Tauqeer went on to tell him how to call and what would be required.
Ayub read it all with a sense of wonder and excitement. “Allahu Akbar,” he said for the first time in days, praying from the very bottom of his lonely heart that nothing would go wrong.
CHAPTER 28
Ayub felt much better already when he met Shockie—he was relieved to see him; it canceled days of headaches immediately. They met in a park full of children playing cricket amid roving swarms of mosquitoes. Shockie, paunchy and coachlike, in his trademark sleeveless sweater, touched his curly sweat-soaked hair. His green eyes blurred and multiplied the greenery around him.
They sat next to each other on a concrete bench—a cool surface for this time of year.
“You didn’t get too scared, I hope,” Shockie said.
“No, sir, the question didn’t arise. My main concern was that the people I was staying with shouldn’t get suspicious.”
“They’re people with money, no?” Shockie asked. “They should have no problem with hosting one guest.”
“Yes, sir, but the rich are the most stingy,” Ayub said, trying to appear (for an imaginary audience) as if he were looking at and talking about the cricket match unfolding before them. “Howwazzaat!” a cricketer exploded. “They’re screaming more than playing,” Ayub said. Shockie had been smoking; Ayub could tell from the ash crumbling on his black pants.
“That’s how it is with this country’s sportsmen,” Shockie answered, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the ash on his palms. “Also with the politicians, leaders, wives—everyone.” That was the other thing about his hands, apart from the missing fingers, that Ayub noticed—they were rounded and swollen; the heels of the hands were like hillocks.
“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, what was the logic of making me stay there?” he asked again. “You could have e-mailed and I would have moved.”
“There was no logic.”
Ayub went quiet, spreading his arms on the bench.
“You have to obey what you’re told, that’s all.”
Illogic, Ayub thought. Yes, there was something deeply illogical about how the group functioned, how it was organized, how it held its meetings—it prided itself on irrationality. He was the one still stuck in the old system of rationality.
“Nothing contributes to being caught or saved,” Shockie went on. “No precautions. Nothing. It all depends on loyalty between members. Most people—they notice nothing. You can assemble a bomb in front of them, set it afire, and they wouldn’t realize what had happened till they’re dead. Look at how openly I’m talking to you in this park. That’s trust. If we trust each other, anything is possible.
“When I’ve set bombs in Delhi,” Shockie continued, “I’ve come from every direction, wearing every sort of disguise. I’ve made big mistakes. Once the bomb didn’t go off. I had to come back. A lot of people saw my two friends and me. In those days they used to do a lot more prosecution on circumstantial evidence—so we used to travel in groups. To be illogical. The more illogical you are, the better you are at this game. The shopkeepers even saw and noticed us—they told us to move—but later, no one could remember our faces.”
This is why innocents are in jail, Ayub thought, his old self surfacing for a second.
“People get too wrapped up in themselves,” Shockie said. “And you know what happens when a bomb goes off? The truth about people comes out. Men leave their children and run away. Shopkeepers push aside wives and try to save their cash. People come and loot the shops. A blast reveals the truth about places. Don’t forget what you’re doing is noble.”
Ayub nodded. “You know, the friend I was staying with—did Tauqeer tell you? He was injured in a blast you set off in 1996.”
“I didn’t know,” Shockie said, his green eyes suddenly flicking on.
Was there a power struggle in the group? Ayub wondered, scratching a nail into the concrete of the bench. Had Shockie been demoted to aging coach against his will?
“That’s how I met him,” Ayub continued. “He was in that group that gave legal aid to Muslim undertrials. I mention him because what you’re saying is right—when the blast happened, he had gone with his friends. And instead of helping them he just walked off. He says he was in shock and doesn’t remember why he did this. He didn’t even phone home—he was only a boy then, twelve—but he kept walking. And if you look at him today, his entire personality can be extrapolated from that one incident. He likes to pretend nothing bad has happened. To date he’s suffering pain in his wrists from your blast,” he said, glossing over his own role in Mansoor’s recovery.
“It is too bad a Muslim got injured.”
“Don’t worry too much. They’re quite unreligious, the people in that family.”