The House of Djinn (14 page)
Read The House of Djinn Online
Authors: Suzanne Fisher Staples
J
ameel felt sick. He knew they would have to move quickly. He trusted Muti, but he didn't like not knowing where they were going. He swallowed hard. He had never done anything so disobedient before. His parents hadn't exactly told him not to go anywhere, but he knew that they trusted him, and he hated to break their trust, even now when they had broken their trust with him. But in the morning everything would be different. He would officially be the Amirzai tribal leader, his betrothal to Muti would be announced, and it would be too late to get away. He rose to his feet. The exhaustion that had nearly paralyzed him earlier was gone. He felt the blood rushing through his veins, and the vibration of the traffic two blocks away. It was as if the exhaustion and the crashing chandelier and the need to get away had heightened his awareness.
ameel felt sick. He knew they would have to move quickly. He trusted Muti, but he didn't like not knowing where they were going. He swallowed hard. He had never done anything so disobedient before. His parents hadn't exactly told him not to go anywhere, but he knew that they trusted him, and he hated to break their trust, even now when they had broken their trust with him. But in the morning everything would be different. He would officially be the Amirzai tribal leader, his betrothal to Muti would be announced, and it would be too late to get away. He rose to his feet. The exhaustion that had nearly paralyzed him earlier was gone. He felt the blood rushing through his veins, and the vibration of the traffic two blocks away. It was as if the exhaustion and the crashing chandelier and the need to get away had heightened his awareness.
Jameel walked to the small gate in the garden wall to keep watch while Muti talked on the telephone. He looked across
the large formal garden behind the house, which was perfectly symmetrical in its arrangement of rose beds and rows of fountains and perennial beds. Baba had laid it out years ago in a pattern similar to that of the Shalimar Gardens. Every day the mali took the dead blooms from the plants. He and his helpers spread out in a line, squatted, and trimmed the grass to velvet perfection with steel scissors.
the large formal garden behind the house, which was perfectly symmetrical in its arrangement of rose beds and rows of fountains and perennial beds. Baba had laid it out years ago in a pattern similar to that of the Shalimar Gardens. Every day the mali took the dead blooms from the plants. He and his helpers spread out in a line, squatted, and trimmed the grass to velvet perfection with steel scissors.
Jameel thought about what he and Muti were doing. There was no escape from tradition and duty to family. He knew the price many people paid for trying to get out of what was expected of them. He'd heard stories of young people trying to run away because they were in love. Their families hunted them down, sometimes killed them. He shuddered. He didn't think his family would do that, but Jameel knew his father would never rest until he was found. And he was sure Uncle Omar would never rest until Muti was safe.
They couldn't get to their passports and credit cards. And then it dawned on him: Muti planned to go to her mother's family in Cholistan.
As he thought these things a bright light appeared at the head of the big garden. It was so bright he couldn't see anyone behind it. The light looked as if it bobbed along on its own. A sharp intake of breath at his shoulder made him turn toward Muti, who had come up behind him. As he turned, a bolt of flame shot past his head, missing him by centimeters. If he'd been still it would have hit him in the face.
In the split second it had taken the djinni to soar through the garden they saw a ghostly figure in a pale shalwar
kameez scurry away from the fence near where they had been sitting a few seconds earlier. They could see the tiny beads embroidered in a Pashtun-style skullcap twinkling in the lights from the swimming pool.
kameez scurry away from the fence near where they had been sitting a few seconds earlier. They could see the tiny beads embroidered in a Pashtun-style skullcap twinkling in the lights from the swimming pool.
“It's Spin Gul,” said Mumtaz. She had never liked Leyla's driver, who narrowed his eyes insolently when he looked at her, rather than respectfully look away as the other servants did. “He was listening to us!” She grabbed Jameel's hand and pulled him back toward the koi pool.
“Wait!” said Jameel. “We'll be trapped in here.” Muti continued to pull at his hand.
“Noâwe can get out! Come this way,” she said, her breath shaking. She still clutched her mobile phone to her ear. Jameel leaped across the koi pool, but Muti didn't quite make it. She recovered her balance, knee-deep in water, and extended her hand for Jameel to pull her out. She shook her cell phone, but it didn't appear to have gotten wet.
“Come,” she said, and he followed her to the brick wall at the edge of the garden. The wall was lined with lime trees, and Muti grabbed one of the lanterns beside the wall where they'd sat. She held it high, looking for something behind the lime trees.
“Hurry!” he said. He looked over his shoulder and saw the djinni grow brighter as it approached again from a different direction. Muti thrust the lantern into his hand and pulled on the branch of a lime tree at the base of the wall. Behind the tree a gate opened, and Muti crouched to crawl through. Jameel followed, bringing the lantern with him and letting go of the lime tree branch at the last second.
Muti sank down on the other side with her back against the wall, sucking at a vicious scratch on her arm.
“Thorns,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “Let's go.”
“Did your call get through?” Jameel asked. “Did you find a place where we can go at this hour?”
“The phone went dead,” she said. “I've been redialing. The battery has a good charge and the signal is strong here, but there's a strange howling sound in the phone. It was the djinni! I've
never
had that happen before.”
never
had that happen before.”
“Why?” he asked. “I thought the djinn were supposed to help us!”
“They did!” said Muti. “If it hadn't been for that light we never would have known Spin Gul was spying on us. Comeâwe'll just go there ⦠I know she'll help.”
“Who? Fariel?” he asked, but Muti was already running down the lane that passed along the back garden wall.
They left the lantern outside the gate in the hope of confusing the djinniâor anyone who might be followingâand ran along the bank of the canal to an intersection where traffic rushed past in either direction. Jameel looked back down the alley they'd just left while Muti watched for a break in the traffic. The light, which clearly was disembodied, bobbed around the lantern outside the small gate, as if confused momentarily by the motionless light.
Muti grabbed Jameel by the hand and pulled him across the street, with motor rickshaws bleating, cars honking, and brakes squealing around them. A bus overflowing with men clinging to the roof and sides screeched as it swerved to miss them. On the other side of Anwar Road, Muti ran down another
alley and out onto the busy thoroughfare called Makhdoom Sahib Road. She flagged down a motor rickshaw and they both climbed inside.
alley and out onto the busy thoroughfare called Makhdoom Sahib Road. She flagged down a motor rickshaw and they both climbed inside.
“We have to stop at Fariel's to get some money,” Muti said. “We can ask the rickshaw-wallah to wait while I go inside.”
It was a short ride to Mustafa Road at the edge of the Cantonment area. Muti instructed the rickshaw-wallah to wait at the end of the lane that ran behind the back wall of the compound. The man grumbled, but they left him to himself, knowing he'd wait rather than not be paid.
They held hands and ran together down the dark lane until they came to a gate guarded by a sleeping chowkidar. Quietly, without waking the old guard, Muti slid the bolt from the latch and let them both into a small garden planted with vegetables.
Lights from the house reflected from the round shapes in neatly planted rows of eggplants, squash, and tomatoes. They followed the planted rows until they reached the broad veranda that spanned the back of the house. Muti found the third window to the right of the back door. The bottom half of the window was screened, and Muti tapped lightly on the glass above: two taps, a pause, and three taps.
They heard the rustle of bedclothes and Fariel's sleepy voice at the window. “Who is it?” she whispered. When she saw it was Muti, she said, “What are you doing out at this hour after your grandfather's funeral?”
Muti shushed her and told her she needed some money. Fariel unlatched the window screen and opened it enough
for Muti to come inside. “Do you mind waiting here?” she asked, turning to Jameel.
for Muti to come inside. “Do you mind waiting here?” she asked, turning to Jameel.
“Who's with you?” Fariel whispered.
“My cousin Jameel,” said Muti. She heard Fariel exhale.
“Oh, bring him in,” Fariel said. In the dim light from the garden Muti could see Fariel wrapping a white chenille robe around herself. Jameel stood next to where Muti was just climbing through the window. He'd never been in a girl's bedroom. If his parents found out, they'd disown him!
“You want to stand out there and get caught?” said Fariel. “You'd better come inside.” She held the screen while he heaved himself over the windowsill and landed on the floor inside. Fariel pulled the window shade closed and lit a small reading light on the wall over the bed.
Fariel was small, with wrists so tiny Jameel had an urge to circle them with his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes were enormous, with cinnamon-colored irises. Her thick black hair was so short it stood up on her head, making her look like a small boy. She couldn't be more different from his cousin, he thought. Muti was tall and slender, with graceful hands and arms. Her movements were languid, and this evening she wore her hair in a braid that hung down her back. Fariel spoke and moved like a hummingbird darting among flowers.
“What are you doing out at this hour?” Fariel asked, sleep in her voice, but not in her alert eyes. Muti explained quickly that they were running away. Fariel knew about Leyla's mistreatment. Her eyes widened as Muti explained.
“I don't have time to tell you the whole story,” she said.
“We need some money. We have a rickshaw waiting at the end of the lane.” Fariel looked at them both and raised her eyebrows.
“We need some money. We have a rickshaw waiting at the end of the lane.” Fariel looked at them both and raised her eyebrows.
“Let me see if I have this right,” she said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “You're running away together so you don't have to marry?”
“Come on, Muti,” said Jameel. “If she won't help us, there's no sense wasting time.”
“Did I say I wouldn't help?” said Fariel. “I just don't understand. Where are you going?”
“I can't tell,” said Muti quickly. “And it's better for you not to know. I'm sure Omar will be here looking for me before long, and you'll be able to say honestly that you don't know where we've gone. Just tell the truth.”
Fariel nodded. Jameel and Muti sat on one of two beds in Fariel's room, and Fariel sat on the other bed, facing them.
“Soâhow much do you need?” asked Fariel.
“Enough to leave Lahore,” said Muti. “We don't have credit cards, so it'll have to be enough for two bus fares.”
“I have about two hundred rupees,” Fariel said, “but you'll have to wait here while I go into the front hall to get it.”
“Hurry!” said Muti. “Omar will be here soon looking for us!” At almost the same time they heard a noise from the garden near the window they'd just climbed through. And a second later there was banging from somewhere in the house.
“The front door!” said Fariel. She doused the reading light and whispered, “Here, take this.” She swept a small pile of
notes from the top of her dresser and shoved them into Muti's hand. “It should be about a hundred rupees.” She leaned out the window and whispered, “Who's there?” No one answered and she saw no one.
notes from the top of her dresser and shoved them into Muti's hand. “It should be about a hundred rupees.” She leaned out the window and whispered, “Who's there?” No one answered and she saw no one.
“Follow me,” she whispered, gesturing toward the hallway. She led them to a door that opened onto a side yard, where the compound wall was close to the house. “Go through that gate,” she said. “The lane will take you back the way you came in.” Muti gave her a quick hug, and she and Jameel ran down the lane to the alley, where they heard the putt-putt of the waiting rickshaw.
T
hey directed the rickshaw-wallah to drive to the old walled city, looking over their shoulders to see whether anyone had come out through Fariel's back gate, looking for them. But the alley remained dark and emptyâno disembodied lights, no angry relatives.
hey directed the rickshaw-wallah to drive to the old walled city, looking over their shoulders to see whether anyone had come out through Fariel's back gate, looking for them. But the alley remained dark and emptyâno disembodied lights, no angry relatives.
“You might as well tell me where we're going,” said Jameel, sitting back on the hard bench seat as the rickshaw putted down the lane toward Muallam Road. Muti shifted her eyes from the road behind them, slower to relax than her cousin. She looked at Jameel but said nothing. “I'm going to know soon enough anyway!” Muti gazed out at the buses and automobiles that careened around them as they swerved out into the main thoroughfare.
“We'reâwe're going to my mother,” she said finally.
“Stop talking in riddles,” Jameel said irritably. As they approached Mustafa Road, the press and din of traffic intensified
and the smell of exhaust seeped around the edges of the plastic side curtains.
and the smell of exhaust seeped around the edges of the plastic side curtains.
“I'm not,” said Muti. “I'm serious.” She had to shout above the blaring horns to explain how her mother had sent for her and why she'd hidden for such a long time. When she finished, Jameel rubbed his hand over his mouth and then dropped it to cover Muti's hand on the seat between them.
“How long have you known that Uncle Nazir killed your father?” he asked. Muti shook her head.
“I didn't know until my mother told me. But I've never felt safe around my father's familyâI don't trust any of them, except for Baba, Auntie Selma, and Omar. And you. I've always tried to put it out of my mind. The other night after Baba died, I remembered something for the first time since it happened, around the same time that my mother disappeared.
“Do you remember that little fawn I had? Choti was her name.” Jameel nodded, and she told him about the fawn's death.
“Did Uncle Nazir have something to do with Choti's disappearance?” Jameel asked.
“I don't knowâUncle Nazir was hunting with my father that day,” she said. “My father would never have killed my pet. He gave her to me. It was just another reminder of how little control my mother and I had over our lives. After my mother told me Uncle Nazir had killed my father, I felt certain somehow he'd killed Choti.” She shivered, although the moist heat of the evening pressed around them.
“I caught him staring at me during the funeral, and when we were preparing Baba's body for burial,” said Jameel. “He's always been creepyâhow is it that we never noticed before?” Muti shrugged and they were silent for a time.
“There have been so many uncomfortable things in my life I hardly noticed him,” Muti said.
“I'm so dense,” Jameel said. “I never realized until the dinner just before we went back to San Francisco how bad things were for you living with Leyla. I've been such a self-centeredâ”
“Don't worry,” Muti said. “I looked forward to seeing you every summer, and you were always my friend. We both have our reasons for not wanting to marry each otherâbut your friendship has been so important to me!” Jameel smiled, and suddenly felt disconcerted. He changed the subject.
“Does Uncle Omar know about your mother?” Jameel asked, and Muti nodded. “Once he realizes we're not at Fariel's, won't he look for us next at the haveli?”
“He's probably on his way there now,” she said. “I'll try telephoning my mother again to see if she'll meet us at the bus terminal. My mother is going to see her family in Cholistan. Auntie Selma said it was important for me to go with herâperhaps because Omar has told her about the plans for us to be married. All I know is that my mother is going tonight. Let me just try calling her again.”
Muti punched in Auntie Selma's number. This time Samiya picked up the phone immediately. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Your mother is right here.”
Shabanu's voice was calm and deliberate when she spoke into the telephone.
“Don't come to the haveli,” her mother said. “I'm sure they will come looking for you. I've telephoned Ibne at Okurabad to meet us and take us to Grandmother and Auntie Sharma in Cholistan. Where are you?” Muti said they were about fifteen minutes away.
“Meet me outside Akbari Gate,” said Shabanu. “Since they're coming by car they'll come the other way.” Muti asked if her mother had clothes she might bring for Jameel and two burqas.
“Your father's clothes are still here,” Shabanu said. “I'll find something for him.”
“Uma,” said Muti, “is it safe for you to be out? Jameel and I are both worried about Uncle Nazir.” It was the first time she'd used her childhood name for her mother, and it didn't even sound strange to her.
“It's dangerous, but we'll be careful. Hurryâwe won't really be safe until we reach Cholistan.”
When she'd flipped the telephone shut, Muti leaned forward and ordered the rickshaw-wallah to take them to Akbari Gate. She sat back in the seat. Now that they had a plan, Muti could almost relax as the rickshaw weaved its way among other motor rickshaws and brightly painted trucks and automobiles and buses.
Outside the Akbari Gate a woman in a gray burqa paced back and forth in front of a bulging woven satchel that sat on the ground behind her. The red sandstone archway rose into a graceful domelike structure above and behind her, and
Mumtaz wondered how many similar dramas had taken place with people entering and leaving the Old City through these gates over the centuries. The burqa flared out around her mother's legs when she reached the curb and turned abruptly to pace back in the opposite direction.
Mumtaz wondered how many similar dramas had taken place with people entering and leaving the Old City through these gates over the centuries. The burqa flared out around her mother's legs when she reached the curb and turned abruptly to pace back in the opposite direction.
When Shabanu saw the motor rickshaw, she picked up the bag and ran with it banging against her legs to the opposite corner. The rickshaw pushed across the traffic to the curb and lurched to a stop.
Shabanu put the carpet bag in the front beside the driver and pulled from it a burqa that she handed to Mumtaz. She squeezed into the backseat, with Mumtaz between her and Jameel.
“Uma,” said Muti, “this is Jameel.” Shabanu pulled the side curtains shut around them and pushed the burqa back from her face to study him.
“You were five years old when I last saw you, Jameel,” Shabanu said, laying her palm gently against his cheek. “You've grown to look like your Uncle Omar.” Jameel smiled and ducked his head. He was pleased that he looked like his uncle.
“Uma,” said Muti, “the other burqa is for Jameel.” Jameel's eyes widened.
“It's one thing for you to wear one,” he said, and Muti took the burqa from her mother, thrusting it into his hands.
“Anyone looking for us will be watching for a boy and a girl,” she said, “not three women.” Jameel stared at her for a moment, sighed, and pulled the burqa over his head as Muti put hers on.
“We must get away as quickly as possible,” said Shabanu, pulling her own burqa back into place. “I left the haveli by the back gate, and as I came around the corner a man in a white shalwar kameez and a mirrored skullcap was coming down the lane toward the front gate. Something about the way he watched over his shoulder made me distrust him.” Muti and Jameel exchanged glances.
“Spin Gul, Leyla's driver,” said Jameel.
“The most logical thing would be for us to take the bus directly to Bahawalpur. And so I think we should take the train to Multan instead, and Ibne will meet us there. I asked Samiya to telephone him and let him know after I was gone. He'll take us to my family near Bijnot. I haven't let them know we're coming, but Ibne knows where they are.”
“Has anyone telephoned from Number 5 Anwar Road?” asked Muti.
“Auntie Selma telephoned to tell me about the hullabaloo after the chandelier fell. She said that you and Jameel had gone missing, and that I should keep an eye out for you,” said Shabanu, and then she added, “I know about the wedding plans. We'll talk about it later, when we've reached the desert.”
The rickshaw slowed as they neared the stationary crush of traffic near the train station. Shabanu told the driver to stop, leaning forward to thrust a twenty-rupee note into his hand. Jameel took the satchel, and the three of them got out into the road and made their way to the train station on foot.
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