‘
Bhai-sahb
ain’t gonna believe a lying tramp like you anyway.’
She’d pushed him too far. Now there would be a fight
.
They walked on in silence, but he quickened his pace and told her to hurry up. At the shops by the crossing she waited as he went in to spend some of the money he’d said he didn’t have. She stood by the shop door and pulled her jacket about her, grimacing with the cold and the pain in her foot. Faisal came out, his pockets stuffed with chocolate bars. They crossed the road and headed over the grassy mound to the concrete stairwell below their flat. Beauty winced as she climbed the stairs behind him, and stuck her tongue out at her younger brother’s back in his new Adidas tracksuit. Preparing herself for what was to come, she followed him along the concourse, took a deep breath as he opened the front door, and went in after him.
*
The flat was quiet.
Bhai-sahb
would be asleep upstairs, and the old man was probably watching television in the sitting room. Her little sister would be lying on her bed reading. What else could Sharifa do? Faisal never let her go on the internet and she wasn’t allowed a radio. Their mum would be asleep as well.
Beauty took off her shoes, went down the corridor and into the bathroom to wash her feet. She could stay in there for a while before the little one or the old man banged on the door and told her to come out.
The cold water made her gasp and she looked at the swelling lump on her left foot. If the old man had paid to put a curse on her, she didn’t want him to know it might be working. He’d said that curses wouldn’t work on a
shaitan.
At least that meant she wasn’t a devil.
She’d found the
tabiz
in her pillowcase a month before, and had broken open the wax seal with shaking hands. The tiny roll of paper that she pulled from the small tube was full of Arabic words written backwards. At first she couldn’t imagine where he’d got it from. Not in Wolverhampton; he hadn’t been anywhere and they didn’t have any money. Had he borrowed some, she wondered, or maybe got a Hindu to do it? They were cheaper.
But when she showed it to
Bhai-sahb
, he went crazy and forced the old man to admit he’d paid an
ulta-imam
in Birmingham five hundred pounds to curse her.
Back in Bangladesh he’d paid imams nearly a thousand
taka
to make her want to marry the mullah, and be good. When she got ill her brother had called a doctor, but the man didn’t know what was wrong with her.
Bhai-sahb
thought the mullah’s family might have cursed her for refusing to live with him, and he’d gone round the villages looking for the highest imam he could find to come and see her. The elderly man in the Punjabi suit, whom he brought back with him, had scared her. Buthe’d spoken kindly, looked about the house and the rough land around it, and eventually pointed to the fish ponds near-by. There was a fish with a
tabiz
tied round it, the imam had told them. Find the fish, take off the
tabiz
and the girl will get better.
Beauty had watched from the house as the men dragged nets across the ponds and inspected each fish. Finally they found it.
Bhai-sahb
broke open the
tabiz
and ran to the old man shouting, the fish in one hand and the roll of paper in the other. The old man shrugged and came into the house. He hadn’t helped to look.
Beauty turned the tap off and thought about washing properly before going upstairs to pray.
What’s the point?
‘
Toba, toba,
’ she said aloud, touching her cheeks three times protectively.
Al-lh dhway, I didn’t mean it like that
.
If she went to pray they’d say she was only pretending, doing it to hide from them and make herself look holy.
I aynt never seen Bhai-sahb pray in my life. He read Siffara and Qur’an a bit, then gave up. He was into dodgy stuff so he gave up everything. Back home they thought he was a gundha till he got rid of his gangster clothes.
She touched the lump on her foot lightly.
Al-lh, why they doing this
Bhai-sahb
ain’t gonna believe a lying tramp like you anyway.’
She’d pushed him too far. Now there would be a fight
.
They walked on in silence, but he quickened his pace and told her to hurry up. At the shops by the crossing she waited as he went in to spend some of the money he’d said he didn’t have. She stood by the shop door and pulled her jacket about her, grimacing with the cold and the pain in her foot. Faisal came out, his pockets stuffed with chocolate bars. They crossed the road and headed over the grassy mound to the concrete stairwell below their flat. Beauty winced as she climbed the stairs behind him, and stuck her tongue out at her younger brother’s back in his new Adidas tracksuit. Preparing herself for what was to come, she followed him along the concourse, took a deep breath as he opened the front door, and went in after him.
*
The flat was quiet.
Bhai-sahb
would be asleep upstairs, and the old man was probably watching television in the sitting room. Her little sister would be lying on her bed reading. What else could Sharifa do? Faisal never let her go on the internet and she wasn’t allowed a radio. Their mum would be asleep as well.
Beauty took off her shoes, went down the corridor and into the bathroom to wash her feet. She could stay in there for a while before the little one or the old man banged on the door and told her to come out.
The cold water made her gasp and she looked at the swelling lump on her left foot. If the old man had paid to put a curse on her, she didn’t want him to know it might be working. He’d said that curses wouldn’t work on a
shaitan.
At least that meant she wasn’t a devil.
She’d found the
tabiz
in her pillowcase a month before, and had broken open the wax seal with shaking hands. The tiny roll of paper that she pulled from the small tube was full of Arabic words written backwards. At first she couldn’t imagine where he’d got it from. Not in Wolverhampton; he hadn’t been anywhere and they didn’t have any money. Had he borrowed some, she wondered, or maybe got a Hindu to do it? They were cheaper.
But when she showed it to
Bhai-sahb
, he went crazy and forced the old man to admit he’d paid an
ulta-imam
in Birmingham five hundred pounds to curse her.
Back in Bangladesh he’d paid imams nearly a thousand
taka
to make her want to marry the mullah, and be good. When she got ill her brother had called a doctor, but the man didn’t know what was wrong with her.
Bhai-sahb
thought the mullah’s family might have cursed her for refusing to live with him, and he’d gone round the villages looking for the highest imam he could find to come and see her. The elderly man in the Punjabi suit, whom he brought back with him, had scared her. Buthe’d spoken kindly, looked about the house and the rough land around it, and eventually pointed to the fish ponds near-by. There was a fish with a
tabiz
tied round it, the imam had told them. Find the fish, take off the
tabiz
and the girl will get better.
Beauty had watched from the house as the men dragged nets across the ponds and inspected each fish. Finally they found it.
Bhai-sahb
broke open the
tabiz
and ran to the old man shouting, the fish in one hand and the roll of paper in the other. The old man shrugged and came into the house. He hadn’t helped to look.
Beauty turned the tap off and thought about washing properly before going upstairs to pray.
What’s the point?
‘
Toba, toba,
’ she said aloud, touching her cheeks three times protectively.
Al-lh dhway, I didn’t mean it like that
.
If she went to pray they’d say she was only pretending, doing it to hide from them and make herself look holy.
I aynt never seen Bhai-sahb pray in my life. He read Siffara and Qur’an a bit, then gave up. He was into dodgy stuff so he gave up everything. Back home they thought he was a gundha till he got rid of his gangster clothes.
She touched the lump on her foot lightly.
Al-lh, why they doing this
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