Brick Lane (48 page)

'Where are all my notes from Open University?'

'You kept them?'

'Yes, yes. Somewhere.'

They walked again, past the sweet shop. A pyramid of golden ladoos and a white brick tower of shondesh.

All the time, Nazneen felt the angels at her back. She jerked her shoulders. Karim came into her mind. The angels noted it. She felt irritated.
I did not ask him to come into my mind like that.
It was recorded.

On Tuesday, when she had counted out twenty-five skirts for him and he leaned in to gather them up, their shoulders missed each other by the slimmest, smallest whisker.

It was not for her to decide.

'In a way,' said Chanu, 'you can't really blame them.'

Sitar and tabla music, mixed with incense, drifted from Ishaq's Emporium. Outside, three old men discussed the state of their knees at a volume that suggested – or possibly induced – deafness.

His neck, thought Nazneen, was just right. Not too thick, and not too thin. And he was taqwa. More God-conscious than her own husband.

'It's their country,' said Chanu. His heels hung off the back of his sandals.

It was, Nazneen realized, more complicated than that. Even if Karim was her future and could not be avoided, there were problems. Happiness, for instance. That would count against her. Because fate must be met with indifference. For the benefit of her angels, she said, 'Whichever way, it does not matter.'

Chanu considered. His eyebrows evaluated. 'No, I would not say that it does not matter.' He smiled at her and his cheeks were full of kindness. 'But you must not worry about it. Soon we will be home again.'

Some tears came to her eyes. Her neck and cheeks were so hot that she thought she had a taste of hell. It was less than she deserved.

'Ah,' said Chanu, 'I can see how much you long for it.'

How had she been so foolish? She put her fingernails against the balls of her eyes. What evil jinn had come to her to play such tricks with her mind? To make her think that this young boy would be part of her life, that he would not retch and tear his hair at the very thought.

Chanu grew animated. 'Yes, it is an emotional thing. Do you know what I have been thinking? I could get a job at Dhaka University. Teaching – sociology or philosophy or English literature.'

To cover her distress she spoke with unusual conviction. 'That is a very good idea.'

'It is,' he confirmed. 'And I will send an email this evening.'

At once she was concerned and wished she had not spoken so.

'At first, of course, I will have to take any opening that is available. I will not be too proud to take anything.'

She smelled disaster, and for the first time it occurred to her that it was not only Shahana she would have to worry about if they ever went to Dhaka.

'Eventually, I should like to return to my first love – English literature.'

In the distance, a white-haired woman defied the sun with a thick cardigan over her sari. At her side a younger man walked with a swagger and a medicine bag.

Chanu spoke in English:

'O rejoice
Beyond a common joy, and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars.'

Nazneen stared ahead.

'Shakespeare,' said Chanu. He followed her stare and when they were both sure that it was Mrs Islam, by a mutual and unspoken plan they turned away into a side street.

On the estate there was war. The war was conducted by leaflet. They were crudely constructed, printed on the thickness of toilet tissue and smudged by over-eager hands. The type size of the headlines became an important battlefield. After much heated inflation and experimentation with tall but thin type and fat but squat titles, the Bengal Tigers emerged victorious by simply using up an entire page for the headline and relegating the text to the other side.

The Lion Hearts made the opening salvo:

HANDS OFF OUR BREASTS!

The Islamification of our neighbourhood has gone too far. A Page 3 calendar and poster have been removed from the walls of our community hall.

How long before the extremists are putting veils on our women and insulting our daughters for wearing short skirts?

Do not tolerate it! Write to the council! This is England!

Chanu was sanguine. 'You see,' he explained, 'they feel threatened. And this is their only culture – playing darts and football and putting up pictures of naked women.'

The Bengal Tigers replied the next day:

We refer to a leaflet put recently into circulation by those who claim to uphold the 'native' culture. We have a message for them.

KEEP YOUR BREASTS TO YOURSELF.

And we say this. It is not us who like to degrade women by showing their body parts in public places.

'We always kept quiet,' said Chanu. 'The young ones don't want to keep quiet any more.'

The return of fire took a few days. Nazneen watched the leafleteers at work on the estate. A young boy and an older man, distant enough by age and clothes to be father and son. The father dressed like one of Chanu's 'respectable types'. He looked like one of the teachers at Shahana's school. The son was the kind that Nazneen would cross the road to avoid. This time they called for the community hall to be turned into a disco at the weekends and a bingo parlour on other evenings. They proposed the sale of alcohol on the premises.

SAVE OUR HALL!!!

The addition of three exclamation marks filled up the space nicely and set the tone for the Tigers' riposte.

Undesirable elements are seeking to turn our community centre into a den for gambling and boozing. Do not tolerate it! Write to the council!

Chanu laughed. He was having a good war. 'So they think the council is going to read all these letters? I was once a council man myself,' he informed his wife. 'What is the council going to do? They were not able to keep hold of their best people.'

MARCH AGAINST THE MULLAHS

Most of our Muslim neighbours are peaceful men and women. We have nothing against them. But a handful of Mullahs and Militants are throwing their weight around. March with us against the Mullahs. All interested parties, send details to the PO Box number below.

Chanu frowned. He called for the girls. 'Stay away from marches,' he advised. He studied the leaflet for a long while, and then he brightened. 'They have not even set a date. By then we could be in Dhaka.'

Four red letters filled the front page of the counterattack.
DEMO.
On the back, in green ink, it said:

Stand up and be counted when the infidels march against us. Very elderly and infirm only are excused from this duty. The organizers will lead you, in a peaceful rally. Spiritual guidance to be given by our Spiritual Leader. All interested parties, send their details.

They have given no address,' said Chanu. 'And the punctuation is poor. It gives a wrong impression of Muslims.'

The leafleting campaigns geared up a notch. Small crowds began to gather around the leafleteers. Insults were exchanged. From her window, Nazneen watched the Questioner jab the air, as if all opposing thoughts were mere bubbles he could burst with the tips of his fingers. She began collecting Shahana as well as Bibi from school. They walked back in a long line with the other mothers. It would only be a few more weeks until school ended for the summer. Although, for many reasons, Nazneen could not allow herself to think of it, she knew that Karim's visits would be curtailed. This made them all the more painfully sweet.