Dinshawji squirmed uncomfortably, and Gustad added gruffly, ‘Present company excepted, of course. Chaalo, the stew was very tasty. Chicken is next. Come on, Dinshawji. Come on, Roshan.’
‘Gentlemen first! This time gentlemen first!’ said Dinshawji, doing his best to dispel the gloom. ‘Let’s play fair, fair ladies.’ But no one laughed, not even Darius. Silence, for the most part, governed the remainder of the meal.
Dinshawji found the wishbone and offered to break it with someone, but there were no volunteers. Embarrassed, Gustad took hold of one end. They pulled and wrenched and fumbled with the greasy bone till it snapped. Gustad’s was the shorter piece.
Chapter Four
i
The solitary guest departed, and Gustad locked the door for the night. Of the nine chicken portions, six remained in the dish. ‘Now you are satisfied,’ he said, ‘ruining your sister’s birthday. No one even felt like eating anything.’
‘You brought the live chicken home and killed it and made us feel sick at the table,’ said Sohrab. ‘Don’t blame me for your stupidity.’
‘Stupidity? Bay-sharam! You are speaking to your father!’
‘No quarrels on a birthday,’ said Dilnavaz, half-cajoling, half-warning. ‘That’s a strict rule in our house.’
‘I know I am speaking to my father. But my father does not want to know the truth when he hears it.’
‘Truth? First suffer like your parents have, then talk about truth! I never had my college fees paid for me, I had to earn them. And study late at night with an oil lamp like that one, with the wick very low, to save—’
‘You’ve told us that story a hundred times,’ said Sohrab.
‘Roshan!’ Gustad’s hands were shaking. ‘Bring my belt! The thick brown leather one! I will teach this brother of yours a lesson in respect! He thinks he is all grown up now! His chaamray-chaamra I will peel off! Till not one inch of skin is left on him!’
Roshan stood still, her eyes wide with fear. Dilnavaz motioned to her to stay where she was. When the boys were little, she was often afraid that Gustad, with his immense strength, might do them grave injury while meting out the punishment that a father was supposed to, though afterwards it only made him feel wretchedly remorseful. She hoped Sohrab would remain quiet so that the threat could fade away.
But he would not back down. ‘Go, bring the belt. I’m not scared of him or anything.’
Seeing that Roshan would not move, Gustad went himself. He returned with his instrument of retribution hanging over his shoulder, whose mention alone used to fill the boys with fear when they were little. He was panting with rage. ‘Say, now, whatever you want to say! Let us hear your chenchi if you still have the courage!’
‘I’ve already said everything. If you didn’t hear, I can repeat it.’
Gustad swung, and the leather whistled as it cut through the air. Dilnavaz ran between the two, the way she used to when the boys were little. The cowhide lashed her calves and she screamed. Two red weals started to emerge.
‘Move aside!’ shouted Gustad. ‘I am warning you! Tonight I don’t care what happens! I will cut your son to pieces, I will—’
Roshan started sobbing and screaming. ‘Mummy! Daddy! Stop it!’ Gustad tried over and over to reach his target, but Dilnavaz’s manoeuvres foiled him.
Through her sobs Roshan screamed once more. ‘Please! For the sake of my birthday, stop it!’
The belt continued to swing, though nowhere as effectively as that first perfect stroke. The misplaced blow had taken away much of the vigour and keenness from Gustad’s arm. ‘You coward! Stop hiding behind your mother!’
Before either Sohrab or Dilnavaz could respond, a shrill cry rang out. ‘Enough is enough! This is sleeping-time, not fighting-time! Save the rest for morning!’
The voice was Miss Kutpitia’s. It had the same pitch and cadences that were evident on mornings when she decided to shriek at the milk bhaiya. Gustad was furious. He rushed to the window. ‘Come to my door and speak if you have something to say! I am not living free here, I also pay rent!’ He turned to Dilnavaz, livid. ‘See? That’s how your friend behaves. Saali witch!’
‘But she is right,’ said Dilnavaz resolutely. ‘All this shouting and yelling in the middle of the night.’
‘Very nice! Take her side against your husband. Always against me only.’ Bitter to the marrow, he fell quiet. Outside, all was silent again. But he waited defiantly by the window in case a retort from Miss Kutpitia was forthcoming.
Dilnavaz took the opportunity to hustle Sohrab, Darius and Roshan out of the room and into bed. Left alone, Gustad’s anger started to ebb. He saw the belt clenched tightly in his hand, and threw it in a corner, then blew out the candles on the dining-table. The room was still too bright for him. He adjusted the wick of the kerosene lamp and returned to stand by the window. The black stone wall could barely be discerned; it had melted into the inky night.
Dilnavaz returned. ‘They are all in bed. Waiting for you to say goodnight-Godblessyou.’ He did not answer. She tried again. ‘I went to Sohrab. See.’ She held out her sleeve where it was damp. ‘His tears. Go to him.’
Gustad shook his head. ‘He will have to come to me. When he learns respect. Till then, he is not my son. My son is dead.’
‘Don’t say such things!’
‘I am saying what must be said. Now he is nothing to me.’
‘No! Stop it!’ She caressed the welts on her calves, and he saw her do it.
‘Seventeen times I have told you not to come in the middle when I am dealing with the children.’
‘Nineteen years old now, he is no longer a child.’
‘Nineteen or twenty-nine, he cannot speak to me like that. And for what reason? What did I do except be proud of him?’
The bewilderment behind his anger was touching, and she wanted to comfort him, help him understand. But she did not understand herself. She touched his shoulder gently. ‘We must be patient.’
‘What have we been all these years if not patient? Is this how it will end? Sorrow, nothing but sorrow. Throwing away his future without reason. What have I not done for him, tell me? I even threw myself in front of a car. Kicked him aside, saved his life, and got this to suffer all my life.’ He slapped his hip. ‘But that’s what a father is for. And if he cannot show respect at least, I can kick him again. Out of my house, out of my life!’
She touched his shoulder once more, and went to the table. ‘I’ll put away everything in the kitchen. Then we can go to sleep.’ She began piling up the dirty plates and glasses.
ii
Long after Dilnavaz had cleared the table, wiped off the crumbs with a moist rag and gone to bed, Gustad sat beside the soft glow of the kerosene lamp. He was grateful for the lamp. He knew that if the electric light was on, he would still be angry.