All Inclusive, page 14
At 3:00 p.m., Mr. and Mrs. Doige turned up at the tour desk. His expression was stern as he rocked back and forth on his heels, while Mrs. Doige had the stance of his dutiful secretary, anxiously awaiting a memo to type. They both were in bathing suits and a fresh sunburn streaked his nose. He probably wasn’t feeling it yet; it would roast overnight and smart by morning. Still, I had an urge to poke my fingernail into his burnt skin, leaving behind a crescent-moon-shaped welt.
“Have you been enjoying the day? I see you’ve been swimming,” I said, attempting a congenial tone.
“Oh yes, very much,” Mrs. Doige answered, voice pitched high, “the beach is lovely. And the kids are having a great time at the Kids Club. It’s so nice to have some time on our own for a —”
“So what’s the situation with our reservation?” Mr. Doige barked. A fly circled his head, and he swatted at it. His wife joined in the effort. I waited for them to finish. I’d read somewhere that flies feed mostly on fecal matter and rotting food, and deposit leftovers wherever they landed. The thought calmed me. The couple shifted a few feet to the left, which seemed to confuse the invader.
“I’m still waiting on an answer from my supervisor. We’ll know more by the end of the weekend.” I almost laughed as the insect continued its flight path over Mr. Doige’s scalp. He, in turn, resumed his irritated swatting. Palm and pest met, the fly’s wings whirring to a stop momentarily.
“I find this unacceptable. What an inconvenience. It’s three o’clock! I gave you all day to sort this out and you clearly haven’t.” Mr. Doige’s sunburnt nose glowed.
“There was a snowstorm in Ottawa, so everyone got in late today.” I shrugged. “Strange for April. But you know Ottawa.”
“Well, we’ll just wait to hear what comes next.” Mrs. Doige raised her eyebrows high on her face and looked meaningfully at Mr. Doige. He frowned in response, and Mrs. Doige took his arm and patted it maternally.
“I cannot believe it!” Mr. Doige slammed his hand against the counter.
“Well, how about I offer the two of you complimentary massages to help you relax while we wait for my supervisor to get back to me?” Earlier that afternoon, Elias had grudgingly relinquished the coupons. I hoped I wasn’t prematurely using up my only tourist-calming strategy. Mrs. Doige gasped with delight.
“Are they even licensed therapists?” Mr. Doige griped.
“Let’s go make an appointment while the children are in their program!” Mrs. Doige beamed. The pair walked toward the lobby, Mrs. Doige whispering something in her husband’s ear. He laughed, put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. His arm swept down to her bottom. I frowned as they ambled around a corner and disappeared from sight.
Near the end of our shift, Manuela passed me a message she’ d taken while I’d been on a break. She’ d written it on the company’s lavender telephone form.
From: Jerome Lewis (Online Supervisor).
She’ d checked off the box indicating that I should call back.
Urgent.
Manuela’s initials and a :-)
“The phone number isn’t Oceana’s one-eight-hundred line. It looks like a private line.”
“Maybe he’s calling from home?” Manuela guessed.
I dialled the number. Jerome Lewis’s outgoing voicemail recording was a Lykke Li song, “Jerome”. Malika had included in on my birthday CD, which I’d been listening to almost daily since its arrival. I sang along until the beep and left a message.
Azeez
∞
I became an invisible tenant in Nora’s house, settling into her life as much as I had my Mumbai home. I eavesdropped on her conversations, ruminations, and aspirations, many of which centred on Victor, her suitor.
They’d met in January, and within two months were spending most evenings and weekends together. I whispered cautionary messages to slow down, take her time, but she wouldn’t hear me. On the outside, she was the bold girl I’d met thirty years earlier. At night, she tossed and turned with a torment I couldn’t calm.
I ate dinner with them, watched their favourite show, Parks and Recreation, listened to their snores. It was confounding that I couldn’t sense Ameera’s location. In fact, I couldn’t pick up on her at all. I whinged to my guides: If she’s my daughter, shouldn’t I be able to feel her? I’d been able to find other humans without much difficulty.
She doesn’t know you. And you don’t know her. Yet.
But how is she going to know me if I can’t go to her? And vice versa?
You must go to her first. Then she will begin to know you.
But how will I find her?
Around and around we went. And then, my answer arrived.
∞
Nora’s magazine was dated March 2015, which matched the late-winter sunshine slanting through the window. She called out to Victor, attempting to draw him into her reading.
“C’mon, do this quiz with me. It’ll be fun! It’s about your romance IQ.” She laughed nervously and I leaned in. Her breath smelled of coffee and anxiety. She and Victor hadn’t shared intimacy that week. She worried their ardour was already fizzling out.
“Babe, I’ve gotta get ready for work,” he yelled back.
Nora sighed, deciding his answer was confirmation of her fears. She completed the quiz in pencil, then calculated her score: thirty-two. The box in the sidebar indicated that she was a Timid Romantic. She hastily erased her answers until the page was pristine.
She opened the second magazine to a spread of women’s lingerie, pausing at a display of crimson satin teddies. I wondered if Victor was the type to purchase something like that for her. On Valentine’s Day all he managed was a grocery-store bouquet and a box of chocolates.
Leave the page open on the table for him to notice, I coached her.
She frowned, put the magazine on the coffee table, splayed open. Had she heard me? Then she seemed to change her mind and stacked the magazines one atop the other. Once again she frowned and then exclaimed,“I forgot to mail them! February and March! Where’s my head at?”
“What did you say, babe?” Victor strolled into the living room with toothpaste frothing from the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, nothing. I just forgot to send Ameera these magazines last month. And her birthday is in three weeks. I better get on that, too — sometimes the mail is really slow. I still need to buy her a present.”
At her tidy desk in the corner of her kitchen, she reached for a large yellow envelope and stuffed the magazines inside. She fumbled in her drawer for a slip of paper, and then, with a green marker, addressed the package to her daughter in neat, deliberate block letters. I’d poked through that drawer, sifted through her address book, but hadn’t seen that scrap with Ameera’s address. How had I missed it?
It wasn’t time yet, my guides chimed in unison.
I sighed weariness into the cosmos. But, finally, I had a destination.
Ameera
∆
“A dedicated bunch.” I wiped sweat from my brow. Blythe and I were sipping coffee and gazing out at the Sunday morning exercise class. Although the morning had been especially hot, half the dance floor was covered by sneakered, dancing feet.
“Bonkers to do it in this heat.”
As the class progressed, the participants withered, their swings and swoops shifting into near slow motion. The phone rang and Blythe answered.
“Anita, hullo! Oppressively hot … oh yes, I signed it last week and e-mailed it back. Don’t worry, of course I haven’t. Yes, and neither the other matter,” Blythe spoke in a hushed tone and then glanced at me nervously. She said her goodbyes and passed me the phone. She ignored my curious look.
“Hi, Ameera. Well I have news. Your Mr. and Mrs. Doige are nowhere to be found in our system. There’s no record of payment. We suspect that they hacked into our system and created fraudulent confirmation numbers.”
“Really? How?”
“We’re still sorting that out. The online department has to answer for the lack of security that allowed this to happen,” she said with annoyance.
“Is Oceana going to take legal action?” I hoped I wouldn’t have to call the police on them.
“I doubt our legal department will want to spend money on this. Also, there’s a small chance the Doiges are victims of a third party, perhaps a travel agent, looking to make some extra money on the side. If that’s the case, they will have to take it up with their credit card company.”
“What happens next?” I pulled up a stool in preparation for her reply.
“Oceana can’t afford to give away free rooms.” She explained that the Doiges would have to pay for the hotel cost for the days they’d stayed and any additional time they wanted.
“Okay.” I remembered a recent company newsletter that boasted our highest profits in five years. “So who tells them all this?” My stomach sank, predicting the answer.
“You’ve been the main contact. And hey,” she said, sounding as though she was stage-whispering, “this will give me an opportunity to write a commendation in your file, you know, to balance things out a bit? I’ll make sure to tell our director about your handling of the situation.” Anita’s conspiratorial tone gave me pause. Perhaps things would turn out all right. Maybe this probation thing wasn’t as career-damaging as I’d feared.
“Use a soft but firm touch. Get Roberto or Oscar to help. It might be good to have a man on hand.” I wondered what Marianna, the elder daughter with the long braid down her back, would feel about all of this.
Anita requested a follow-up report the next day and then we said goodbye. I vented to Blythe and she offered to assist, but I declined; Roberto would be back with the turtle sightseers in two hours and I agreed with Anita’s advice to recruit a man. Mr. Doige seemed the sort who wouldn’t accept a woman’s authority.
“So what were you talking to Anita about? What’s the secret thing you signed?” I eyed Blythe. The mysterious comments had stayed with me, even with the greater distraction of the Doiges.
“Oh, nothing. Everyone’s going to get their contracts and there are some changes, but Anita wants to deal with everyone individually,” Blythe said.
“Oh come on, Blythe. Spill.”
“Sorry. I really can’t. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll hear something soon about your contract offer.” She smiled earnestly at me.
“Yeah, if Oscar didn’t completely ruin my chances. I’m fairly certain he said something awful to Anita when she was conducting her so-called investigation.”
“Well … that wouldn’t surprise me,” Blythe said, nodding sagely. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. What’s the point?”
“Yeah. You know how he is,” she said, looking out toward the cardio class, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
∆
A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Is this Ameera?” The man asked. His voice was scratchy like Gavin’s and for a moment I was awash in expectation, my heart fluttering, my stomach dropping. But then he cleared his throat and his voice grew clearer and deeper. “This is Jerome, I’m Supervisor of Oceana Online Sales.”
“Oh. Hello. Yes, this is Ameera.”
“Good. I need to chat with you about the fraud. It’s urgent.” He spoke quickly and sounded stressed.
“Sure, but listen, Anita just called and gave me the lowdown. She gave me instructions on what to do.”
“She did? That’s weird. Um …” He seemed to be thinking aloud. “Sorry, we must have our wires crossed. For some reason I thought I was supposed to phone you. Well…I’m glad things are taken care of.”
“Thanks for phoning on your day off. And that’s a great song on your outgoing message, by the way.”
“Yeah I just heard it yesterday and changed my message as a lark.”
We said goodbye and I turned my mind back to the Doiges.
How exactly would I deliver their eviction notice with a “soft but firm” touch?
Azeez
∞
She resembled my sister, with intense, dark eyes, a perfect oval face, light brown skin, shoulder-length brown hair. But this description was too mundane for my Ameera. Her eyes shone like a sky full of stars. Her smile was a thousand joys. She carried herself with a royal air. But you had to look closely. If you didn’t, she’ d be any other pretty young woman.
I was overcome by her. My spirit’s aura turned indigo with the elation of new love.
I was certain it was my fate to meet her before transitioning to the next world, but I was less clear on what to do next. What influence was I supposed to have on this wondrous being? What would I need to learn from her? What was our unfinished business?
I stuck close, gathered information, and gradually introduced myself while she slept. She allowed me to enter her dreams, although my messages often transmitted in patchy sound bites. And nothing passed through when she was intoxicated. Alcohol is the ghost’s kryptonite.
While she slept, I offered her lush dreams, and told her whatever I could about myself. But when she was awake, I endeavoured to make my words sound like her own internal voice, like intuition, gut feelings. I got overexcited and switched to Gujarati once. Sometimes I forgot to be neutral and conversed with her as myself, which I’m sure was odd-sounding at best, and creepy at worst. I didn’t want to scare her. Humans don’t like to feel haunted. But I was encouraged! Through short transmissions, my girl could hear me, even if she didn’t know it!
I followed her around her strange paradise. I’d seen similar resorts when I’d surveilled my brother on his extramarital trips to Goa or Thailand. I suspected that Ameera had enjoyed Atlantis once, but by the time I found her she was indifferent to its earthly miracles. She was itchy for new experiences and pleasures, the nature of which she only partly understood.
She had unconventional relations. I did not focus on the physical details of them; I didn’t want to snoop. TMI, Nafees would have said. Besides, we spirits are far afield from flesh. For us, human sex is a neutral thing, like playing a game of cards, negotiating a business transaction, or having a conversation. None of these activities are better or worse than the other, healthier or more moral. All can inspire truth and beauty or treachery and ugliness.
I knew from my single experience that humans don’t see it this way. Sex is loaded with judgments and fears and hopes and desires. It can even be magical. And I suppose for me it was because look! It created her.
While I didn’t watch her corporeal explorations, I did listen to her thoughts about her liaisons, what it all meant to her. I was keen to understand her reflections on the bodybuilders, or that couple from Italy. I could tell she was open to sensation and delight. But she’ d also get herself into trouble when she didn’t listen to her intuition, and, like her mother, she made poor choices when she was too full of the yearning she couldn’t name.
What was that yearning? Not to be narcissistic, but I think Ameera was longing for me. To know me, my story, to know who she was in relation to me. I’d seen and heard it each time she’ d struggled to speak our murky story — with her drunken lovers, with the Indians on the beach. We all need family, to know our ancestry.
And so I whispered to her in her sleep:
Ameera! Death is like a strange, long-distance relationship. Except there are no telephones. I know it sometimes feels one-way, but it isn’t. You must trust that I am here, at the other end of the connection. Listen carefully. I’m here. Ameera!
Ameera
∆
“Well good morning! Do you have news for us?” Mrs. Doige asked. I detected a note of trepidation just below her pleasantness.
“Yes. Please come down to the main lobby.” I held the phone tightly in my hand. “It’s better that we go through all the details. In person.” Roberto had suggested this strategy. Mrs. Doige said nothing and then there was a sound like a breeze blowing through the phone.
“Yes, what is it?” Mr. Doige came on the line. I bet he’ d snatched the receiver from his wife’s hand.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby. See you soon!” My excessively cheery tone, followed by my abrupt hang-up, probably made me sound foolish, but it was all I could manage. I looked at Roberto, who nodded his approval. I was glad that Anita wasn’t there to observe my nervous bumbling.
The phone rang at the lobby’s front counter. A clerk answered and gestured that it was the Doiges calling back. Roberto took the call and restated my instructions twice more.
“He didn’t want to come down. But he’s getting dressed and will be here in fifteen minutes,” he reported.
“Thanks. You called security, right?”
“Yes. And I’ll tell the rest of staff.” Roberto’s tone was formal and serious, but as he turned to go, he patted my shoulder and smiled.
“I wish we could just call the cops on them,” I grumbled. I stepped into the cool of the air-conditioned main office and waited for the wet around my armpits to dry.
∆
The Doiges arrived half an hour later, dressed for a day at the beach, in bathing suits, flip-flops, and with towels slung over their shoulders. Jessica, the younger girl, wore an inflated ring around her waist. Marianna carried a red flutter board and a look of unease. The family was guided to one end of the lobby’s main counter, a barrier behind which Roberto and I positioned ourselves.
“Thanks for meeting us here.” I breathlessly delivered their options. I handed them their bill and an itemized list of what they’d owe if they remained at Atlantis or transferred to a sister resort. I told them that Oceana suspected fraud without directly accusing them of the crime. I tried to sound firm, but Mr. Doige interrupted multiple times and Roberto, like a backup singer, had to jump in and echo some of my lines.
Mrs. Doige’s mouth formed a surprised and innocent O. Then her eyes welled with tears, and fear paled her face. Jessica pinched her inflatable ring, as though testing its strength, and Marianna smacked her fingers and took her by the hand, guiding her to a nearby wicker sofa. She’ d abandoned her flutter board, leaning it against her father’s knee. He didn’t notice because he was occupied with his yelling, his voice flinging itself high above us and up to the lobby’s ceiling fans. Their blades turned slowly, half-heartedly combining his words and humid air before nudging them back down.
“Have you been enjoying the day? I see you’ve been swimming,” I said, attempting a congenial tone.
“Oh yes, very much,” Mrs. Doige answered, voice pitched high, “the beach is lovely. And the kids are having a great time at the Kids Club. It’s so nice to have some time on our own for a —”
“So what’s the situation with our reservation?” Mr. Doige barked. A fly circled his head, and he swatted at it. His wife joined in the effort. I waited for them to finish. I’d read somewhere that flies feed mostly on fecal matter and rotting food, and deposit leftovers wherever they landed. The thought calmed me. The couple shifted a few feet to the left, which seemed to confuse the invader.
“I’m still waiting on an answer from my supervisor. We’ll know more by the end of the weekend.” I almost laughed as the insect continued its flight path over Mr. Doige’s scalp. He, in turn, resumed his irritated swatting. Palm and pest met, the fly’s wings whirring to a stop momentarily.
“I find this unacceptable. What an inconvenience. It’s three o’clock! I gave you all day to sort this out and you clearly haven’t.” Mr. Doige’s sunburnt nose glowed.
“There was a snowstorm in Ottawa, so everyone got in late today.” I shrugged. “Strange for April. But you know Ottawa.”
“Well, we’ll just wait to hear what comes next.” Mrs. Doige raised her eyebrows high on her face and looked meaningfully at Mr. Doige. He frowned in response, and Mrs. Doige took his arm and patted it maternally.
“I cannot believe it!” Mr. Doige slammed his hand against the counter.
“Well, how about I offer the two of you complimentary massages to help you relax while we wait for my supervisor to get back to me?” Earlier that afternoon, Elias had grudgingly relinquished the coupons. I hoped I wasn’t prematurely using up my only tourist-calming strategy. Mrs. Doige gasped with delight.
“Are they even licensed therapists?” Mr. Doige griped.
“Let’s go make an appointment while the children are in their program!” Mrs. Doige beamed. The pair walked toward the lobby, Mrs. Doige whispering something in her husband’s ear. He laughed, put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. His arm swept down to her bottom. I frowned as they ambled around a corner and disappeared from sight.
Near the end of our shift, Manuela passed me a message she’ d taken while I’d been on a break. She’ d written it on the company’s lavender telephone form.
From: Jerome Lewis (Online Supervisor).
She’ d checked off the box indicating that I should call back.
Urgent.
Manuela’s initials and a :-)
“The phone number isn’t Oceana’s one-eight-hundred line. It looks like a private line.”
“Maybe he’s calling from home?” Manuela guessed.
I dialled the number. Jerome Lewis’s outgoing voicemail recording was a Lykke Li song, “Jerome”. Malika had included in on my birthday CD, which I’d been listening to almost daily since its arrival. I sang along until the beep and left a message.
Azeez
∞
I became an invisible tenant in Nora’s house, settling into her life as much as I had my Mumbai home. I eavesdropped on her conversations, ruminations, and aspirations, many of which centred on Victor, her suitor.
They’d met in January, and within two months were spending most evenings and weekends together. I whispered cautionary messages to slow down, take her time, but she wouldn’t hear me. On the outside, she was the bold girl I’d met thirty years earlier. At night, she tossed and turned with a torment I couldn’t calm.
I ate dinner with them, watched their favourite show, Parks and Recreation, listened to their snores. It was confounding that I couldn’t sense Ameera’s location. In fact, I couldn’t pick up on her at all. I whinged to my guides: If she’s my daughter, shouldn’t I be able to feel her? I’d been able to find other humans without much difficulty.
She doesn’t know you. And you don’t know her. Yet.
But how is she going to know me if I can’t go to her? And vice versa?
You must go to her first. Then she will begin to know you.
But how will I find her?
Around and around we went. And then, my answer arrived.
∞
Nora’s magazine was dated March 2015, which matched the late-winter sunshine slanting through the window. She called out to Victor, attempting to draw him into her reading.
“C’mon, do this quiz with me. It’ll be fun! It’s about your romance IQ.” She laughed nervously and I leaned in. Her breath smelled of coffee and anxiety. She and Victor hadn’t shared intimacy that week. She worried their ardour was already fizzling out.
“Babe, I’ve gotta get ready for work,” he yelled back.
Nora sighed, deciding his answer was confirmation of her fears. She completed the quiz in pencil, then calculated her score: thirty-two. The box in the sidebar indicated that she was a Timid Romantic. She hastily erased her answers until the page was pristine.
She opened the second magazine to a spread of women’s lingerie, pausing at a display of crimson satin teddies. I wondered if Victor was the type to purchase something like that for her. On Valentine’s Day all he managed was a grocery-store bouquet and a box of chocolates.
Leave the page open on the table for him to notice, I coached her.
She frowned, put the magazine on the coffee table, splayed open. Had she heard me? Then she seemed to change her mind and stacked the magazines one atop the other. Once again she frowned and then exclaimed,“I forgot to mail them! February and March! Where’s my head at?”
“What did you say, babe?” Victor strolled into the living room with toothpaste frothing from the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, nothing. I just forgot to send Ameera these magazines last month. And her birthday is in three weeks. I better get on that, too — sometimes the mail is really slow. I still need to buy her a present.”
At her tidy desk in the corner of her kitchen, she reached for a large yellow envelope and stuffed the magazines inside. She fumbled in her drawer for a slip of paper, and then, with a green marker, addressed the package to her daughter in neat, deliberate block letters. I’d poked through that drawer, sifted through her address book, but hadn’t seen that scrap with Ameera’s address. How had I missed it?
It wasn’t time yet, my guides chimed in unison.
I sighed weariness into the cosmos. But, finally, I had a destination.
Ameera
∆
“A dedicated bunch.” I wiped sweat from my brow. Blythe and I were sipping coffee and gazing out at the Sunday morning exercise class. Although the morning had been especially hot, half the dance floor was covered by sneakered, dancing feet.
“Bonkers to do it in this heat.”
As the class progressed, the participants withered, their swings and swoops shifting into near slow motion. The phone rang and Blythe answered.
“Anita, hullo! Oppressively hot … oh yes, I signed it last week and e-mailed it back. Don’t worry, of course I haven’t. Yes, and neither the other matter,” Blythe spoke in a hushed tone and then glanced at me nervously. She said her goodbyes and passed me the phone. She ignored my curious look.
“Hi, Ameera. Well I have news. Your Mr. and Mrs. Doige are nowhere to be found in our system. There’s no record of payment. We suspect that they hacked into our system and created fraudulent confirmation numbers.”
“Really? How?”
“We’re still sorting that out. The online department has to answer for the lack of security that allowed this to happen,” she said with annoyance.
“Is Oceana going to take legal action?” I hoped I wouldn’t have to call the police on them.
“I doubt our legal department will want to spend money on this. Also, there’s a small chance the Doiges are victims of a third party, perhaps a travel agent, looking to make some extra money on the side. If that’s the case, they will have to take it up with their credit card company.”
“What happens next?” I pulled up a stool in preparation for her reply.
“Oceana can’t afford to give away free rooms.” She explained that the Doiges would have to pay for the hotel cost for the days they’d stayed and any additional time they wanted.
“Okay.” I remembered a recent company newsletter that boasted our highest profits in five years. “So who tells them all this?” My stomach sank, predicting the answer.
“You’ve been the main contact. And hey,” she said, sounding as though she was stage-whispering, “this will give me an opportunity to write a commendation in your file, you know, to balance things out a bit? I’ll make sure to tell our director about your handling of the situation.” Anita’s conspiratorial tone gave me pause. Perhaps things would turn out all right. Maybe this probation thing wasn’t as career-damaging as I’d feared.
“Use a soft but firm touch. Get Roberto or Oscar to help. It might be good to have a man on hand.” I wondered what Marianna, the elder daughter with the long braid down her back, would feel about all of this.
Anita requested a follow-up report the next day and then we said goodbye. I vented to Blythe and she offered to assist, but I declined; Roberto would be back with the turtle sightseers in two hours and I agreed with Anita’s advice to recruit a man. Mr. Doige seemed the sort who wouldn’t accept a woman’s authority.
“So what were you talking to Anita about? What’s the secret thing you signed?” I eyed Blythe. The mysterious comments had stayed with me, even with the greater distraction of the Doiges.
“Oh, nothing. Everyone’s going to get their contracts and there are some changes, but Anita wants to deal with everyone individually,” Blythe said.
“Oh come on, Blythe. Spill.”
“Sorry. I really can’t. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll hear something soon about your contract offer.” She smiled earnestly at me.
“Yeah, if Oscar didn’t completely ruin my chances. I’m fairly certain he said something awful to Anita when she was conducting her so-called investigation.”
“Well … that wouldn’t surprise me,” Blythe said, nodding sagely. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. What’s the point?”
“Yeah. You know how he is,” she said, looking out toward the cardio class, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
∆
A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Is this Ameera?” The man asked. His voice was scratchy like Gavin’s and for a moment I was awash in expectation, my heart fluttering, my stomach dropping. But then he cleared his throat and his voice grew clearer and deeper. “This is Jerome, I’m Supervisor of Oceana Online Sales.”
“Oh. Hello. Yes, this is Ameera.”
“Good. I need to chat with you about the fraud. It’s urgent.” He spoke quickly and sounded stressed.
“Sure, but listen, Anita just called and gave me the lowdown. She gave me instructions on what to do.”
“She did? That’s weird. Um …” He seemed to be thinking aloud. “Sorry, we must have our wires crossed. For some reason I thought I was supposed to phone you. Well…I’m glad things are taken care of.”
“Thanks for phoning on your day off. And that’s a great song on your outgoing message, by the way.”
“Yeah I just heard it yesterday and changed my message as a lark.”
We said goodbye and I turned my mind back to the Doiges.
How exactly would I deliver their eviction notice with a “soft but firm” touch?
Azeez
∞
She resembled my sister, with intense, dark eyes, a perfect oval face, light brown skin, shoulder-length brown hair. But this description was too mundane for my Ameera. Her eyes shone like a sky full of stars. Her smile was a thousand joys. She carried herself with a royal air. But you had to look closely. If you didn’t, she’ d be any other pretty young woman.
I was overcome by her. My spirit’s aura turned indigo with the elation of new love.
I was certain it was my fate to meet her before transitioning to the next world, but I was less clear on what to do next. What influence was I supposed to have on this wondrous being? What would I need to learn from her? What was our unfinished business?
I stuck close, gathered information, and gradually introduced myself while she slept. She allowed me to enter her dreams, although my messages often transmitted in patchy sound bites. And nothing passed through when she was intoxicated. Alcohol is the ghost’s kryptonite.
While she slept, I offered her lush dreams, and told her whatever I could about myself. But when she was awake, I endeavoured to make my words sound like her own internal voice, like intuition, gut feelings. I got overexcited and switched to Gujarati once. Sometimes I forgot to be neutral and conversed with her as myself, which I’m sure was odd-sounding at best, and creepy at worst. I didn’t want to scare her. Humans don’t like to feel haunted. But I was encouraged! Through short transmissions, my girl could hear me, even if she didn’t know it!
I followed her around her strange paradise. I’d seen similar resorts when I’d surveilled my brother on his extramarital trips to Goa or Thailand. I suspected that Ameera had enjoyed Atlantis once, but by the time I found her she was indifferent to its earthly miracles. She was itchy for new experiences and pleasures, the nature of which she only partly understood.
She had unconventional relations. I did not focus on the physical details of them; I didn’t want to snoop. TMI, Nafees would have said. Besides, we spirits are far afield from flesh. For us, human sex is a neutral thing, like playing a game of cards, negotiating a business transaction, or having a conversation. None of these activities are better or worse than the other, healthier or more moral. All can inspire truth and beauty or treachery and ugliness.
I knew from my single experience that humans don’t see it this way. Sex is loaded with judgments and fears and hopes and desires. It can even be magical. And I suppose for me it was because look! It created her.
While I didn’t watch her corporeal explorations, I did listen to her thoughts about her liaisons, what it all meant to her. I was keen to understand her reflections on the bodybuilders, or that couple from Italy. I could tell she was open to sensation and delight. But she’ d also get herself into trouble when she didn’t listen to her intuition, and, like her mother, she made poor choices when she was too full of the yearning she couldn’t name.
What was that yearning? Not to be narcissistic, but I think Ameera was longing for me. To know me, my story, to know who she was in relation to me. I’d seen and heard it each time she’ d struggled to speak our murky story — with her drunken lovers, with the Indians on the beach. We all need family, to know our ancestry.
And so I whispered to her in her sleep:
Ameera! Death is like a strange, long-distance relationship. Except there are no telephones. I know it sometimes feels one-way, but it isn’t. You must trust that I am here, at the other end of the connection. Listen carefully. I’m here. Ameera!
Ameera
∆
“Well good morning! Do you have news for us?” Mrs. Doige asked. I detected a note of trepidation just below her pleasantness.
“Yes. Please come down to the main lobby.” I held the phone tightly in my hand. “It’s better that we go through all the details. In person.” Roberto had suggested this strategy. Mrs. Doige said nothing and then there was a sound like a breeze blowing through the phone.
“Yes, what is it?” Mr. Doige came on the line. I bet he’ d snatched the receiver from his wife’s hand.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby. See you soon!” My excessively cheery tone, followed by my abrupt hang-up, probably made me sound foolish, but it was all I could manage. I looked at Roberto, who nodded his approval. I was glad that Anita wasn’t there to observe my nervous bumbling.
The phone rang at the lobby’s front counter. A clerk answered and gestured that it was the Doiges calling back. Roberto took the call and restated my instructions twice more.
“He didn’t want to come down. But he’s getting dressed and will be here in fifteen minutes,” he reported.
“Thanks. You called security, right?”
“Yes. And I’ll tell the rest of staff.” Roberto’s tone was formal and serious, but as he turned to go, he patted my shoulder and smiled.
“I wish we could just call the cops on them,” I grumbled. I stepped into the cool of the air-conditioned main office and waited for the wet around my armpits to dry.
∆
The Doiges arrived half an hour later, dressed for a day at the beach, in bathing suits, flip-flops, and with towels slung over their shoulders. Jessica, the younger girl, wore an inflated ring around her waist. Marianna carried a red flutter board and a look of unease. The family was guided to one end of the lobby’s main counter, a barrier behind which Roberto and I positioned ourselves.
“Thanks for meeting us here.” I breathlessly delivered their options. I handed them their bill and an itemized list of what they’d owe if they remained at Atlantis or transferred to a sister resort. I told them that Oceana suspected fraud without directly accusing them of the crime. I tried to sound firm, but Mr. Doige interrupted multiple times and Roberto, like a backup singer, had to jump in and echo some of my lines.
Mrs. Doige’s mouth formed a surprised and innocent O. Then her eyes welled with tears, and fear paled her face. Jessica pinched her inflatable ring, as though testing its strength, and Marianna smacked her fingers and took her by the hand, guiding her to a nearby wicker sofa. She’ d abandoned her flutter board, leaning it against her father’s knee. He didn’t notice because he was occupied with his yelling, his voice flinging itself high above us and up to the lobby’s ceiling fans. Their blades turned slowly, half-heartedly combining his words and humid air before nudging them back down.
