Never before had she contemplated meeting a virtual stranger without the knowledge of her family. She knew that if any of her relatives — even her daughters — came to know of the assignation there would be much untoward talk. But nor could she forget how warmly Bahram had spoken of his old friend, Zadig Bey. To have him arrive on her doorstep was like being presented with a messenger from Bahram himself: it was almost as if he were reaching out to her from his grave.
Nossa Senhora da Gloria was only a short distance from the Mestrie mansion but to walk there, even with an escort of maids and khidmatgars might have excited comment, so Shireen decided to ask her brothers for a buggy instead. When the morning came she was glad she’d done so, for the sky was heavy with threatening banks of cloud.
The rain came pouring down as the carriage was pulling up to the churchyard gate. Fortunately the syces had come prepared and one of them escorted Shireen down the path with an umbrella. Leaving him to wait under the portico, she bought a few candles and made her way to the church’s doorway. It was dark inside: the tall windows were shuttered against the rain and the interior was lit only by a few flickering lamps.
Shireen’s face was covered with one of the loosely knitted shawls that she used as veils when she left the family compound. Now, looking through the shawl’s apertures, she spotted a tall figure sitting in a pew halfway between the entrance and the altar. She advanced slowly up the nave, holding her veil in place with her teeth, and on drawing level she checked her step for just as long as it took to ascertain that the man was indeed Zadig Bey. Then she made a gesture to let him know who she was, and motioned to him to move further back, to a dark corner that was screened by a pillar. He answered with a nod and she proceeded towards the altar.
The candles had begun to shake in her hands now; she tried to calm herself as she lit them and stuck them in place. Then she turned around and went slowly to the spot where Zadig’s tall figure sat hidden among the shadows. Seating herself at a carefully judged distance, she whispered through her veiclass="underline" ‘Good morning, Mr Karabedian.’
‘Good morning, Bibiji.’
The rain had begun to drum on the church’s metal roof now: it struck Shireen that this was a lucky thing because they were less likely to be overheard.
‘Please, Zadig Bey,’ she whispered. ‘I do not have much time. My brother’s coach is waiting outside — you can imagine the scandal if I am found here, with you. Please tell me why you wanted to meet me.’
‘Yes, Bibiji … of course.’
She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and when he fell silent she prompted him again: ‘Yes? What is it?’
‘Please forgive me, Bibiji,’ he mumbled. ‘It is a very difficult thing to relate, a very personal thing, and it is especially hard …’
‘Yes?’
‘Because I do not know who I am speaking to.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said in surprise. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, Bibiji, I have seen pictures of you in Bahram-bhai’s rooms in Canton — yet I do not think I would recognize you if I saw you on the street. And there are some things that are hard to speak of with someone whose eyes you have never seen.’
Shireen could feel her face growing flushed. As she fumbled with her shawl, she had a vivid recollection of another time when she had parted her veil to show her face to a stranger: it was on the day of her wedding. Sitting on the dais, she had been so overcome with shyness that she had been unable to raise her head: it was as if a great weight had suddenly descended on her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not make herself look into the eyes of the man with whom she was to share her life. In the end her mother had been forced to reach over and tilt her head back. Years later Shireen had herself done the same for both her daughters — yet now it was as if she were once again a girl, presenting her face to a man for the first time.
There was something unseemly about this train of associations and she forced herself to put them out of her mind. Parting her veil, she held Zadig’s gaze for just long enough to see his eyes widening in surprise. She had already turned away when she heard him exclaim, in surprise: Ya salaam!
‘What is the matter, Zadig Bey?’
‘Forgive me — I’m sorry. I did not expect …’
‘Yes?’
‘That you would look so young …’
She stiffened. ‘Oh?’
He coughed into his fist. ‘The pictures I saw in Bahram-bhai’s rooms — they do not do you justice.’
She gave him a startled glance and drew the shawl over her face again. ‘Please, Zadig Bey.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘That was not right — maaf keejiye — please forgive me.’
‘It’s not important. But please. You must be quick now. Tell me why we are here — why did you want to speak to me in private?’ ‘Yes of course.’
With great deliberation he folded his hands in his lap and cleared his throat. ‘Bibiji, I do not know if what I am doing is right — what I have to say is not easy.’
‘Go on.’
‘Bibiji, you remember when you were talking to me the other day, about Bahram-bhai and how he had left no son to fill his shoes?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘I felt that there was something you should know. That is why I asked to meet you here.’ ‘Go on.’
She heard him swallow and saw the Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin, leathery neck.
‘You see, Bibiji — what I wanted to tell you is that Bahram-bhai did have a son.’
The announcement made no immediate impression on her: the sound of the rain was so loud now that she thought she had misheard.
‘I think I did not hear you properly, Zadig Bey.’
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Yes, Bibiji, what I say is true. Bahram-bhai was the father of a boy.’
Shireen shook her head and uttered the first words that came to her, in a rush. ‘No, Zadig Bey, you do not understand. What you are saying is impossible. I can assure you of this because we once visited a man who knows of these things, a renowned Baba, and he explained that my husband would not be able to have a son without undergoing a long treatment …’
She ran out of breath and fell silent.
Zadig spoke again, very softly. ‘Bibiji, forgive me, but I would not say it if I were not certain. Bahram-bhai’s son is a young man now. He has had many difficulties over the years. That is one of the reasons why I thought you should know about this.’
‘It’s not true. I know it’s not.’
Under the cover of her shawl, Shireen dug her fingers into her ears. They felt unclean, defiled, and she was filled with disgust at herself for having agreed to meet this man — this man who felt no qualms about uttering such obscenities in a place of God. She thought she might vomit if she continued to sit where she was, within touching distance of him. Struggling to her feet, she said, in as steady a voice as she could muster: ‘I am sorry, sir. You are a liar — a foul, filthy liar. You should be ashamed of yourself, telling such lies about a man who believed you to be his friend.’
Zadig said nothing and sat frozen on the pew, with his head lowered. But as she was pushing past him, she heard him whisper: ‘Bibiji, if you don’t believe me, ask Vico. He knows everything. He will tell you about it.’
‘Please,’ she responded, ‘we have nothing more to say to each other.’
It occurred to her that he might try to follow her outside, in which case he would be seen by the Mestrie coachmen and word would get back to her family.
‘If you have any honour at all,’ she said, ‘you will not move from here until I am gone.’
‘Yes, Bibiji.’
To her relief he stayed seated as she hurried down the nave and out of the door.