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“It’s an ancient grudge,” he continues.
I nod.
“She must hate me.”
I’m surprised. I take a drink of scotch to buy for time; he does the same.
“God, I’ve missed this.” He lifts it up. “You cannot buy it in America.”
I don’t respond. I never thought I would drink Kathani with this man. I think of my father and hatred hardens in my heart.
I finish the drink.
“She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t know the full extent of your actions.”
His eyes show embarrassment when they find mine. “What do you mean?”
“Your daughter idolises you. She thinks you’re the greatest man alive.” The grim truth of that sits like a boulder in my gut. Not only that, the fact she is his daughter first and my wife second. She’ll always belong to him, in a sense, be loyal to him. She is, after all, a Hassan. She loves him, and that’s the only reason she married me. “She knows how I feel about you, but I didn’t see any point destroying her image of you.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, I planned to tell her, believe me. Before I met Amy, I was relishing the prospect of showing her your security file. I was looking forward to throwing it in her face.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“What would the point have been?” I shrug. “I’m not a petty man, Malik Hassan. I needed your daughter to marry me for stability in the eastern regions. She did so willingly. I have no interest in hurting her unnecessarily – and the truth of your acts would have devastated her, believe me.”
I draw myself to my full height, a redundant measure given his diminutive stature. “I came here to give you this single instruction: do not confide your guilt to her. She does not need to know. Amy had no part in your actions, and she deserves better than to understand them fully. If you love your daughter, you will spare her this pain, as I intend to.”
He stares at me blankly. I finish my drink then place the glass down.
“I will not see you again,” I say at the door, drawing it inwards as he stands.
“Your highness.” I stiffen, unwilling to prolong this meeting.
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me. None of this is for you, old man.” I turn to face him for the last time in my life. “Your daughter has bought your second chance; do not squander it.”
Amy
One week after my father’s return to Qabid, finally the time has come to see him. The car brings me to the house in Thakirt, and despite the fact I was here recently, it’s different enough to elicit a sound of surprise. The door has been replaced, as Zahir said it would be, but it’s also been given a fresh coat of paint. The garden looks different too, the bushes have been tended to, trimmed neatly, the windows cleaned, all the grime I’d noticed previously removed so they shimmer in the morning sun.
The hallway shows more changes – the light fitting is new, the window at the back repaired, everything cleaned and tidied. My father is in his sitting room when I enter.
I pause on the threshold, a strange sense that I’m falling through the cracks of time, that perhaps the last sixteen years never happened after all? I stare at him for several seconds and then he stands, the chair creaking. I move quickly then, half-running across to him, wrapping my arms around his body, sobbing into his neck.
“You’re home, daddy.”
He makes a noise that may very well be a sob. I hold him close, and in this moment, I know I’ve done the right thing. Whatever pain my marriage causes me, whatever difficulties come from caring for Zahir, this was the right thing to do.
“I’m home,” he says, after a long moment, pulling back to look at me, studying me as if to determine my state of mind. So I smile brightly, reassuring him.
“What do you think?” I step further back, twirling so he can see the gown I wear – regal and bright.
His chuckle is so familiar, my heart bursts. “You look like a princess.”
“Apparently, that’s what I am. Or an Emira,” I say with a shake of my head.
