She appointed the guardians to her will, with the explicit condition that the guardians must agree that her children were never to go to Pakistan, her country of origin, until they were at least sixteen.
His wife died young and suddenly. Brain hemorrhage. He had been wondering if he was going to stay married. Or whether he would go the religiously-permitted route of more than one wife. Then his wife died. Guilt or whatever, he got religion big time and fast. Then went back to Pakistan to get straight, to make sense of what had happened. Came back to Canada after several weeks. Then wondered why he was back. Left his business, returned to Pakistan, and hasn’t come back in months. Maybe not back at all.
He was in the Pakistani judiciary. Educated, sophisticated. New life in Canada, in a different field. Said let’s go for a scotch.
She said “I like where I live. It hasn’t turned Muslim yet.”
Put on the label, don’t see the diverse. Ity, or variations. Define someone as a Catholic and you have no idea how many in the back row, on occasion, at best. No surrender. No slaver.
Somebody said “Those damn Lebs”. No concept of some Canadian place and time where two born here, families born there. He is secular Muslim. She is secular Christian. The mothers say: “Will he get baptised?” “Will she convert?” They say “I love you.”
So many standing on the outside, praying for disaster.
Postscript, April 27, 2015: In terms of the neighbourhood comment, reminds me of a particular time in Saskatoon.