In Other Rooms, Other Wonders by Daniyal Mueenuddin

Author:Daniyal Mueenuddin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Hewer Text UK Ltd http://www.hewertext.com, Short Stories, Fiction
ISBN: 9780393337204
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

That afternoon when Husna entered his room, summoned from the annex, K. K. felt abashed. Irresistibly drawn to the one subject that he wished to avoid, he said, ‘It’s wonderful to see Sarwat. I hope you and she will get to know each other.’ He had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and now he rolled over, tucked himself under the sheet, and put a black mask over his eyes, to screen out the light.

Snarling, her face contorted, Husna exploded. ‘She’s mean and rude. She treated me like dirt. Why don’t you get her to come live in the annex and play cards with you and make your tea?’

‘I can’t have you speak like this,’ said K. K., removing the mask, his face drawn and imposing. ‘You’re upsetting me.’ He spoke in a measured voice. ‘You’ve upset me.’

‘I’m leaving this house,’ she said, standing up on the bed, looking down at him. ‘I gave you everything I had, but you give me nothing in return. I have feelings too, I’m human. She made me feel like dirt, and you didn’t say anything to stop her.’ She began to cry hysterically, and when he sat up and tried to touch her leg she shrieked and stepped back. ‘Even the servants here treat me as if I’m nothing. When I ask for things they tell me that they don’t have time. I have to crawl even in front of them. Yesterday Hassan swore at me.’

‘I’ll speak with him,’ said K. K. ‘Now stop. You know the doctor’s orders. Do you want me to have another heart attack?’

She saw that she dare push him no further, and so gradually became quiet. Lying down on the bed, she wouldn’t get under the covers.

When K. K. woke Husna said, ‘Talk to Hassan now. I won’t stand the servants’ treatment of me anymore.’ Knowing she couldn’t yet win the larger battle, against Sarwat, she wanted at least to consolidate her smaller gains. She insisted that K. K. speak to Hassan in front of her, though he would have preferred not to humiliate the old servant.

The grizzled cook stood with his shoes off, having left them at the door, and with his lambskin hat clutched in his hand. He looked down at the floor, at his splayed bare feet planted on the polished rosewood parquet. Rafik waited by the door.

‘Bibi says that yesterday you swore at her.’

Husna had been waiting for some concrete provocation and had pounced when Hassan, in his habitual foul temper, called her a bitch under his breath.

‘Yes sir,’ said the old cook. ‘I mean no sir.’

‘Well, Hassan, did you or didn’t you?’

‘No sir.’

Husna became shrill. ‘I asked him not to put chilies in the omelet, and he swore at me. Ask the sweepress, she heard.’

Hassan looked at her squarely. ‘You and the sweepress.’

‘You can go,’ said Harouni, not raising his voice.

When Hassan had left, Harouni said to Rafik, who had been impassively watching this performance, ‘See that this doesn’t happen anymore.’

While

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