Page 41 of If I Loved You Less
He enjoys it when we are so hyper. It makes the house feel full again, and our laughter is constant background music. He also dearly loves the attention as he tells us stories from his childhood. Today’s story is from when he was about eight or so.
“I used to visit the village during the summers, when I was off from school,” he tells us. “And I had this little goat I would play with. A baby goat, very cute and fluffy.”
“How sweet!” I comment.
“Aw!” Naadia adds.
“Then, one day, this boy from a neighboring village came and said he wanted my goat!”
“No!” we exclaim.
“Yes!” He shakes his head. “My Ammi said he could have it, but I was very sad. It was my goat! So I told the boy no.”
“As you should have.”
“But one day, I went, and the goat was gone!”
“What!”
“So I had to get my friend’s older brother, and we went to the village, and stole the goat back.”
These are the little stories from rural Pakistan Papa likes to keep us entertained with.
That night, Asif comes for dinner. Fawad does not join us because he is allegedly meeting a friend. I didn’t even think he had friends. I am sure it is one of his tenants, and he just wants to seem social.
I do hope he isn’t avoiding me. I have seen him a handful of times since Thanksgiving, and he was a bit awkward but otherwise his normal, unsavory self.
At dinner, Papa is surly to Asif, more so than usual, which puts Naadia in a bad mood. Papa used to like Asif, until he married Naadia, and she moved out. Now if there is anything going wrong, it is Asif’s fault.
Asif is blamed for everything from the cleaning lady being late (It’s that wretched Asif’s fault. If he hadn’t gone and married Naadia, she would have been here to let the cleaning lady in.); to Papa’s coffee getting cold (Awful Asif. Marrying my dear daughter! Naadia always made my coffee just right – this is also a personal affront to me, because Naadia rarely made him coffee and I make excellent coffee!); to the bathroom sink getting clogged (I am sure this is Asif’s fault! He must have shaved that big, awful beard of his!).
I can go on but you get the point.
Asif is a dear though and tolerates it very well.
Sometimes Naadia gets upset and tries to call Papa out, saying that the blame isn’t Asif’s really, but mine, seeing as I was the one to suggest the match.
To this, of course, Papa blames Asif once again. (Turning you against your own sister! The audacity of the man!) Naadia should have seen that one coming because I am positive that, even at gunpoint, Papa could not find a fault in me.
It helps that I have no faults, but even if I had them, he would deny them. Of course, sometimes I do make little mistakes, as all people do, but even then Papa doesn’t think the blame is mine, not really.
* * *
When Rizwan arrives in New York, I plan to visit “Phuppo” (as I tell Papa). The day of the planned social call, it begins snowing in the morning, and I find this divine intervention excellent. I pack an overnight bag in case I get stranded at Zeeshan Uncle’s house (just like Jane Bennet at Mr. Bingley’s!), but at the last minute, the plans are derailed by Papa, who panics very easily when it comes to the snow.
“Either I drive you there and back,” he says, “or you go tomorrow, when the roads are clear.”
I elect to go the next day because a girl simply cannot romance a handsome man when her father is just in the next room.
When I drive over, everything is covered in white, a perfect snowglobe. The bare branches of the trees sparkle in the sunlight, the evergreens covered in snow like powdered sugar. Everything is pure and clean and perfect. I love it! The magic of snow never ceases to amaze me.
“Humaira, how lovely to see you again,” Rizwan says, opening the door. He lets me into the house and takes my coat from me, smiling brightly all the way. He is happy to see me, and I am excited as well, which is a relief.
“It is good to see you, too,” I respond. “Look at all this snow! Isn’t it wonderful!”
“Yes, it is.” He smiles. “Though I cannot enjoy it much, Shani Chacha has me working like a dog.”
We walk over to the living room and sit down, where he explains that the company Zeeshan Uncle runs was founded by Rizwan’s grandfather. When Rizwan’s father, Zeeshan Uncle’s older brother, moved to England, Zeeshan Uncle took over, and now he is teaching Rizwan the ropes to take over one day.
