Jan 3, 2011

The Affair

By Naima Qamar

At four thirty in the morning you could hear the birds chirping outside the room because the window was open. A call to prayer could be heard from the distance. Cool gusts of wind blew in as the night bid farewell and welcomed the morning light in. The window faced east and the dark, shadowy room became more and more visible as a new day ushered in. The walls appeared white at night now had turned a light shade of pink.
The closet door lay open, coats, shirts, pants and a few items of women's clothing lay scattered on the floor. A warped picture, lay among the clothes. Its edges looked as if they had been burned. The woman in it had auburn hair and dancing, green eyes. There was another picture, a framed one, lying on the bed, its glass broken. It was a wedding picture, both the bride and groom looked ecstatic.
It was six am now. Sunlight streamed into the room but the window was far away from the bed, where someone was sleeping. On the table, you could have seen bottles of perfumes, colognes and lipsticks but they were instead on the floor, next to a pair of blue trousers. It seemed as if someone had struck out a hand and thrown them deliberately. A bottle of "Envy" had smashed, its contents had stained a red stain robe.
The room contained a bed, a closet and a table.It would have been neat, had the floor been without the added clutter.
The phone on the table rang but the sleeper did not stir. The answering machine took over, "Samanatha, honey, sorry I didn't call last night. We had an urgent meeting and I was up making reports. I'll be there for breakfast. Have my coffee ready, please, truly no one knows how to make it the way I like it. Love you."
The phone beeped into silence. You could see the wooden door kept ajar as if the woman sleeping on the bed, tired out with her night's vigil had been waiting for a husband who did not come home.

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