Allure of Deceit (16 page)

He wanted to take off into the night, but that would be selfish. Instead, he finished his tea and listened to Mohan's nostalgic musings. The gruff old man had no visitors and looked forward to long conversations with Parsaa about farming, village arguments, provincial politics, markets, and security. Mohan rarely asked about Parsaa's family. At first that bothered Parsaa, but he had since become grateful.

Mohan noticed that Parsaa was quiet. The conversation turned back to Najwa. “If I had my way, I would send her back with you,” Mohan admitted. “Zahira won't admit it, but she wants the extra help.”

The comment caught Parsaa by surprise, and Mohan continued. “She does not want to show weakness in front of you. She always wanted to keep up with you and the other boys. But I worry about her. Arhaan is taunting her. She is afraid and keeps too many secrets even from me.”

Parsaa shared the man's misgivings. He had never understood Zahira's choices—agreeing to marry Arhaan, staying at the lonely compound, not having children. She had traveled far for an education that went unfinished and had been torn between two worlds since.

He hoped the couple was getting along, but the opposite could be true. It didn't matter what Parsaa thought. He could not fix Zahira's problems.

So much of the dark compound had not changed in years, and Parsaa wondered if Blacker still watched.

“We cannot control her,” Parsaa said, lightly. “You cannot help unless she asks, and too much time has passed.”

“She is older and more stubborn,” Mohan said. “She must worry about what will happen to this place when we are gone.”

“Laashekoh is nearby.” Parsaa was firm.

The old man was cagey. “Your commitment could last longer than you planned.”

“As long as Zahira lives.” Parsaa responded automatically.

The old man smiled and poured more chai that Parsaa no longer wanted. “Do you think you are as observant as you were a few years ago?” Mohan queried.

It was the kind of question that Blacker once asked. “What have I missed?” Parsaa countered.

Mohan chuckled. “That is for you to find out.”

“I observe you need more help.” Parsaa kept his voice gentle. “It's one reason I brought the girl here. My sons are too young, but we could hire another couple. Good people would be grateful for this work . . .”

“They were not trained by Blacker,” Mohan chided. “He chose you for a reason.”

“Something could happen to me—any of us—any time.” He looked away from the lantern into the dark shadows of the room. “It is hard to explain to others what this place was once like.”

Mohan stressed how it was Parsaa's duty to make his sons understand. Parsaa did not argue, and the two men sat quietly, thinking of another day when the compound was alive with activity, young voices, and one commanding voice that had inspired immediate obedience and loyalty.

“There are secrets here you don't know.”

“Zahira and her husband are not getting along?” Parsaa shrugged, pretending not to care. “That is not new.”

“There are complications. A servant girl adds more.”

The old man tended to exaggerate the compound's difficulties, and Parsaa refused to plead for details. “The girl may only be temporary. I'll return in two weeks.”

“Zahira's request?” Mohan guessed.

Parsaa nodded.

“This is not a good time for us to trust a stranger,” the old man fretted. “I must start training one of your sons soon. Better to start young.”

“Not yet.” Parsaa was firm and drained the warm tea quickly, grateful for the last sip. “They have not learned to protect Laashekoh.”

Mohan asked about others. “Is there no gratitude for what Blacker did for the village?”

“They would be grateful if they knew.” Parsaa was stern. “But we kept the arrangement a secret, as requested by Blacker.”

“And there is safety in that secret,” Mohan admitted. “How Blacker and Zahira enjoyed their secrets.”

“Secrets turn into lies,” Parsaa stood. “As long as Zahira does not keep secrets from you or Aza.”

Mohan did not respond, and Parsaa readied to leave. The old man was stiff, and there was an air of sadness. Too much talk about age and a need to choose their replacements.

Parsaa warned, “Keep a close eye on the orphan—and bring her back to Laashekoh if she is any trouble at all.”

Parsaa set off in the darkness along the compound's old, familiar paths. Relief mixed with guilt over leaving so much work for the old lieutenant still loyal to Zahira and the memory of her father.

Before long, Parsaa heard a rustling noise and soft tapping against the dirt. Parsaa took a few steps away from the path and waited. The man following paused, cocking his head as if puzzled over how the quarry had vanished. One only had to freeze in place to elude a blind man.

“Salaam,” Parsaa spoke softly so as not to alarm Zahira's husband or the myna clinging to his shoulder.

“Sal-aaam.” The bird's tone was like a shrill order. “Sal-aaam.”

“Ah, so it is you.” Zahira's husband was pleased with himself, and then the odd smile vanished. “Why not stop by my workshop?”

“It's late.” Parsaa kept his voice flat, prepared for a difficult exchange. Arhaan took pride in his keen hearing. He was sensitive to tone and rhythm and regarded any shift as evidence of deceit. Zahira snapped at him in a monotone. Mohan and Aza spoke with him as little as possible. Parsaa had little sympathy for the man.

“This is a lonely place. Like my wife, I welcome company any time of night.”

“A quick errand—an orphan needs a place to stay for a short while and can help Aza and Mohan.”

The man stepped closer. Blank eyes aimed at Parsaa's neck. “I assume you saw my wife.”

“Briefly.” Parsaa did not want to talk about Zahira.

“Yes, she has time for all but her husband.” The bitter man's head bobbed with every sarcastic word. He resented his wife's control over the compound. Arhaan had supplies for his birds, books, computers, his own workshop—but Zahira handled the funds that ran the place. The compound could never truly belong to Arhaan. His wife and the servants kept too many secrets.

Closing his eyes, Parsaa tried to think of something to say, anything, to move the conversation away from another man's wife—but the mind was tricky that way. In trying to avoid the one topic, all he could do was think about Zahira. Men should not talk loosely about their wives around other men. Arhaan's distrust was constant, a character flaw that invited others to keep secrets.

Encounters with Arhaan added to Parsaa's determination to prohibit his sons from living at the compound. Arhaan regarded Mohan and Parsaa as servants, replaceable, and he would be just as haughty with the next set. Arhaan assumed that he owned great tracts of land, and Blacker had urged allowing that misunderstanding to continue as long as possible. Such secrets protected Zahira, but not Parsaa or his sons.

Parsaa thought about telling the man that it wasn't safe to wander about at night, even at the compound, but he stopped himself. Arhaan regarded advice as threats or insults. Every topic was off-limits with the man.

At last Arhaan broke the silence. “Is the orphan a girl or a boy?” Arhaan queried.

“A girl,” Parsaa replied.

“
Dokh-tar
,
dokh-tar
,” the bird screamed, lifting its wings.

Arhaan chuckled as he gently stroked the myna's head. “So Zahira asked for help?”

“The possibility was raised, and she agreed.” He once knew more about Zahira's life than Arhaan did, but that was no longer the case.

“Zahira will tire of her before long.” Arhaan leaned too close toward Parsaa. “No one can measure up to her standards. You know it. Perhaps I'll find use for the girl with the birds.”

The myna lifted its head, letting loose with a string of unintelligible phrases.

“And Parsaa, the next time you visit, be sure to see me first.” The tone was imperious, dismissive. “I do not want another man sneaking about my home.”

Tapping his cane, the blind man hobbled away. Parsaa was weary and not for the first time worried about Zahira. The match approved by Blacker had not led to love or acceptance, and Parsaa could not protect a woman from a husband. He glanced back toward the compound where one lonely light glowed from Zahira's bedroom. The other buildings and canyon walls were cloaked in darkness. Parsaa could not detect the outlines and felt almost as blind as Arhaan.

Parsaa headed for the narrow trail. So many times he had raced down the hillside, eager to reach the compound, but now he only looked forward to the steep climb and journey home. He had so many jumbled memories of a bustling place, huge meals and games among loyal friends, the hearty bursts of laughter. Zahira never talked about the boisterous gatherings and her father's many friends. She rarely talked about her father at all.

The attention from Blacker once made Parsaa feel superior, a feeling that had vanished long ago, replaced by regret for not spending more hours with his parents and brother. Parsaa wondered if too many secrets were attached to the place, if the secrets really protected the compound.

Moving with care, he stepped carefully along the narrow ledge etched into the canyon wall, and as he walked, he could still remember his shock at hearing that Zahira and Arhaan would become man and wife.

Blacker made the announcement after Parsaa had returned home from a school break to a cold and empty home, shortly after the death of his parents. His father had been the victim of a shooting accident—a young hunter chasing down a duck for his family's dinner—and his mother had died from grief soon afterward. Fortunately, his sisters, all older, had already left for marriages. With his parents dead, Parsaa's younger brother had decided he didn't need school. Long envious of his older brother's ties with Blacker, the brother traveled to join a distant militia and never returned to claim his share of his father's property.

His parents had already been buried, and Blacker took care of punishing the hunter. As with all his breaks from school, Parsaa immediately rushed for the compound to thank his benefactor and tussle with old friends.

His life changed that day. Zahira rushed to greet him, but Aza scolded. “He is a man now, and you are a woman.”

Normally, Zahira would have ignored Aza. This time, she walked away.

Blacker was impatient that day, his greeting truncated. He directed Parsaa to enter a match with other young men who had been practicing daily. After a few rounds, Blacker embraced Parsaa, announcing that school had not diminished the young man's skills, and Parsaa remembered the hard punch of pride coming from inside.

Then Blacker had moved on to introduce a young man waiting at the edge of the field. The man was detached, in fine clothes that made his nervous ways more pronounced. He gripped a thin walking stick and listened intently to avoid the rowdiness. Blacker explained the newcomer was well educated, with an advanced degree in ornithology, and from that day onward, he would make his home at the compound.

“Arhaan is one of us,” Blacker pronounced. “And he will marry my only daughter before the year is through!”

The crowd went silent, as if in a stupor, before a few older men realized that Blacker was serious and let loose with a belated cheer. Blacker and Zahira were such vibrant personalities, too extraordinary for conventional marriage. So attentive to her father, Zahira had gradually taken on duties as mistress of the compound. At times, the man and daughter often seemed more like husband and young wife, though no one dared suggest as much.

Parsaa had the good sense to hide his resentment and raise a fist in the air in support. Amid the cheering, jealousy coursed like hot blood through every part of his body. He could not be certain whether he was more upset about Blacker bringing another man into the family or Zahira taking a husband. He stared at the newcomer and only then realized that the man was blind. Then Parsaa glanced at Zahira, who returned a cool stare that suggested she knew exactly how he felt.