‘We will search for him after school.’
‘Are you still angry?’
‘No.’
‘I know you are.’
‘I’m sorry for what I said about your mother,’ I said.
After school we spent two hours scouring every lane and road near Brahmi’s home, screaming his name till we lost our voices and didn’t find Adolf. She thought he would come running to us. I knew we would find his bloodied body at the side of the road. I wondered if his end was painless. I was even jealous that he got out of suffering so early in his life and I am still here, living one day after another.
Adolf was gone.
‘I should go back home,’ I said.
‘We will look for him tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Sure.’
I boarded the bus. She waved me goodbye. As the bus rolled out of the bus stop, I heard Brahmi scream out Adolf’s name again. I ran to the back of the bus and peered out from the window. Brahmi was still looking for Adolf. Soon her shouts were reduced to a whisper and the bus turned at the corner.
It’s all her fault. If we hadn’t saved the pregnant Shahrazad that day nothing would have happened. At least we wouldn’t have been in the middle of this. Two of the three lives we supposedly saved are now lost. What was the point of it all?
If our friendship was a living, breathing organism, it was born the day the bitch gave birth to Adolf and Mina, and she let it die. But unlike Dada she was at least repentant. She apologized every twenty minutes, if that’s any consolation.
I couldn’t share what happened with Maa–Baba, or Arundhati—they would think less of Brahmi if they knew, and I wasn’t ready for it. I whispered in little Mina’s ears the news of her brother’s death but she was more interested in chewing my little finger. I waited for Dada to come home which was not until 3 in the morning.
‘Where were you, Dada? Don’t tell me you were at the office like you told Maa. I called and they said you had left at 9. So where were you?’ I asked.
‘Why are you still up?’
‘Where had you gone, Dada?’
‘God, what’s with you? You’re worse than Maa. I was with Zubeida. Happy?’
‘Zubeida? Where? How? Till 3?’
‘I was in her hotel,’ he said.
‘Like in the lobby of the hotel?’
‘In her room,’ said Dada.
‘In her room? Just the two of you?’
‘Yes? Why?’ he asked. ‘Why do you look like you’re going to faint?’
Fighting tears, fingers clenching-unclenching, I told Dada I needed to meet Zubeida.
‘Why?’ Dada asked.
‘You spend the night at a girl’s hotel room and you don’t think I should meet her?’
‘No, of course you should meet her. I am just asking because the last time I had asked you to meet her you had flipped—’
‘BUT THIS time you were in her room, Dada! It’s different,’ I added with emphasis in my voice.
‘How the hell is it different?’ he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.
