Helen Simonson - Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

Abdul Wahid took a seat at the kitchen table and accepted a cup of tea. “Thanks. It’s pretty damp out tonight.”

“Yes, not too nice,” agreed the Major, wondering if they would be stuck for long in the inevitable loop of weather talk.

“It is funny that you are tired of spending the day alone,” said Abdul Wahid. “While I am tired of being around a busy shop filled with chattering people all day. I would love to trade with you and have time to myself for reading and for thinking.”

“Don’t rush to trade places with an old man,” said the Major. “Youth is a wonderful time of vigor and action. For possibilities, and for collecting friends and experiences.”

“I miss being a student,” said Abdul Wahid. “I miss the passionate discussions with my friends, and most of all the hours among the books.”

“Life does often get in the way of one’s reading,” agreed the Major. They drank their tea in silence as the logs cracked and spat in the flames of the fireplace.

“I am sorry to leave you to your solitary days, Major, but I have decided to move back to the shop,” said Abdul Wahid at length. “I have burdened you with my presence too long.”

“Are you sure?” asked the Major. “You really are welcome to stay on here. Roger and Sandy have no real intention of visiting more than a few nights, I guarantee, and you are welcome to any books on my shelves.”

“Thank you, Major, but I have decided to live in a small outbuilding we have behind the store,” said Abdul Wahid. “It has a toilet and a small window. Once I have moved out what appears to be a dead tractor and several chicken coops, I believe a fresh coat of paint will transform it into a room just like the one I had at university. It will be a sanctuary until things are decided.”

“You haven’t yet heard from your family, then,” said the Major.

“A letter has come,” replied Abdul Wahid.

“Ah,” said the Major. Abdul Wahid stared into the fire and said nothing, so, after an interminable pause, the Major added: “Good news, I hope?”

“It appears the moral objections may be overcome,” said Abdul Wahid. He screwed his face up, as if tasting something sour.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” said the Major. “Isn’t it?” He was puzzled by the fact that the young man seemed so unhappy. “Soon you can be with your son, and maybe even live in the same house instead of the chicken shed.”

Abdul Wahid got up and walked over to the mantelpiece, where he squatted on his heels and held his palms close to the flames.

“I do not think you would be so quick to approve if it was your son,” he said. The Major frowned as he tried to quell the immediate recognition that the young man was right. He fumbled for a reply that would be true but also helpful. “I do not mean to offend you,” added Abdul Wahid.

“Not at all,” said the Major. “You are not wrong-at least, in the abstract. I would be unhappy to think of my son becoming entangled in such a way and many people, including myself, may be guilty of a certain smug feeling that it would never happen in our families.”

“I thought so,” said Abdul Wahid with a grimace.

“Now, don’t you get offended, either,” said the Major. “What I’m trying to say is that I think that is how everyone feels in the abstract. But then life hands you something concrete-something concrete like little George-and abstracts have to go out the window.”

“I did not expect them to agree with anything my aunt proposed,” he said. “I expected them to make my decision easy.”

“I had no idea that you didn’t want to marry Amina,” said the Major. He put down his tea mug, the better to emphasize his attention to the conversation. “I seem to have jumped to a conclusion that was not there.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry her,” said Abdul Wahid, returning to his chair. He tented his fingertips and blew on them softly. “In her presence, I’m lost to her. She has such eyes. And then she was always so funny and wild. She is like a streak of light, or maybe a blow to the head.” He smiled, as if remembering a particular blow.

“That sounds suspiciously like love to me,” said the Major.

“We are not expected to marry for love, Major,” said Abdul Wahid. “I do not wish to be one of those men who bends and shapes the rules of his religion like a cheap basket to justify his comfortable life and to satisfy every bodily desire.”

“But your family has given permission?” said the Major. “You have been given a chance.” Abdul Wahid looked at him, and the Major was concerned to see a gaunt misery in his face.

“I do not want to be the cause of my family stooping to hypocrisy,” he said. “They took me away from her because of faith. I didn’t like it, but I understood and I forgave them. Now I fear they withdraw their objection in order to secure financial advantage.”

“Your aunt has offered to support the union,” said the Major.

“If faith is worth no more than the price of a small shop in an ugly village, what is the purpose of my life-of any life?” said Abdul Wahid. He slumped in his chair.

“She will give up the shop,” said the Major. He did not phrase it as a question, because he already knew the answer. That Abdul Wahid should slight, in one sentence, both the sacrifice of his aunt and the pastoral beauty of Edgecombe St. Mary incensed the Major to the point of stuttering. He peered for a long time at Abdul Wahid and saw him once more as a sour-faced, objectionable young man.

“She will give up the shop, which is a huge and generous gift from her,” added Abdul Wahid, spreading his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “There is only the question of where she will live that is to be determined.” He sighed. “But what will I give up in accepting?”

“Your absolute arrogance might be a welcome start,” said the Major. He could not prevent the caustic anger in his words. Abdul Wahid widened his eyes and the Major was maliciously happy to have shocked him.

“I don’t understand,” he said, frowning.

“Look here, it’s all very tidy and convenient to see the world in black and white,” said the Major, trying to soften his tone slightly. “It’s a particular passion of young men eager to sweep away their dusty elders.” He stopped to organize his thoughts into some statement short enough for a youthful attention span. “However, philosophical rigidity is usually combined with a complete lack of education or real-world experience, and it is often augmented with strange haircuts and an aversion to bathing. Not in your case, of course-you are very neat.” Abdul Wahid looked confused, which was an improvement over the frown.

“You are very strange,” he said. “Are you saying it is wrong, stupid, to try to live a life of faith?”

“No, I think it is admirable,” said the Major. “But I think a life of faith must start with remembering that humility is the first virtue before God.”

“I live as simply as I can,” said Abdul Wahid.

“I have admired that about you, and it has been refreshing to my own spirit to see a young man who is not consumed by material wants.” As he said this, the thought of Roger and his shiny ambition made a bitter taste in his mouth. “I am just asking you to consider, and only to consider, whether your ideas come from as humble a place as your daily routine.”

Abdul Wahid looked at the Major with some amusement now dancing in his eyes. He gave another of his short, barking laughs.

“Major, how many centuries must we listen to the British telling us to be humble?”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” said the Major, horrified.

“I’m only joking,” said Abdul Wahid. “You are a wise man, Major, and I will consider your advice with great care-and humility.” He finished his tea and rose from the table to go to his room. “But I must ask you, do you really understand what it means to be in love with an unsuitable woman?”