She was no Beatrix. (part thirteen)

She was sitting out on the verandah. She had noticed him coming up the driveway. He had grown paler, weaker.

“How are you, Fouzia?”

“Come, have a seat. Have tea.”

He sat beside her quietly. “Marry me.”

She looked at him. “Pagal ho.” She poured him some tea. “Cracker?”

“I’m not asking anything. I don’t care. I’m sorry, I know it’s just been over a few weeks since Aunty passed but … ”

“I’ll come over tomorrow for Chinese. Let’s talk then. Have a cracker?”

She wore a small tee and some loose pants. Pants that could be pulled up to her thighs. When she arrived she took him to his room and showed them to her. He sat motionless, speechless and touched a few scars. Then he rolled the legs of her pants back down and told her never to talk or discuss any of this again. She opened her mouth to talk to him about that night on the beach. She was ready to tell someone – especially this person whom she found the most likely candidate to give her a chance at happiness. But he covered her mouth with his hand, kissed her nose and asked if she was ready to order out.

“Why don’t you ever ask me anything?”

“Because if I did, it would mean the past matters. And it doesn’t. Because if the past matters, my life is a fucking lie.”

They ate Chinese in silence. He pretended the last year didn’t happen. She decided to marry him for that – if nothing else at all.

So, that night, when he asked her about leaving Pakistan, she was surprised and a little taken aback. They were about to board a plane to leave for a small vacation. Either one of them refused to call it a honeymoon.

“It doesn’t matter what my family knows – and you know that.”

“I’m asking because you’ve always given me the impression that you don’t care why I left that time.”

“I don’t. I’m – curious now.”

She raised her eyebrows.

He ran his hand through his hair, like he did every time he was nervous. “Actually this came for you.” He produced a small envelope. It had Hina’s picture in it and Maria’s tiny scribble that said, “Hope everything is great with you, Fouz, love you and miss you.”

He scratched his forehead. “She isn’t an ex, is she?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She ran her fingers across Hina’s picture. She showed him the picture. “That’s my daughter. I left this photo back in Birmingham. My roommate sent it back to me.”

“Oh. She looks like you.”

“I know. That’s why I miss her.”

Somehow, with the arrival of that picture, two worlds had collided. Two worlds which had been compartmentalized in Fouzia’s head as escape and reality. Something about a flurry of strangers around her gave her a weird kind of courage.

“Two years before we were married, Adeel raped me. At a family picnic.”

She laughed. It rang out loud and clear. She felt happy that it was a genuine laugh and not at all a forced one.

Raza’s eyes grew round. And he suddenly sat up straight. For that one moment he felt more of a boy than ever to her. But what he said next was something that made him more of a man than anyone she had ever known.

“You’re an even braver woman than I thought you were – to put up with him. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

She smiled. “Because I am no Beatrix Kiddo. I don’t go around crucifying people with a sword for the sins they have committed. Because I haven’t had the guts. Because I was afraid.”

“Was that why you left? Because you were afraid?”

She breathed deep. “The night I left your place, he came to see me. He had been – stalking me or something . He’s a – violent, vile man. You can’t understand because you haven’t lived with him. No one can understand the – the things he can do.”

“You don’t have to be afraid now, Fouzia. I’ll get the fucking Interpol on his ass.”

She waved her hands dismissively. The boy had returned. “Nah. I’m not afraid now. I was before. But I don’t care if he comes after me now. I don’t care if he decides to point a gun to my head. He has taken away the best years of my life. He has taken away my daughter. He has taken away my ability to fight, my ability to be happy. In some strange, twisted way, he has taken away my fears now.”

“What changed you? Please say, ‘You did, Raza, my love’ … please!”

She took a sip of tea. “You did, in a way. But not totally. I just – let go.”

He peered at her closely. “You seem unhappy still, though.”

“I am. I don’t think I can ever be happy, not in the true sense.”

He took a long time before answering. “Strength and happiness don’t have a very strong relationship, usually. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with that rat-bastard so I can’t ever blame you for holding all that anger inside you.” He drank some tea and ate a cookie. “But I can ask you to give happiness a chance. I can ask you to try and live your life free of guilt and shame. All these feelings you fight every day – these negative, depressive things that you fight … just fucking forget them, man. It wasn’t your fault. Why are you letting it ruin your future?”

She smiled. “Well-put.”

“Ah, put schmut. Have a cookie.”

And she did.

THE END