his head, not even a full nod, but an acknowledgement nonetheless.
“Do you know then, each of you, what the other is thinking?” asked Miriam, conscious suddenly of the manicured hand on hers. Farah snorted at this comment, and Rehmat shot her a look.
“Unfortunately, no. We’re not that close - for twins, I mean. My brother was always too quiet for me to read his thoughts. You probably know him a thousand times better than I.”
Farah snorted again, and something in the sound made everyone stop and look. Omar stared at Farah angrily, and Miriam felt suddenly sick, as though she had been hit in the stomach. She glanced at Rehmat, as though the sight of her might somehow lift the feeling, but it only intensified it, because Rehmat’s eyes were moving wordlessly from Omar to Farah, as though she were trying to gauge something between them. Something between them, Miriam thought again to herself. Only Sadru seemed oblivious to any change. James cleared his throat:
“Well, it’s good to be back. And here with my wife’s family.”
“We were sorry to hear of your father’s illness,” Miriam said.
“Thank you. Rehmat finally met him, and he finally gave us his blessing. Seven years after disowning me. I imagine death gives you a different perspective on what’s important.” He smiled at Miriam and took a drink from his glass of juice. “And now we’re here, eating with all of you. There was a time when that seemed impossible.”
“It was impossible,” commented Rehmat. Omar shifted in his chair, and looked at no one.
“It’s funny,” James continued. “I always told Rehmat that in the end my colour and hers just wouldn’t matter.”
“It matters now more than ever,” Omar said tersely. “My father may be dead, but the South African government is much worse.”
“What would happen if you got caught?” Miriam asked.
“People like that don’t win, Miriam.” James met her enquiring look with a clear gaze. Before Omar could formulate a retort, Rehmat turned to Miriam and asked that she tell her about her life at Delhof and the shop. Was it very quiet and lonely, or did she like it? Miriam spoke a little, reddening under the weight of Rehmat’s kind glance, and then she fell silent, waiting for a moment when she might ask her new sister-in-law about life in Paris.
“You must come and visit us there,” Rehmat told her. “It is so beautiful – the streets are all cobblestoned, and the buildings…they are like nothing I had ever seen before.”
“I would love to see it,” Miriam replied.
With an abrupt scrape of his chair, Omar stood up from the table and paced about, his lips pursed together, followed by Sadru, who appeared relieved to be able to sink back into his armchair. Miriam continued to talk with Rehmat, her shyness slowly lifting, while Farah met her glamorous sister-in-law’s attempts at conversation with an undertone of sarcasm. Sadru alone seemed to be enjoying himself, explaining all the details of his fruit and vegetable business to James, who listened with great politeness, his head leaning towards Sadru, while his eyes darted towards his wife. Rehmat smiled at him from the table, where she stacked the dirty plates.
Between them the three women cleared the table, while their husbands waited for tea. Rehmat was the first to return to the living room, ushered out of the kitchen by Miriam. She looked at her brother.
“Do you want your tea now, or can we have it later?” she asked him.
“I don’t mind.”
“Because I thought we could go for a quick walk. Around the old neighbourhood,” she said, glancing from the streaked window. “Is the Bazaar Café still around?”
Omar nodded. “It’s not owned by the Patels anymore.”
“No? Who owns it?”
“The Harjan girl. And a Coloured man. Williams.”
Rehmat looked blank.
“You wouldn’t remember her,” Omar told her.
“Do you know then, each of you, what the other is thinking?” asked Miriam, conscious suddenly of the manicured hand on hers. Farah snorted at this comment, and Rehmat shot her a look.
“Unfortunately, no. We’re not that close - for twins, I mean. My brother was always too quiet for me to read his thoughts. You probably know him a thousand times better than I.”
Farah snorted again, and something in the sound made everyone stop and look. Omar stared at Farah angrily, and Miriam felt suddenly sick, as though she had been hit in the stomach. She glanced at Rehmat, as though the sight of her might somehow lift the feeling, but it only intensified it, because Rehmat’s eyes were moving wordlessly from Omar to Farah, as though she were trying to gauge something between them. Something between them, Miriam thought again to herself. Only Sadru seemed oblivious to any change. James cleared his throat:
“Well, it’s good to be back. And here with my wife’s family.”
“We were sorry to hear of your father’s illness,” Miriam said.
“Thank you. Rehmat finally met him, and he finally gave us his blessing. Seven years after disowning me. I imagine death gives you a different perspective on what’s important.” He smiled at Miriam and took a drink from his glass of juice. “And now we’re here, eating with all of you. There was a time when that seemed impossible.”
“It was impossible,” commented Rehmat. Omar shifted in his chair, and looked at no one.
“It’s funny,” James continued. “I always told Rehmat that in the end my colour and hers just wouldn’t matter.”
“It matters now more than ever,” Omar said tersely. “My father may be dead, but the South African government is much worse.”
“What would happen if you got caught?” Miriam asked.
“People like that don’t win, Miriam.” James met her enquiring look with a clear gaze. Before Omar could formulate a retort, Rehmat turned to Miriam and asked that she tell her about her life at Delhof and the shop. Was it very quiet and lonely, or did she like it? Miriam spoke a little, reddening under the weight of Rehmat’s kind glance, and then she fell silent, waiting for a moment when she might ask her new sister-in-law about life in Paris.
“You must come and visit us there,” Rehmat told her. “It is so beautiful – the streets are all cobblestoned, and the buildings…they are like nothing I had ever seen before.”
“I would love to see it,” Miriam replied.
With an abrupt scrape of his chair, Omar stood up from the table and paced about, his lips pursed together, followed by Sadru, who appeared relieved to be able to sink back into his armchair. Miriam continued to talk with Rehmat, her shyness slowly lifting, while Farah met her glamorous sister-in-law’s attempts at conversation with an undertone of sarcasm. Sadru alone seemed to be enjoying himself, explaining all the details of his fruit and vegetable business to James, who listened with great politeness, his head leaning towards Sadru, while his eyes darted towards his wife. Rehmat smiled at him from the table, where she stacked the dirty plates.
Between them the three women cleared the table, while their husbands waited for tea. Rehmat was the first to return to the living room, ushered out of the kitchen by Miriam. She looked at her brother.
“Do you want your tea now, or can we have it later?” she asked him.
“I don’t mind.”
“Because I thought we could go for a quick walk. Around the old neighbourhood,” she said, glancing from the streaked window. “Is the Bazaar Café still around?”
Omar nodded. “It’s not owned by the Patels anymore.”
“No? Who owns it?”
“The Harjan girl. And a Coloured man. Williams.”
Rehmat looked blank.
“You wouldn’t remember her,” Omar told her.
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