Brick Lane (60 page)

'Oh, I went to buy cloth with Razia today.' Nazneen could not stop thinking about Razia's empty purse.

'It was the British, of course, who destroyed our textile industry.'

'Yes,' said Nazneen. 'How did they do that?'

Chanu expelled whatever it was that was sticking in his windpipe. He coughed as well to be on the safe side, and then he began. 'You see, it was largely a matter of tariffs. Export and import duties. Silk and cotton goods had seventy or eighty per cent tax slapped on them, and we were not allowed to retaliate.'

Nazneen had drifted. She straightened the dining chairs and shivered at some remembered pleasure.

'The Dhaka looms were sacrificed,' said Chanu, 'so that the mills of Manchester could be born.'

Nazneen came round to her duties. 'They were closed down by the British?'

'In effect,' said Chanu, waggling his head. 'Not closed down exactly.' He put his book aside and placed his hands beneath his vest where they grew busy. 'It's like being in a race, where one man runs without hindrance, and you must run with your arms tied behind your back, a blindfold on, hot coals beneath you and, and . . .' He thought for a while and his cheeks moved this way and that. 'And your legs cut off,' he finished, and indicated with a chopping motion to the knee the exact location of the severance.

'Ah,' said Nazneen, 'I see how it happened.' She wished that Shahana and Bibi would pay more attention. A sudden regret came to her. How much time she had wasted over the years, eating up her mind with a thousand petty worries and details that added up to nothing. She picked up one of Chanu's books and turned it over, pressed her thumbs on the cover as if she could squeeze the knowledge from it. She waited for Chanu to continue.

Chanu bounced his knees up and down. He spoke a few words to himself, of summation or consolation, and then he got up. He went out of the room and returned with a small mat of wooden beads. 'This is an automatic back massager,' he said. 'It's amazing what you can buy.' His face grew full of wonder, as if he had received this revelation from the Angel Jibreel himself. 'Let me try it now.' He motioned to the girls to move aside.

'It's for the car.' Chanu positioned the mat over the back of the sofa and wedged himself against it. 'All sorts of gadgets and gimmicks you can get.'

This was true. Chanu had invested in many items for his driving job. There were gloves for the glove compartment, an ice scraper (bought at a good price, much cheaper than buying it in the winter), an extra mirror that enabled him to conduct surveillance on the ignorant-type people in the back, an air freshener in the shape of a frog, and an eye mask made of thick black nylon that allowed Chanu to sleep in his seat between jobs. The most serious investment was a device that monitored traffic conditions and worked out alternative routes through the city. Chanu was awestruck. 'It's a mystery, how man can invent such things.' It had cost a great deal of money. It cost a deal more in heartache. However Chanu coaxed and cajoled it, the machine never gave up its mystery. He could never get it to work.

On top of these costs were the fines and penalties. Though Chanu was a very careful and able driver, it seemed that the Authorities conspired against him. There were fines for speeding and one for going too slow. On one occasion Chanu had to attend court over some fabricated indictment. He put on his suit and he rehearsed his speech in front of the mirror. 'They don't know who they are dealing with,' he told Nazneen. 'They think it is some peasant-type person who will tremble at their gowns and wigs.' He left in high spirits and returned in a black mood. He lay on the bed with his face turned to the wall. Nazneen brought food and left it on the dressing table. 'The trial was not fair,' she suggested. She touched his back. It was rigid. 'Just leave me alone,' he said.

The parking tickets mounted up and an outrage occurred when the car was towed away and held for ransom. By the time these various expenses were added up and the rental cost for the minicab paid to Kempton Kars, the profit margin was tender and exposed. Chanu worked hard and the harder he worked the more he suspected he was being cheated of his reward. 'Chasing wild buffaloes,' he said, 'and eating my own rice.'

The automatic back massager seemed to be working. Chanu ground himself into his seat and let out a series of grunts. 'I just don't know,' he said, and interrupted himself with a moan: 'A man could fall asleep at the wheel.'

'Can I try it, Abba?' Bibi always took an interest in Chanu's latest gadget. She even played with the frog air freshener, tapping it on the back until Chanu said, 'All right, Bibi, don't waste it all.'

'It's for the
relief of tension
and the
unknotting of muscles,'
said Chanu, quoting in English from the packaging. 'You don't have any tensions.'

'No,' said Bibi in a small voice.

'What is this rubbish you are watching, Shahana? Switch it off now.'

'How do you know that it's rubbish if you don't even know what it is?'

Nazneen held her breath.

It was dark now outside. The room was sealed. There were too many things in it. Too many people. Too little light.

Chanu stood up and turned off the television. Then he returned to his seat and extended an arm to his elder daughter. 'Come. Come on, sit close.'

Shahana did not move. She blew at her fringe.

Nazneen went towards her. 'Go on. Sit with your father. Don't you hear him?'

Chanu waved her away. 'Leave her be. She is too big for all that. She is not a child any more. You're not a child, are you, Shahana?'

Shahana moved her shoulders a fraction of an inch.

'All right, all right,' said Chanu. He picked something out of a back tooth. He pushed his back against the massager, and circled his ankles. 'How is school? Still top of the class? Clever girl, eh?'

Shahana turned her head a little. 'It's OK,' she said in English.

'OK, OK.
All this television watching and still she comes top of the class.' He spoke quietly. 'When I was at school, I used to get very good grades. Your mother is also clever, though she takes care to hide it. But, you see, we have not been able to make our way. We have tried . . .' He broke off and became lost in thought. 'Well, we have tried.'

Nazneen sat down in the armchair. Bibi sat on the arm.

'I know,' said Shahana. 'Don't worry about it.'

'You're right. Worry does no good.' Chanu smiled and touched his hand briefly to Shahana's shoulder.

'It's time for bed,' said Nazneen.

But Chanu objected. 'Let them stay. We are having a conversation here, father-daughter.' He looked at Shahana and raised his eyebrows, as if to say
That woman, how she always spoils our fun.
Shahana allowed him a smile and Chanu was very pleased. 'I don't know, Shahana. Sometimes I look back and I am shocked. Every day of my life I have prepared for success, worked for it, waited for it, and you don't notice how the days pass until nearly a lifetime has finished. Then it hits you – the thing you have been waiting for has already gone by. And it was going in the other direction. It's like I've been waiting on the wrong side of the road for a bus that was already full.'

Shahana nodded quickly. 'But don't worry,' she said.

'You are old enough now to talk to. That is a great comfort to me. And to have such a clever daughter . . .' His eyes grew full and he cleared his throat a little. 'You see, the things I had to fight: racism, ignorance, poverty, all of that – I don't want you to go through it.'

Bibi chewed her nails. Nazneen gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.

'Abba, I'm . . .'

'You know Mr Iqbal? In the newsagents. He comes from a very good family in Chittagong. God knows how many servants. And he is an educated man. We talk of many things. Why can he not rise out of that little hole here, always buried under newspapers and his hands black with ink? In Chittagong he would live like a prince, but here he is just doing the donkey work by day and sleeping in a little rat hole at night.'

'Mr Iqbal just sold his flat,' said Shahana.

'It's these things that make me sad,' continued Chanu, captivated by his own oration.

'For one hundred and sixty thousand pounds.'

'Living in little rat holes.' Chanu waggled his head, and his cheeks were filled with sorrow.