The Courthouse
Outside the courthouse Rehana bought two kites, one red and one blue, from Khan Brothers Variety Store and Confectioners. The kites were made of thin, translucent parchment paper, and were held together by slender bamboo reeds crossed in the middle and tied with a length of jute. Rehana tucked the packets under her arm and hailed a rickshaw. As she was climbing in she saw the lawyer running towards her. His belly stayed rigid as the rest of him wobbled.
‘Mrs Haque, I am very sorry.’ He sounded sincere.
Rehana couldn’t bring herself to say it was all right.
‘You must find some money. That is the only way. Find some money and then we will try again. These bastards don’t move without a little grease.’
Money. Rehana stepped into the rickshaw and lifted the hood over her head. ‘Dhanmondi,’ she said. ‘Road No. 5.’
When she got home the children were sitting together on the sofa with their knees lined up. Maya’s feet hovered above the floor. Sohail was looking down at his palms and counting the very small lines. He saw Rehana and smiled but did not rise from his chair, or cry out, as Maya did, ‘Ammoo! Why were you so long?’
Rehana had decided it would not be wise to cry in front of the children, so she had done her crying in the rickshaw, in sobs that caused her to hold on to the narrow frame of the seat and open her mouth in a loud, wailing O. The rickshaw puller had turned around and asked, as if he was genuinely concerned, whether she would like to stop for a glass of water. Rehana had never tasted roadside water. She refused him mutely, wondering if he had children, a thought that made her lean her head against the side of the rickshaw hood and knock, repeatedly, in time to the bumps on the road. Now, confronted with the sight of them, she fought the pinch in her jaw and the acrid taste that had flooded her mouth. She fought the fierce stinging of her eyes, the closing of her throat. She fought all of these as she handed them the wrapped-up, triangular packets.
‘Thank you Ammoo-jaan,’ Maya said, ripping into hers. Sohail did not open his. He rested it on his lap and stroked the brown wrapping. Then he bit down on his lip and stared at his mother.
‘You are going to live with Faiz chacha,’ Rehana said evenly. ‘In Lahore.’
‘Lahori!’ Maya said, laughing.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rehana said to her son.
‘When will we come back?’
‘Soon, I promise.’ Pray to God, she wanted to say, but couldn’t. ‘They are coming for you tomorrow morning.’
‘But I don’t want to.’
Rehana bit down on her tongue. ‘You have to go,’ she said. ‘Go and be brave. You can fly your kite, beta, and I will see it, all the way from Karachi. It’s a very special kite. You have to be very good. Very good and very brave. Only the bravest children get windy days. And one day it will be so windy you will fly all the way back to me. You don’t believe me? Wait and see.’