I did not want to waste my energy on Ruhul Amin. It would only end up filling my day with misery and thoughts of violence. It would tire me out. There were more important things to do with my time than focusing on other people’s idiocy, their chronic hysteria, how they perceived their lives, and whether they had any real desire to remain sensible and noble. ‘I am not that cheap,’ I said to myself. I wanted to be assured that I really had at my disposal what I had sold to Moina Mia.
‘We’ll be speaking for Sheikh Mujib,’ I told Nur Hussain immediately after I had returned home. ‘We’ll be speaking soon.’ Then I elaborated how soon. ‘Within three weeks or so. There is no specific date yet. We’ll be informed in time.’
He did not respond, so I told him again. This time I said he would be speaking soon. I said it a little louder and more distinctly. ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I am talking to you, are you listening? Yes, you; there is nobody else in this flat.’ I did not care if I sounded rude. He needed to understand silence was not an answer.
He watched me for a moment and then said, ‘We will be speaking,’ which he immediately modified to, ‘I will be speaking soon. I will be speaking for Sheikh Mujib.’
His voice shook slightly. I enjoyed that. I enjoyed his weaknesses as much as I enjoyed his brilliance. I wanted him to understand perfectly when I was angry, what I would not tolerate and what gave me an allergy. I did not want him to move even an inch from where I wanted him to stay. I did not want him to understand what I myself did not understand and what I did not want him to understand. I wanted him to smile exactly when I thought a little bit of smiling was acceptable, not before or after that. We would have a beautiful relationship as long as he did not do something that would force me to yell at him.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That is the deal. That is what we have promised Moina Mia today. Be ready for the call. Bath or no bath, food or no food, always on your feet. Always ready to serve. If you need anything in the meantime, let me know. Do not leave things for tomorrow. If you have any questions, let me know, so that they do not just remain questions and do not affect your performance. Either you solve them following my rules, or I solve them for you as I wish.’
He nodded. ‘I will be ready to serve,’ he said, ‘and I will not leave anything for tomorrow.’
‘Now another thing,’ I continued. ‘If Moina Mia wants to see me again, and you are not a part of the meeting, which may happen more and more as the days go by and as more parties get involved with our work, I will pass on to you upon my return what I know. Like I am doing now. You have to know things. I feel you have to know what’s going on even more than I do, and perhaps better than I do. That’s because you’re the showman and my station is only the backstage.’
‘I am the showman,’ he repeated obediently.
Then I reminded him he should be careful in his daily movements from now on, much more careful than he had ever been. A moment of complacency could complicate life seriously. He should not climb the stairs without maintaining three-point contacts, should not carry anything heavier than 5 kg by himself, should be careful with soap while having a bath so that he did not slip, giving rise to a first-aid situation. What would I do with a Sheikh Mujib who could not stand on his feet?
When he got up to go, I stood at the door to be sure he followed my advice and held the railing while walking down the stairs.
‘Good boy,’ I thought. ‘Very good boy. That is what I want from you. You will have everything if you follow me.’
The wind screamed at the window. The sun became pitiless.
Looking outside, I passed some time thinking. Then I walked across the room, listening to the silence, dusted the table, and thought. I ate some lentil soup which he had cooked I did not know when and which tasted I did not know of what and thought, while heavy sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes and mouth. I thought about Sheikh Mujib, Moina Mia, Nur Hussain and myself—what we were doing and where we all now belonged. We seemed to have become bound by an intricate relationship; something I never thought was possible but was now a stark reality. Sheikh Mujib was no different from Moina Mia or I—I found; we were all fallible and delusional, we were all manipulating in our own spheres of influence. Nur Hussain, who appeared like a ghost from a far-off village, was capable of doing certain things Moina Mia could never do though he wished he could. And despite the fact that I was as ordinary as any man on the street, I could despise Moina Mia as much as I could despise Nur Hussain, and Sheikh Mujib and no state technology or institution could do anything about it. We all were extraordinary and indispensable to each other. The Awami League was facing serious publicity problems. If 1971 was its best year, it was now a dying party. Its genitals were shrivelled; its collarbones were protruding; its soul had disappeared. Time was running out. But as long as the present situation continued, I thought, our relationship would become more active and interesting.
Then, lying in my bed, I thought about the price that Moina Mia had mentioned and I had agreed to accept.
I was shocked.