Brick Lane (96 page)

White noise filled the earpiece, like a gale caught in the telephone. Then the line cleared.

'The English have a saying: you can't step into the same river twice. Do you know it? Do you know what it means?'

She knew.

Another time he called and said, 'I've seen her.'

'Hasina!'

'The family she is with is respectable-type family. But it would be better if she had her own living accommodation.'

'How did she seem?'

'She seemed . . .' Chanu paused. 'Unbroken.'

'What did she say? How did she look?'

'We must send some money. Will you send to her?'

The first wage that Razia paid was not much. All month they ate rice and dal, rice and dal. And at the end of the month there was five pounds left to send to Hasina. Next month there was more.

Nazneen put down her pen. It was not working. She was not ready. She had thought it would be a matter of trying. Now she realized that the work would come later. First she had to imagine.

A new song came on the radio.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeelll

A woman's voice, half singing, half screeching.

You know you make me wanna shout

She went to the radio and turned it up. The singer jumped off her cliff of expectation and cavorted in an ecstatic sea.

Nazneen moved her head to the song. Her hips went side to side. She tapped her right foot, then the other. She raised her arms and moved her chest. The music broke in waves over her entire body.

She waved her arms, threw back her head and danced around the table.
Shout!
She sang along, filling her lungs from the bottom, letting it all go loose, feeling her hair shake out down her neck and around her shoulders, abandoning her feet to the rhythm, threading her hips through the air. She swooped down and tucked her sari up into the band of her underskirt.
Shout!

Nazneen put her hands on her waist and kicked her legs high. She turned and kicked, turned and kicked, jumped and kicked and her foot went over her head.

The phone rang. Nazneen ran to the radio and switched it off.

'Hello.' She was panting.

'What's wrong?' It was Chanu.

'No. Nothing. Just running for the phone.'

'Your sister has vanished.'

Nazneen's chest hurt. She pushed it with her hand. 'Oh, God, what has happened?'

'Her employer came to see me. She has vanished with the cook. They have run away together.'

'Oh,' said Nazneen. 'I thought something terrible . . .'

'Something terrible
has
happened. The cook is only a young boy. How soon before he gets tired of her? Remember what happened the last time.'

The line was clear but Chanu, out of emotion or force of habit, shouted.

'When did she leave?'

'A week or two ago. I don't know. There was hell to pay with the employer. Good cooks don't grow on trees, as he kept reminding me.'

'Did you see him, the cook? What was he like?'

'Don't expect me to go chasing after her. There's more to this soap business than meets the eye. I can't go running around all over the town on your wild-goose chase.'

Nazneen imagined him nursing his belly.

'I know,' she said.

'Why did she do it? Why does she do these things?'

Nazneen glanced down and was surprised to see her legs. 'Because,' she said, 'she isn't going to give up.'

Chanu was quiet. The line played a static tune.

'I've been thinking,' said Chanu. 'Maybe you could come for a holiday, you and the girls.'

'What about school?'

'Oh,' he said and was very casual about it, 'oh, come whenever it's possible.'

'Yes,' she told him. 'We'd like that.'

The miles did not matter. She saw him beam. His eyes disappeared in crinkles. His cheeks were ready to burst. His voice, when it came, was unsteady. 'I'd like that too. That is the thing I'd like most in the world.'

'Where are we going?' Nazneen asked again. 'Give me a clue.'

They were on the bus, heading towards Liverpool Street. That was all she knew.

'A clue. A clue,' said Razia, with her best sideways look.

'No,' cried Shahana. 'Stop it.'

'It's a surprise,' Bibi explained, with the patience of angels.

'I'll guess, then. We're going to the zoo.'

'No.'

'The cinema.'

'No.'

'The fair. The circus. The end of the earth.'

'No more guessing,' said Shahana. She took a Tupperware box out of her bag and lifted the lid. She had made the sandwiches herself, cream cheese spread with mango pickle. 'There's two each. Who wants one now?'

Shahana and Bibi had half a sandwich each.

The conductor came upstairs and told them theirs was the next stop.

As they got off the bus, the girls took hold of Nazneen's hands. 'Close your eyes,' they told her.

She obeyed.

They tugged her hands. 'Come on. Walk.'

She opened her eyes.

'Walk with your eyes closed.'

She felt the breeze against her skin, the warmth of the sun against her eyelids, the hair that tickled her cheek. As she walked she was aware of each step, testing out the mechanics of her legs.

'We're here,' said Bibi.

'Hush,' said Shahana. Her hand covered Nazneen's eyes. 'Tie your scarf around, Bibi, or she'll cheat.'

'I hope you don't expect too much of me,' said Razia. 'Remember I'm an old lady. Old and arthritic'