rattled. But they soon got used to the unsteadiness of their existence.
Returning to solid earth after working twenty hours a day for three days, they found the absence of vibrations quite strange. They thanked Jeevan, helped him dismantle the loft, and returned exhausted to their awning.
“Now for some rest,” said Omprakash. “I want to sleep the whole day.”
Nawaz came repeatedly to register his disapproval while they lay recovering. He posed in the back door, looking disgusted, or muttering to Miriam about useless, lazy people. “The thing is, work only comes to those who genuinely want it,” he preached. “These two are wasters.”
Ishvar and Omprakash were too tired to feel indignation, let alone anything stronger. After their day of recuperation, it was back to the routine: asking for directions in the morning and searching for work until evening.
“God knows how much longer we have to suffer those two,” the complaint emerged through the kitchen window. Nawaz did not trouble to lower his voice. “I told you to refuse Ashraf. But did you listen?”
“They do not bother us,” she whispered. “They only — ”
“Careful, that one hurts, you’ll cut my toe!”
Ishvar and Omprakash exchanged questioning looks while Nawaz continued his harangue. “The thing is, if I wanted people living under my back awning, I would rent it for good money. You know how dangerous it is, keeping them for so long? All they have to do is file a claim for the space, and we’d be stuck in court for — aah! Haramzadi, I said be careful! You’ll make a cripple out of me, slashing away with your blade!”
The tailors sat up, startled. “I have to see what’s going on,” whispered Omprakash.
He stretched up on tiptoe and peered through the kitchen window. Nawaz was seated on a chair, his foot upon a low stool. Miriam knelt before it with a safety razor blade, slicing away slivers of tough skin from his corns and calluses.
Omprakash lowered himself from the window and described the sight for his uncle. They chuckled a long time about it. “What I am wondering is, how that chootia gets corns if he sits at his sewing-machine all day,” said Omprakash.
“Maybe he walks a lot in his dreams,” said Ishvar.
Roughly four months after the tailors’ arrival, Nawaz began scolding them one morning when they asked him for advice. “Every day you pester me while I am working. This is a very big city. You think I know the names of all the tailors in it? Go search for yourself. And if you cannot find tailoring, try other things. Be a coolie at the railway station. Use your heads, carry wheat and rice for ration-shop customers. Do something, anything.”
Omprakash could see his uncle discomposed by the outburst, so he was quick to retort. “We wouldn’t mind that at all. But it would be an insult to Ashraf Chacha who trained us for so many years and gave us his skills.”
Nawaz was embarrassed by the reminder of that name. “The thing is, I am very busy right now,” he mumbled. “Please go.”
In the street, Ishvar patted his nephew’s back. “Sabaash, Om. That was a first-class reply you gave him.”
“The thing is,” mimicked Omprakash, “the thing is, I am such a first-class fellow.” They laughed and toasted their tiny victory with half-glasses of tea at the street corner. The celebration was short-lived, however, extinguished by the reality of their dwindling savings. Out of desperation Ishvar took up work for a fortnight in a cobbler’s shop that specialized in custom-made shoes and sandals. His job was to prepare the leather for soles and heels. To induce the hardness required in this type of leather, the shop used vegetable tanning. He was familiar with the process from his village days.
They kept the job a secret, for Ishvar was much ashamed of it. The reek from his hands was strong, and he preserved his distance from Nawaz.
Another month passed, their sixth in the city, with their prospects bleak as ever, when Nawaz opened the back door one evening and said, “Come in, come in. Have some tea with me. Miriam! Three teas!”
They approached and put their heads around the doorway. Had they heard him correctly, they wondered?
“Don’t stand there — come, sit,” he said cheerfully. “There is good news. The thing is, I have work for you.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Ishvar, instantly bursting with gratitude. “That’s the best news! You won’t be sorry, we will sew beautifully for your customers — ”
“Not in my shop,” Nawaz rudely snuffed out the exuberance. “It’s somewhere else.” He tried to be pleasant again, smiling and continuing. “You will enjoy this job, believe me. Let me tell you more about it. Miriam! Three teas, I said! Where are you?”
She entered with three glasses. Ishvar and Omprakash stood up, joining their palms: “Salaam, bibi.” They had heard her gentle silvery voice often, but it was the first time they found themselves face to face with her. In a manner of speaking, that is, for a black burkha hid her countenance. Her eyes, caged behind the two lace-covered openings, were sparkling.
“Ah, good, tea is ready at last,” said Nawaz. He pointed out the spot where he wanted the glasses set down, then waved his hand at her in a curt dismissal.
After a few sips he got back to business. “A rich Parsi lady came here this afternoon while you were out. Her shoe fell in the gutter.” He snickered. “The thing is, she has a very big export company, and is looking for two good tailors. Her name is Dina Dalai and she left her address for you.” He drew it out of his shirt pocket.
“Did she say what kind of sewing?”
“Top quality, latest fashions. But easy to do — she said paper patterns will be provided.” He watched them anxiously. “You will go, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” said Ishvar.
“Good, good. The thing is, she said she was handing out these slips at many shops. So lots of tailors will be applying.” On the back of the paper he wrote down directions and the train station where they should get off. “Now don’t get lost on your way there. Go to sleep early tonight, wake up early in the morning. Nice and fresh, clear- headed, so you can win the job from the lady.”
Like a mother bustling her charges on the first day of school, Nawaz opened the back door at dawn and roused them by shaking their shoulders, presenting a big smile to their reluctant eyelids. “You don’t want to be late. Please come in for tea after washing and gargling. Miriam! Two teas for my friends!”
He murmured encouragement, advice, caution while they drank. “The thing is, you have to impress the lady. But it must not sound like big talk. Answer all her questions politely, and never interrupt her. Don’t scratch your head or any other part — fine women like her hate that habit. Speak with confidence, in a medium voice. And take a comb with you, make sure you look neat and tidy before you ring her doorbell. Bad hair makes a very bad impression.”
They listened eagerly, Omprakash making a mental note to buy a new pocket-comb; he had broken his, last week. When the tea was drunk Nawaz sped them on their way. “Khuda hafiz, and come back soon. Come back successful.”
They returned after three o’clock, explaining sheepishly to an anxious Nawaz that though they had got there on time, finding the train station for the return journey had been difficult.
“But that would be the same station you got off at in the morning.”
“I know,” Ishvar smiled embarrassedly. “I just cannot tell what happened. The place was so far, we had never been there before, and we-”
“Never mind,” said Nawaz, magnanimous. “A new destination always seems further away than it really is.”
“Every street looks the same. Even when you ask people, the directions are confusing. Even that nice college boy we met on the train had the same problem.”
“You be careful who you talk to. This is not your village. Nice boy could steal your money, cut your throat and throw you in the gutter.”
“Yes, but he was very kind, he even shared his watermelon sherbet with us and — ”
“The thing is, did you get the work?”