Like any self-respecting professional in this situation, Teddy Butt feels like a failure. This man chained to the bone, sitting on the floor of a speeding Hilux, is reciting verses that are a preamble to his own death. Teddy feels this boy has something he will never have: a core that keeps him centred, that frees him from the fear of death. Not-Abu Zar might be running rings around G Squad, but he knows where he has come from and where he is going. He might even be mistaken. Maybe he came from nowhere and is going nowhere and what he recites means nothing, but he has something that keeps him connected to the universe. Would Teddy be able to recite something if he was in a situation like this? If Teddy had so much metal on him, would he be able to manoeuvre himself into a position like this and sit still?
And what if the circumstances were different? What if he was dying in a hospital or at home from a slow incurable illness? Someone close to the dying person usually sits next to their bedside and recites Sura Yaseen. Does Teddy have anybody who will do it for him? He has Alice. Ah, Alice. Can she be taught? After all, she does know how to recite the Kalima. Will she learn it for him? He looks outside and realises that they are in the Zone now. The Hilux drives between clusters of aloe vera and wild shrub; it slows down, then picks up speed again, and by the time it comes to a halt, Teddy has lost all appetite for his job.
As he frequently does, he starts contemplating a career in private security and reminding himself that you get to travel in the front seat, you carry your own repeater and you don’t have to make small talk with anyone. In fact, keeping quiet is a kind of job requirement.
Inspector Malangi is the first one out of the Hilux, and he thumps the side of the cabin. “What do we want?” A gentle breeze stirs an aloe vera bush and the perfumed air comes to them in tiny whiffs. Part of Teddy’s duty is to figure out what is the last thing his companion would like to do. Choices are usually limited in the middle of nowhere; it comes down to a drink of water, time out to take a piss, but mostly people ask for a cigarette. Teddy has no idea what not-Abu Zar wants. He doesn’t want Malangi to know that their journey might have started off well but now it seems as if he has been butting his head against a wall. He has no clue whether not-Abu Zar smokes or not, and whether he wants some bladder relief before he is relieved of his life. Not-Abu Zar is oblivious now, hunched over, his chin almost touching his knees, and he is reciting at top speed as if aware of the fact that Yaseen is a long sura and he must finish it before he gets off the Hilux. “My friend here wants to take a leak,” Teddy says, and before Inspector Malangi can ask his team to take positions, he adds, “But first he wants to finish reciting his Yaseen.”
Malangi seems to have no problem with the suggestion. Not-Abu Zar is rocking now, moving slowly back and forth with the rhythm of every verse. Teddy can’t see his lips in the dark, but it seems Inspector Malangi is repeating the words after not-Abu Zar. Inspector Malangi wouldn’t trust anyone else to recite on his deathbed, so he has probably learnt the verses by heart. He also seems to know when the sura comes to an end, because as soon as not-Abu Zar stops moving, Malangi says, “Jazak Allah” loudly. He gives Teddy a bunch of keys. “Take him.”
If it doesn’t involve any undue risk, they usually like to take the handcuffs and any other metal off their prisoner. They all become very squeamish when they have to remove anything from a corpse, as if by putting a bullet in somebody they have contaminated them. Also for some reason the handcuff marks stay longer if removed afterwards.
The recitation seems to have calmed not-Abu Zar: he is relaxed and passive as Teddy unlocks four sets of locks from his hands and feet. There is a bit of a struggle with the nylon rope, but soon not-Abu Zar is standing beside the Hilux rubbing his wrists, stretching his back and ferociously scratching his armpit. Teddy inspects their operational area by moving his flashlight up and down. They are in the middle of a clearing in the wild fig bushes, full of green thorns and ripe little buds ready to bloom at the first sign of sunlight.
“I can’t do it standing up,” not-Abu Zar says to Teddy, ignoring Inspector Malangi, who has got his Beretta in his hand now.
“You can kill forty-six people in six minutes, all the while riding a motorbike, and you can’t take a piss standing up? Hurry up, behind the bushes.” Inspector Malangi is impatient. The recitation has thrown him off course. According to his time line, they should have been driving back by now.
“Let’s go.” Teddy holds not-Abu Zar by his right arm and starts to move. He hears Malangi mutter behind him: “The bloody sun is about to come out.” Teddy lets go of his arm and pulls out his TT pistol and shows not-Abu Zar the way with his flashlight. They walk about ten steps and find themselves in bush so thick the Hilux headlights seem distant. Teddy turns his light to the other side and says, “OK, take your time, I am not looking.” He faces the bush and suddenly has a feeling that the wild figs are alive. Nothing moves, but there is a slight rustle, and he has a distinct feeling that the bush is breathing. Then he sees a pair of eyes sprouting from the bush on his left, one all black, one all white. He moves the light up and down and finds that there are other pairs of eyes that look like the buds have suddenly bloomed in the bush. Before he can straighten his TT, a black dog bares its teeth and jumps at him.
Four others follow, their barks full-throated and ferocious, and they come at Teddy as if they have rehearsed their attack. One of them, a tall, lean, malnourished specimen, all black with white legs, stays back, raises his head to the sky and howls as if reading Teddy the terms of his surrender.
Seventeen
Alice Bhatti puts a box of sweets on Senior Sister Hina Alvi’s table and begins to walk out as Hina Alvi emerges from the bathroom adjusting the hem of her shirt with one hand and coiffing her hair with the other. She looks at the box of sweets, then looks at Alice Bhatti, who blushes like a new bride. Sister Hina Alvi breaks into spontaneous laughter. Then she comes over and, still laughing, gently hugs Alice Bhatti.
Hina Alvi beckons her to sit. She cups her chin in her left hand and looks at Alice with amusement and pity, as if saying, look at you, all grown up, who would have thought? “So ten days of suspension from work and you return with a husband? I tell you, girls these days get bored so easily.”
Alice forces a courteous smile. “If something has to be done, one might as well do it when one has a lot of free time.”
“Before I congratulate you, can I ask you something?” Sister Hina Alvi drags her chair closer and sits down. “I don’t expect you to take advice from me, and I hate to interfere in my colleagues’ personal lives for the simple reason that I have absolutely no curiosity about their domestic matters. I am just mildly concerned about you: why would a girl like you marry? Why would a girl like you marry a boy like him? What kind of man waxes his body hair? You might as well have married me.”
Alice Bhatti has expected a catty remark or two, and that’s why on her return to the Sacred she has come straight to Sister Hina Alvi’s office. She wanted to tell Hina Alvi herself before anybody else told her, but she didn’t expect such directness. She is beginning to wonder why Sister Hina Alvi is getting all personal with her.