Pervade and Faint

Chapter 35

Google maps led me to a highway that stretched for a hundred and ten miles. Exits arrived quite intermittently. The traffic was thin, not much cars. The mollifying hum of the car's engine enraptured me. After all, I was sitting in a Mercedes. And if a Mercedes is not supposed to satisfy the driver, then what else is it supposed to do?

The drive lasted for about an hour. I kept the car below a hundred and twenty kilometers, but above a hundred. The smooth road allowed me to do so, as well as the dilute traffic. There were gushes of monstrous wind blowing outside, ferociously. The trees were quivering in the violent breeze, bowing down towards the direction of the wind. The clouds were rolling above the sun, which just made the day appear as if dusk was nigh. The white moon was still hung in the sky, with perceptible pecks of grey. But it wasn't a full moon. The viscous nimbus clouds bit some part of the moon, due to which it want appearing as full. The scene, albeit, glorious. But it was still devoid of a charm. And for that charm, I was in pursuit of.
___________

After about an hour, I hit the right indicator and took a sharp right turn. There was a STOP sign after the serpentine chicane. For some reason, I didn't stop at it. There wasn't a single car in my view, so I decided to just pass by. I could have been charged with a heavy ticket for not stopping at a STOP sign if I were in New York. But the chances of getting charged or stopped by the provincial constabulary for not stopping at a STOP sign were no more than zero in Pakistan. The malevolent habit had institutionalized in the society. Another stop sign caught my eye after about half a mile. The bright red paint was quite conspicuous from a distance. The reason why the color red is used for stop signs and the hazard or a caution sign are because red is a conspicuous, extremely perceptible and a jubilant color. Instinctively, I stopped at it. Google maps directed me to take a right turn in thirteen feet. So I did.

As I entered into a narrow street with a few broken streetlights, I examined the area. The car stretched for only fifty feet or so, for the GPS made a sudden announcement.
'Your destination has arrived'.

There were only a few cars parked at the curb of the street. Seven houses, four cars. A humongous tree stood tall and broad in front of a house. Its branches itself were larger than a normal tree. I checked Google maps for the number of the house.13 Kola Street. My car was parked in front of house no.8.House no.13, Latif Bagri's house, was just ahead. An old car, jalopy, was parked in front of his house. But I didn't know whether it was his or not. It was a tremendous risk to just enter his house. So I simply sat on the car, thinking of what step I should undertake.

For approximately ten minutes, I sat in the car, thinking of what to do. The atmosphere seemed motionless. Very less, or probably not even, movements took place outside, just a few birds now and then. Other than that, there weren't much perceptible movements to be seen. It was all motionless, yet not serene. Like the famous words of Japanese proverb,
'Just because the water is still, doesn't mean that there are no crocodiles in it'.

Finally, an astute plan struck my mind. I stepped out of the car, allowing the cold breeze to hit me. On top of a thin shirt, I was wearing a black bomber jacket, which didn't provide sufficient insulation. However, I walked towards house No.10, which was just a few feet ahead, and knocked at the door. The old, wooden door needed a fresh coat of paint. After a minute or so, I heard a creaking sound and the door flew open. It was an aged man, wearing a huge frown on his face.
"Hello", I said, nervously shifting my weight to my left foot. The man nodded his head in reply and lifted his head upwards with a swift jerk, an indirect way of asking 'what's your problem?'.
"Yeah, I was looking for Latif Bagri's house, if you can help me", I said.
"Up there", he said in a rusty voice and pointed towards his house, which I already knew was a few houses ahead.
"Um­ _ when does he _ leave for work?" I asked, hesitatingly.
"I'm not him", he replied, aggressively.
"No, but _ ", I said and he slammed the door behind him.
Great, I thought. I stood at his doorstep for a while, kind of wanting to seek vengeance. But there was no reason, or source.
Then, I walked towards house no.11, which was quite nigh to Latif Bagri's house. I shut my eyes for just a second, as I knocked at the door. The door wasn't in need of paint. So it occurred to me that the owner might not even be so swaggering. And my prediction wasn't exactly false. The door opened, revealing another old man. Deep lines were traced on his forehead. He was wearing spectacles with a very thick lens.
"Hello", I said, cheerfully and smiled, thinking that a positive expression might enlighten the old man. He squinted, looking at me carefully. The lines on his forehead got deeper.
"Hamza", he said, and reached out for a hug.
"Um _ Amir", I corrected, and he took me in a warm embrace.
"Hamza, I missed you", he said, after releasing me.
"Come in", he insisted and held my hand. His hand was warm and soft. He took me to a room in which there were at least twenty chairs.
"Sit down", he said.
"I'm sorry but I think you're mistaken. I'm not Hamza", I said. The old man's face went pale and I felt sad for him.
"Not Hamza?" he asked. A tiny tear escaped from his eye and I wondered who Hamza was.
"I'm actually Hamza's friend", I said, completely unaware of who Hamza was.
"Oh, I see", he said and smiled.
"Hamza told me to say hi to his..." I said, not knowing what to say next.
"To his respectable guardian", I added, hastily and nodded at my own response.
"Oh Hamza!" said the old man and broke into an immense laughter.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
"Nothing, thanks...though. I just wanted to talk to you", I said and offered him a seat.
"Hamza really is a tough soldier isn't he?" said the old man, revealing a little bit of Hamza's background.
"Certainly, he's...um...getting a promotion next week, as a matter of fact", I lied.
"Lieutenant?" asked the old man, surprised. I nodded.

After a few lies, I asked the old man about Latif Bagri. He seemed to know much about him. But mostly about his past.
"And when does he leave?" I asked, trying to put an end to our conversation.
"Somewhere around twelve", answered the old man. But he was unaware of his return. He said that you never know when the man comes back home. Sometimes instantly, sometimes even days pass. I thanked him before I left. He wanted me to have some biscuits, but I refused. He still packed me a box of biscuits to give to Hamza (whoever he was). I amicably took them and sat in the car. There was still an hour left for twelve. I decided to sit in the car, even though there was nothing much to do.

After sitting in the car for ten minutes or so, my stomach growled. I wanted to go and grab breakfast from somewhere. I didn't eat much at home, due to which I was famished. I started the car and turned the heater on. Just before I was about to put the car on drive, I put it back on neutral, staring at the plastic container, which was lying on the passenger seat.
Thanks to Hamza...