One of the men called out towards the room at the back: Where’s the tea gone, ya ’ammi? A moment later the door of the back room opened and Forid Mian came out, nursing a kettle in his hands. He put it on the counter, raised his head and looked straight across the corridor into Zindi’s eyes.
For a long moment they stared at each other. Then Zindi pulled her dress up to her knees and lurched down the passageway as fast as she could.
Zindi! Forid Mian’s voice echoed after her. She stumbled fiercely on, without looking back. Faintly, through the convulsive wheezing of her own breath, she heard other footsteps ringing through the corridor, and Forid Mian again, shouting shrilly: Zindi! Stop! Why’re you running?
She pressed a hand on the wads of money around her neck and pulled herself round the corner. A blinding patch of daylight was shining in through the Bab al-Asli. Gulping in a huge breath, she flung herself at it. And when she was no more than a yard from the daylight Forid Mian’s hands closed on her elbow and drew her to a halt. She struggled feebly but her strength was gone.
She collapsed almost gratefully on the floor, shuddering and swallowing air.
Why were you running, Zindi? Forid Mian panted. What was the need?
Zindi cast a frightened glance past him into the passageway.
Why’re you afraid? Forid Mian said aggrievedly. They aren’t coming. They don’t care about you; they have nothing to do with you. They’ve only come to take away his papers.
What papers? Zindi scoured his face with her eyes. Why?
Forid Mian threw a quick glance over his shoulder and fell to his knees beside her. Don’t you know? he confided, his eyes alight. They caught Jeevanbhai last night and put him in gaol. He died this morning.
Zindi gazed at him, trembling. He stroked his beard and pressed his thin, cracked lips together. His mouth twitched, his eyes flickered, and then suddenly his face flowered into a wide, boyish smile.
Zindi! he cried, shaking her shoulders. I did it. I did it at last. I saw him going out and I knew he was going to the Old Fort, so I rang them up just like they’d told me to, and I told them, I told them, and they caught him and put him in a black car, handcuffs and all, and took him straight off to the big gaol and locked him up. Locked him up. That’s where he died — killed himself.
He dropped his hands and stared at the floor. He’s dead, he whispered incredulously; he’s dead at last. And now the shop’s mine. They’re going to give it to me.
Then he flung his arms around her and hugged her, whimpering with joy and disbelief. He was a bad man, he said. He was a bad, wicked man.
Zindi pushed him away and patted her dress to make sure her wads of notes were undisturbed. He was a bad man, Forid Mian whispered again, shaking his head. A bad, bad man.
He was a better man than you’ll ever be, Forid Mian, Zindi said. Despite everything. A thousand times better. At least, while he lived, he was alive.
Forid Mian laughed. You didn’t know him, Zindi, he said. I tell you, he was a bad man.
Zindi dusted her dress and turned to go. Forid Mian reached out and caught her arm. Wait, Zindi, he said. Don’t be in a hurry.
Zindi stopped. He dropped his eyes and shot her a shy, upwards glance. Maybe I’ll feel lonely now, Zindi, he said. Maybe I should have someone to look after me, as you were saying that day. I can afford it, now that I’ve got the shop.
He looked away modestly and shuffled his feet. The stringy white beard was suddenly incongruous on his glowing face; he looked twenty years younger. Tell me, Zindi, he said, did you talk to Kulfi?
Zindi tried to speak and could find no words. She pushed him aside and looked down the murky passageway into the heart of the Souq. Then her eyes filled with tears and she turned abruptly and hurried out through the Bab al-Asli.
Zindi took a taxi from the Maidan and so reached Hajj Fahmy’s house in half an hour. When she arrived there she stood outside the walls of the courtyard and shouted in: Are you there, ya Hajj Fahmy? Come out.
A girl peeped through the door and, seeing her, shut it again. She heard the pattering of feet and shrill cries inside the house: It’s Zindi, Zindi at-Tiffaha; she’s here.
She called out again: Ya Hajj, are you there? The door flew open and Hajj Fahmy stood in front of her, beaming: Come in, Zindi, come in, how are you, come in, come in, you’ve brought blessings, come in.
Zindi stepped reluctantly over the threshold and stood with her back to the door. Alu was working at the loom, at the other end of the courtyard. He looked up and smiled at her. She could see two little girls watching her from the shelter of a door.
Come in, Hajj Fahmy said. I’m glad you’ve come, Zindi. I hope you’ve come to join us at last. I knew you would sooner or later; I told the others so. Come and sit in the mandara and have some tea.
No, no, she said urgently, shaking her head. There’s no time.
No time? he smiled at her gently. No time for a cup of tea?
No, ya Hajj, there’s no time. Listen: Jeevanbhai’s been taken to gaol. I think he’s killed himself.
The Hajj started; his face clouded over. God have mercy on him, he said, laying his right hand on his heart.
But that’s not all, Zindi cried.
It’s very sad, Hajj Fahmy went on, talking more to himself than to her. But it was bound to happen. He got his fingers into too many things; that was always the trouble with him.
Zindi caught his arm. Listen, she said. Just listen to me now. There’s no time. He knew that all of you are going to the Star today. I told him so last night. I think that’s the reason why he was arrested. I don’t know exactly how, but I’m sure that’s the reason. He was planning something. He was arrested on his way to the Old Fort.
The Hajj stared at her in astonishment. Because of our trip to the Star? he said. What are you talking about? We’re going on a shopping trip and on the way we’re going to stop at the Star for a few minutes, to see if we can find Alu’s sewing machines. It’s allowed now; there’s no police cordon. Why should Jeevanbhai be taken to gaol for that? He had nothing to do with it.
I don’t know, she said, but I think that was why …
She saw him looking at her with a faintly ironic smile, and the things she had meant to say, all her arguments and phrases, became a confused jumble in her mind.
What gave you this idea, Zindi? he asked. Have you heard something definite?
No, Zindi stammered, searching her mind. But I think …
Hajj Fahmy frowned. Is this one of your little tricks, Zindi? he said softly.
Helplessly Zindi shook her head. She decided to make one last effort. Just believe me, she pleaded. Don’t go today. Take my word for it; I have nothing to gain. I came straight here, as soon as I heard about Jeevanbhai — to warn you. I had to. I didn’t think you would believe me, and I can see you don’t, but I had to try. That’s why I’ve come. You’ll be taking my whole house with you, and a woman can’t sit by and watch her children walking to their end. Don’t go, for God’s sake, don’t go. Don’t take the risk.
Hajj Fahmy scratched his cheek. But, Zindi, he said, we’re just going on a shopping trip. What could possibly happen? Why should the police be interested in a shopping trip? If they were, they’d be locking up the whole of al-Ghazira every day.