because he didn’t have time to play baseball with the kids … or sit with them for dinner, because he was out there making sure his son had a Honda Civic to take to college and his fees would be paid at Harvard if he made it … which he didn’t, but McGill wasn’t so bad either.
After a couple of whiskies with crackers and cheese and a previous day’s meat samosas, he watched
Star Trek
on TV. It was one of the few things he shared with his son Shaf. What he liked about the Trekkie stories were the limitless vistas in them, the endless universe, so to speak; anything was possible; there were no traditions to hold you back, no boundaries. Of course, the details in these stories were most likely all wrong or too trivial; but it was the attitude that counted. There’s no limit. Think big; think smart; think new.
He had felt hurt, initially, at his wife’s desertion; he now was angry. How
dare
anyone try to rein in another against their very nature; try to cage a lion. He had been to a zoo once in his life and hated it. To see lions in cages! When he’d seen them stalking, chasing a herd of zebra on the Serengeti, jumping on the poor helpless one at the back, caught unawares!
The TV was on mute, the house was deathly quiet; the phone refused to ring. Tears fell freely down his cheeks. However much he valued his freedom, he knew that he needed his family, the stable base it provided, from which he could head off in whatever direction he wished. His victories meant nothing without being able to share it with them. That’s why he had given Almas everything he could, toned down his wild habits, turned away from women he could have had on the side, and become a pussycat at home. He loved his family, his children. His wife? In a way, yes.
Because I knew her love for me was not really of the passionate kind, any more than mine was for her, there were some regrets there, on both sides. I always felt that and so I had to have my own personal passion. She was a Nairobi girl thrown together with us Dar guys and girls in the early seventies in Toronto when we lived at Lawrence and Don Mills; everyone was gettingpaired off and there seemed not much choice. We liked each other; and she was smarting from a love back home of which I have only been able to guess so far. We married, but I could always sense her admiration for the easygoing types, the professors and intellectuals who liked to gab; but I was a grocer’s son, and I’m going to conquer the world, I told her cockily. Why don’t you simply enjoy life, she would say. Easy to say that, but she always liked luxury, the nanny and big houses and flashy cars
.
The next day he woke up to a cold bed beside him; he choked at the prospect that this would be a permanent state of affairs. He washed, dressed, and went for coffee at a nearby café. He wished to brood over the situation, plan a course of action to woo her back. It would not beeasy, but it could be done. Meanwhile there was today’s meeting, claiming urgent attention. A group from out west was in town with a prospect for his group of hoteliers. They were medical people, doctors with flourishing careers, money pouring in, and the itch to invest big time. The proposal was ambitious: to open a full-facility medical hotel for the wealthy and those privately covered. Insurance companies from Hartford were in town and willing to listen. The Ramada chain was sniffing around the edges. This looked big, if it worked out, with global potential.
The guy who had approached him with the idea was currently from Nanaimo, BC, originally from Dar and a year younger than Nazir. And this is just what he couldn’t stress enough to Almas: the money’s for the grabbing out there, people with half the balls are raking it in; do you want me to sit on my butt watching the sun set and feeling my life ebb away with every breath?
Walji—he was the guy who had brought him the multimillion-dollar scheme; his folks used to own a small goods
After a couple of whiskies with crackers and cheese and a previous day’s meat samosas, he watched
Star Trek
on TV. It was one of the few things he shared with his son Shaf. What he liked about the Trekkie stories were the limitless vistas in them, the endless universe, so to speak; anything was possible; there were no traditions to hold you back, no boundaries. Of course, the details in these stories were most likely all wrong or too trivial; but it was the attitude that counted. There’s no limit. Think big; think smart; think new.
He had felt hurt, initially, at his wife’s desertion; he now was angry. How
dare
anyone try to rein in another against their very nature; try to cage a lion. He had been to a zoo once in his life and hated it. To see lions in cages! When he’d seen them stalking, chasing a herd of zebra on the Serengeti, jumping on the poor helpless one at the back, caught unawares!
The TV was on mute, the house was deathly quiet; the phone refused to ring. Tears fell freely down his cheeks. However much he valued his freedom, he knew that he needed his family, the stable base it provided, from which he could head off in whatever direction he wished. His victories meant nothing without being able to share it with them. That’s why he had given Almas everything he could, toned down his wild habits, turned away from women he could have had on the side, and become a pussycat at home. He loved his family, his children. His wife? In a way, yes.
Because I knew her love for me was not really of the passionate kind, any more than mine was for her, there were some regrets there, on both sides. I always felt that and so I had to have my own personal passion. She was a Nairobi girl thrown together with us Dar guys and girls in the early seventies in Toronto when we lived at Lawrence and Don Mills; everyone was gettingpaired off and there seemed not much choice. We liked each other; and she was smarting from a love back home of which I have only been able to guess so far. We married, but I could always sense her admiration for the easygoing types, the professors and intellectuals who liked to gab; but I was a grocer’s son, and I’m going to conquer the world, I told her cockily. Why don’t you simply enjoy life, she would say. Easy to say that, but she always liked luxury, the nanny and big houses and flashy cars
.
The next day he woke up to a cold bed beside him; he choked at the prospect that this would be a permanent state of affairs. He washed, dressed, and went for coffee at a nearby café. He wished to brood over the situation, plan a course of action to woo her back. It would not beeasy, but it could be done. Meanwhile there was today’s meeting, claiming urgent attention. A group from out west was in town with a prospect for his group of hoteliers. They were medical people, doctors with flourishing careers, money pouring in, and the itch to invest big time. The proposal was ambitious: to open a full-facility medical hotel for the wealthy and those privately covered. Insurance companies from Hartford were in town and willing to listen. The Ramada chain was sniffing around the edges. This looked big, if it worked out, with global potential.
The guy who had approached him with the idea was currently from Nanaimo, BC, originally from Dar and a year younger than Nazir. And this is just what he couldn’t stress enough to Almas: the money’s for the grabbing out there, people with half the balls are raking it in; do you want me to sit on my butt watching the sun set and feeling my life ebb away with every breath?
Walji—he was the guy who had brought him the multimillion-dollar scheme; his folks used to own a small goods
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