A Deconstructed Heart (10 page)

Chapter 1
5

“It just goes to voicemail.”

“Keep trying, love. And you know, of course, I will call you right away if I hear anything.”

“Of course,” she replied, feeling how strangely businesslike she had sounded on the phone with Vanessa, as if this had been a matter of some lost paperwork. What she really wanted was for someone to see her, put
their arms around her and crack the maddening ice sheet around her ribs that held back a torrent of sloes.

She had delicately mentioned Rehan’s absence to Mirza, but he had only grunted. “Young boys, you know. He’ll be back when it suits him. Good lad, though.” She mentioned what Vanessa had told her about his family, but he just shrugged. “Give him time. It is comforting to be around people who have answers. The heartache lies in trying to search for and understand those answers ourselves.”

She was not satisfied. Her uncle was inoculated against feeling, cocooned in his tent like a larva. She paced the length of the living room, pushing the sofas and chairs against the walls so that she could increase her stride. When she reached the end of the room or a corner, she turned on her heel and paced some more, tracing an imaginary spider’s web on the floor. She let out a small yell, then looked out at the rain beating against the tent in the garden; her uncle had not stirred. She picked up the piece of paper she had scribbled on during her phone call with Vanessa and sat down at the computer.

She opened and refolded the piece of paper in her coat pocket, reading Rehan’s address over and over as if it would mean something different each time. She had told Mirza Uncle that she had something she needed to take care of and that she would be gone today, and was glad that he had not asked any questions. He had been quiet this morning, like last night, when she had brought him out of the rain. She had found him reciting a prayer as he fingered a rosary, one she had never seen him with before. She had thought twice about leaving him today, but when she heard a train horn blaring as it sped past the tracks near the house, she knew that she would go.

She had studied a map the night before, tracing her path from Bertham train station to his house with her finger, but the wet pavement and dark brick terraces this morning made her feel lost. There was a group of children playing football in the street, perhaps six to seven years old, and she smiled at a little girl who was sitting on the kerb to watch the game. She did not smile back, but turned to her friends and Amal overheard her say, “Why’s she walking so fucking slowly?” Amal looked away, hiding her face as she pressed the doorbell of a middle terrace. There were window boxes on the ledge with some wilted pansies and long, straggling weeds growing over the sides, which reminded her of uncombed hair.

At first she thought she had the wrong address, but after a while, a blurred outline of a woman was visible through the frosted windowpane on the door. Rehan’s mother was wearing a long paisley blouse, black trousers and sensible shoes. She had been beautiful once, and she wore that beauty in the softness of her middle-aged body with a casual grace. She was dressed for work, and was looking at her watch when she opened the door.

When Amal asked after Rehan, his mother was startled for a moment, and then brought her into the house. She led the way down a long passage towards the kitchen at the back of the house. “I’ll make you late,” said Amal apologetically, but his mother waved her remonstrances away. She filled a kettle, lit the stove, and sat down at the kitchen table opposite Amal. In the dim light of the kitchen, she looked younger than she had originally appeared. She raked her fingers through her hair a few times.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me where he is. He hasn’t called, he’s never done this.”

“I’m sorry,” said Amal. “I was hoping you had news. The last time I heard from him was about two weeks ago… before that, he was always in touch.”

Rehan’s mother looked at Amal for a moment. “Call me Mehnaz Aunty.” She was silent again for a moment before asking “How is Mirza Sahib doing? I’ve heard he’s been… in some difficulty lately.”

“He’s good,” began Amal, but she added, “well, he’s really not so good. I don’t know if he’s going to be alright. But that’s not why I’m here.”

The kettle’s whistle filled the small kitchen, and when Mehnaz stood up to make the tea with her back to her, Amal took a quick look around. Everything in the kitchen was white, but the countertop was yellowing in places, the veneer chipped off at the edges. The linoleum on the floor rose in swells like a body of water, and Amal thought of a ship righting itself as Mehnaz Aunty made her way back to her, bearing a tea tray.

The tea was strong and sweet, and for a moment, Amal felt warmed. When she looked up, she saw that Mehnaz Aunty was watching her.

“I don’t know where he is, Aunty. He just told me that he had more important things to worry about, we argued, really, and that was it.” She thinks we’re in a relationship, thought Amal, and then wondered if Rehan had brought many girls home before. I don’t know anything about him, she realized. “He has been helping my uncle, his professor.”

“Yes, beti, I know. I didn’t really understand it, you know, spending so much time over there. I had never seen him so into family. It is a good thing, I believe your uncle is a good influence.”

“He cares a lot about Rehan. I thought Rehan cared about him, too, but we haven’t heard from him in a long time now.”

Mehnaz Aunty sighed. “Rehan has been through a lot. Perhaps you’ve heard about his father?”

“Yes, I did, he told me,” Amal said, feeling embarrassed, but Mehnaz Aunty waved it away.

“It’s old news. But he will always feel it, of course.”

“I know he was struggling with it.”

“It has been very hard on him. I have nothing else to offer him; no uncles, or cousins in this town, to share a life with. It has just been the two of us for too long. How long could I hold him? He slipped his anchor, and I am afraid I am not enough for him to come back for.”

Am I? Amal
wondered, and she could tell that Rehan’s mother was thinking the same thing, but Mehnaz Aunty smiled kindly. “You are a good girl, to come here. It has made me feel better. I wish I could sit longer with you, but I have a meeting at the bank I can’t miss. You are welcome to stay if you wish...” She faltered, and they both blushed.

“That’s very kind, but I have to get back.” Amal stood up. “May I call you from time to time? Just to stay in touch… perhaps it might be a good idea?”

“Please. Anytime. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

When they parted in the street, Amal was surprised when Rehan’s mother embraced her in a warm hug. The street was empty now, and she watched Mehnaz Aunty as she walked up the hill to a bus stop. She walked at an angle, fighting the strong wind that made her loose clothes billow, reminding Amal of the incorporeal snap and swish of clothes on a washing line.

Vanessa opened the door after the third ring. “I tried calling you,” said Amal, “but then I realized it was ridiculously early, so I didn’t bother leaving a message. I’m glad you’re home now—but I can leave if it’s a bad time.”

“Not at all, come in. I’m glad you stopped by.” She led Amal past the bicycle in the hallway to the living room where books and papers were scattered. A man’s sweatshirt lay on the sofa. “Sven’s
,” she muttered, balling up the sweatshirt and stepping out to hang it on a hook. She was still talking from the hallway, “I swear his place is spotless. He loves it that we both have our own places so that he can come over and mess up mine and go back to being Mr. Neatnick at his.”

When she came back in she looked at Amal, and her shoulders sagged for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask. Did you hear from Rehan?” Amal told her about the trip to Rehan’s mother that morning.

“Off the grid,” said Vanessa. She studied Amal for a moment. “He means a lot to you, I think?”

Amal felt her lip trembling, but just nodded mutely.

“Sit down, sit down,” Vanessa strong arms guided her to a sofa, and she sat across on the loveseat, taking Amal’s hands in her own. “I don’t mean to seem rude, but you did not know him very long? About two, three months?”

Amal nodded.

“And you weren’t really in a relationship? Amal, have you ever been in a relationship? Not ever? No boyfriend?” She got up and passed Amal a tissue from the box on the mantelpiece over the empty fireplace.

“That’s why this is getting to you so much. It was impossibly loaded, Amal.”

“It’s just, I feel like he just dropped us, me. No explanation, nothing. I must seem so pathetic to you.” Vanessa was shaking her head.

“You know how they always say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find you
r prince? I don’t believe it. I knew within a week of meeting Sven that he was the one. And the funny thing is, I found the realization slightly irritating. I thought, it’s too soon, aren’t I supposed to be having adventures? I don’t know when we’ll make it official, mind you, but I knew within days. I get it. But Rehan is in no place to think like that. He needs time, he’s got a lot on his plate with his father and all. You have to be patient with him. It’ll work out, you’ll see.” She looked at Amal for a moment. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she pulled Amal to her feet.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere. I don’t have classes today, except for statistics, and it’s a sub anyway. No-one’s going to miss me.”

After twenty minutes of Vanessa running up and down the stairs to get dressed, find her wallet and the front door key and a sweater—“Sod, it, I’ll just take Sven’s”, she said, unhook
ing his sweatshirt from the peg as they left—they headed out into the street. They turned both ways, looking as the street stretched out into the town in one direction and up to the hills in the other.

“We need some perspective,” said Vanessa, tugging Amal towards the hills.

“I don’t think my shoes will cut it for anything like a hike.”

“Trust me, I’m a mountain goat, you’ll be safe with me.” They walked out past the lines of houses until the homes were spaced further and further apart, and the gardens were no longer manicured, but full of rusting spare parts and old tires. There was a gate into a field, which Vanessa climbed easily, pulling Amal down on the other side when she balanced precariously halfway. They walked up the gradual incline, the hill stretching up before them.

When they reached the top of the hill, they lay down on the grass. The clouds were so white that it hurt to look at them. Amal imagined for a moment that she was suspended upside down, looking, not up at the sky but down into an ocean, the blue calling her to let go of the surface of the earth and drop into its cool waters. Vanessa was raising her head occasionally to take in the sight of the village below them.

“I love this place. It’s mine,” she said. “I never want to leave.”

“That’s lucky.”

She looked at Amal. “It is, isn’t it? I guess it makes things simple.” She folded her arms under her head.

“Nothing is ever simple for me,” said Amal, pulling handfuls of grass at her side and scattering the blades through her fingertips.

Vanessa rolled over and faced her. “My grandmother came here from France when she was a little girl. Her mother, my great-grandmother, used to tell her that the Bourdain women never got a mouthful of food to eat that they didn’t have to fight for. She was poor when she came, but I guess my grandfather brought her into money. She never forgot the motto though, and would say that to my mother, long after it stopped making sense. It sort of became a badge of pride, like the women in my family were really tough and could handle whatever fate threw at them. I suppose it made the soft and easy times all the better. I suppose what I’m telling you is that when you get what you want, you’ll really value it.”

Amal smiled at her, and Vanessa rolled onto her back again.

“What’s that line from Pride and Prejudice? ‘Who needs men when you can have mountains?’”

“Do you think a small hill will do?”

“I’ll take it.”

When she climbed up into the train, Vanessa was smiling and waving her Styrofoam cup of coffee at her in farewell. A bright slice of light speared the spot where she stood on the platform, but the train was dark and Amal felt a dull throb in her head as she chose her seat. As each station passed by on the journey home, she felt the urge to stand up and step out at the unfamiliar town. Her throat felt tight and dry. At the last stop before Trenton, she had to hold onto the seat with both hands until the train picked up speed and the platform coursed behind her in a river of people and fence pickets.

When she arrived at Trenton, she stepped down onto the platform slowly. Out of the station and on the street, she watched her feet take each step until she was almost home. She walked past the dark windows of Mirza Uncle’s house and did not look to see the tent at the back garden.

She only had to wait a few moments for Ella to open her front door. The house smelled of pineapple cake—“I shouldn’t really, will probably eat
it all myself, I can’t resist”—and when Amal insisted on taking off her shoes to enter the house, she was comforted by the deep plush of the carpet under her toes.