“Yar, say something.”
“Is it so necessary to talk?”
“It’s not necessary, but still…” As he spoke, he cast a glance around. A few of the tables were occupied. At one table a man was sitting alone, drinking tea and reading a newspaper with great concentration. At another table very near by, a man had finished his tea and was staring into space. Near the kitchen, a group sat around a table. They were talking, but in very low voices, and haltingly. Despite the tea-drinkers, how silent the Shiraz was today!
The white-haired man entered just as he always did. He started toward their table, then changed his mind and went to sit at his own table near the counter. Abdul approached: “Tea?”
“Yes, tea.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing else.”
Abdul brought the tea very quickly and set it down. Abdul was serving very quickly today. He wasn’t pausing to chat with the tea-drinkers.
The white-haired man’s tea was getting cold, but he was still staring at the wall before him. Suddenly he bowed his head, buried his face in a handkerchief, and began to weep with great sobs.
All those sitting at the various tables stayed where they were, watching the white-haired man in silence.
“We ought to leave now,” Irfan said.
“Why?”
“I can endure defeat. I can’t endure sentimentality.”
But meanwhile the white-haired man suddenly stopped in the midst of his sobbing. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief, and began to drink his tea in silence.
After this brief display of emotion, the Shiraz again fell silent. The man who had been drinking tea and reading a newspaper, again became absorbed in drinking tea and reading the newspaper. The man who had been staring into space ordered more tea, went over and picked up a newspaper lying on a nearby table, then sat down again and began to leaf through it. The group around the table by the kitchen, who had been talking, had fallen absolutely silent for a long moment; then they again began to talk in low voices.
Salamat and Ajmal entered, and the moment they entered the silent atmosphere of the Shiraz was somehow disturbed. Staring at Zakir and Irfan, they scraped their chairs noisily over the floor as they sat down, and Salamat said sharply, “Order tea.”
Salamat looked intently first at him, then at Irfan: “You people are responsible for this defeat.”
Neither made any response.
“Irfan! I’m telling you, you’re responsible for this defeat. And you, Zakir.”
“How?” Zakir asked innocently.
Salamat said wrathfully, “You imperialist stooge, do you play innocent and ask how? Haven’t you thought about what you’re teaching to boys? The histories of kings. Opium pills! Yes, and your father is responsible, who every day feeds my father an opium pill of religion! Even today he fed him a pill. Today my father went and learned the lesson of patience from your holy-minded father! He says, ‘God is with the patient.’ I said, ‘Old man, these magic spells can’t save you any more. The day of reckoning has come.’”
Irfan looked peacefully at the enraged Salamat and said, “So it seems that today you’ve accepted your father as your father?”
Salamat glared at Irfan. “Are you mocking me?”
“No, I’m expressing satisfaction.”
A young man from the table near the kitchen stood up and came over. He went over to stand near Salamat and asked venomously, “Salamat Sahib! I heard your speech at your party’s rally, when you supported Bangladesh. Why are you sorry today?”
“Sorry?” Salamat said angrily. “Why should I be sorry? I’m warning the imperialist pimps that they’ve lost the game.”
“In other words, Pakistan has lost the game? Is that what you want to say?” The young man’s eyes were bloodshot with fury.
The manager guessed from a distance the deteriorating situation, and hurried over. He began trying to pacify the young man: “Please sit down at your table and drink your tea.”
“No, just let me ask what my friend here really wants!”
The manager seized the young man’s arm and managed to take him back to his own table. Then he came and said, “Salamat Sahib, please don’t say such things today. People’s hearts are very heavy today.”
“Which people’s hearts?” Salamat asked, grinding his teeth.
“Look, I’m not going to argue with you.” The manager, as he walked away, called to Abdul. “Abdul! Bring tea for Salamat Sahib.”
No answer came from Abdul. He had already arrived at the table with a tray of tea.
“Abdul!” Irfan said, getting up. “This tea will go on my tab.” And before Salamat could say anything, Zakir and Irfan had both left the Shiraz.
Outside the Shiraz, there was a crowd standing on the footpath. They were having a very hot argument, and more people were collecting. What were they arguing about? He couldn’t hear. He only heard one word repeated again and again—“traitors.” And then suddenly two young men fell on each other.
He and Irfan went on, without stopping, without paying any attention, and walked in silence for some time. Then he said, “Salamat was right.”
“Why was he right?” Irfan looked at him angrily.
“He was right that I’m responsible for this defeat.”
Irfan glared at him, then said, “Zakir! You aren’t by any chance trying to become Gamal Abdel Nasser?”
“No, how could I do that? How could a teacher, cowardly and fearful, become Gamal Abdel Nasser?”
“Then?”
“It’s like this, Irfan: defeat too is a trust. But today in this country they’re all putting the blame on each other, and they’ll do it even more as time goes on. Everyone’s trying, and will keep on trying, to prove that he’s not responsible. I thought that someone ought to take up this trust.”
“Up to this point your thinking is correct, but there’s one more thing to think about.”
“What?”
“This: that to take up the burden of this trust, a man ought at least to be Gamal Abdel Nasser.”
He fell into thought, then said, “You’re right. The trust is great. The one who takes it up is small.”
After this a long silence. They walked for a long time, together but absolutely separate. Then Irfan suddenly stopped. “All right, yar, I’m going.”
“Where? You’re on night duty.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” And immediately he turned down another street.
•
Left alone, he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps not only Irfan, but also he himself, needed to be alone now. Perhaps each of them inwardly felt the other a burden, and wanted to be alone. In such a long friendship, for the first time they had become a burden to each other.
He went on walking, without thinking where he was going. He stopped at a cigarette-seller’s shop. Without meeting the shopkeeper’s eyes, he bought a packet of cigarettes and went on. Normally he ought to have stopped at Nazira’s shop on leaving his house, and bought his cigarettes there, for that had been his custom; but today he had passed by on the road, avoiding Nazira’s eyes as though he owed him money.
With a cigarette in his lips he went on, until he passed by Jinnah Garden and paused. Why am I wearing out my legs for no reason? With this thought, he turned off the road into the garden. Following one path after another, he reached the wide lawn with flower beds and stone benches. But instead of sitting on a bench, he chose to sit on the lawn, with his legs stretched out. Then he cast a glance around. For a long way, there was no one. Today the garden is quite empty. And as this thought came to him he realized that he hadn’t been roaming around without a purpose. He had been searching for some solitary corner. But why? For the same reason Khvajah Sahib had wanted one? This thought startled him. As if I’d been wandering everywhere all day, so I could find a solitary corner and — No, Irfan is right. Defeat can be endured, sentimentality cannot. But then another wave came and swept him away with it. Any public show of tearfulness is vulgar. To release one’s emotions in solitude is the proper human thing to do. What’s the harm of it? Afterwards, a man feels lighter. And he tried once more to feel the disaster fully and intensely. For a long time he sat there and tried to let emotion overpower him. Then he lay down and closed his eyes. But despite all his efforts, the only emotion he could summon up was a kind of listlessness.