Revenge by Taslima Nasrin Read Free Book Online

can’t remember.”
    “You can’t remember! You look like a sophisticated woman.”
    “I prefer to be surprised,” I said.
    “Do you have any children?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “We were married only six weeks ago,” Haroon interjected.
    “Have your blood and urine tested in the next room,” the doctor said. “I’ll call you after that.”
    The doctor soon sent for us, but before she could utter a word, Haroon said, “Give her something to stop her from throwing up!”
    Doctor Mazundar laughed. “Of course I will,” she said, then she laid me on the examining table in a curtained area of the office. “You’re doing fine,” she said afterward, when we sat, each in a chair in front to her desk. I felt a wave of relief and I could see that Haroon seemed heartened as well. Writing out a prescription, the doctor said, “I’ll see you in three months.”
    “Why three months?” Haroon looked disturbed.
    “There’s nothing to worry about. Normally I examine a patient after an interval of three months. After that I’ll need to see your wife once a month.” Doctor Mazundar pushed the prescription toward Haroon. “Give her good food. She must eat well.”

    “I don’t follow you,” Haroon said.
    The doctor laughed merrily “You’re going to be a father,” she said. “Go home and celebrate!”
    I left the clinic, my eyes tearing with relief. I thanked Allah that I was pregnant and not suffering some mysterious malady as I had feared. I stepped out of the sunlight and into the car wrapped in a cloud of dreams. I looked at Haroon, but his face was grim. I knew in my heart that he was not playing a trick, as he had once when I told him it was my birthday, before we were married. He had not responded, and I was mystified, even hurt; then, as now, he’d kept his eyes on the road, a solemn expression on his face. But that day, before you could say “Jack Robinson,” we arrived at the Sonargaon, a five star hotel, and he’d taken me by the hand into the dining room, thrust a huge bouquet of flowers at me, and, after a sumptuous feast, lit all twenty-four candles on the huge cake that a uniformed waiter wheeled to the table. After dinner, there was another surprise. When we reached my door, he presented me with a package, and an exquisite Kancheepuram sari fell from the wrapping, its molten gold embroidery flickering in the dark light.
    I did not think Haroon was going to surprise me today. Even though we had news of our first child’s arrival, I knew I could not expect another restaurant, another glorious present.
    “Why are you so silent?” I asked as he drove. When he didn’t reply, I looked at his sullen face. Was it possible he didn’t want children? I’d been told it was normal for a man to resist having a child so soon after marriage. Men don’t like being tied down—they want to remain unencumbered,
to have fun, to go where they wished. But surely, if that were the case with Haroon, he would have been more careful or asked me to take birth control pills. I turned toward him once again, but his face remained stony and impassive.
    In his silence, my eyes took in the road, the familiar streets—and I felt the extent to which my ties with the world were severed. Would I ever walk these streets again, run barefoot toward my parents’ house, lose myself in play?
    Haroon was still glum as we entered the house. He sat down and pulled at his hair, cupping his face in his hands. There was a look of deep distrust in his eyes but also sadness. I so wanted him to be happy! I sat down beside him, but he looked away. I took his hand, but he ignored the gesture. I asked him why he was so sad, but he kept silent. Then he got up, unlaced his shoes, and undressed, preparing to go to bed though it was still early. I didn’t give up.
    “Tell me what’s bothering you! Why are you behaving this way?” Getting no response, I was silent. Because he refused dinner, I said I wasn’t hungry when Amma called. A