An American Brat Read Online Free Page B

to keep in the good graces of her daughter, bolting at the first hint of debate, and left the disciplining entirely to her mother. Cyrus had in any case decided to keep his hands, and will, off their daughter.
    But Khutlibai, notoriously short on patience, could summon up oceanic reserves of that virtue where it concerned her granddaughter. And she lavished on Feroza a devotion that turned her youngest son, Manek, into an embittered delinquent and an implacable enemy of his pampered niece. With only six years between them, Manek and Feroza grew up more as siblings than as uncle and niece. Their hostilities often assumed epic proportions.
    By the time Feroza was eleven, she had been forged by the alchemy of her uncle’s sinister ingenuity, the burgeoning strength of her resourceful genes, and the extravagant care lavished on her by her grandmother into a wise, winning, and, at least overtly, malleable child.

Chapter 3

    For three successive evenings, they waited for the urgent trunk call to America to materialize. Each time Zareen booked the call, the rushed operator gave her a cryptic number and informed her that she was thirtieth or fortieth in line. By the time Zareen finished asking, “How long will it take?” the operator had hung up.
    On the fourth evening, Cyrus took matters in hand.
    â€œOperator,” he said with solemn authority, “there’s been a death in the family. I need to speak to the party at once. His mother’s died.”
    â€œI’ll try my best, sir.” The operator was properly grave and respectful of the bereaved family’s feelings and of their need for urgency.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have said that.” Zareen’s dark eyes were filled with reproach.
    â€œLook,” Cyrus said. “Do you want the call, or not? You have to be smart, that’s all.”
    â€œIf you’re so damn smart, you could have got rid of your own mother. You won’t feel so smart if mine finds out.”
    But before Cyrus could come back with a rejoinder, the phone rang. Zareen pounced on it. She heard the operator’s remote voice say, “Call from Pakistan, sir,” and Manek was on the line.
    â€œWe are sending Feroza to you,” Zareen said.
    â€œYou don’t have to shout just because you’re twenty thousand miles away. I can hear you as if you were next door.” Then, abruptly, Manek asked, “Why?”
    â€œWhat d’you mean ‘why’! For a holiday, what else. Just for two or three months … Is it okay? Will you look after her?”
    â€œYes, yes,” he said. Taken aback by the unexpected call, and the even more unexpected nature of the call, Manek didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he might have.
    Zareen’s heart sank. She had counted on his three years inthe New World to change him. He hadn’t changed one bit. “What do you mean, ‘yes-yes,’” she said. “I’m not sending my child so far if you’re not going to look after her.”
    â€œI’ll look after her. Don’t worry, just send her.” Manek had by now digested the news, and he sounded as hearteningly eager as Zareen could have hoped. She at once detected the new warm note in his voice and was as elated as she had been despondent a moment earlier.
    â€œI’ll look after her. Let me know when she’s coming. I’ll go to New York to meet her.”
    Having been away almost three years, Manek was eager to see anyone from home. He was overwhelmed by an entirely unexpected surge of affection for Feroza.
    â€œHere,” Zareen said, speaking into the receiver, as astonished by his sudden enthusiasm as she was by her conviction of his sincerity. “Talk to Feroza.”
    Feroza glowed. “I’m so excited,” she shouted.
    â€œDon’t yell,” Manek said. “You’re puncturing my eardrum. Why do you Third World Pakis shout so much? Everybody’s not deaf.”
    Feroza