Dahling If You Luv Me Would You Please Please Smile. Rukhsana Khan

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      I turn to her. “Verily, I but wish to share a prayer of peace and prosperity with the rest of my family.”

      My father watches me, his bearded chin cupped in the palm of his bony hand, his black eyes twinkling. “Go ahead.”

      The twins, little Waleed and Seema, nibble at their chapattis. I frown at them, but forgive them, they’re only five years old. I begin, ‘O gracious Lord of the Worlds. Grant us, thy servants, of Thy infinite bounty and wisdom in all our endeavors . . .” I go on for a while, ignoring my father’s rumbling stomach. Layla’s foot taps a beat on the floor. I would give her a dirty look, but I can’t catch her eye.

      We’re having stewed chicken for supper. It swims in a hearty sauce of coriander and turmeric. The aroma of the fresh coriander leaves drifts up, enveloping us, tantalizing our nostrils, making even my mouth water. I try to focus on the words I’m saying, liking the way the language rolls off my tongue. I feel like the narrator in the movie The Ten Commandments.

      Layla nudges me in the ribs after a while. I ignore her. Then she kicks me in the shin. I yelp an end to the prayer. Immediately, everyone attacks their food. I break my chapatti with dignity and dip it slowly into the curried dish in front of me. This was how Joseph would have eaten. And though I live several millennia after him, the food I eat is also similar to his.

      After supper, while she washes the dishes and I rinse, Layla gives me a curious look. “What’s with you tonight? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Did something happen at school?”

      I feel like I’m going to burst. I have to tell someone so I tell her about the play.

      She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “He asked you to produce a play?”

      “Yeah.”

      “He must have been desperate.”

      I don’t say anything, but she reads my expression and says, “I’m only joking! Can’t you take a joke? Sheesh!” She scrapes some bones into the garbage can and soaps the dish. “What play are you thinking of doing?”

      I take the dish she hands me, muttering, “Never mind.”

      She stops scrubbing and looks at me. “You can tell me.”

      “You’ll just laugh.”

      “I’ll try not to.”

      “You always laugh.”

      She shrugs and continues scrubbing. “Suit yourself.”

      We work in a heavy silence for a while. I keep glancing at her for signs of impatience. There are none. Calmly, she continues washing the dishes, scraping with her nail at a bit of crusted food, not caring in the least whether I tell her or not.

      “Okay,” I say, “I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to tell anyone else. I want it to be a surprise for Ami and Abi.”

      “Sure.”

      “We’re going to do the story of Joseph.”

      She stops washing, her hands submerged in the soapy water, and stares at me. “You mean the story of the prophet Joseph, peace be upon him?”

      I nod.

      “You can’t do a prophet’s story as a play. You can’t portray a prophet.”

      “Why not?”

      “It just isn’t done.”

      “Why not?”

      “Don’t be so stupid. That’s as bad as Charlton Heston playing Moses, peace be upon him, in The Ten Commandments. In one movie he’s Moses, peace be upon him, and in the next he’s a bank robber with a love scene. It’s disrespectful to Moses, peace be upon him. How can anyone pretend to be a prophet? They were special. Examples for us to follow. Ask Abi if you don’t believe me. He’ll tell you.”

      “Fine, I will.” I shut off the tap right there and then and go into the living room to ask my father. He says Layla is right.

      When I come back into the kitchen, Layla grins. “I told you so.”

      I feel like throwing the dish towel at her. Instead I return to the sink and finish rinsing the dishes.

      After a while Layla says, “You could do a play about a hadith if you wanted. You know, a saying of the Prophet, peace be upon him.”

      Through clenched jaws I say, “I know what a hadith is.”

      She tosses her head. The tip of her long black ponytail flicks me in the face, but she doesn’t notice. “There’s lots of good stories in there. And as long as you don’t portray the Prophet, peace be upon him, or one of his companions, you should be fine.”

      I don’t feel like doing the play at all anymore.

      Chapter 4

      Halfway to school the next day, I hear someone call me. I turn to see Jenny running to catch up. She really shouldn’t run. She clutches her binder tight, but even under the jacket, her chest is bouncing as if jogging with a life of its own. She arrives breathless.

      “I’m so glad I caught you. I hate walking to school alone.”

      I walk a little slower so she has a chance to catch her breath. It’s very windy. My hair whips my face. I keep having to push it behind my ears. I say, “I didn’t know you lived around here. Which is your house?”

      “It’s back there. It really isn’t anything special.”

      She waves in the direction of a shabby old street, a dead end, with a railway line running behind the houses. The dandelions on the overgrown lawns are grey-haired and balding. The wind makes them nod, scattering their seeds in all directions.

      For several blocks we walk without talking. Leaves and crumpled bits of paper blow past us. I don’t step on any cracks in the sidewalk. It’s a stupid little game I play. Jenny steps on ten.

      She breaks the silence. “I guess you must have seen what happened in the classroom yesterday. You know, I mean, between Kevin and me.”

      I nod without looking at her. From the corner of my eye I can see that her face is a deep red.

      “Um. I’d really appreciate it, I mean, I’d really like it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone. I mean, that you saw us together. You know, Cheryl might get mad.”

      I stare at her then. I’d been so embarrassed about being caught with the tag I’d almost forgotten about her and Kevin.

      Her hair, wispy and light, blows in her face and hides her eyes. “You see, Kevin doesn’t want anyone to know. About us, I mean. Not yet. Not till he dumps Cheryl.”

      “Don’t worry, Jenny. Besides, who’d I tell?”

      “I’m so glad, Zainab. I’d just die if it were all over the school. I just couldn’t stand it.”

      “Don’t СКАЧАТЬ