No. 98 (January-February 1997) 35

THE birthday boy told Ambar theevening before the birthdayparty that this year the cake

would be in the shape of an aeroplanebecause he wanted to be a fighter pilotwhen he grew up. Last year it was aboat, because he wanted to be a piratewith a big Kalishnakov, before that amotor-cycle because he wanted to bea dare-devil in a circus riding roundand round the well of death, beforethat —

“Cakes can only be round orsquare,” said Ambar.

“Who told you that?” “I know” “How? Ever had a birthday party?” “No, but—” “Even know when's your birth-

day?” “No, but—”“Does even your mother know?”

Ambar jumped as he suddenly raisedhis arms and flapping them like wings,paper plane in hand, started circlingher, mimicking her loudly, close to herear. “No, but – No, but – no – ”

She ducked as he threw the planeat her, suddenly came to a stop.

“Father took me to the bakery him-self. A square chocolate launching pad– if you know what’s that – and on ita plane, blue and white icing on thewings, “Happy” on one wing, “Birth-day” on the other wing and “DearQasim” on the cockpit. And inside thecockpit a fighter pilot made out of lotsof chocolate and marzipan, all forme –”

“What about me?”“What about you?”“You know ...”“One piece – maybe one of the

wheels because they’re made of nutsand no one likes nuts. But you’ll haveto wait a long long time. First I have toblow out the candles, six this year, five

before that, four before that,three –

“ Then?”

“Then everyone has to sing happybirthday dear Qasim. Not you – it’sEnglish. You just stand there behindus. Then Mother puts her hand overmine like this.....”

He grabbed her hand, chopped theair with it.

“.....and I cut thefirst piece, the largest,for myself. Then every-one claps. You can alsoif you like, no one willnotice. Then she cutsthe rest, passes itround. Then everyoneeats everything –samosas stuffed withpotatoes because Ilove potatoes –yummy – chips toowith tomato sauce, eggsandwiches because Ihate cucumberones,lemon tarts be-cause I love lemon tartsand – ”

“And the cake.”

“Of course, stupid.And lots and lots ofother things. So manyit’ll be hours and hoursbefore everyone’sfinished. And you’ll

SHORT STORY

just have to wait. Then Mother will sitdown and distribute the food to all theservants herself. She’s got to, shesays, because otherwise it’ll becomea free-for-all. You’ll get your share ofeverything except maybe the lemontarts because they always finish nomatter how many you order. Unless ofcourse you forget all about the foodand run out to play.”

“ What about the cake?”

A Piece of CakeTalat Abbasi

36 MANUSHI

“Cake too greedy old thing –Mother’s kind to servants – says –”

“But what if it finishes too? ” “It won’t, cakes never finish, not

birthday ones, not for days and days.” “Sure?”Cake too greedy old thing –

Mother’s kind to servants – says –”“But what if it finishes too? ” “It won’t, cakes never finish, not

birthday ones, not for days and days.” “Sure?”“Cake cake cake! What’s the mat-

ter with you? Mother sayssomething’s the matter with youthough on the other hand she said,they’re all like that, especially aboutsweets. Really the way they fall onsweets. She said that yesterday whenshe found the cook had left the jar ofhoney uncovered and they wereswarming round it –”

“ I wasn’t!”“Not you, stupid, not the servants,

the flies. Look at them, Mother said,dying for sweets! The cook said he’dpick off the ones which had fallen in-side and lost their wings and then thehoney could be eaten. And Mothersaid, only by you – ugh!”

But the next day, on the very morn-ing of the birthday party the baby camedown with chicken pox and Mrs Khandecided that Ambar – who else butpoor Ambar – had to stay stuck byhis side in his room fanning his stupidhot face while everyone else would bedownstairs with the guests. Her mothermust help in the party like all the ser-vants.

It was going to be a huge affair withfifty children plus their ayahs. At leastMrs Khan hoped they’d all bring theirayahs because they were all about thesame age as Qasim. Noisy, unruly. Allout of control before you knew it! Thenoise one didn’t mind, the litter after-wards on the lawn one didn’t mind,

what else could one expect – but notrampling all over her flower-beds likelast year. No, she’d learnt her lesson.Two of her own servants at least wouldbe stationed at either end of the gar-den by her precious flower-beds andone of them would have to be Ambar’smother. Ambar, who was six maybeeven seven years old and irresponsiblefor her age, would be worse than use-less there. She’d forget herself, getcaught up in the excitement and join inthe games and worse, fall on the foodmaking everyone think that Mrs.Khanstarved her ayah’s poor child.

All this Mrs Khan said as if shewere talking about Ambar to someoneelse though there was no one else inthe room but the two of them and thebaby. It was very early in the morning.Ambar’s mother had run downstairs toget the milk before the milkman wokeup the whole house with his cycle bell.Mrs Khan had come in to check in onthe baby who seemed to be comingdown with a fever and had found his“poor little face full of bumps just as ifsomeone had quilted his skin over-night!”

“So,” continued Mrs Khan, nowpacing the room, now standing beforehis cot, feeling his forehead, “So - Youstay here with Baby. Understand? Notto leave him for a minute. Understand?I’ll be looking up at this window and ifI see your face there staring out evenonce..... Good! You understand thatmuch at least. And in any case I’llsomehow get your mother to run upevery now and then to check up onyou. And she’ll bring up a plate foryou, even a piece of the cake. So be-have yourself. Really this chicken poxis the last straw....”

Ambar watched the back of the san-dals under the thin cotton dressing-gown move quickly down the red car-pet, heard the heels clatter on the tilesand only looked up once the door hadclosed behind Mrs Khan. Then her

mouth flew wide open in a soundlessscream, her face turned purple as sheheld her breath, let it out and chargedtowards the cot, shaking it and shak-ing it. The baby gurgled and suckedhis fist, kicked his fat legs in the air asthe mobile of multi-coloured woodenparakeets above him swayed madly likethe branches of a tree in a storm. Thatmade Ambar spit on his face, then im-mediately she wiped his eyes as hisface crumpled. He opened his mouthto cry but she shoved his pacifier intoit.

“Na na na” she cooed just like hermother, patting his head. She wasn’tallowed to pick him up. As if she’dwant to! Especially now!

“Ugly!” she said aloud, still bend-ing over him, still patting him. “Ugly,Ugly, silly baby” she began singing ina low sweet voice which made the babyrelax and start sucking on hispacifier.

“Ouch!”Her mother had come up behind

her, a feeding bottle with warm milkwrapped in a towel in one hand. Theother twisted Ambar’s ear again andagain. Then Ambar was released soabruptly that she fell to the floor. Thebaby had seen the bottle, pulled thepacifier out of his mouth and startedto whimper.

Ambar sat where she fell sullenlyrubbing her smarting ear with a cornerof her shirt which she had moistenedwith her tongue until her mother kickedher.

“If someone hears what then? Getme thrown out of this house too!”

“Ma, the birthday cake -”“Want a slice of it,eh?”“But Ma, she said, honestly, just

now, she said ”“Here’s your cake -”Ambar caught the stinking wet dia-

per thrown at her face and slowly got

No. 98 (January-February 1997) 37

up. Her mother turned round fromchanging the baby.

“Out of my sight!”Once at the bathroom door Ambar

flung the diaper in the direction of thepail of soiled baby clothes which stoodat the other end. It landed inside thebathtub. She retrieved it with two fin-gers barely touching it, threw it intothe pail. Then climbed onto the edgeof the bathtub, holding herself steadyagainst the wall and looked down atthe floor.

“Understand? “ she mimicked theBegum. “Understand....piece of cake”.

She laughed but only for a moment.She sat down at the edge of the tubkicking it with her feet.

As if she’d remember Ambar. She’dbe there floating round, posing for herhusband with the birthday brat andsaying “Harder, blow harder.” They’dall be there singing.

“Happy birthday.....”“Bottles!” Her mother yanked her

off the tub. “Resting again are you?After a full night’s sleep too! Who’dyou think you are – swinging yourlegs and humming like a slut on thebeach!”

And she marched her across thebathroom, leading her by the ear, twist-ing it harder as Ambar squirmed. Asthey reached the washbasin she gaveher a hard shove. Ambar held onto thewashbasin to keep herself from falling.

“Wash! I don’t want to see onedirty bottle, one unwashed spoonwhen I return. Idle, lazy, good-for-noth-ing.”

At the door she turned back andhissed: “Quietly, close the door, he’ssleeping at last.”

Alone, Ambar went back to the tub,settled down on the edge, leaningagainst the wall. Her mother was go-ing to be a long time she knew. Shewould take the pail of soiled clothes to

a tap at the back of the house by theservants’ quarters. She wasn’t allowedto wash them anywhere inside thehouse because of the smell and dirt.There she’d dump the clothes out ofthe pail under the tap, run it full. Andsitting on a brick before the tap she’dpick up a stick and start beating theclothes so hard that the cook’s wifewould lift the bamboo curtain of herquarter and come out with two bowlsof tea. And Ambar’s mother woulddrop the stick, turn the tap down to atrickle. And they’d be off talking.

Talking about the same old things.The wretched baby, born bad-tem-pered – like father like son – who wasso restless all night he really shouldbe given a pinch of opium. At leastwhile he was teething. Worked like acharm on Ambar when she was an in-fant. Kept her quiet night and day sothat her mother could go round fromhouse to house washing pots and pansand then roll biddis at night. Quiet asan angel it kept the girl and gave hersome peace to slave away. And slav-ing away she still is, no let up, no help

38 MANUSHI

even from that girl. Lazy like her thiefof a father though one shouldn’t saythings against the dead.....

“Yes,” thought Ambar, yawning,sliding down gently to the floor , “Along long time.....”

And there she’d have remainedsnoozing on the cool bathroom tileslike a cat for goodness knows how longif it hadn’t been for the commotion atthe front gate.

“Furious – simply furious – waittill Sahib finds out. Today of all days!”

Ambar jumped, sobbing, her handsshielding her ears, ran to thewashbasin and feverishly began rins-ing the first bottle she could lay herhands on. Then she stopped, laughedat herself. Mrs Khan’s voice was com-ing from downstairs and she wasn’tshouting at Ambar at all.

“Today of all days! So I’m to keepthis monstrosity on my front lawn withfifty to seventy guests arriving at mydoor?

Mistake? A thing like this? Deliv-ering it to the house instead of the re-pair shop! Landing up at my front doorunannounced – Is this a house or abazaar that anyone, anything can comethrough the front gate? Where’s thatchowkidar, why isn’t he on duty at thegate?”

Then there was a jumble of sounds– Mrs. Khan’s voice ordering :“Backgate, back gate!”, tires screeching,men’s voices yelling “hey careful”, andfinally a musical horn sounded shrilly.

A truck then, but what sort of truck,Ambar wondered. The water tanker?No, it wasn’t the water tanker. Thewater tanker had a sound of its ownand when it stopped you heard thehuge thick hose drop on the groundlike snakes hissing – each quietly butstill quite a sound – a thousandsnakes hissing! This truck soundeddifferent, as different as a car from amotor-cycle. Besides the water tanker

She peered over it but she was too smallto see more than the top of the palmtree which overhung the back gate. Shesaw and heard the leaves move as ifsomething had swept them roughlyaside. Ambar stood on her toes andstill could see only the dusty leaves.Then she jumped as high as she couldand something white flashed in the sununder the tree and then disappearedas her feet touched the ground. Shejumped again and again as if she wereskipping rope. Still the somethingwhite bobbed up as she jumped, anddown again. That’s all she could see.She ran to the baby’s bedroom but ofcourse the windows there faced the sideof the house where it was all quiet.Only the sweeper boy was there pok-ing at the dog with his long hard broomand laughing as it whined, trying toget out from under the broom. But hehad it pinned under. He heard thesound at the window, looked up andstuck his tongue out at Ambar whostuck hers out, showed him her fist.At that moment his father came andcuffed him. Ambar laughed andlaughed. That made the baby cry inhis sleep.

Stupid baby in his cot she thoughtas she gently patted him back to sleep.How dare he sleep now. Look at himsleeping now.

Ugly fat thing, drinking all that milk,throwing up, getting those stupidbumps, crying all last night, keepingher mother awake. And her mother an-gry with her instead as if it were herfault that she slept right through it all,woke her up early as she slept on therug by the cot. Kicked her awake as ifit was Ambar’s fault too that she was“dropping dead with tiredness, nosleep in the afternoon, no sleep atnight, get up good-for-nothing, takethis filthy diaper now, now or .....”

She yawned now watching the stu-pid baby fall asleep. She raised her

had come yesterday afternoon. MrsKhan had insisted that the water tankercome yesterday because she was tak-ing no chances. Imagine the taps sud-denly running dry the day of the partyand a hundred unwashed glasses! Notto mention dusty floors and windows!No the cleaning and washing must startearly that same morning. There wasno point in doing it the evening beforebecause the dust would settle an inchthick in the night, that was the troublewith living so close to the sea. Andeverything finished by 3 at the latest,except of course the frying of samosasand kababs.

Ambar put the bottle back with therow of dirty ones on the washbasinwhich she would have finished rins-ing by now if she hadn’t dropped off– and ran to the bathroom window.The truck had arrived at the back gate.

No. 98 (January-February 1997) 39

hand and brought it down hard to-wards his fat cheeks, stopping justshort of touching him. She did it againand again. How lovely to pinch him.She wondered what would happen ifshe did pinch him. Would blood oozeout of those bumps? Her hands itched,she rubbed her thumb with her forefin-ger, brought it down, touched his face.But he was restless and fretful andeven that slight touch made him stirand she immediately returned to pat-ting him and cooing to him exactly likeshe’d seen her mother do.

“Go to sleep stupid baby, hurry up,oh do,” she whispered for suddenlyshe had such a good idea.....

In a moment she tiptoed away fromthe cot, walking backwards to keep aneye on the baby until she was back inthe bathroom. One of the men servantshad been called in to change the lightbulb and had forgotten to take backthe stool on which he’d stood to reachthe light. It was quite high, it had twosteps. She pushed it slowly towardsthe window, careful not to make loudscraping sounds which would wakethe baby. She was still too short to seeeverything going on and because therewere bars at the window she couldn’tstick her head out but now at least shecould see something.

And what she saw was Mrs Khanwith the spoilt brat Qasim clutching thelegs of her shalwar, sucking his thumblike a baby and behind them the wholehouse standing, all of them there, evenher mother and the cook’s wife, watch-ing the fun. Except Ambar. All becauseof the stupid baby. Cook, sweeper andhorrid son, gardener with his wateringcan, even the postman had droppedoff the letters at the front gate andcycled to the back of the house.

“..... Sahib’s going to be furious .....too late for all that now ..... going to befurious, delivered to the house insteadof the repair shop ..... anyway howmany men ....?” Mrs Khan demanded.

And several voices yelled “Fourincluding driver.”

“Good! Because it can’t be left outin the open, it’s got to go into the pan-try. Cook, show them the way, makesure it’s the pantry not the kitchen. Andsince you’re all standing here let metell you once and for all this freezer’snot for the servants’ quarters, it’s noteven for the house. It belongs toSahib’s restaurant. Understand?”

And still standing on the stoolAmbar turned round first to one sideof the bathroom then the other and asif addressing a crowd on both sidessaid “Understand? Understand?”Then she laughed and laughed.

“..... no one’s to so much as touchit - tomorrow it goes..... careful! ”

And she said “careful” as if shewere holding her breath.

Then came a rush of men’s voicesechoing the “careful”.

“Easy, easy does it.”“Watch out oaf!”“Plastic’s making it slippery.”“That’s right Clumsy, blame the

plastic.....”Ambar guessed that they were lift-

ing it out of the truck, the freezer, what-

ever that was. Something terriblyheavy and difficult to lift like a trea-sure long buried being hauled out ofthe earth. Yes big and heavy, andwhite, that’s all she could tell becausetry as she would, she couldn’t seemuch. And she’d better go back to thebottles because if her mother was outthere watching the fun it meant she’dfinished washing the clothes, maybeeven rinsing them out and putting themout on the line. And when she cameup Ambar would find out what thisfreezer thing was.

But she never got the chance, evenforgot to ask because she hardly sawher mother. It was work work and morework for her mother downstairs until 4p.m. when the party started. What withthe old freezer being delivered to thehouse by mistake that very morning,what with Sahib exploding when heheard that, what with the chicken pox,poor Mrs Khan was in a “state”, gotsuch a splitting headache she had tolie down in her darkened bedroom fora couple of hours before the “thronginvaded my house.” That left Ambar’smother to finish the party favours. Theminiature buckets (for boys) and bas-kets (for girls) filled with gifts for thefifty or so children were nearly ready

40 MANUSHI

anyway, each put together by MrsKhan herself. She was so artistic! Littlescraps of cardboard, satin, silk, mus-lin, wool and ribbons had been trans-formed like magic into small bucketsand baskets, no bigger than a child’shand. Into them would go whistles andthe tiniest of cars and guns for theboys. For the girls small plastic dolls,dressed in long frocks sewn by MrsKhan herself, complete with jewellerymade out of old buttons and beads andtinsel. But the bald pink heads stillhad to be covered with strips of blackwool. Ambar’s mother would havequite a job doing that especially sincethe “hair” would have to be plaited andtied with ribbons matching the frocks.Mrs Khan would not dream of disap-pointing her little guests with balddolls! No detail was to be overlooked.The homemade toffees which the cookhad made the day before – Ambar hadbeen given the first two because theshapes had been a little irregular andhad stolen two more – also had to bewrapped individually – blue tissuepaper for the boys, pink for the girls –and placed in each basket and bucket.Mrs Khan would inspect each and ev-ery one of them herself when Ambar’smother had finished so no question ofa quick sloppy job.

So Ambar was left alone with thebaby except for when her motherpopped in to feed or change him orjust check up on him. Yes, Ambarwasn’t allowed to go downstairs ex-cept once when she went to the kitchento eat. Downstairs it was quite darkbecause all the curtains had beendrawn to keep the house as cool aspossible. And it was quiet as nighttoo because Mrs Khan was resting andeveryone was in the kitchen or in thequarters. Lunch had been served earlyand everyone had finished exceptAmbar. Instead of going to the kitchenstraightaway, she prowled round theempty dining room. Where was the

cake? That’s all she wanted to see.Not the green paper streamers and redflowers wound so skillfully round theceiling fan it might have been a treewith branches, leaves and flowers,planted upside down and hangingover the dining table. Or the dozens ofmulti-coloured balloons pretty as soapbubbles and soaring like them to theceiling. She must see it, the cake, atleast see it. Even if Mrs Khan remem-bered poor Ambar, even if she got herpiece of cake, even then she’d neverbelieve anyone, not even her ownmother, that the cake was shaped likean aeroplane, with wings! With a fighterpilot inside! How could that be? She’dhave to see it to believe it before theycut it. Maybe the brat was lying. Itwasn’t on the dining table either whichhad been cleared of everything. Per-haps the side-board but no, the sameold dishes and plates there. She eventried the tea-trolley, lifted the tea-cosyknitted in the shape of a rooster byMrs Khan herself. But only the tea-pot there.

She opened the door leading intothe pantry and banged her knee onsomething sharp. Stifling her screamof pain she looked down. Somethinghuge nearly filled the space to the rightof the door which before had beenempty. It was like a chest, with a lid ontop. White as the bathtub and aboutas interesting, this freezer thing! Sowhere was the cake? Only the fridgeremained. She opened the door of thefridge and gasped. Two of the shelveshad been removed to make place for along blue platter with a dome of clearplastic. There it rested, a plane on alarge chocolate slab, with blue andwhite wings, in the centre of the fridge,cool, safe from ants, flies and cock-roaches, waiting to be eaten.... Ambar’smouth watered. She imagined the sixcandles on the cockpit, flickeringabove the fighter pilot – yes, he’d toldthe truth about that too.....

Then imagined all six being blownout as later she sat upstairs alone withthe baby, listening to the party sounds.At first they came from the dining room– shouts, singing, clapping, laughter.Then from the garden the same soundsbut now with music starting, stopping,starting again, as child after child wasdeclared “out” in the game of musicalchairs, loud clapping for the winner.“Smile smile”! The father’s voice wasloud, gay as he moved round takingpictures, his bad temper over thefreezer quite forgotten. She heard itall, even – she’d swear – the balloonspopping, the click of the father’s cam-era.

And she was missing it all.“I hate you!” she cried this time

with tears as she stood over the baby’scot. “Monster! All because of you!”

All his fault! They’d all eaten, allforgotten about her, even her ownmother. They’d finished it all, shewouldn’t get her piece of cake now,not a crumb, not even the wheelswhich no one really wanted and whichshe hadn’t quite managed to see be-cause Cook had come into the pantryfor something, caught her gaping,squatting by the open fridge door andhurried her to the kitchen for her lunch.There were sandwiches to be cut, didn’tshe know, samosas to be fried, pota-toes to be peeled and no one to helpthe cook who as usual had to do all thework. Ask the bearer and he says hehas no breath left in him after blowingup dozens of those balloons, askAmbar’s mother and she’s too wearyto even say not me, not me, just shakesher head.....

But everyone seemed to know howpoor Ambar’s mouth was watering asshe sat upstairs missing it all becauseshe got not one, but three pieces ofcake. First her own plate loaded withparty food,sent up by Mrs Khan who,as her son had told Ambar,really was kind to servants and didn’t

No. 98 (January-February 1997) 41

after all forget Ambar. Far from it, shesent the bearer up with Ambar’s plateas soon as he could be spared, firstthing after musical chairs. And itwasn’t the wheels which no onewanted, but a very large slice just likeall the children had eaten. Then hermother who’d been so cross with herall day brought up her own share ofthe cake, patted her on the head forbehaving herself so well for so long.And finally, even the spoilt brat Qasimremembered poor Ambar and sneakedup with two squashed wheels, onerolled up in each of the frilly cuffs ofhis shirt. He bit at one, spat it out,made a face and shoved the rest at herwithout a word. He emptied the pock-ets of his shorts which were crammedwith toffees and lollipops on the car-pet. Then he stood on his toes, hisarms raised high and flapping likewings, blew the two whistles in hismouth at the same time, jumped intothe air, vanished as suddenly as he’dappeared. Ambar finished the wheels,every bit of them, even though it wastrue what the boy had said – thewheels made of nuts weren’t as goodafter you’d eaten the chocolate coat-ing, not when you compared them tothe other soft, sweet, moist pieces.Still, she licked her fingers again andagain.

The funny thing was that eachpiece of cake only seemed to make hermouth water more. Maybe there wasstill some left she kept thinking evenafter everyone had gone to bed andthe house had fallen silent. She had astomach ache, even felt somewhatqueasy and still she longed for more.She lay by her mother licking her lipsagain and again as if the sweet tastestill lingered. She licked the toffeewrappers she’d saved, ended up chew-ing the paper. She closed her eyes try-ing to sleep. But the harder she triednot to the more she thought of it.

Bound to be some of it left, Mrs Khanalways had too much cooked. And itwasn’t as if Ambar was thinking ofstealing a whole slice. Mrs Khan waskind but she kept an eagle eye on foodand she’d know the instant she lookedat it, that someone had polished off awhole slice of the leftover cake. Andthat the someone was Ambar whomshe’d caught once standing by the tea-trolley, sugar bowl raised to her lips,head tilted back as if she were drink-ing it, pouring a full bowl of sugardown her throat!

Ambar shuddered at the way hermother had taken her upstairs andthrashed her. She’d take her hide off,beat her to a pulp, damned if Ambarwas going to grow up a thief too, evenif it was in her blood..... And the bratQasim had followed them and stoodthere enjoying it until it her motherstarted to cry too. The more she beatAmbar the more she sobbed until shewas howling more than poor Ambarherself, as if every time she lifted herhand to beat Ambar she was hittingonly herself. Then it became too mucheven for the boy who ran to his motherto say stop it, please make her stop itand it took Mrs Khan herself to sepa-rate mother from daughter.

Ambar pressed her palms on hereyelids forcing them to remain shut.But it was no good, and anyway whatwas the harm in looking, just seeing ifthere was any cake left over. And evenlicking the edge of the platter didn’tcount as stealing at all. That’s all shewas thinking of doing, that’s all, shetold herself as she quietly let herselfout of the room, walked down thestairs, holding onto the banisters be-cause it was dark, only the lights out-side casting a glow through the longglazed windows. It was nearly pitch

dark in the foyer but by the time shereached the dining room her eyes hadgrown accustomed to the dark andaside from bumping once against achair she made it through the diningroom quite easily, unbolted the doorwhich led into the pantry.

Besides, maybe there were no left-overs and then she could go back andsleep. But as soon as she opened thedoor of the fridge she saw it, the wreckof the beautiful cake. Quite a bit of ittoo on a smaller platter now thoughyou couldn’t tell anymore what hadbeen what. Not that it mattered toAmbar, what was a wing or a tail oreven a wheel. She wasn’t going to eatany of it. Just reach out a hand, and

42 MANUSHI

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Makes A Beautiful Gift

lick the edge of the plate and nobodycould call that stealing....

But she drew her hand backsharply. The click of a light at the en-trance of the dining room sounded likethe crack of a whip in the silent house.Then came the footsteps.

Mr Khan took a bottle of cold wa-ter from the fridge. The servants hadbeen careless tonight, the bearer for-getting the thermos of cold water whichalways stood on his bedside table andthe ayah, the only one of the servantswho slept inside the house, forgettingto bolt the dining room door which ledinto the pantry. He pulled it once, twice,to make sure, returned to his bedroom,drank the water and went back to sleep,a good peaceful sleep too like every-one else in the house was enjoying.His wife didn’t stir at the tinkle of glassagainst glass as he replaced the tum-bler over the bottle. She slept soundlynow that it was all over and everythinghad gone so well, not a flower-bedtrampled! The birthday boy dreamt ofhis first bike which stood by the headof his bed. He dreamt that he was apostman, blowing out seven candleson a cake on which stood a bicycle.Even the cranky sick baby – surpris-ingly because this had never happenedbefore – slept right through the night.Perhaps that’s why Ambar’s mother af-ter so many disturbed nights fell into adeep dreamless stupor. Such a deepstupor that she like the others in thehouse never heard the milkman’s cyclebell nor the cook unlock the kitchendoor from the outside, only his screamwhen he went into the pantry and sawAmbar’s plait hanging out from underthe lid of the freezer.

Talat Abbasi is from Karachi, but has livedin the U.S. for about 20 years. Her storieshave been published in numerous literarymagazines and one was recently broadcaston the BBC World Service Short StoryProgramme.