The Chalky Thread

Rashid Javed Ahmed


Dressed in a white shirt and trousers, hiding behind her sunglasses with a bag full of kids’ homework in one hand, shoulder bag in the other, she got off the rickshaw.  Dragging herself up the four steps, she turned the key into a door lock and entered her flat.  She had just got one shoe off when her eyes caught a long chalky thread on the doormat.  She tried to get thread off the mat with the tip of her shoe, yet with every attempt it just twisted like a snake and stuck more to the mat.  She tried once more and the thread took shape of an elephant trunk, elongated and half hidden in fur of the mat.  She considered picking it up but instead picked up her shoes and placed them in shoe rack. She emptied contents of her bag on to the table and picked up her cell phone to charge.

Drenched in sweat, she felt as if miscellaneous papers from school, lesson details, planners, homework notebooks, all had stuck to her body.  The clock on wall showed twenty five minutes past four.  The dress she had taken off in the morning was there as it is.  She looked at the doormat again.  Partially hidden in the fur of doormat, thread looked like mountain peaks.  Ignoring it, she went into her bedroom, closed the curtains, took off her shirt as usual and stood under the fan that was running full speed.  Although the air was warm, yet her naked body felt relieved.  After some time she picked up the towel to take a bath but instead she hung it in the bathroom and came out.  She was not in mood to bathe yet. She went into the kitchen and was about to light the stove but decided against it too.  Opening the fridge, she took out the bottle with a beautiful cut that she had brought from a friend’s home, and gulped the cold water down her throat.  She had always been annoyed of the lizards that sneak into her home but that day that white thread was irritating her even more.  She looked at the doormat and it was still there looking like ECG waves.  

She looked outside the keyhole.  A slight breeze had started blowing.  She opened the door quietly.  Hiding behind the door, she put one foot outside the door and tried to beat the mat against the doorstep.  She struck it so fiercely, it made her cough.  The thread still clung to the mat like a leech. Incidentally, she put her other foot out of the door as well to beat the mat more vigorously.  She hit the mat strongly against the staircase railing beside the door; mat slipped out of her hand and at that same instant, with a loud thud, the door to her apartment closed.  She had put one foot against the door earlier to prevent it from closing. “Aargh! This landlord won’t get this lock fixed ever.”  A wave of rage passed her face.  She looked at herself intently.  There outside her flat, with legs wide apart, she was standing only in her trousers.  She tried to open the door but it did not budge.  She knew it won’t open without a carpenter now.  Awareness of her appearance chilled her spine.  She looked at the open window of flat above.  She felt it was there to swallow her with its wide open mouth.  A wave of fear rung through her and her heartbeat deafened her. 

Closed door – foot mat – open window – and half naked body; her eyes were pivoting from one to the other.  She tried to cover herself with her hands but hiding one part made the other more prominent.  Some time was spent in this dilemma and then she sat down in defeat by the wall under the main switchboard.  The doormat was right in front of her and the white thread looked like lips drawn into a smile.

Sitting half naked outside her flat sent shivers down her spine despite the heat and she felt immense pain.  Her head was heavy as if all the blood of her body had rushed to her temple and frozen there.  “What sin am I being punished like that for!” she thought.  On the opposite side of the building, the mosque at the end of the narrow street was relaying calls for Maghreb prayer.  She prayed with all heart that no one might see her in that condition.  She did not have enough courage to bear their gossip and that was why she had always taken pains to avoid other inhabitants of that building.  She even peeped through the keyhole before leaving home in the morning.  If there was no one in the street to greet, only then did she leave the door.  Once outside, she walked briskly to the rickshaw that arrived at the corner of the street at fifteen past seven sharp.  Loaded with her bag and lunch box, she used to get into the rickshaw and let out a breath of relief so high that the “voof” could be heard above the rickshaw noise.  In the afternoon, she usually arrived at a time when most people napped after lunch.  At that hour, kids played “noise, noise” in the street to spoil her afternoon.  She chose this name for their games because playing football or cricket in this narrow street was nothing but sheer noise.

Thank God that day kids had already left after playing.  Otherwise, if any of them had seen her in this condition, they would have made mountain out of a molehill.  Once entering her flat, she never left, even for a stroll.  Even though women and kids often came out at the night to walk in the street or gossip, but she could never venture outside her door due to fear of others.  This fear was instilled into her by her husband who made marital life hell for her.  Bearing daughters one after the other, she had lost ability to give birth, let alone bear a son.  Men always need an heir for themselves even if they have nothing to leave to them.  Her husband who had no value for a woman whether a mother, or a daughter or a wife, remarried for a son and treated her like dirt.  He made her feel insecure and anxious.  Fear of an impending doom lurked in her mind at all times.  Eventually, she got separated and reached home to her parents, fearful and dubious of herself.  She lived with them for some time but then with the marriage of her brothers, there was no room left for her in that house too.  To avoid any unpleasantness, she had rented that modest flat in that building.  The huge decision to live alone should have given her some courage but it seemed that this fear had become her second nature.  She had got job in a school by reference but had made her own place there with hard work and dedication.  From her colleagues and subordinates to gatekeeper, gardeners, peons, etc; everyone respected her.  Her friends found her helpful and affectionate at all times too.  But this fear was rooted into her soul like a pest.

The thought of someone seeing her in this condition was giving her creeps.  People will gossip about her and who knew better than her that no one could ever device a way to silence people.  Drenched in sweat, she was slumped by the wall.  With her arms round her chest, she noticed that her veins were swollen and looked black and dark.  It seemed to her that they were not her arms or probably she was looking at herself so closely after a long time.  Incidentally, she caressed her stomach and abdomen and she felt there was something like a soft pouch in her belly.  Her hair had come lose and had fallen on her forehead, irritating her, so she covered her chest with one hand to tighten her hair clip.  A thought crossed her mind and she opened the clip instead and threw it away.  She had not cut her hair for some time now and they were long enough to cover at least some of her body.  Darkness of the evening also helped. She summoned courage and got up to look at the mat.  The thread also looked like the veins on her arms.  

She heard footsteps nearby and they made her tremble through her soul.  She clenched the mat against her chest as if it was a very valuable dress.  Another wave of fear and worry rung through her but the footsteps had gone.  The spikes of mat were pricking her.  She threw it away disgruntled.  She was so fed up that now she wished that someone did come her way.  He might get shocked to see her condition, but she could explain and could ask for a shawl or a cloth to cover herself up.  She estimated that if there were three persons per flat in that building of seven flats, then approximately twenty one people lived there.  At least half of them must have been out of the house for college, university or for earning a living and must have left for their homes for at this hour even birds come back to their nests.  “At least some child may come this way.” She wished. “Where the hell did all those imbecile kids go who make noise all afternoon?  At least that janitor could come!  But he only comes twice to clean the building on the landlord’s bidding,” she recalled.  

She heard her phone ringing in her room.  That must be her eldest daughter.  She called daily around this hour to tell her about her day.  She was married and confided her problems in her, worrying the poor mother more as she could not help her solve her problems.  She could only listen to her and guide her but otherwise she was helpless.  Tired, she gathered herself against the wall again waiting for some help.  She considered thumping the wall between two flats hoping someone might hear, but she couldn’t do that either for she had never liked people in that flat.  Their activities were doubtful and she had a strange fear regarding them since the very beginning.  She heard footsteps again.  She pasted herself against the wall and picked up the mat to use as a cover but the sound stopped again.  The thread was in the form of letter ‘v’. 

She saw a face appear beyond the hazy glass door at the main entrance of the building.  Then she heard it open and ran to hide under the stairs.  The incomer went into some flat and only then she realized that she had missed the chance.  It was not the time to hide but to ask for help and she could have asked for any shawl or cover but unknowingly her fear and hesitation overpowered her and her mind ordered her legs to run instead of asking for help. 

It was quite dark outside now.  She was feeling safer by the wall and she had closed her eyes so tight, tears slipped out of them.  Strong wind was blowing which appeared to be turning into a dust storm to annihilate the heat of the day.  As expected, soon a gust of wind and dust hit her body and then the door of her flat, opening it in a jiffy.  Before the door could shut again, she lunged into her room and fell to the floor.  After a deep breath of satisfaction, she got up from the floor, closed the door and turned on the lights.  Crème colored bed sheet, matching pillows, chair with light blue cover, her revolving chair, beautiful vase, curtains swinging with wind, her dressing table; everything looked new to her as if it was her first time in that room.  She looked at the doormat which was stuck under the door, half in and half out.  She pulled it in.  The chalky thread wasn’t there anymore.  She bent on her knees and looked closely but the thread really was nowhere. 

Translated by
Sonia Ahmed