Read Online Wexford 22 - The Monster In The Box by Ruth Rendell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Rendell
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cart and plying a broom a preferable existence to any other he might find. After he hadn't been seen for several weeks Wexford heard that he had died, had been found dead of natural causes in the tiny squalid room he rented not far from where Targo had lived.
Years and years had passed before more immigrants came and now it was becoming unusual to walk along any Kingsmarkham road without seeing one Indian or Chinese face. The way some people, particularly politicians, talked about the situation, integration versus multiculturalism, it would appear to be simple, a straightforward matter of not being racist. But Wexford's experience had taught him what deep waters one struggles to swim in when plunging into the traditions of another culture. He had been told he was too sensitive to these issues and perhaps he was. Oversensitivity was likely to be Hannah's problem too, notably her propensity to bend over backwards to avoid uttering the slightest word that might be construed as criticism of some nasty (Wexford's word) custom. He had even heard her taking great care not to condemn, in a Chinese restaurateur's presence, the process of foot-binding which had ceased to be performed in China some forty years before the man was born. Useless to tell her that the restaurateur, who was no more than thirty, might not even know that women of his great-grandmother's generation had had their feet deliberately distorted and crippled from childhood.
She walked in now. Anyone ignorant of her profession might far more easily have taken her for a model or perhaps popular TV presenter than a police officer. He wondered how acceptable it had been for a middle-aged Muslim like Mohammed Rahman to be questioned by a young woman in jeans and a rather too low-cut top. Hannah was sensitive only in patches.
'I felt I should call on the Rahmans,' she began. 'Their house is very nice inside, guv. It's small but they've built a beautiful extension and it's very tastefully decorated. Mr Rahman was eating his dinner. He'd just got in from work. I must say, it smelt fantastic. I suppose Yasmin Rahman had been preparing it all day and she didn't sit down with him, just stood behind his chair and waited on him.' Wexford waited to see how she would get out of that one. She smiled airily. 'Still, it's their tradition, of course, and you couldn't see her as in any way a victim. She seems a strong, even domineering sort of woman. I told Mohammed not to mind me but carry on with his meal, he must be hungry. I didn't think I'd find it awkward asking about Tamima and school and all that but strangely enough I did.'
'Not so strange considering the knots you tie yourself up in. What did you say?'
'Pretended not to know Tamima was leaving – well, had left, said we were a bit concerned that Asian girls with very good GCSEs weren't going on to higher education as they should be. He gave me a sceptical sort of look, guv – he's no fool – and I remembered a bit late in the day that he's a social worker. "Leaving school is Tamima's own choice," he said. "Maybe she will resume her education later, who knows? But children have their own way these days, don't they, Miss . . . ?" I said to call me Hannah. His wife hadn't said a word and I thought she might have no English when suddenly she spoke and very fluently. Not all girls were intellectuals, she said and she actually used that word. Some were homemakers as she had been and as Tamima was. She didn't want a career. It was only interfering people like her teacher, that Mrs Burden, who wanted it for her, and she would, having a career herself. Maybe she needed to earn money, but Tamima would not, her husband would do that.'
Wexford nearly laughed. 'You must have found yourself torn in two, Hannah, what with your adherence to militant feminism and your well-known defence of the multicultural society.'
To his delight, Hannah really did laugh, if in rather a shamefaced way. 'You've got
Years and years had passed before more immigrants came and now it was becoming unusual to walk along any Kingsmarkham road without seeing one Indian or Chinese face. The way some people, particularly politicians, talked about the situation, integration versus multiculturalism, it would appear to be simple, a straightforward matter of not being racist. But Wexford's experience had taught him what deep waters one struggles to swim in when plunging into the traditions of another culture. He had been told he was too sensitive to these issues and perhaps he was. Oversensitivity was likely to be Hannah's problem too, notably her propensity to bend over backwards to avoid uttering the slightest word that might be construed as criticism of some nasty (Wexford's word) custom. He had even heard her taking great care not to condemn, in a Chinese restaurateur's presence, the process of foot-binding which had ceased to be performed in China some forty years before the man was born. Useless to tell her that the restaurateur, who was no more than thirty, might not even know that women of his great-grandmother's generation had had their feet deliberately distorted and crippled from childhood.
She walked in now. Anyone ignorant of her profession might far more easily have taken her for a model or perhaps popular TV presenter than a police officer. He wondered how acceptable it had been for a middle-aged Muslim like Mohammed Rahman to be questioned by a young woman in jeans and a rather too low-cut top. Hannah was sensitive only in patches.
'I felt I should call on the Rahmans,' she began. 'Their house is very nice inside, guv. It's small but they've built a beautiful extension and it's very tastefully decorated. Mr Rahman was eating his dinner. He'd just got in from work. I must say, it smelt fantastic. I suppose Yasmin Rahman had been preparing it all day and she didn't sit down with him, just stood behind his chair and waited on him.' Wexford waited to see how she would get out of that one. She smiled airily. 'Still, it's their tradition, of course, and you couldn't see her as in any way a victim. She seems a strong, even domineering sort of woman. I told Mohammed not to mind me but carry on with his meal, he must be hungry. I didn't think I'd find it awkward asking about Tamima and school and all that but strangely enough I did.'
'Not so strange considering the knots you tie yourself up in. What did you say?'
'Pretended not to know Tamima was leaving – well, had left, said we were a bit concerned that Asian girls with very good GCSEs weren't going on to higher education as they should be. He gave me a sceptical sort of look, guv – he's no fool – and I remembered a bit late in the day that he's a social worker. "Leaving school is Tamima's own choice," he said. "Maybe she will resume her education later, who knows? But children have their own way these days, don't they, Miss . . . ?" I said to call me Hannah. His wife hadn't said a word and I thought she might have no English when suddenly she spoke and very fluently. Not all girls were intellectuals, she said and she actually used that word. Some were homemakers as she had been and as Tamima was. She didn't want a career. It was only interfering people like her teacher, that Mrs Burden, who wanted it for her, and she would, having a career herself. Maybe she needed to earn money, but Tamima would not, her husband would do that.'
Wexford nearly laughed. 'You must have found yourself torn in two, Hannah, what with your adherence to militant feminism and your well-known defence of the multicultural society.'
To his delight, Hannah really did laugh, if in rather a shamefaced way. 'You've got
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