Beneath My Mother's Feet Read online

  Hisham fiddled with the key and started the engine. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” he said finally, before turning to Nazia. “Are you coming?”

  She nodded and straddled the bike behind Maleeha. Nazia waved at Amma as they sputtered away, leaving her standing at the side of the road in a puff of dust.

  The ride to the beach was short but exhilarating. Nazia scooted closer on the narrow seat and loosened her grip on Maleeha. The dipping sun spread a golden glow that blanketed the street and streamed through Maleeha’s hair. Her sheer dupatta flapped in the wind, and Nazia held it down to keep it from whipping into her face.

  Hisham expertly maneuvered the bike through the steady traffic, avoiding craters in the road. Each home they passed was an architectural feast for Nazia’s eyes as she tried to imagine the kind of people who dwelled inside.

  The more lavish homes had guards lounging outside the main gates, staring at passersby. Although some wore uniforms and had rifles strapped to their backs, many wore simple kurtas, giving them the appearance of loiterers instead of guards.

  As they came upon Clifton Beach, the massive homes gave way to more diminutive seaside apartments. The paint on the exterior walls was corroded from years of exposure. Hisham turned onto the main thoroughfare that ran alongside the ocean, and for the first time in months Nazia saw the full glory of the Arabian Sea.

  Hisham passed the parked cars and found a spot to park by the seawall. Leaving Hisham to follow a few steps behind, Nazia grabbed Maleeha’s arm and led her down the broad concrete steps to the sandy beach. She took off her sandals and carried them as she ran alongside Maleeha to the beckoning sea.

  Maleeha splashed the hems of her pants as she came to a stop, the water up to her calves. “Look at Allah’s work. Doesn’t everything seem better when you come here?”

  Gulls flew overhead, and miniature crabs scuttled at their feet. Nazia lifted her shalwar and walked slowly into the ocean, relishing the cold water lapping at her ankles. She dug her toes into the submerged sand and felt the granules lodge underneath her toenails. “It’s wonderful.” She looked out across the gray-blue water toward the fishing boats heading toward land. Far on the horizon she could see two navy ships signaling to each other with powerful lights. The sun was low, and the sky was streaked with purple and ink. She could feel Maleeha watching her.

  “Things haven’t been the same since you left,” Maleeha said. “Let’s walk, Nazia.”

  Nazia walked beside Maleeha, keeping her gaze down, taking care not to step on the crabs or the decaying starfish that littered the sand.

  “How long do you think you’ll have to do this?”

  Nazia shrugged. “Longer than Amma ever expected. Abbu was caught stealing from Seema, and she made him leave. No one knows where he is.” She shot Maleeha a look. “Like father, like son, don’t you think?”

  Maleeha held Nazia’s free hand, their fingers entwined, just as they used to do on the way to school when they were younger. “None of that is your fault,” she said earnestly. “How long will you have to continue to pay for their mistakes? Don’t you worry about the future?”

  “How can you ask me that, Maleeha?” Nazia stopped walking. “Do you think I want to clean houses for the rest of my life?”

  Maleeha let go of her hand. “What about school? You should at least finish your degree. Why can’t your mother see that, especially with the marriage proposal finished?”

  Nazia turned to look at the sea and continued walking. The light had faded fast, and the wind had picked up, bringing in colder air from the sea. She wrapped her arms around herself, her sandals still clutched in one hand. The towering spotlights installed intermittently along the seawall came on and illuminated the beach with an intense fluorescent glow. She glanced back and saw that Hisham was a few steps behind them, deliberately keeping his distance.

  “Right now,” said Nazia, “I’m the only person earning money for the family. Amma doesn’t even come with me anymore to the other houses. I do those after lunch while Amma rests. She gets too tired, and her legs don’t hold her up the way they used to. I worry what will happen to her if Seema ever turns us away.” As she listened to herself say the words, she realized that she would be stuck cleaning houses and sewing clothes for a long time.

  Maleeha tugged at Nazia’s arm, forcing her to stop. “Maybe you don’t have to do everything your family does. Maybe you can leave too, like your father and your brother. Maybe — ”

  “No,” Nazia said vehemently. “I could never leave Amma, or Mateen and Isha. They need me.”

  Maleeha clucked her tongue. “I know they need you. But you need to think of yourself, too. If you stay with your mother, you will be spending the rest of your life cleaning houses.”

  “But what can I do?” Nazia looked at her friend, exasperated. “Leaving my family is impossible!”

  “What if I told you there was another way? What if I told you Ms. Haroon would take you in? She would make certain you finished school.”

  Ms. Haroon? When she wasn’t teaching, she was traveling all over the world. She’d never have time for someone like Nazia. And even if she did, that was a dream more impossible than being Fatima baji’s house servant!

  Nazia turned away miserably. Maybe Abbu and Bilal could leave so easily, but Nazia knew she could not. Caring for her family, being loyal to Amma, these were duties ingrained within her and could not be changed so easily. How would Amma manage? Who would help with Isha and Mateen? She felt queasy. No. Leaving Amma was impossible.

  The girls stared out at the ocean. After several minutes Maleeha said, “Just think about it. That’s all I ask. Okay?”

  Nazia bit her lip. She couldn’t say yes to something she knew was not possible.

  Maleeha groaned. “Fine. You still have your books, don’t you?”

  Nazia nodded.

  Maleeha bounced lightly on her toes as she formulated a new plan. “What if I brought you the class assignments and you did them on your own? After my papers are graded, I’ll bring them and check your work. At least that way you won’t fall so far behind in school.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Maleeha stopped bouncing. “Because we always did everything together, and I told you, things just haven’t been the same since you left.”

  “What’s wrong, Maleeha? What could possibly be different? You still have Saira.”

  Maleeha threw her up her hands. “That’s just it! You’re gone and Saira’s changed. She’s just not the same anymore. Her abbu got some government posting, and she’s been acting snotty ever since. We don’t eat lunch together anymore because she’s made friends with Leila and her group. The only time we spend together is on our way to school and back. And she only does that because we live on the same street.” Maleeha shook her head. “I don’t know. She hasn’t really said anything, but I know something is different.”

  Nazia recalled the way Saira had recoiled when Nazia hugged her at the Sunday bazaar. There had been something different then, but Nazia had thought that it was because she herself looked so scraggly. “Don’t let her upset you. I will always be your friend, no matter what happens to me or you. Now, about those books.”

  “You’re the best friend ever!” Maleeha cried.

  Nazia hugged her friend and resolved to keep their friendship intact and to keep up with her studies. Finding spare time in the evenings would not be a problem. After the dinner dishes were done, Seema usually left them alone for the rest of the evening. Fighting fatigue would be her main concern. She would find the strength. “Do you think Ms. Haroon will let me take the annual exam? Do you think she’ll let me pass?”

  “I don’t see why not. They should let you take the exam if you’ve prepared for it. But even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. At least you will know the lessons and can keep up with me. And then you can stop cleaning and find something better.”

  Nazia suddenly realized that she did have a choice. Amma could stop
her from going to school, but she couldn’t stop her from learning her lessons. “Fine,” she said in a whisper. “If you’re willing to help me, how can I not?”

  “We’d better get going,” Maleeha said. “My mother is probably furious at me for being gone so long.”

  “And Hisham is a saint for bringing you.” As they turned back, Nazia asked, “Do you think your brother knows anything about Bilal?”

  “I don’t think so. They weren’t really friends, were they?”

  Nazia shook her head. “It’s just hard not knowing. Sometimes I forget I have an older brother too. Your parents must be pleased Hisham’s going to college.”

  “He’s working, too, paying for it himself.” Maleeha waved to her brother, and he turned and started back for the seawall.

  When they walked up the stairs to the parking area, Hisham veered off to buy coal-roasted corn from a stall nearby. Maleeha moved toward the bike and freed a bag strapped into the rear basket. She pulled out shiny pink chiffon. Even with the night settling in and the fluorescent glow of the spotlights casting stark shadows around them, Nazia knew instantly that it was the same material they had seen that day at the market. In her mind Nazia could see Maleeha standing at the edge of the cricket pitch wearing this exact same outfit not too long ago. It was beautiful in the market, and it was even more exquisite on Maleeha.

  “I brought it for you. I want you to have it,” Maleeha said softly.

  Nazia was so grateful, she didn’t even have the heart to protest. Getting this gift from Maleeha was far more meaningful to her than any of the outdated hand-me-downs Seema had given to her. Nazia searched her friend’s face and found not even the faintest hint of pity. “Thank you.”

  Hisham returned with enough roasted corn for all of them. Nazia carefully placed the clothes back in the bag and secured it in the basket. She took her corn smothered in lemon juice, salt, and ground chili peppers and bit into it, suddenly ravenous. She gave a silent prayer, grateful that her friend had opened her eyes to all the possibilities that lay before her, and that none of them included cleaning houses. Shukriya, Allah, she thought. Shukriya.

  As the hour of Sherzad’s secret departure neared, preparations for the party pressed on. To Nazia’s dismay, it was not to be a simple dinner party. It was a celebration of the completion and sale of the sahib’s latest construction project, a soap factory. Nazia overheard Seema baji talking on the telephone, saying that the sale of the soap factory would finally bring the sahib back to the level of success he had enjoyed before his finances had been sabotaged by bad contracts. Nazia hoped that the sahib’s success would mean the baji would finally pay her and Amma for their labor even though the agreement was only for room and board.

  News of the factory’s completion charged Seema with an excitement that Nazia had not witnessed in the months she had been employed by the baji. The baji’s nervous energy permeated the house and drew everyone into the task of cleaning and preparing for the party.

  For the next two days Nazia, Amma, Sherzad, and even Isha scrubbed the house down, dusted, washed, and swept until their shoulders felt weighted with cinder blocks and their gaits took on decidedly noticeable limps. Even Shenaz, who’d found a job two doors down, moonlighted to help weed the garden, beat the silt-infused rugs, and scrub the layers of packed dust off the deteriorating metal window screens.

  Nazia went to bed exhausted, too tired to discuss Sherzad’s escape plans with him. His ticket was hidden in her bag of soiled clothes, the bag itself stuffed in a corner of the servant quarters behind the charpai she shared with Isha. She could only hope that once he got off the train at Multan, he’d know how to find his way to his grandmother’s house. She guessed that he’d been dreaming about his escape for so long, for her even to worry that Sherzad might get lost was simply ridiculous. He could probably find his dadi blindfolded, with his ankles strapped together. Sherzad was the only one who went to bed each night with energy left to spare and secret thoughts that kept his eyes open far into the night.

  On Saturday the caterers came just after four o’clock to set up the tent. They brought stacks of red chairs with foam backing and lined them in rows facing the house. As the workers began setting up the tables and chairs, Nazia went inside to make the afternoon tea. While the kettle simmered, she peeked through the window curtains in the dining room to watch the flurry of activity at the front of the house. Sherzad fussed with the chairs while the other workers set up tables in the driveway for the serving area. Cooking stations were set up for a chicken tikka barbecue and a pit for the naan, which would be freshly baked.

  The double doors of the wrought-iron gate were wide open, with the back end of the caterer’s truck partially in the driveway, the front end jutting out into the street. Neighboring servants and chowkidars milled about, murmuring among themselves and craning their necks while they tried to see inside.

  When she heard the whistle of the kettle, Nazia went back to the kitchen and removed it from the stove. As she stood on her tiptoes and reached for the cups, the kitchen door squealed. Sherzad stood at the screen door, his expression worrisome.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mother wants you out front. Your abbu is here.”

  “Abbu?” Nazia set the cup down with a bang. She wiped her hands on her dupatta and followed Sherzad.

  She caught a glimpse of Amma just outside the gate. She couldn’t tell if Amma was crying or laughing. A few workers peered curiously past the truck blocking the gate. Nazia ignored the workmen; she moved past the tables in the driveway and around the truck and stopped just outside the gate, where she spotted Abbu.

  Her back stiffened. She called out her salaam without moving.

  “What’s this? No hug?” Abbu laughed. He came toward Nazia and hugged her. Her face was lost in his shirt, and the stench of sweat was overpowering.

  “Look at you! What happened to you?” He pushed her away to take a better look. “You’ve grown so much. You’re taller than your mother.”

  Maybe if you were around more, it wouldn’t be such a surprise, she wanted to say. Instead she shrugged.

  From behind Abbu came a gravelly voice. “The last time I saw you, Nazia, you were sickly looking. Your face is fresher now, and your father is right. You have grown.”

  Nazia stiffened as Abbu stepped aside, revealing Uncle Tariq. Nazia nearly gasped when she saw the man next to her uncle, a man Amma was clinging to now. The features that were always nothing more than a blur in her mind sharpened with sudden clarity as she recognized the boy she had once known as a child. The boy she’d once been engaged to. Salman.

  What was he doing here? Nazia’s heart started to race as she tried to fathom the meaning of the unexpected visit.

  Amma released Salman’s arm and waddled up to Nazia, her expression gleeful. “Your abbu went back to the village after the misunderstanding with baji. Tariq bhai was kind enough to take him in.”

  “Misunderstanding, Amma? Abbu was trying to hawk the things he’d stolen. You pulled the money from his pocket, remember?”

  “Shh!” Amma glanced at Uncle Tariq. “Lower your voice, Nazia.”

  Abbu cleared his throat and leaned in closer. “We spoke of you and Salman,” he said. “Your futures have been tied together for years. Angry words from old men should not change the course of destiny.” He raised a hand to smooth his daughter’s hair, but when she leaned away, he let it drop. “Your uncle has come a long way for you. Again.”

  Even before her father said the words she knew were coming, Nazia’s knees trembled.

  Abbu peered into her face, his forehead rippled. “I brought your uncle to prove to you that I fixed everything. He is willing to dismiss the jahez and uphold the engagement. Tariq and Salman are here to take you home.” His brows lifted and his eyes shone. “Do you understand, Nazia? You’re getting married!”

  Nazia expelled her breath sharply. She turned toward Salman and noticed he wasn’t much taller than herself. His frame was muc
h smaller and wider than Uncle Tariq’s, and his belly protruded, stretching his kurta. His face was weathered, but his doughy cheeks and sagging chin softened the lines around his eager eyes.

  Could this be the answer to everything? No more cleaning houses. No more sewing clothes for other girls. No more threadbare castoffs and hand-me-downs. Most importantly, no more watered-down lentils and stale bread.

  The sudden swish of a broom sliced through the heavy silence. She saw Sherzad sweeping the already clean driveway, his body bent at the waist, his arm moving in spastic jerks. His hair fell forward in his face, so that Nazia could not see his eyes. But it was obvious to her that he had overheard her father’s news.

  If she left now, how could she help Sherzad escape? With only one servant on hand, Seema would keep the boy so busy, he would never get the chance to sneak away and make it to the station in time to catch the after-midnight train to Multan. How could she give the boy so much hope, only to snatch it all away at the end? But could she risk angering Uncle Tariq? If she refused to leave now, would Uncle Tariq understand, or would he feel slighted again? Would it mean that her chance to get married and return to Punjab to live as Salman’s bride would be gone forever? She knew that her uncle’s renewed offer of marriage was a magnanimous gesture, and one not to be taken lightly.

  But something hard inside her, a stiffness she had not felt before, kept her back straight and eyes defiant. She turned away from Sherzad and found her cousin digging wax from his ears. His mouth curved into a crooked smile while he extracted a pudgy finger from his ear and wiped it onto the bottom of his kurta. Nazia’s skin crawled.

  She turned to her father. “I have to get back, Abbu. We can talk after baji’s party.”

  Abbu shook his head. “You don’t have to. You can leave with us this very minute.”