Friday morning, he walked to the bakery closest to his house. The aroma of fresh naan filled the air. Crowds swarmed the counter. Poor men walked away with free naan and rich men tossed bagfuls of it into their cars. Chaderi wrapped it in towels and stacked it in baskets on their heads, while modern girls wedged it into shiny shoulder bags. Four men from three generations were at work in the bakery. Their movements were quick and practiced, matched by the rhythm and twang of a dusty radio blaring pop melodies, the guitar-like rubab mewling to a tinny beat. They worked on the floor, squatting by stone slabs, hair trapped in skullcaps.
“Sir, naan for you!” one of the bakers called out. With two spiky rods, he coaxed a sheet of naan from a smoldering hole in the floor and wrapped it in paper for Daniel, who dropped exact change in a copper bowl. Whatever you could pay was exact change. Rebecca was right: a sheet of naan looked like a snowshoe.
He went home, and the day ticked away slowly. Rebecca chose clothes, linens, and flowers for the next day’s party. Daniel worked from his study. The office was closed. They ate lunch by the pool, their conversation shallow. As evening neared, he thought about the Zoroaster and Taj’s request for “confirmation,” as he’d presumptuously called it. He watched the sun set on the terrace, night tumbling over the city. He didn’t go to the Zoroaster.
Rebecca was lying awake when he came to bed. She gave him her hand, and he took it. They slept. On Saturday morning, the servers for the evening arrived. They helped the housekeeper polish, prepare, and arrange. Rebecca grew cheerful as the day wore on, sorting through china and silver and fashioning napkins into boats. She shared jokes with the hired help and inquired about their families, asking about their children by name when she knew them. Daniel admired the white, fur-trimmed ensemble she’d chosen for tonight. She stood close to the full-length mirror, then took a few steps back to examine the effect from a distance. She experimented with hairstyles, tossing her hair behind her shoulders, gathering it in a ponytail, and finally settling on a loose, glamorous bun. In the early afternoon, she asked softly, “Do you think you’ll shave for tonight?”
Daniel hadn’t shaved since the accident—it had seemed indecent to concern himself with his appearance. When he looked in the mirror, he saw how unkempt he was after days of letting his beard grow. Under his eyes were purplish crescents. His shoulders were slumped. Rebecca stroked his arm. He straightened slowly and rubbed his face, then promised her he would shave.
The house was warmed by the heat from the cook’s best recipes and the light of the summer sun. Daniel asked if he could help and took a tarnished silver vase off Ahmad’s hands. He sat in an Adirondack chair by the pool, the sun quivering on the water, and began to polish, growing calmer as he worked. The transformation was remarkable. Like the gemstones from his childhood, silver revealed its beauty only after diligent work. Across the garden, Rebecca was gathering flowers beside Laila, who had come early to help. The doctor wore jeans and a blouse, holding up a garment bag with her evening dress in it. He watched their graceful forms move across the blue-white light of the day and caught snippets of his wife’s laughter. Rebecca’s laugh was one of the loveliest sounds he knew, a crystalline trill like the high notes of her piano. He hadn’t heard the sound in months.
When he was finished polishing, he could see his reflection in the vase. He felt the sun lift a weight from him with its warmth. Only now was he starting to look forward to tonight. He had always liked big gatherings, ever since he’d watched his mother throw parties for businessmen and diplomats, the smell of liquor and cigars lingering for days. All would be well. He could manage Peter Whitbourn. The history professor had once been a close friend, and the only man who could beat Daniel in a fair game of chess.
Yes, everything would be fine. Taj Maleki’s threat was a bluff. Massacres didn’t happen here. Whatever Taj might be, he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t risk the punishment for mass murder, which was surely execution—if not by the blade of the law, then by the blades of the elders. When Telaya spoke, it was almost as if her voice was emanating from the silver.
He’s been bluffing from the start, she said.
Daniel hugged Laila hello before going inside. Neither of them mentioned her presence at the impromptu demonstration earlier. He went upstairs to the master bathroom and steadied his hand as he picked up the razor. He began to shave, carefully, not because he was afraid he might cut himself, but because he was afraid it might provoke Telaya. He tried to think of other things. He remembered Peter trying to sport a beard for a while before finally acknowledging that he looked ridiculous, after much teasing from Daniel, who’d insisted he couldn’t pull it off. Rebecca hadn’t liked it either.
He stopped fighting against the question that had lurked in his mind all day. What had brought back his wife’s laugh? Daniel wanted to believe it was that they had made love. Another answer stared him in the face. The party was mere hours away, and Peter was set to appear after an eight-year intermission. If caring about his appearance had been indecent, jealousy was even more so. He lost control of the blade and slashed his right cheek. As he blotted the blood, feeling foolish, he saw blood blooming through a red dress, and she came back with a vengeance, a new cascade of grievances.
My parents didn’t love me.
Sometimes, Daniel forgot that Telaya hadn’t seen her tearful parents cradle her corpse. That for her, nothing more had happened after she closed her eyes on that scalding road. He was sure she was wrong. And what if she was wrong about Taj bluffing, too? Why was he listening to a ghost?
He did need advice from someone, though. He would go see his friend Ian, whose work at the Peace Corps belied his past. Ian had once been a policeman and could help Daniel make sense of Taj. And Daniel would give no further thought to Peter and Rebecca. Some things weighed more than others.