SHAFFIQ IS EXHAUSTED. He has been waking up in the quiet apartment, reaching for Salma and feeling panicked when she is not there sleeping beside him. Once fully awake, he soon realizes the reality of his life, knows that it is daytime, that he is sleeping while his wife is at Blue Dove Dry Cleaners, and that his children are still at school. He is the one missing in action, not his wife or children. After these mid-day awakenings, he finds it difficult to fall back asleep, the uneasiness still with him in his bed.
At work a few hours later, Shaffiq looks at his watch and groans inwardly at the hours ahead. How do people survive such boring, menial labour, he wonders. How will I survive it? He thinks that talking to Ravi might help, could take his mind off Salma and perhaps there is an entertaining update about his situation. Is he still dating the landlord’s daughter? Has he told his mother yet? Has Angie’s father found out? Shaffiq finds himself smiling and marveling at his friend’s romantic antics.
He takes his lunch bag to the fourth floor and roams the silent wing. It looks to Shaffiq that Ravi hasn’t started cleaning there because the garbage cans have not yet been emptied. He decides to check for his friend on the fourth floor and walks toward the elevator, passing Nasreen’s office on the way. With the door slightly ajar, he can hear her talking to someone. He listens to her Canadian accent, the way her voice sounds so solid and confident.
“What time would be good for you?” she asks someone on the telephone. And Shaffiq repeats the sentence silently, endeavouring to erase his Bombayite lilt from the sentence. Whaat tyime wood bee good for you? He hears her say good-bye and hang up the phone. Ol rright then, tek cere. See you Wed-nes-de, Walerie, he mimics silently. He hears Nasreen pick up the phone again and dial another number. Shaffiq glances around furtively to make sure no one is around in the empty hallway, and not really knowing why, he lingers a moment longer. He listens.
The phone rings twice and Salma picks it up while steadying a load of laundry on her hip. A pair of white boxers threatens to escape from the unbalanced basket.
“Hullo?”
“Hi Salma. It’s Nasreen.” Hi Sulma, it’s Nusrin. Shaffiq stops mouthing the words.
Salma puts the laundry basket on the couch and sits down heavily. She deftly grabs hold of the boxers and settles them back with the other clothes.
“Oh Nas, how are you? I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again. I feel bad about what happened last time you were here.”
“Yeah … that’s what I’m calling about. I thought we’d better talk about it. Can we meet sometime?”
“Of course. Again, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You must be angry with me.”
“Not really. I was just surprised, I guess.… Are you free tonight? Uh, will your husband and the kids be home?”
“No, Shaffiq has a shift tonight. He is probably there by now. And I can ask the neighbours to watch the kids, but it will have to be fairly soon so I can get the kids to bed early enough. Maybe we could meet out for coffee instead of here? There is a nice coffee shop a block from Ossington subway. It’s called Coffee Love. Can we meet there at seven-thirty?”
“OK, I’ll see you later, Salma. Oh, and could you bring me the blouse I left behind? You remember the green one I was wearing that night?”
“Of course. I washed it today. I’ll bring it for you.”
“Thanks, Salma. Alright, see you at Coffee Love at seven-thirty then.”
Nasreen replaces the receiver in its cradle and checks her watch. Already almost seven p.m., she puts off finishing her report-writing and shuts down her computer.
Shaffiq skulks away from the office. Salma had not mentioned that she was teaching tonight, Shaffiq recalls. And what could be so urgent that her student would want to meet her tonight? What do they need to talk about? Shaffiq turns these questions over in his mind, wondering what kind of mystery this is, and what the clues could possibly mean. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to look for Ravi anymore.
Twenty minutes later, Nasreen walks up the filthy steps of the Ossington subway station. Toronto’s subways aren’t what they used to be; litter everywhere and the escalators perpetually out of service. Nasreen regards a poster informing customers that the cost of a token is going up. At a minimart at the top of the stairs, she buys a package of mints and pops one in her mouth.
She walks north two blocks to the coffee shop. It’s windy and Nasreen buttons up her coat and pulls her scarf snugly around her neck. Candy-bar wrappers and discarded sections of newspaper swirl across the sidewalk, threatening to tangle at her feet. Most of the stores’ lights are turned off already at this hour, but the neon orange Coffee Love sign casts a sunny glow on the dark sidewalk ahead. Nasreen wishes she had suggested a different coffee shop to Salma, one that is neither being boycotted nor the current employer of her ex-girlfriend, but she was too nervous during the phone call to raise the political or moral implications of the meeting place. For a moment she wonders if she’ll run into Connie at Coffee Love: What if PR people visit their franchisees? That’s possible, isn’t it? What should I say to her if I see her there? She speculates on the question with some alarm, but when she reaches the coffee shop door, she inhales deeply and manages to brush the irrational thought aside. She checks her watch and sees that is is seven twenty-two. That’s just like her isn’t it? Always showing up for nerve-wracking situations early enough to further raise her anxiety levels. But when she walks in and looks around to find a quiet corner, she sees Salma already there, waiting, looking up at her with expectant eyes.
“Nas, hello. You want a coffee or something?” Salma holds a white ceramic cup between her hands.
“Yes, I’ll get one.” She turns away from Salma’s strained, smiling face and is glad for the moment away. Nasreen is more nervous than she thought. She breathes, orders a cup of decaf, and then sits down across from Salma.
There are a few minutes of small talk: about the cooling weather, how neither woman likes the cold and will never get used to it no matter how many years they live in Canada.
Salma takes a deep breath, decides to say the words she has been rehearsing for days now, and looks directly at Nasreen, “Nas, look. I want to say I am very sorry about what happened. I must have made you feel very uncomfortable. I don’t know what happened to me to make me act that way. I feel embarrassed about it all.”
“I’m not really looking for an apology. You didn’t do anything that bad. You kissed me. It was just a kiss. I guess I just wanted to talk to you about it. And well, to find out how do you feel about me, Salma? I mean, was it just a spontaneous thing, or have you been feeling something for me?” Nasreen fixes her eyes on Salma’s, searching for what they might reveal.
“I don’t know, Nas.” Salma looks down and Nasreen thinks she sees Salma’s eyes begin to fill with tears. Nasreen has an urge to comfort Salma, to touch her arm or rub her shoulder, but she holds back. “I’m not sure how I feel. I haven’t stopped to think about my feelings for some time,” Salma replies softly. “You know, I never even stopped to think that I should be thinking about this! Am I making any sense?” Nasreen doesn’t think so, but nods encouragingly so that Salma will continue.
“My life hasn’t allowed much time to feel since we came here. Until recently, I only had time to see myself as Shaffiq’s wife, the girls’ mother. That’s it. Until I met you and Asha, I had almost given up on myself being a teacher, even. Since leaving India, there has not been any time to really feel what I want, who I am … do you know what I am saying?”
“I think so,” Nasreen nods. “Things must have been so different for you in India. And even before you got married. I mean, you had a female lover! What was her name? Raj?”
“I was single, with only a few responsibilities. I was experimenting with life. I saw her as a very dear friend. She was very special to me. But there was no future in what we had together. I knew that at some point we would have to stop being together. While we were together I was just trying to enjoy it as long as I could.”
“I find that sad. Did you ever wish you could have stayed together?”
“Sometimes, I don’t know. Nas, I am a very practical person at heart. Wishing for things doesn’t do much good if it can’t happen.”
“This might be personal, but have you been attracted to other women since Raj?” Nasreen asks.
“Maybe. I don’t know. If I did I never let myself go anywhere with those feelings.”
“Until last week, with me. When you kissed me,” Nasreen says, smiling.
“Yes. Until with you. But you have to know I didn’t plan it like that. I guess I have been a little attracted to you since I first met you. And then when you and Asha talked about being that way I started to think about Raj and somehow all the feelings came up for me. But I never meant to kiss you that day. You have to believe me.” Salma looks pleadingly at Nasreen with wet eyes.
“Relax Salma. I believe you. And I don’t think you did anything wrong. You didn’t commit a capital crime or anything.”
“Yes, but I do feel guilty, and a little silly. Yes, I find you attractive, but like I said, I am a practical person. There is no practicality in being attracted to you. Besides me being married and having children, I don’t even know if you feel that way for me,” Salma looks pointedly at Nasreen, holding her breath. There, I’ve said it. I have to ask it, to know.
“I’m a practical person, too, Salma,” Nasreen says gently, sensing the vulnerability in Salma’s question. She thinks about how she is about to tell the first of many lies, knowing that lies help to smooth out feelings and friendships and that she wants to be kind to Salma. “Salma, I think you are attractive too. I really like you. I don’t think that I ever allowed myself to go beyond that because you are married. It’s kind of my policy to not pursue women who aren’t available. If you were single too, then maybe that would be a different story.”
“That would be a different story. Maybe you are more practical than me. That’s a good thing, Nas.” She smiles weakly at Nasreen, who smiles back.
“I still need to learn Gujarati. And you are still a great teacher. Part of why I wanted to talk to you about all this is to find out if we can put it behind us, or if it would be too awkward. Do you think we could continue to meet? There are just a few weeks until I leave for India. Or would that be too weird?”
“No. Yes. I mean I would love to continue teaching you. And you know what? I forgot to pack up your green blouse to bring it to you tonight. I even washed it for you, but forgot to bring it. I think I was too nervous about coming to meet you. If you come back for classes then you can pick it up next time, can’t you?”
“Yeah, sure. There’s no big rush to get the blouse.”
“So, then, we will go on as normal.”
“I can if you can.”
“Yes, of course I can.” Salma hopes that she is telling the truth.
That night, Salma awakens to the sound of a toilet flushing. Must be Saleema. She drank too much juice before going to bed. At least it is not like a few years ago when she would wet the bed and then Salma would be up, changing sheets, bathing her child in the middle of the night. Salma turns over, curls into a fetal position and pulls the blanket to her chin. Her mind takes her back to the dream she was having before her sleep was disturbed.
She is walking hand-in-hand with Raj through Jogger’s Park in Bandra. Inside the park, there is a welcome reprieve from the noise and anxious movements of the city surrounding it. The lush trees and grass cool her skin and the air smells sweeter than normal as though the Bombay smog respects the hedge borders of the park and stays out.
Raj’s face looks somewhat more angular and masculine than in real life, so the other walkers and joggers assume that Raj is a man out walking with his girlfriend. The pair pass two middle-aged, plump women in saris who look at them disapprovingly, but their censure is not about them being women, but about their public show of affection. It doesn’t look proper. Raj notices the matrons’ glance and guides Salma toward a more isolated area of the park where they find a granite bench on which to rest. Raj turns toward Salma and tells her earnestly,
“We must find a way to be together. We are in love, aren’t we?” Salma looks into Raj’s round, brown eyes and smiles at the simplicity of the statement, of the joy she sees in Raj’s face. It magically and instantaneously changes back to its more feminine form. Salma kisses Raj on her cheek.
“Yes,” she says, “I suppose I agree now. I couldn’t back then. I wish I had been able to.” Salma wants to say more, to explain about the past, but Raj puts a finger to Salma’s lips and smiles at her forgivingly. Raj then pulls out a notebook and tells Salma that she will write down a secret plan in which they will elope in one month’s time. Salma strains to see what Raj is writing, but Raj teases her by pulling herself and the notebook away each time Salma leans close. She tells Salma to wait. It feels like forever, but Salma waits patiently while Raj writes, her brow furrowed, her body tense. Salma looks around at the pink flowers to her right and continues to wait for her love to finish writing out the plan.
Salma sleeps peacefully. Her face is that of a woman who is calm, contented, in no hurry to change anything. All is still in the Paperwala home. The living room has been left clean and orderly. The only thing that might seem out of place to an outside observer of the Paperwalas’ lives – if such a witness were to exist – would be a bright green blouse sitting on the edge of a laundry basket.
At two a.m. Shaffiq has finished all his floors ahead of schedule. He knows that his mind is not on the cleaning, and very likely, he has not done a tip-top job at the Institute tonight, but he doesn’t care. He has been preoccupied with two particular questions. The first is derived from his painstaking dissection of the one-way conversation he overheard between Nasreen and his wife. At least he assumes it was with his wife. What did the conversation mean? Why would Nasreen ask Salma for a blouse she left behind?
The second question is how he will find the answer for the first question once he gets home. What clues should he be looking for? Should he ask his wife outright whether and with whom she has been out tonight? Should he ask the children what they know? Might they be witnesses to whatever is going on? His mind is muddled. He can’t imagine that Salma would lie to him about anything.
If Nasreen had been arranging to meet Salma, it was very likely something innocent, Shaffiq reassures himself. Perhaps Nasreen needed some extra tutoring? No, that can’t be it. The tone in her voice was all wrong for that. Perhaps she and Salma have become friendly and Nasreen had something she wanted to discuss with an older woman? Salma has not mentioned that she was becoming friendly with one of her students. She would have mentioned this, wouldn’t she?
If their meeting was not so innocent, then what could be happening? Shaffiq thinks hard about Salma’s ability to do something illicit with Nasreen. After all, Nasreen is the kind of woman who likes other women. Could it be that she has taken an interest in Salma? Developed a crush on her teacher? Surely that is not impossible. This kind of thing must happen all the time with women like Nasreen. Salma is a good-looking woman, after all, and a teacher. Shaffiq smiles to himself. He believes he has cracked the phone call’s code, sorted out the only plausible possibility. Yes, Nasreen has a schoolgirl’s crush on his beautiful wife! Salma would be gracious about such a thing, Shaffiq thinks. She would try to avoid hurting Nasreen’s feelings but make it clear that she is not interested. Very likely, when Shaffiq gets home, Salma will tell him the story and they will laugh about Salma’s ability to attract a young woman. They are liberal, open-minded people, after all.
A couple of hours later, when Shaffiq comes home, he checks in on Salma and the girls. They all sleep soundlessly and he is reminded of how wonderfully peaceful his life can be. He feels silly for all his anxieties and mental sleuthing. There is nothing to worry about. He changes into his pajamas and makes a cup of tea, decides to stay up to watch the sunrise. With his tea propped on his knee, he rests his head back against the couch, and turns to look up at the raani, admiring her handsome, placid face. Her smile seems accepting, loving to him in the early morning light. He thinks that he really does like looking at the painting and that he must remember to tell Salma this. Perhaps it will be a small goodwill gesture that she will appreciate, a movement toward closing the distance between them. He doesn’t want to argue with her so much. He must learn to be more understanding of her situation. She has had a tough time here too. With this resolution of matrimonial peacemaking, he leans his head back against the couch and after a few minutes, dozes off.
When he wakes, Salma is across the living room, bending over the laundry basket. In her hand is a bright green blouse. He blinks twice, clearing the sleep from his eyes and says, “Is that a new blouse? I haven’t seen that before.”
“No, it’s not new. Shaffiq, what are you doing sleeping out here? It’s bad for your back.” She puts the blouse back into the basket, helps him to his feet and leads him into the bedroom. She tucks him into bed maternally, the way she does for Saleema and Shireen, and Shaffiq smiles with contentment. As she leans forward to kiss his cheek, he grabs her tightly and pulls her down into the bed. He climbs on top of her and kisses her in the way he imagines the heroes in Bollywood films would. In this moment he is Amitabh Bachchan and she is Zeenat Aman in Don.
Except that she doesn’t kiss him back like Zeenat Aman. Rather, she lies still, unresponsive in his arms. He pulls away from her and she gets up out of bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not in the mood right now. I have to get the girls up and ready for school.”
“Sorry, no problem,” he says, disappointed. “I suppose we are on opposite schedules, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she says, straightening her nightdress, “quite opposite.”
“So whose blouse was that?” His worry returns.
“Which blouse?”
“That one in the laundry basket. The green one. You said it wasn’t new.” In the pause that follows, Shaffiq wonders if his wife has ever lied to him before.
“It’s Nas’s. You know my student? It was raining the last time we met and she was wet, so she took it off and I gave her a sweater of mine. She left it behind. I guess she forgot it.” Salma looks up at her husband and then down at her nails. “Not the sweater, the blouse, I mean. She wore the sweater home. I gave it to her to keep. It doesn’t fit me anymore.” She laughs, nervously. He decides to ask one more question.
“It was raining the last time you saw her?” He remembers the bus ride to work last night and doesn’t recall any rain.
“Yes, last week. You remember the big storm we had? She got drenched that day.” Salma walks out of the bedroom, leaving Shaffiq to his questions. She picks up the green blouse and puts it on a metal hanger in the hall closet.
Salma can’t wait to get out of the apartment and to work. Normally she would not relish the thought of going to Blue Dove dry cleaners, where she mechanically goes through her day, mindlessly sorting jackets and shirts, making change and manufacturing smiles for her customers. But today she needs time alone, time to think, to contemplate her feelings, the green blouse, Shaffiq, and Nas. She also needs to get away from Shaffiq, who, although asleep, threatens to wake at any moment and ask her more questions. His queries from this morning muddled her enough.
She cannot stomach the thought of lying to him. But did she lie? Maybe through omission? She tiptoes into the bedroom and gathers her work clothes. Shaffiq lies still on the bed, his head resting on his elbow. It’s a naturally uncomfortable position and so she knows that he is only pretending to be asleep. She thinks she hears him sigh while she chooses her clothing from the closet. She leaves the bedroom silently and dresses in the girls’ room. As she pulls on the reinforced-toe panty hose she likes to wear on cool days, she spies Shireen’s doll, Memsahib, gazing at her from the lower bunk. What does Shaffiq know? What could he suspect? What will she tell him? She tugs the nylons up over her hips and stomach and wonders if her last two weeks of dieting have paid off. Perhaps she’s lost a pound or two because they don’t feel as tight today. She pushes her head through the neck of a navy blue cotton salwaar kameez she has selected. Over this, she wears a white cardigan. She inspects herself in her daughters’ dresser mirror and feels old, matronly, in this outfit. Cardigans just don’t go with salwaars, she thinks. In Bombay, she rarely wore sweaters, but here in Canada she almost always feels cold. She has seen Nas wear long cardigans that hang to her calves. Those must be in style, Salma thinks. She will have to buy one.
Nas. Salma’s face flushes hot with the embarrassment she felt at the coffee shop. Nas asked her so many questions for which she was not prepared and she felt so confused, so silly and she doesn’t want to ever feel that way again. She resolves to ensure that all will return to normal. She won’t say anything more to Shaffiq. After all, she is Salma, his wife, the girls’ mother. She is not a crazy woman who has crushes on other women. She is not in love with Nas. She is just Salma, who works at Blue Dove Cleaners and she must go now so that she will not be late.
There have been few lies between Salma and Shaffiq, mostly tiny falsehoods and inconsequential fabrications that have helped to mend the small frays arising from time to time in their marriage. These tiny ruptures, and the white lies that patch them, exist in all relationships. The Paperwala marriage is not so different from others. Their fibs have never been meant to create distance or cause distrust or make either out to be a fool.
But these new lies that have cropped up in their marriage feel more dangerous to Shaffiq, as though they might be tearing away at his previously intact home. Shaffiq wonders if he is responsible for the damage or if it is Salma who is to blame. Perhaps neither is at fault. Perhaps it is just their chance encounter with Nasreen that has put them both off balance, causing them to be wary of telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, it is Nasreen who is ripping at the fabric of their relationship.