Finches by A. M. Muffaz

Author:A. M. Muffaz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vernacular Books
Published: 2021-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Hi, Mum. How are things?”

The weekly call was an arrangement they had. It prevented her mother from calling whenever she pleased. As it was, Khatijah already found this a chore, but dealing with a voice on whom she could hang up was easier than dealing with a face.

Her mother’s chair squeaked as she leaned back. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Khatijah added quickly. “Grandmother’s okay.”

“That’s good to know.”

She heard the whirr of an air conditioner in the background, followed by the clacking of keys. There was the rasp of static over the line, as though her mother was speaking to her with the mouthpiece too far away from her lips.

When her mother paused, she could almost hear her think. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

Khatijah slipped her fingers around the telephone cord and began winding it around her hand. She waited for her mother to continue, as she often did.

“My boss asked me to look after the Kajang project last week. This week there were problems in Melaka, so I had to drive there. In two months, they’ll begin work in Subang—”

“That sounds busy—”

“I’m tired, Kat.”

Khatijah murmured in sympathy, tilting her head back to look at the rafters. She stared at the dark crevices between the wooden beams until the dust motes there appeared to quiver, listening to her mother breathe. “I’m sure you must be,” she finally replied.

“I don’t get home until late in the night. Even your father says I’ve lost weight.” On cue, her mother began to sound even more ragged, as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “I think I’ve gotten paler.”

Khatijah leaned against the wall next to the phone, which seemed grey only because the alcove she sat in was dark. In a different light, it would be white, with tiny bubbles to pockmark its surface. “You’ve always wanted to be fairer,” she said, the only thing that came to mind.

“If I stand next to your father, even he might look darker than me.”

“He might,” Khatijah replied. The women of their family took after Grandmother Jah, both her mother and herself. They had the skin Malays called, ‘sweet and black’, like the coffee Grandmother Jah had with her toast every morning. Her father was pale, the parchment yellow that passed for fair along the Equator, but her grandmother’s genes proved dominant.

Her mother fidgeted in her seat again, making the PVC beneath her creak. “Is everything really okay there?”

“We’re fine. Grandmother’s always tired, but I’m trying to stop her from doing the housework.”

“That’s good. Your grandmother’s old. She shouldn’t strain herself.”

Khatijah smiled. “How’s Dad?”

“Your father is getting fatter. He blames it on me, like I’ve infected him with it. He’s the one who’s eating too much.”

“Dad deserves to enjoy himself.”

“Maybe.” Her mother laughed. “Your father has worked hard all his life. When I see him happy, I’m happy too.” She drew another breath, which made the static on the line continue to wheeze.

Khatijah exhaled, deliberately making it sound like a sigh.

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