The Wish Maker (66 page)

“It’s fine,” I said, and carried it into the room.

“So,” said Benny, holding his hips and scanning the room as if for flaws, “this is the common room. This is your desk. That’s mine there. Yeah, I went ahead and threw my stuff on it. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“You don’t care?”

“About what?”

“The desks.”

I said, “Oh! No, it’s not a problem, it’s not a problem.”

We laughed.

“Oh, and the bathroom?” he said, leading me to it. “It’s pretty big, so like, we’re all set.”

“Great!”

“You wanna see the room?”

I followed him past the bathroom, into a dark, dusty space with just a window and a bunk bed.

“Top, bottom, whatever,” said Benny, “your call.”

Our proctor’s name was Peggy. She lived with her partner, Jo, in a two-bedroom suite at the foot of the stairs. Peggy and Jo were hosting the first house meeting in an hour. I showered using Benny’s toiletries (he owned a bottle of shampoo and a bar of unscented soap), changed into the suit I had brought with me and sprayed cologne around its lapels. Benny said he wasn’t going to change his clothes. He was typing very quickly at his computer. When it was time to go downstairs he got up from his desk and put on a pair of rubber sandals.

I said, “You ready?”

“I guess,” he said.

A woman opened the door. She was small, wore black clothes and no makeup, and had very black eyebrows. Her smile was toothy and expectant. “Zaaki!” she said, pointing to me, and shifted the finger of identification to my companion. “And . . .
Benny!
”

We nodded.

“You must be Peggy,” I said.

“Oh no!”—a hand went to her throat—“I’m Jo. That’s Peggy there.” She pointed behind her to a tall blond woman who was talking with emphatic movements of her hand to a circle of nodding students.

“Come on in!” cried Jo, frowning in humorous annoyance.

We sat on the carpet with our backs against the walls. The small square table in the corner was stacked with cans of Coke, Diet Coke and Cherry Coke, nachos and salsa, white plastic plates and red plastic cups with white rims. Peggy sat cross-legged in the center, her feet joined at the soles and her hands around her ankles. (Jo had fled to some undisclosed destination.)

“Well?” said Peggy, surveying the room with a stable smile. “Welcome! Let me say, before we start: this is your first time, I know, you’re all nervous, but let me tell ya”—here she made a frazzled face—“you’ll be doing this a
lot
. Name, hometown, interests, all of that stuff”—she waved it aside—“it’s gonna get boring pretty soon. So don’t be shy. Okay?”

There were nods and blinks.

“Okay,” said Peggy, and placed her honest palms on the floor, “we’ll start with me.”

Peggy Grant was from Delaware, Ohio. One of three siblings (a younger brother and sister, both still in Ohio), Peggy moved here for college in the late sixties, studied psychology, which was
the
major back then, oh yeah, everybody was into psychoanalysis, a crazy time, and hey, fun too (one word: Wood-stock), and she did fun things, wacky things, but then she went home for a while, to figure things out, she worked there in a library, four years of her life, when she realized that her heart was still in Massachusetts. So she returned to the best state in the country (“Go Red Sox!”) and started teaching at a school. Twelve years ago she met Jo, and that changed her life, and they’d been living together since, first in a run-down apartment in Somerville, and now here, on campus, where Peggy was currently pursuing a master’s in education while Jo worked as a chef in a restaurant that specialized in fusion vegan. “I’m biased, I know,” said Peggy, raising one confessional palm, “but I gotta say: the food is great.”

Hooting and clapping.

“Now,” said Peggy, searching the room, “I’m gonna pick a random person . . . You!”

A fragile, sun-browned girl with gleaming legs had been identified. She pointed a finger to her collarbones.

“Ahaan,” said Peggy, firm with her grin.

The girl swallowed, sat up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her name was Alexandra but she went by Alex; she was from San Diego, California; she was interested in history but also in culture (a dilemma she enacted through a seesawing motion of her hands) and was thinking about a double major, maybe, she wasn’t sure yet, for now she was really happy that she had an awesome roommate.

“Aww . . .” said the roommate, a much larger girl with glasses and a shy voice.

“Good!” said Peggy. “Next person.”

Sebastian said he was from New Jersey.

“Whereabouts?” said a hoarse little girl from across the room.

“Hoboken?” said Sebastian, whose limbs were very long.

“Ho-Ho-Kus,” said the girl.

“Cool,” said Sebastian, and puckered his mouth into a silent whistle of consideration.

Peggy said, “And what do you do, Sebastian?”

“Ah . . .” said Sebastian, and rammed a fist into the palm of his other hand, “let’s see: basketball, basketball and basketball.”

There was won-over laughter at this.

“Will you be playing for us?” asked Peggy.

“Most certainly will,” answered Sebastian.

“Great! Next person?”

In this way we went around the room. Names and places emerged, spun their arcs of particularity and dissolved into the soupy atlas that was now in motion: Dallas, Kansas, Pittsburgh, two Mikes, three Jennifers, Mary from Manila (the only other international student), a Kevin from Columbus-Ohio, who shared brief notes with Peggy. Benny, my roommate, was from Bethesda-Maryland, and had one older sister who had also attended this college, class of ’98. And then it was my turn.

“So!” said Peggy with a startled smile.

“Hi. I’m Zaki. From Lahore, Pakistan . . .” I was aware of the suit and the cologne.

Peggy said, “You know we had someone from India last year . . .”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!”

“Wow!”

“Mmm . . .”

Silence.

“Interests?” offered Peggy.

“Oh, ya . . . well, lots of stuff . . .”

Peggy saw and said, “What do your folks do?”

(Someone opened a can of Coke with a
pssst-crock!
)

“My mother’s a journalist,” I said.

“Oh, very nice!” said Peggy. “And your dad?”

“He’s dead.”

Peggy nodded. “Siblings?”

“None,” I said, and sealed it with a quick smile.

I bought a phone card from a twenty-four-hour pharmacy that sat just behind the dormitories and was the first in a long row of shops, most of them now closed for the night. I asked to borrow Benny’s mobile phone, and added quickly that it wouldn’t cost him because I had a card.

“Chill out, man,” said Benny.

I took the phone into the hallway. It was a toll-free number. I entered the pin, dialed the country code, the city code, the area code and then the number.

I waited.

“Hullo?” It was Daadi.

I told her I was speaking from America.

“Zaki! It’s Zaki!” cried Daadi.

My mother took the phone. “Have you reached?”

“Yes.”

Daadi said, “Is everything all right?”

I said it was.

“Have you eaten?”

“We had this meeting,” I said, “and they had snacks—”

“He hasn’t eaten,” said Daadi.

Again my mother came to the phone and said, “Zaki? Zaki, why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m eating, I’m eating.”

“What have you eaten?”

“Pizza.”

“Pizza,” she said, and away from the phone. “They are giving them pizza.”

“Zaki?” Daadi again. “Zaki, is it cold over there?”

I said, “No, it’s warm.”

“You have bedsheets?”

“Yes. You packed them into the suitcase.”

“Have you taken them out?”

“O God. Yes.”

There was a pause. Daadi said, “Was the flight all right?”

“It was fine.”

“He says it was fine . . .”

My mother took the phone. “How is the college?”

“It’s very nice. My roommate is very nice. This is his phone I’m using.”

“Good. Good.”

“And you?” I said. “Everything is fine?”

“Yes, yes,” said my mother, and I could tell she was looking around the room, “we are fine.”

In the common room Benny was decorating his desk. He had some books, a coffee mug with pens and pencils, a planner with the college insignia on its cover and a framed photograph of his family. Benny’s mother and sister were seated. His sister wore a white dress and held a bouquet of white roses. His mother sat next to her, less luminous, her worn hands folded demurely in her lap. Benny and his father stood behind them in black tuxedos. Everyone was smiling.

“You bring pictures?” said Benny.

I told him they were with me and went into my room.