Madras on Rainy Days: A Novel Read Online Free

said she would rather kill herself than see me injured. Now that I was sick, she begged Allah to place in her own body what was inside mine. This was her way of blessing me.
    The alim suddenly opened his eyes and looked my way. His one blue eye took me in while the other continued to stare at the child. I pulled the curtain shut and hurried back into the bedroom.
    “Why do you look so scared?” Abu Uncle asked, smiling. He sat erect, palms on his thighs, and his stomach bulged, pushing against the shirt buttons.
    I went to the takat and sat next to Amme. She had her face uncovered as she sipped her tea, and I saw again the straight nose and thin lips that were considered beautiful here, features I did not have. I resembled Dad, round in face, eyes, nose, and full lips. But, as he always said, as a man he carried his features well. I, on the other hand, would always be ugly.
    “I think the alim saw me,” I said.
    Noor laughed. “The alim sees everyone. You don’t need to be standing by the door for that.” The servant stood with one hand on her hip, waiting to take away the empty dishes. She was thin and small, and her sari- pallow had fallen back some to expose gray hair. Below her blue nylon sari, she was wearing a white petticoat rather than a matching blue one, so the white background glared, making it hard to see the designs on the sari itself.
    “He has blue eyes,” I said.
    “He’s blind.”
    “Blind?”
    “When he was a child, he was hit by a bus. He flew some twenty feet, they say, and landed on his head. It split open. Then he died for fifteen minutes.” She paused, nodding emphatically. “When he came back to this world, he was blind. But he began to see in other ways, and, one day, he began to heal.”
    My mother and uncle were visibly impressed with the story, and Abu Uncle raised his hands and together they whispered, “Alhum-du-illah ,” Allah be praised. Then my uncle elbowed Amme and raised his brows, silently saying, Now aren’t you glad I brought you to see him? Amme simply turned to Noor and said the alim had an enviable kismet, for she, too, would like to come back to life and begin healing.
    I snorted. After all, when a person stops breathing for that long, if he returns it’s with brain damage, not miraculous powers.
    The old woman grinned. “You have come from far away?” she asked Amme. “Your daughter has an accent.”
    “America,” Amme said.
    “It’s good she can speak Urdu at all. Most children who go there forget everything. Today, everyone wants to be modern.”
    “Not my daughter,” Amme said. “We’ve taught her well.”
    “What’s wrong with the baby?” I asked, interrupting them.
    The servant looked at me strangely, her hand still on her hip. The empty tray was held flat against her leg. “The baby’s sick,” she finally said.
    “They should take him to a doctor.”
    “They have already tried. Is your daughter a skeptic?” she asked Amme.
    Amme smiled as she sipped her tea. Abu Uncle handed the empty glass back to Noor. She took it, two of her fingers inside the rim.
    “She’s just a child,” Amme said. “What does she know?”
    The old servant nodded but continued to scrutinize me. I became nervous and began to watch Amme drink her tea. Her lipstick had faded and vertical lines were etched on her lips. She was growing prematurely old and I blamed Dad for this. When she had finished, she handed the cup and saucer to the woman. The cup had a crescent
moon on its rim from her lipstick. Noor placed these empty dishes back on her tray and walked to the door. Before she went out, she turned to me.
    “A child in your position shouldn’t doubt people who can help you,” she said. “You may have come from America, but we backward people also know some things.” She stood by the door, as though waiting for my mother or uncle to reprimand her. When neither did, she went on. “My name is Noor, which means light, you understand? I may not be able to see