I had developed a kind of affection for this woman A kind of fascination even, on account of which I would try to see some meaning in everything she did I couldn't say if she was in fact beautiful—my imagination had made her extremely attractive I particularly loved her way with her hair. With a toss of her head she would fling her unruly hair away from her face, then stretching wide her fingers she would use them as a comb to sweep her hair all the way back It was hard to tell whether she did it deliberately or if it was an unconscious habit Like her husband, I too felt extreme revulsion at her clumsy son and his drooling mouth No doubt I felt pity for the poor child, and that pity urged me to feel some affection as well. but only the kind of affection which was at bottom just a cover for a thousand-fold disgust. Compared to that feeling it was better not to love For many days I waited for some occasion to arise so I could speak to the woman The way it happens in cheap romances The girl drops something, the boy picks it up and says, "Miss, here is your book (or handkerchief)" Then the girl smiles, and, presto, love has begun I kept waiting for that woman to drop something so that t could say to her "Madam, here is your ," and our love could start But the woman was very careful, she never gave me any occasion She saw me hanging around but I never succeeded in quite catching her attention Finally one day, she felt the need to buy to some oranges The child's toys and socks and some tidbits to eat were lying on the grass, and quite a few crows were flitting back and forth, waiting for their chance If she were to go away, the crows would surely gobble up the food. they might even try to pick at the child's button-like eyes He was now beginning to recognize things and appeared to be very fond of the bright color of the oranges The woman got up several times to go to the fruit-stall but every time she sat down again I felt here was a chance for me I tried to speak to her But all the words that I had practiced with over the past so many days escaped me I could only say, "Madam is there something you want9" The woman's stern face remained unchanged Apparently she didn't like to see in my eyes as welt what she saw every day in her husband's Then in her usual disgusted voice she said. "No. I don't need your help " And my love remained locked in silence The woman s husband taught at some veterinary college At least that's the impression I got from his face—and his words On account of spending most of his time with animals, he too behaved like one of them He never showed his palsied son any affection When his wife would try to put the child in his arms, he would stumble back, all flustered "No, no' My clothes will be ruined " And then he would fix his lusting gaze on her and say, "Let's go darting The chauffeur is making too much noise " The woman's name was Dammo I had learned it from their conversation What a beautiful name' Say it gently "Dammo " How lovely it sounds' And if Dammo were ever annoyed for some reason, how nice it would be to coax her to make up by calling her name softly But perhaps it was just my imagination One day her husband said, "But that's what they do in our hospital" Annuat of Urdu Studies, #5 78