Category: Literary Fiction Pages: 19
Copyright: November 1, 2012
An honorable life built on a dishonorable decision. Free for download 1/25/2013-1/27/2013.
When Imran was a young doctor in England, he faced a decision that would change lives forever. Now, as an old man entering the last days of his life with his loving family in India, the decision he made fifty years ago has the power to upend everything he stands for and destroy the devotion of his family and friends. One person knows his secret and must decide what is revealed or remain hidden. Reminiscent of the style of “An Atlas of Impossible Longing”, “A Change in the Weather” is a poignant tale about honor and loss, and how these two forces have unforeseen consequences that spill from one generation into the next.
Excerpt
No one had told him how cold it could be in September in England and he had to part with $3 for a thick aran sweater from Debenham’s the day he arrived. Eventually, he struck a deal with his landlady, who could knit, that he would pay her for the wool and patterns, and she knitted him a few scratchy sweaters, with diamond shapes on the chest and sleeves that were almost long enough to serve as gloves.
The bedsit was small and smelled damp, but the knocking pipes in the wall were strangely comforting and there was a small window in the attic roof, which let in clouded light in the late afternoons, when he walked up the stairs after class. He would make himself a cup of tea in the shared kitchen sometimes, and if Mrs. Wallace was there, she would offer him a digestive on a flowered plate, and they would have a small chat before she returned to her chores. Often he heard her moving about the house as he returned to his books, and the hum of the vacuum cleaner and the stuffy warmth of his small room would make him drowsy. Then, he would put on the grey pea coat he had found in the window display of the Oxfam in the High Street, and take a brisk walk along Sutton Road to wake up.
He met Emily on that first walk, almost colliding into her as she stepped out of a newsagent. She was walking backwards, still in mid-conversation with the cashier, waving a packet of sweets in farewell.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I didn’t see you… Are you alright…?”
“My fault, entirely,” she was laughing. “I really should be more careful.”
He had not known what to say next, whether it would be rude to just walk away now, or if something further was required. In the pause, they both smiled at each other. In his first glance at her, he did not think she was pretty, and that knowledge made him more at ease. She wore a beige camel coat, and a flowered scarf over perfectly set brown curls. Her face was round and freckled. He looked at the cigarette in her hand.
“I know you,” she said, her eyes brightening. “You’re at the hospital. You’re new, I think?”
He had not recognized her at all, but he nodded anyway. She was studying English, she said, at the local college.
“College. What a wonderful time of life,” he said.
“It’s supposed to be. When you’re a late starter—‘mature student’—that’s what they say, everyone looks just so young. Except for the professors. They’re ancient.” She smiled at his confusion. “Well, anyway, I hope I walk into you again.”
“That would be lovely,” he said stiffly, with a small bow, and she giggled and squeezed his arm at the elbow as she walked past him. He watched her go. It was hard to tell in her coat, but, while her ankles were slender, her calves were a little thick in tan tights, and he imagined that, underneath her shapeless coat, she was slightly heavy. He coughed when she turned and caught him looking at her, laughed, and kept walking.
“Listen! Listen, I’ve been practicing.” His granddaughter played a few staccato notes on her violin, frowned, and tried again.
He nodded and grunted approvingly. There was a cawing of a bird somewhere close to the veranda where they sat, and a light wind was rifling the pages of the music book on its stand. His daughter was tucking his shawl closely around him and he tipped his head to rest his cheek on her hand, so she stopped for a moment and they stayed like that, until she kissed the top of his head and murmured “Baba-ji” into the thin skin on his scalp. She put his hat on his head and pulled down the peak gently.
“Stop fussing over him, he’s so spoilt,” said his wife. “He enjoys us worrying about him, every minute.”
“I wish all my patients were this easy.”
“Easy! What do you know?” said his wife theatrically, but he knew that she was a tyrant in the kitchen for him, pushing her forefinger into his plate of salaan to make sure that the meat came apart easily, squeezing and sniffing the fruit before it was sliced.
“Chai, Imran Sahib?” Abdullah was asking, but he shook his head and waved the servant away. He put his hand on his knee and watched it shaking on top of the shawl like something electrified. His wife and daughter watched for a moment too, until his daughter took both his hands into her own as she knelt down next to him, to watch Naila finish her performance.
“It’s good, right?” said the little girl, curtseying as they applauded her. “Nana, you’re coming to my recital? Mummy, did you tell him the day?”
He caught a look between his wife and daughter as she replied, “It’s two months away, darling. Too far to think about now.”
“Nana is coming, though? You’re coming?” she asked again. He was vaguely aware of a shushing sound from his daughter, but it was lost in the angry thrum of a red sports car pulling onto the driveway. His eyes were not focusing properly, but he sensed the familiar stride and crisp tap of new shoes on the asphalt, the smell of foreign aftershave.
“Mamoon-jaan!” Naila put down her violin and bow hurriedly on her chair, then seeing her mother frown, sighed and put them back in the case as fast as she could. Her uncle pulled her up under her arms and swung her, so her legs arced in the air like a doll. He put her down on the ground and pulled out a stick of gum from his pocket. She was still talking to him while he greeted his mother and sister. They were drawn to him like iron filings, thought his father; the old magic never wore off for them.
“Baba-ji”. He bent and cupped his hand in the traditional greeting, but he was quickly upright, like a mongoose sniffing the air. He saw the empty dishes stacked on the table.
“Sit, sit, Shuja” said his wife, squeezing his arm through his jacket, “you have reduced your weight. When are you going to let me find a good girl to feed you properly?”
“Oh, Ma. Who could take better care of me than you?”
“What a bullshit artist,” said his daughter, smiling. “Well, he is.” Her mother was indignantly covering Naila’s ears with her hands.
“Go make your brother a plate, beti.” His wife was bending over Naila’s violin case, helping her to snap the lid shut. Shuja looked about him uncertainly for a moment, and then pulled his chair up to his father. He slapped one hand on his father’s knee.
“So how have you been feeling, Baba-ji?”
“I have been the same for the last two months. There was no rush for you to come over now.”
Shuja chuckled. “Have to make sure you’re ok. I see you’re on fine form, as usual.”
He grunted. His wife was watching them, and he could see her fingers knotting and unknotting in front of her. Small sounds escaped her lips, as if she were about to say something, but when he looked directly at her, she only smiled weakly and then glanced at their son.
“Ma, how are you doing? Everything ok?”
“Yes, beta. It’s good.”
“I was joking with you earlier, ma, actually I might be bringing someone over next time I come by. Someone I want you to meet.”
He grunted. “Who is it now? Cindy? Janey? Don’t waste your mother’s time with —”
“She is the daughter of my old professor,” Shuja said, looking at his mother. “Her name is Rizwana Patel.”
“Patel?” his mother asked softly. “She is…?”
“Muslim, Ma, Muslim. You can’t have any objections. You’re going to love her. She’s a real good girl, and family, and all that. Everything you wanted.”
“Aaah. Of course, she is very welcome, beta. Just tell me when, I’ll make something special.” His wife had a big smile and he was surprised to realize that she did not smile like that often anymore. But there was something else he had to say.
“Is this serious? Poor girl. And what are you going to feed your bird, when you have caught her?”
“Jaanoo…” his wife said.
“Business is up.”
He grunted.
“Making some new hires. I’m looking for a very good right hand man. Then, might be expanding into some interesting markets. Lot of potential out there.” He scratched his neck at the collar.
“I suppose you need money.”
“Not a bit of it,” Shuja said quickly. “I have everything under control. Have some new contacts, and things are shaping up nicely. I’m making my own my way.” He chewed his gum faster, his jaw muscles working hard. He swept his hair back off his forehead, and stood up quickly, scraping the legs against the ground with a sharp screech of metal on concrete. “I don’t need your money.”
“Glad to hear it because you won’t get another anna from me.” He struggled to pull the blanket off his hands. “College wasn’t your thing, you said, so you thought you would make it big in business. God knows what kind. I can just look at your dumb fool ride to know,” he waved an arm at the red car, “like a bandit, throwing money left and right to feel like a big shot—”
“I’m sorry, Baba,” Shuja spat, “Forgive me if I don’t want to become like you.”
“—And don’t even think about asking your mother for money. I’m not in the ground yet.” He had not shouted, but his voice was trembling, and when his daughter stepped out onto the veranda, he could see her eyes widen as she looked at them both.
“Naila, go inside.”
Professional Reviews
Engaging story, 5 stars
The characters in this tightly woven story are clearly drawn and memorable. The layers of life, generations, culture, family and relationships are rich and reward the reader. Great read that will stay with you.
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