biscuits, and even telling him “it’s nothing” when he tried to pay for his Seven Stars, which was the first time I’d ever heard those words fall out of his cracked lips.

I nodded in answer to Haji Khan’s question, knowing he was after more but refusing to give it.

“No problems,” he tried again, “at the house?”

I shook my head.

“Good. Yes, that’s very good. So, everyone’s okay then?”

I nodded.

“So, nobody was affected by the riots?”

I shrugged and shook my head again.

“And James? His work is going well? And May?”

“She’s fine!” I suddenly blurted out, feeling embarrassed about the whole discussion that was taking place, which was being watched and listened to with great interest by my friends because I hadn’t yet told them that Georgie had cleaned out Haji Khan from her life. I could see they were a little confused about what was going on. Big men don’t often come into small shops for no reason.

“Good, good,” Haji Khan repeated, looking huge and lost in the cramped space of Pir’s shop. “I just wanted to, well, you know…”

“Yes,” I said, “I know.”

And Haji Khan nodded and left, leaving the Seven Stars pack on the counter behind him.

“It’s probably just something he’s eaten.” Dr Hugo stroked the top of my head to feel the heat of it before placing two fingers on the side of my neck to look for God knows what. “Plenty of water and some rest,” he added, leaning back on our cushions and picking up his tea.

I put my head to one side and looked at him. I’d only heard him doctoring twice, once with Georgie and now with me, and it seemed to me that as far as he was concerned all anyone ever needed was a bit of rest. I seriously wanted to hear what he’d say if someone’s leg got blown off.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” agreed Georgie.

I rolled my eyes.

“What was that look for?”

“What look?” I asked, feeling my cheeks grow even hotter because she wasn’t meant to see it.

“That look!” Georgie rolled her eyes around her head.

“Oh, that look,” I admitted, rolling my eyes again.

“Yes, that look,” she said, copying me.

“Nothing.”

“Boys!” She laughed, pulling me into her arms, which were getting softer now she was eating again.

“Women!” I mimicked.

“Are you two always like this?” interrupted Dr. Hugo as he dipped one of our biscuits into his cup. It broke off before it reached his mouth, and fell onto his trousers.

“Nice,” said Georgie, rolling her eyes.

Dr. Hugo had been coming to our house quite a lot lately, even during the curfew, because the government had given him a special password to stop him from getting shot at police checkpoints.

I still wasn’t sure how good a doctor he was, but I was sure he would be good for Georgie if she let him. He was a bit messy, that was for sure, but he had a good heart. He told me he cried the other day when he had to cut off a woman’s arm after her husband shot her during an argument. And though Georgie and I hadn’t spoken about him, I guess she liked Dr. Hugo at least a little bit because all the makeup was back on her face. She didn’t touch him or stroke his knee or talk with her eyes like she did with Haji Khan, but she smiled when he was near and disappeared when he phoned, which was quite a lot compared to what she was used to.

But then there were the other times, when Georgie’s phone rang and she just let it play its tune. We all pretended not to notice because we guessed it was Haji Khan reaching out for her voice and it was up to her if she chose to hide it or not. However, if she was truly over him, I knew in my heart she would just tell him.

“I think Dr. Hugo wants to make Georgie his girlfriend,” I told my mother as we sat watching the Tulsi soap opera that came from India. Tulsi was a young bride who had married into a rich family, and everybody seemed to spend most of their time trying to ruin one another, or crying.

“I think you’re right,” my mother replied as the program finished in another explosion of tears and sad music.

“And do you think she will let him?”

“I don’t know, but I think she deserves to be happy.”

“Like Tulsi?”

“Yes, like Tulsi.”

“But Tulsi’s never happy.”

“It’s only television, Fawad. It’s not real.”

“I know that! I’m not stupid!”

“Don’t act it, then.”

I looked at my mother, who was now reaching for some sewing she’d stored underneath one of the long cushions. Sometimes it was really quite difficult to have a normal conversation with her because she didn’t listen that well. I wondered whether this had anything to do with her being uneducated.

“All I’m saying is I’m not sure Georgie can love Dr. Hugo as much as she loved Haji Khan, and I don’t know whether she ever will.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A feeling…”

My mother raised one eyebrow and looked at me, straight in the eye.

“Okay, okay. I caught Dr. Hugo trying to kiss her the other night, but she hid her lips from him and he ended up kissing her ear.”

“Fawad! I really wish you wouldn’t keep spying on people. It’s not nice.”

“I wasn’t spying; I just happened to be there!”

Of course, that was a lie, because it’s hard to be in a place by accident when it’s close to midnight and you should be in your bed, but my mother let it pass.

“Well, it’s early days,” she replied. “Georgie may still love Haji Khan, but things change—people change. They just need a little time.”

“Time’s all good and well,” I said, getting to my feet because I was a little mad with all this talk of rest and time and sleeping and everything else adults throw at you when they don’t have any proper answers. “The trouble is, Mother, Georgie hasn’t got a lot of time left, and she’ll have to pick someone to make her happy soon because she’s not getting any younger. And neither are you, come to think of it.”

“I beg your pardon?” My mother looked up, surprised.

“I’m just saying, that’s all.”

“Saying what exactly?”

“Look, there’s a man outside these gates”—I pointed my finger at the window to make it clear exactly which gates I meant—“and he’s learning computering and trying to better himself, and I don’t think it’s because he wants to be the most big-brained guard in Wazir Akbar Khan, do you?”

“Now look here, young man—”

“No! You look here! Do you people ever stop to think about me? To think about how I feel? Do you ever wonder why my eyes are always half closed in the morning? It’s because I’m up all night worrying about who’s going to take care of all the damn women in this house!”

“Don’t use that language with me!”

“Language! Language! Who cares? It’s only words. Actions count more than words. If I’m not worrying about you and who will make you happy when I grow up and get married, then I’m worrying about Georgie, whose head is with one man and whose heart is living with another, and if it’s not Georgie, it’s May, who hasn’t got a chance in hell of marrying anyone unless she unlesbianizes. I mean! Do any of you have even the faintest idea of the kind of stress I am under?”

And with that I stormed out of the room, leaving my mother still as stone, her mouth hanging open, for once empty of anything to say.