What We Bury, page 11
part #4 of Call of the Crow Quartet Series
“Last night,” Auntie Leila said. “Are you hungry? I was just going to make some pasta—want some?”
“Sure,” said Roya.
The lawyer lady looked over at Roya, then said a few quiet words to Baba before leaving through the back door.
“What was she doing here?” Roya asked once the door had closed.
Baba didn’t answer. He looked lost, like he had no idea where he was. Roya scooted into the chair next to him. He put his arm around her robotically.
Cyrus looked up from his phone. “She thinks she can convince the judge to postpone the trial. To give us some time to get things in order. Plus, she has to figure out a new strategy, since she was counting a lot on Maman’s testimony.”
“Kourosh,” Auntie Leila said warningly.
“What? Roya’s part of this family, too. She deserves to know.”
Roya thought Cyrus deserved a big hug for that.
“I have an idea, Roya,” Auntie Leila said. “Why don’t we go up to your room together? I’ll help you pick out some clothes.”
“Pick out clothes? Why?” Roya asked. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere today. I can just stay in my pajamas.”
They all stared at her as if she’d just said something weird, then exchanged glances. “What?” she asked at the same time Auntie Leila said, “You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
“The burial’s today,” Auntie Leila said. Baba and Cyrus both looked down, as if ashamed to meet her eyes. “Your dad and your brothers are leaving soon, and we’ll meet them there. It’s going to be a quiet ceremony. We’ll have a memorial service next weekend.”
“Oh.” Roya’s uneasiness grew. “Okay. I’ll go get ready. You don’t need to come with me, I know what I’ll wear. But, Auntie, could I play some games on your phone while you make lunch?”
Cyrus side-eyed her, as if saying, what, my games aren’t good enough for you? If Roya had actually planned on playing games, she definitely would’ve preferred to take his phone. But Cyrus was too nosy. He’d be able to figure out exactly what she’d done.
To Roya’s relief, Auntie Leila unlocked her phone. “Sure, but just for a few minutes, okay?”
Roya nodded. “I’m going up to my room. Just tell me when my time’s up.” With that, she made her way up the stairs, barely holding back a squeal of glee. She was going to hear Kass’s voice again!
Roya paused at her brothers’ room to look in on Naveed. He still had his back to her, but he was coughing, so she knew he was awake. Koffka raised his head and whimpered as if asking, do you need anything? She just shook her head and moved along without saying a word.
When she got to her room, she closed the door and immediately dialed Ilyana’s number. The phone rang three times before a woman picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi. May I please speak with Kasandra?” Roya was pleased with herself for sounding so grown up.
“Who is calling?” The woman had a Russian accent so thick it took Roya a moment to figure out what she was asking.
“This is her friend, Roya,” she said.
“Oh! A friend. Please wait.”
A second later came the voice Roya had been waiting to hear. “Hello?”
“Kass! I’m so glad you’re there! I have so much to tell you, can you talk for a minute?”
“Yes,” said Kass. “I’m happy you called. Ilyana doesn’t usually pick up the phone unless she knows who’s calling, but I had a feeling it was you. How’s your leg doing?”
“Oh, it’s all right. Healing up. But Kass…” Roya couldn’t quite get the words out. She took a deep breath. “Kass, something really bad happened. My mom died.”
Kass gasped. “Oh no,” she said. “Really? How?”
“She went hiking. My dad said she slipped and fell off a cliff, I guess, but…” Tears stung Roya’s eyes. “I think maybe this was my fault. She had these demons inside her. Like shayatin, if you know what those are? They made her angry. Mean. She seemed like a different person. And I did this banishing spell and I thought it didn’t work but what if I did it all wrong and instead of banishing the demons I banished Maman? I used her hair, Kass, I made a poppet with her hair.”
Roya was sobbing hard now, unable to hold back. Saying all of this out loud physically hurt, giving voice to the thoughts that had been swirling through her head for days, gathering more and more strength. What if it had been like the ants, where she’d been trying to do something good but ended up luring innocent creatures to their deaths?
“Oh, Roya,” Kass said sadly. “I’m so sorry. Tell me about the spell you did. What else did you use for the poppet?”
Through her tears, Roya told her about all three parts of her banishing spell: the poppet, the song, the prayers at the mosque. After asking a few more questions, Kass said, “I don’t think this is your fault, Roya. Your spellwork was good. The rituals you did were clearly trying to banish the demons, not your mom.”
Roya wiped her nose with her shirt. Guilt still gnawed at her, but a little less so now that she’d consulted with an expert. “Okay, that’s good. But is there anything I can do to, like, reverse it? To bring her back?”
“No,” Kass said. “It can’t be done. But don’t worry, her spirit is still with you. It always will be.”
Roya’s throat felt very tight. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to squeeze into bed with Maman snuggling beside her. She wanted Maman to massage her knee with her cool, smooth hands. She wanted to smell her lavender-scented hair and her rose-oil perfume and even her morning cardamom-tea breath.
How could all those things be gone forever?
“If I could just talk to her again…” Roya mused. “That’s something you can help with, right?”
“Actually… no. Ilyana caught me doing a ritual once and it really scared her so she made me promise I wouldn’t do it again. If she caught me, she might send me away, and I really don’t want to end up in another foster family. But… since I can’t help… this just popped into my head, so maybe it means something. Nan had this friend, an old acolyte who became a shaman. She owned a crystal shop close to Seattle, but I have no idea if it’s still there. I can’t remember the name… something to do with the moon? Anyway, she was very skilled at moving between the spirit world and ours. Maybe I can track her down.”
“I guess that could work.” Roya didn’t really want help from anyone but Kass, but she’d take whatever she could get.
“Wait—is there going to be a funeral?” Kass asked. “Maybe I could come, and we can figure out a plan then?”
“Yes! The memorial’s next weekend, I think. I’ll call you as soon as I know when.” Roya hoped there would be a lot of people there, so Kass could blend into the crowd without her family finding out. Baba and her brothers would probably be too distracted to even notice.
“Perfect,” Kass said. “Can I call you at this number?”
“No. This is my auntie’s phone—she doesn’t know I’m talking to you. And I’d better go, actually.”
“Okay. Let me know about the memorial. I want to come.”
“Thanks, Kass. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. We’ll talk again soon.”
Roya hung up. She felt all cleaned out, like she’d just scrubbed away a bunch of grime that had been sticking to her insides. It was going to be okay. She knew that now. Together, she and Kass were going to fix this.
IT WAS MOCKINGLY SUNNY by the time Roya and Auntie Leila arrived at the cemetery. During the long drive, Roya had covered her head with the same blue scarf she’d worn on the day Maman died. Something about it felt comforting, as if it had soaked up a bunch of protective energy that day in the mosque. It’s like casting a circle around my head, she thought as she removed her shoes, then stepped inside the small building where everyone was gathering.
There was an open casket in the front of the room. A body was inside, covered completely in a white shroud. It seemed so impossible that Maman was in there. During the long drive, Auntie Leila told Roya that Khaleh Yasmin had done the ritual washing of her body earlier in the morning, had arranged Maman’s hair into the traditional three braids, had wrapped her up in white linen. Roya knew these things in her mind, but it was still hard to connect that faceless shroud to the person who had kissed her cheeks and nagged her about finishing homework and pretended not to notice when Roya added potato chips to the shopping cart.
When she turned around, Roya saw that still more people had arrived, among them Andi and Brooke, both wearing scarves draped over their heads. She waved at them, then Auntie Leila helped her get settled on a prayer rug.
A few minutes later, the imam appeared and led the prayer service. There was a lot of wailing, and everyone wept openly. Well, not everyone, Roya noticed. Naveed wasn’t crying. He was kneeling between Baba and Cyrus, both of whom had tears streaming down their cheeks. Naveed’s head was bent, but his eyes were dry. He still hadn’t said a single word to her.
After the brief service, Roya’s dad and brothers and some of the other men from the mosque carried the casket outside, chanting and singing in low, sad voices. Roya, Auntie Leila, and Khaleh Yasmin followed the procession out to the grave, where the imam said a few more words. Then her dad and brothers gathered around the casket.
Khaleh Yasmin looked at Roya. “Would you like to say goodbye?”
Roya stared at the ground. Next to her right foot was a cluster of tiny white mushrooms, glowing in the bright sunshine. No, she thought. No, I don’t want to say goodbye! I don’t want her to leave!
But she nodded and stepped up to the casket. “You can touch her if you’d like. It’s all right,” Khaleh Yasmin said.
Tentatively, Roya reached in. She would have liked to hold Maman’s hand one last time, but since the body was all wrapped up, she couldn’t. It must be hard to breathe through all that fabric, Roya thought—and that’s when it really started to sink in, the reality of all this: Maman was not breathing now. And she never would again.
Roya touched Maman’s cheek. Through the cloth, she could tell how rigid the muscles were, how cold and lifeless the body was. And as she ran her hand across the contours of the shrouded face, she knew. They weren’t lying. The body before her was all that was left of Maman.
She pulled away, into the waiting arms of Baba, who told her he loved her and kept repeating that he was sorry. She wished he’d stop saying that. None of this was his fault.
Baba and her brothers lifted the shrouded body out of the casket and lowered it into the ground. Watching them, Roya had a thought that made her heart hurt: now, she was the only girl in her family. Well, she supposed, Pashmak and the chickens were girls too, but that didn’t feel reassuring at all right now.
Baba lowered himself inside to prop Maman up on small mounds of earth so that she was lying on her right side. Then he got out and sprinkled three handfuls of dirt on her. Roya’s brothers did the same, and she noticed that Naveed had taken the silver star charm off his keychain, he was tucking it into his first handful of dirt, he was pouring it out into the grave. There it landed, shining for another second before it was covered up with dirt forever.
“No!” Roya yelled. How could he just toss it in there like that, as if it meant nothing? She lunged forward to jump inside and find it, but Auntie Leila and Khaleh Yasmin held her back. “No, no, no!” Roya kept repeating.
“It’s okay,” Auntie Leila lied.
Khaleh Yasmin caressed Roya’s tear-streaked face with her hands. “Roya-jaan, are you ready to leave? We can go if you need to.”
Roya wiped her face with the end of her scarf and pulled away. “No. Not yet.” She turned back to the grave. Maman’s shroud was now nearly obscured by dirt. There was no way she was getting that star charm back, but she couldn’t let Maman go without helping to send her off. With a scathing glare at Naveed that he didn’t seem to notice, Roya stepped forward, careful not to crush the tiny mushrooms at her feet.
She scooped a handful of earth in her hands, remembering all those times when Maman had been out working in the garden and Roya had been there digging beside her, relishing the squishy mud between her fingertips, and Maman had taught her about all the hidden things that happened underground, the conversations between the roots and the dirt and the mushrooms, whose tendrils reached everywhere, an invisible network beneath the surface….
One of Roya’s tears fell into the handful of dirt, making a tiny drop of mud. She scattered it over the clean white shroud, watching the fine dust glitter in the sunlight as, handful by handful, Maman slowly disappeared into the earth.
17
Naveed
Monday, May 23
THREE DAYS. NO SLEEP.
Two-thirty A.M. on Monday. The sonbol-eh tib tea hadn’t helped a bit, even though Naveed had brewed it so strong it was almost undrinkable. Should’ve been enough natural sedative to send an elephant into a deep slumber, but the dose wasn’t strong enough for him, apparently.
It was the Serovia. Had to be. Someone had picked up his prescription at the pharmacy, and it was easier to just take the pills and suffer the consequences than go through the trouble of figuring out how to contact his psychiatrist, making an urgent appointment, explaining all the backstory, and transitioning onto some other drug that might not even be better anyway.
There were times when he thought about dumping them all down the toilet, quitting cold turkey. There were times when he thought about taking the whole bottle at once. Both of those were just fantasies, though. He was too tired to follow through on either option.
Anyway, he could deal with the lack of sleep, with the resurgence of the nerve pain that prickled inside his hands and feet. What bothered him the most right now was something much more pressing. Every day, it hurt more to breathe.
At first, he’d chalked up the chest pain to grief, but it never relented, it was there all the time, intensifying whenever he tried to take a deep breath. His inhaler didn’t help anymore, either. The problem seemed to be deeper inside: his lungs felt like they were slowly turning to stone, barely room left inside them for air.
Naveed sat up in bed, the only way he could be remotely comfortable, and reached for his phone. It was time to ask Dr. Google what was going on.
The search results were far from reassuring. There were lots of possibilities, but one made a lot more sense than the others. Naveed read the symptoms, ticking mental boxes. Shortness of breath. Persistent cough. Chest pain that gets worse when you breathe deep or cough. Feeling tired or weak. Weight loss and loss of appetite.
“Lung cancer,” Naveed muttered out loud.
God, Naveed, Nate said inside his mind. You’re such a fucking mess.
It’s because of the weedkiller at SILO, Naveed thought. That stuff causes cancer, I was afraid this would happen, but I thought I’d have more time….
Koffka looked up at him, as if asking, Need your inhaler? Naveed shook his head. What he needed was fresh air.
He got out of bed, not even bothering to be quiet. Cyrus was as heavy a sleeper as ever. Koffka followed him out the room and down the stairs.
Naveed grabbed a blanket from the couch and started making his way to the back porch so that he could sit outside for a few minutes, but stopped when he heard a noise.
Somebody was in the office typing on the laptop.
Maman, Naveed thought longingly. In his sleep-starved daze, it didn’t feel so impossible.
Naveed and Koffka crept towards the office, a closet-like space off the dining room. The typing had stopped. He paused by the closed door and kept listening. The zipper of the laptop bag opening and closing. The squeak of a filing cabinet drawer. Then, another burst of typing. He didn’t want to interrupt when she was writing, so he waited until it stopped before knocking softly and opening the door.
The room was empty. The laptop was closed.
But then he smelled it: the sharp scent of Maman’s rose oil perfume. It hung in the air, the way it did when she had just left a room.
She had been here.
It felt like she was trying to tell him something. Just like with the phone, how she’d left it for him to find.
There was something in here. Some clue about who had done this to her.
Naveed had spent a lot of time dwelling on this. He’d been so frustrated with Cyrus for not even trying to help him figure out Maman’s passcode. Nate, though, had convinced him not to mention it again. Shouldn’t have shown them her phone in the first place, Nate said. It was a mistake to think they’d help you find her killer. Just pretend you’ve given up.
That hadn’t been hard. He’d mixed truth and lies together to make it more believable, telling Andi it wasn’t that he thought someone had killed his mother, not really, he just wanted it to be somebody else’s fault, and he wanted Cyrus to open the phone so he could look through her camera roll and see the photos she’d taken at the mountain, he needed to know if she’d been happy in her last days, but really it was enough just to have the phone, to be able to touch the last thing she had touched. Andi had nodded tearfully, believing him, no doubt relaying it all to Cyrus the next time they talked about him behind his back.
None of them knew anything. And he intended to keep it that way.
Now, in the office, Naveed tried to wake up the laptop. But it had been powered down, so he had to turn it on again and wait for it to warm up. Instead of watching it spin its wheels, he opened the filing cabinet and started rifling through the folders. There had to be a clue in this room somewhere.
At first his search was haphazard. But then a thought occurred to him: what if she’d written down the passcode somewhere in here? Just in case she forgot it, since Cyrus had set up such stringent security controls? It seemed possible—she was always complaining about how she could never remember the password for Naveed’s online health records. She refused to save it in her browser, since she wanted to keep his medical information as protected as possible. She’d finally written it down on a scrap of paper, which Cyrus had conceded was secure enough, as long as she hid it well.
