The Blizzard

THE morning was a blur to Jack. They had returned to Khalid’s workshop. Hundreds of men standing in their worksuits in groups of two or three, like blotches of blue, black and red, stood wearily to the rollertube as they trundled past them. He and Saira fought their way through the sea of plexiglass helmets.

  Word of their marriage had spread. Those friends of Jack who were secretly preparing to find and dispose of his dead body gazed in shock to see him alive and well. The animosity against Saira appeared to immediately lift, perhaps through surprise or an instinctive recognition that she was no longer carried the stigma of death.

  They passed untroubled to her father’s house. Aamer was working outside on the round axis of the donkey-cycle. The distant hubbub, followed by shouting and then the trail of children running excitedly down the street, alerted him to the homecoming of the extraordinary newly-weds. Khalid’s furrowed brow unfolded in amazement as he saw the couple enter his doorway. He embraced both tearfully. There would be a feast, he declared. No expense would be spared.

  Jack allowed these things to be done. He was weak, almost faint, ever since the morning sun woke them several hours ago in the half-finished hulk of the office. He and Saira had descended their platform to the empty building yard below. There was no sign of Zarius. After several minutes of calling and searching behind the stacks of girders, they decided to leave before the worksite opened for the day.

  Shyly, awkwardly they walked down the boulevard. Daylight gave meaning to the lifeless landscape, the trees, water and even the skeleton buildings seemed to glow with a new, vibrant energy. His dream had left him light-headed. He wanted to tell her everything about his dream, but she stopped him. “I don’t need to know,” she said flatly. “But I believe that you what you did was very brave and I owe you a debt.”

  Too tired to be hurt by her short response, he wondered again where his friend Zarius had gone. Had something happened? Why had he abandoned Jack at moment he was most vulnerable?

  Back in the house, Jack continued to dwell on this, as Khalid prepared for the promised celebration. Different people entered the house that day to pay their respects. Khalid and his family were outcasts no more; this much was obvious even to Jack, untrained in the etiquette of life in Sanaam. The success of Saira’s marriage, the continued survival of her husband, appeared to satisfy the superstitious neighbours. As the day grew longer, Jack found himself facing more and more questions – women visitors asked where he had come from and his family history, old men wanted to know about his schooling. Saira too faced questions – prying but not rude. Jack feared his new wife, bitter with years of being shunned, would lash out in anger against those who had rejected her. Instead she was the perfect hostess, skilfully answering probing questions and parrying those too personal, always saying the right thing, before moving to offer another visitor more tea.

  Shortly after sunfall, more men arrived, some of the faces recognisable from the cricket field. The foundations next to the honeycomb building, the pit where he was to be buried under tonnes of concrete, had been filled in that very day. They were glad that there was no need to dispose of him in that way. Food came as a welcome break for the exhausted groom. Dozens of guests had filled the former lobby. Hundreds more filled the streets outside. Khalid had somehow managed to procure enough food to more than satisfy everyone. Empty barrels had been cleaned out and were being used to cook vegetables and rice. Bread and even some meat were also passed around the crowd. As they ate, a group of men produced their instruments – drums, elongated guitars, and the reedy desert pipes Jack had seen played in the market. The music was mournful and slow. One man in the centre of the group began to sing. Asif, who had not left Jack’s side, explained it was about a love that the singer had been forced to leave but would eventually rejoin.

  Everyone was happy he was still alive apart – it seemed - from Saira. With the crowd’s attention distracted by the singer, Jack was eventually able to draw his new wife aside.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to win her reluctant gaze, “We’re both safe and it looks like everyone’s talking to you now.”

  “These people are imbeciles,” she hissed. “They had no decency to show me yesterday, but they change their opinions like the desert wind.”

  “They’re superstitious and afraid and maybe with good reason. We don’t know what’s happened. How can anyone else understand it?”

  “This is the wedding I wanted with my first husband Farrell. I know that I am somehow in your debt, but I can’t help wishing that it was you who had died first and Farrell was here now.” She stared at the fire, at the musicians, and the crowd, her father laughing heartily at the centre. “I know that’s ungrateful and wrong but I can’t help what I feel.”

  Jack thought this was understandable. He tried to think of something to say, something that would put her at ease.

  “Saira… What do you want to do about us being married? I mean, I was wondering if you wanted to… see how things worked out.”

  “A marriage of convenience was what you said. Don’t get any ideas that we are actually husband and wife. Do you think I would have agreed to marry you if I hadn’t thought you could lift this curse?”

  She lowered her voice and suddenly she reached out and gently reached out, to touch his dark hair.

  “Do you really want to be married, Jack? Weren’t you too only doing this because your friend had told you to? How can you suggest love, when you barely know me?”

  She turned and walked through the crowd to sit beside her father, embracing him warmly.

  Jack knew it was time for him to leave. His purpose, if indeed he ever had one, was fulfilled. He now faced a long journey to find Strang. For ill, for good, the old man was the one being hunted and chased. He was the one who took an interest in his life, who had, it seemed, fathered him.

  Just as this thought settled in his mind, he noticed the rotund figure standing at the fringes of the wedding crowd.

  But up close, Zarius appeared quite different from his usual self. His arms hung wearily and the smooth, bulging cheeks were sallow and grey, while his bright eyes dulled and ringed with dark lines. But he managed to raise a weak smile as he saw Jack.

  “Well done, my young friend. You have been very successful.”

  Jack wanted to ask him where he had been but first asked: “What happened? Where have you been?”

  “I will tell you, my boy,” the musical voice was barely a whisper. “But first you must tell me everything.”

  Briefly, he described what had happened the night before, of his dream, the swimming pool, how he had bested the man in the mirror and woken up alive and well that very morning.

  Zarius was silent for a long time, finally saying: “My dear friend, I had feared that this ordeal was going to be much for you. At the final hour, I cursed myself for placing you in danger. But I was wrong, you are no boy and you were strong where clever and wise men have withered.”

  “Where have you been? I want an answer.”

  “I promise to tell you everything - you have shown yourself worthy of my fullest confidence - but not tonight. I just ask for one day of rest then I shall speak more openly than I have done before. We must take our leave this morning and it is probably best not to disturb our hosts.

  “But what about Saira and Khalid –”

  “Leave a letter by all means. But we have put them in enough danger. We must leave quickly and cleanly. Enjoy this night, enjoy your friends, but make your preparations. We will depart before the sun rises.”

  Jack did as he was told and, after a few hours of restless sleep, was sitting as the edge of the bed unsure to explain his departure. Finally he settled on a simple message: he was sorry and they should pretend the marriage never took place and forget about him.

  Zarius’s doughy features had been wiped clean of the strain the night before. But Jack noticed there was something different; he moved and spo
ke with intent, far from his normal, bumbling manner.

  Stepping carefully over the many prone revellers sleeping in the hallway, the companions made their way to the atrium and slowly opened the door.

  Saira stood waiting, a bulging rucksack resting by her feet.

  “What do you think you’re doing!?” Jack hissed.

  “I should ask you that.”

  Apart from her well-worn satchel, Saira was almost indistinguishable from the smartly-dressed women who lived in Media in gown, smart jacket and boots. Turning her head, she spoke not to the companion. “He is my husband and I owe him a debt. You say he has lost his father. I will help but after I have done my duty our bond will be –” she snatched a handful of sand, letting it slip through her fingers.

  Jack tried to protest but Zarius simply bowed his head with a flourish, in acquiescence to a better.

  “My lady, we are at your disposal.”