Of Smokeless Fire A.A. Jafri (books to read to improve english TXT) 📖

When Mehrun did not answer his question, he shouted, ‘I asked you a bloody question! And I want a bloody answer, and I want it NOW.’

Exasperated with her husband’s interrogation and knowing full well the consequences of her silence, Mehrun took a deep breath and, summoning an ounce of courage, replied, ‘You have had your affairs, and I have said nothing. All of a sudden why has mine become important to you!’ And she continued, ‘I don’t ask about your affairs. Why do you ask about mine?’

‘I am going to find out who this bastard is who sent this picture, and then I am going to kill him,’ Alvi said in a menacing voice before getting out of the car and storming into the house.

*

Alvi sat in his dark study, brooding over this latest complication. He did not know how this ‘new situation’ would unfold. Would it affect his career? Would it affect his bank? Alvi was the chief architect of this financial empire that was headquartered in Dubai. He had not only helped create this international bank, but he had also contributed directly to its growth. While the bank had been expanding exponentially, his financiers were keen for it to grow even faster. In the short few years, he had almost single-handedly put them on a par with many of the old established financial giants; however, his backers remained impatient and impertinent. With a truly global workforce that was intelligent, hardworking and ambitious, Alvi had positioned his bank among the iconic banks of the world. To his financiers, however, that was immaterial. They wanted to rock Wall Street and shake Central London. Success had made them ravenous; growth had made them arrogant. With an enlarging appetite and diminishing patience, they ordered Alvi to show better results. They demanded a formidable transnational institution that functioned as an invisible government. In the beginning, Alvi thought that their goals were unrealistic, their demands impractical, but he eventually succumbed to their pressure.

‘Just being a global bank is not enough for these bastards. They want me to fuck the world leaders,’ he had told Mehrun.

He knew that to achieve gut-wrenching power, you have to stride through the corridors of corruption and wine and dine venal politicians, bloodthirsty arms dealers, rapacious drug lords and their cartels.

These photographs, a new threat to him, could potentially create a scandal and derail his career. He was too close to his goals, too deeply involved with the uber men and the underworld to let a petty blackmailer wreck his dreams. But with so many other things on his mind, he thought it better to deal with this one later.

He advised Mehrun to keep a low profile; she, in turn, decided to forewarn Mansoor about the photographs.

*

After Alvi left for work the next day, Mehrun searched for Mansoor’s telephone number. Just then, her phone rang. She was sure she would hear Mansoor’s voice on the other end, but much to her amazement, it was Joseph’s booming voice that she heard.

‘Hello, Mehrun Begum! This is Joseph, calling from Houston, Texas.’

‘Joseph! How are you? I haven’t talked to you in such a long time. How did you get my number?’

‘Search and you will find God, they say, and you are a mere human, Mehrun Begum,’ he quipped.

‘I know you haven’t found God, but tell me how you found my number.’

‘I got it from Mansoor Babu.’

‘Oh! Is he back in the States?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but I called you for an important reason.’

‘What is it, Joseph?’

‘I am interested in buying a Burger King franchise here in Houston. I have saved some money, but I will need quite a bit more. The banks here are unwilling to give me a loan because they say I don’t have a green card or any “antenuptial experience”, so I thought of asking you. Also, what is an antenuptial experience?’

‘It is called entrepreneurial experience, you idiot. Is that why you called me? To ask me for money? Tell me, how much do you need?’

‘The total cost is fifty thousand dollars, but my old boss is also helping me. I wanted to check if you can help with any shortfall.’

‘That’s a lot of money, but let me know the exact amount and when you’ll need it by? Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’

Joseph could not believe his ears. Here was his personal banker, ready and willing to provide it with no questions asked. Joseph had heard about Mehrun’s marriage to one of the top Pakistani bankers, from Mansoor, but little did he know that this banker had become one of the richest men in the world.

‘Tell me exactly when do you need it?’

‘I’ll actually need it ASAP,’ he said, proudly using this new American abbreviation he had learnt.

‘Send me the details, and I’ll try my best.’

‘When I open my restaurant, Mehrun Begum, I will name a burger after you—the Mehrunnissa burger,’ Joseph declared, and then laughed at his own joke. ‘No seriously, Mehrun, I want you and your husband to come cut the ribbon.’

‘I’ll have to see about that.’

They talked for another half an hour or so, bringing each other up-to-date with what was happening in their lives. Joseph confided that he was ‘after’ a gori mem, a white woman, whom he intended to marry. Mehrun asked him about his mother, Pyaro. Joseph told Mehrun that his mother married his father’s enemy, so she was dead to him. He then quickly changed the topic. It seemed that he had selectively severed all ties with his past, his mother, his relatives and Pakistan. The only histories that he still clung to were the ones that involved Mehrun and Mansoor, his childhood friends who had provided delicious escapades from his stark social reality. He told her he had no intention of going back to Pakistan, where he would still be a bhangi, no matter what. Mehrun laughed. At the end of the call, she took his telephone number and Mansoor’s, and promised to call him