Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 63: Moving on (Mgg, rom, cons, no sex)

I woke at six alongside Leeya, who was in a fetal position with her back to me on my right, and Priya half draped over my left side with her hand on my chest and her left leg straddling my thigh. I lay there and pondered the events of last night and was still amazed at the incredible tenderness and gentleness between my two wives as they made love to each other.

Leeya’s head-on approach, I believe, gave her more freedom to be less inhibited than Priya. Priya though, to her credit, was more of a “thinking” lover and put a lot of effort into being gentle and tender with her younger cousin. What surprised me the most was Leeya’s level of passion.

I could still picture the look in her eyes as she growled at me, “Fuck me, Sean…” She was definitely a tiny bottle of nitroglycerin and was every bit as passionate as Priya. Her tiny honey pot was dripping as much as her older sister’s and I shuddered at the picture of her droplets of desire dripping onto Priya’s clit. Whew, God what a hot scene to watch!

I then began to think about how all this would change the dynamic of our family and the intimate relationship we shared. Up to now, both girls had turned to me for release of their passions. Would they now find more satisfaction between themselves, turning to me as a secondary release?

Both girls had said that they preferred making love to me, but after all the dust settles will they still feel that way? Pandora’s Box had been opened and whichever way things went, I’d deal with it. I felt that as being the head of the family, I’d sit back and observe at first. If I saw things going off on a tangent, I’d put my foot down and reassert myself as the main pivot point for our intimate endeavors.

Emerging from my thoughts, I figured it was time to wake my little nymphos and start the day. I gave Leeya a light love slap on her tiny butt cheek and patted Priya’s arm and said, “Okay lovers, time to rise and shine!”

Priya rolled on her back and with closed eyes smiled and replied “Mmmmm.”

She must have been dreaming about last night…

Leeya on the other hand, swatted the air behind her butt trying to hit my hand away. She gave a few morning smacks of her lips and groaned, “No, I’m tired and my poopy is still sore.”

“Saaawww-rree,” I replied jokingly, “I’ll try and be more careful next time.”

“That’s okay,” she giggled, “I may be sore, but I like it when you’re deep inside me.”

“You are a little harlot aren’t you,” I quipped.

“What’s a harlot?” She asked.

“A dirty little girl,” I answered.

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “a dirty little girl who likes her husband’s thingy in her poopy hole.”

“Stop it you two,” Priya cut in, “all this talk about thingies in poopy holes is getting me worked up again.”

“What,” I asked, “didn’t get enough last night?”

“It was wonderful last night,” Priya added, “but I didn’t get fucked like she did.”

“Sorry,” I replied, “but both your holes were being tended to at the time.”

With a giggle Priya answered, “And very nicely too. Thank you, Leeya.”

“You’re welcome, Sister,” Leeya answered. “I worked hard last night. I didn’t know making love to someone was such hard work. It’s even more work than sucking Sean’s dick!”

I laughed and replied, “I told you eating pussy was hard work!”

“Even my tongue’s sore,” Leeya replied while moving her jaw from side to side.

“Alright girls,” I said, “enough talk about carnal pleasures. Let’s take a shower and say prayers.”

Grudgingly, we rose and stumbled to the bathroom (Well, Leeya may have waddled a bit).

After showering and saying prayers we went downstairs to breakfast. Leeya and Attiya immediately began to cut up at the table and Mom scolded them to hush up and eat. Dad had left for the office and as soon as we began eating, Monaavi arrived a few minutes later.

She took a seat and drank a cup of tea as we ate and talked. I made the comment that I was going to call the hospital and inquire as to Faatina’s status. Priya suggested that we go and visit. I agreed but put in that I felt that Leeya should stay home and study.

After breakfast, I went to the study to make the call. I was on hold, waiting for Dr. Gupta to answer his page when Mom and Priya entered with tea. I told them I was on hold when a nurse came on the line and said that Dr. Gupta was making morning rounds and would call me back. I thanked her and gave her my cell number for the return call.

While waiting, I got out the phone book and began looking for music stores to buy a piano for Attiya to use while here at the house. I spoke to a gentleman who seemed very knowledgeable and he suggested either a console upright or a petite grand. He mentioned that the grand was the better of the two, having a more responsive action and finer tones. I made an appointment to see him around four this afternoon and disconnected the call.

Now almost ten, we three adults sat and talked, waiting for the doctor’s call. We spoke about the piano then changing the subject, Mom chuckled behind her cup and said, “Well, it sure sounded like the three of you had an interesting night.”

Priya gave a nice chocolate blush and replied, “We needed to feel alive again. We just wanted to share our love and be a family again.”

Mom quipped, “Yeah, it sure sounded like you were alive and sharing.”

“Jeez, Mom,” I replied, “what do you do at night, stand at our door with a glass at door and ear?”

“You wish,” she quipped back, “it’s a good thing you don’t live in Iran or you’d all be arrested by the morality police!”

“My gosh,” Priya exclaimed, “were we that loud?”

“Mmm Hmmm,” Mom nodded as she sipped her tea.

Ring! Whew, saved by the phone. I answered and it was Dr. Gupta returning my call. I asked him how Faatina was doing and if the results of her CAT scan were available.

He told me that Faatina was recovering slowly. The results of her scan showed some damage but that he didn’t want to get into it on the phone. I told him we’d like to see her today and he told me to have him paged when we got there and we could talk in more detail.

I asked him if her mother or father was with her. He replied that Faatina’s mom has been in to see her occasionally, but that he hadn’t seen her father yet.

Being saddened by his reply, I thanked him for returning my call and that we’d be in soon to talk again. He exchanged goodbyes and disconnected.

I informed Mom and Priya of the doctor’s comments about Faatina having some brain damage and that her parents weren’t being very supportive of her. Mom and Priya were both saddened by the news and Priya began to cry.

“Why?” Priya cried, “She’s just a little girl. What’s going to happen to her now?”

Mom tried to comfort her by rubbing her back and answered, “We’ll do everything we can for her. Don’t get yourself upset until we find out just what’s wrong with her.”

“It’s not that,” Priya replied shaking her head, “Uncle Amaad is a strange man. None of us kids like him because he always looks so mean and never talks to us. He’s more fundamentalist in regards to Islam and he’s always making comments about our parents letting us kids be too free.”

“Faatina’s mother is whose relative in the family?” Mom asked.

“She’s Momma’s sister,” Priya answered. “I don’t think she’s too happy because she’s really nice, but she doesn’t smile much.”

“Enough talk about mean uncles,” I butted in. “Let’s get ready and go. Want to come along, Mom?”

“Yes,” Mom said as she finished her tea, “I’d like that very much.”

We gathered ourselves together and after informing Monaavi and Pita we were leaving, left for the hospital. On the way to the hospital, Mom began again and asked Priya, “What happened last night, you and Leeya seem different this morning?”

“Oh nothing,” Priya replied nonchalantly, “we’re just getting closer that’s all.”

“How close did you get?” Mom queried.

Priya gave it away with a deep chocolate blush. Mom saw it immediately and said, “Oh… that close, huh?”

Priya made a “clear your throat” kind of sound and said, “Kinda…”

“My God!” Mom pined. “This family gets crazier by the minute!”

Mom looked at me and I tried diligently to give her the “innocent” look and she quipped, “I bet you had a field day didn’t you?”

“No complaints from me, Mom,” I replied.

“No bodily fluids were exchanged were there? You know you’re off limits for a while,” Mom asked.

“No, Mom,” I said, “I used a condom.”

Pointing her finger at me she warned, “If you’re smart, you’ll keep that pole in your pants. Condoms break you know, then where would you be?”

“Point well taken. Mom,” I replied. “I just got carried away.”

Trying to deflect the subject, Priya jokingly asked, “How do you know he’s got a pole?”

“If he’s like his father,” Mom retorted, “he’s hung like a horse: long and thin.”

Feeling proud yet humble I quipped, “No, Mom, not like a horse, a pony maybe.”

Shaking her head Mom sighed, “Poor little Leeya, how does she do it?”

Priya chided, “The little tart does it any way she can.”

Mom chuckled, slapped Priya’s arm and said, “That’s awful, Priya. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Well it’s true,” Priya whined. “She’s a little sex machine!”

Astonished, Mom asked me, “Is she really that active?”

“Let’s put it this way, Mom,” I answered, “Last night she asked me, and these are her words, “Fuck my little poopy and sperm me deep.”

Mom was shocked and with bug-eyed amazement, covered her face, shook her head and uttered, “Oh my God!”

“Well,” I said, “you asked.”

Looking over, Mom taunted Priya by saying “She probably puts you to shame, doesn’t she?”

Giving Leeya credit, Priya tactfully replied, “She certainly keeps it interesting.”

“God!” Mom exclaimed. “You guys need some serious therapy! God Sean, you did that tiny pixie in the butt: all the way?”

With a cheese-eating grin I nodded and replied, “Um Hmm.”

Mom sighed and retorted, “At that rate, she’ll have to start wearing diapers again when she’s six!”

“Jeez, Mom,” I responded, “”That’s not a pretty picture! I can just see myself taking off her diaper to have sex with her.”

Knowing my proclivity Mom spat, “You letch, you’d do it too, wouldn’t you?”

Appearing to ponder her question and thinking of Leeya’s gloriously tight little back door I replied, “Hmmm, yep, probably would.”

Priya switched sides on my and retorted, “See, I told you he was a letch.”

Looking to heaven, Mom asked, “Why me, Lord? What did I ever do to deserve a deviant son and two tiny nymphos for daughter-in-laws?”

“Just lucky I guess,” was my response.

Mom, still amazed asked, “I know this may sound voyeuristic but did she like it?”

Looking at Priya, she smiled and I replied, “I’d say so, I had five inches in her and she growled at me because she wanted the rest.”

“Oh my God!” Mom exclaimed. “She took more than five inches in her tiny little poopy?”

Priya giggled, poked Mom in the arm and replied, “Seven inches to be exact.”

“Holy mackerel!” Mom blurted out, “Where does she put it all?”

Priya quickly quipped, “Probably somewhere under her lungs.”

After the laughter died down Mom said, “All I’ve gotta say is that I don’t think I can ever look at that little girl the same.”

“If it’s any consolation, Mom,” I said, “neither of them can take me up front.”

“That’s comforting,” Mom replied. “I was beginning to think Indian girls were anatomically enhanced or something!”

We were just pulling into the parking lot and I said, “Well, so much for revelations, we’re here.”

“And not soon enough!” Mom replied as she shook her head.

Our driver let us out and went to park the car as we went inside. We made our way to the information desk, got Faatina’s room number and took the elevator up to the third floor. Stopping at the nurse’s station, I asked the nurse if she could page Dr. Gupta and let him know we were here. She agreed and after we obtained directions to Faatina’s room went to see the little pixie.

Upon entering the room, we saw that Faatina was lying in a stainless steel hospital crib and that neither of her parents was present. She awoke to our whispers as we approached the crib.

She sat up and made some almost infant-like sounds. When Faatina saw Priya, she smiled faintly as if she knew her but wasn’t sure. After spending a few minutes trying to figure out how to lower the side of the crib, Priya reached in and picked her up.

As Priya sat and rocked her in her arms, Faatina was silent and distant. I had the strange feeling that a lot of this child’s memory had either been locked away or wiped clean by the very disease that took our Emmy.

As Priya rocked, I noticed Faatina’s hospital gown was open in the back and she had on a diaper. Puzzled, I asked Priya, “How old is she?”

Priya, looking down at her cousin answered, “Three.”

“Isn’t she potty trained?” I asked.

“Of course,” Priya replied, “she’s been trained since she was two, why?”

Pointing to her bottom I said, “Because she’s wearing a diaper.”

Reaching down and cupping her tiny butt, Priya gasped and said, “I don’t know why she’s got a diaper on.”

Mom looked down and putting her hand to her brow said, “She’s probably regressed. Sometimes children do that after a traumatic experience.”

Just then, Dr. Gupta walked through the door. We shook hands and I asked him about the diaper. He nodded towards the door so I asked Priya, “Will you be okay with her? We’re going to talk to the doctor.”

Waving me on she replied, “Yeah, we’ll be fine won’t we, Sweetie?” and continued to rock her cousin.

Mom and I followed Dr. Gupta to an office where he put some X-ray-type films on a wall-hung viewer. He motioned for us to come closer and pulled a pen from his lab coat pocket.

“Right now,” he began, “we’re not sure as to the exact amount of damage Faatina’s sustained. We know that her brain shows evidence of small amounts of damage dispersed throughout a large portion of her brain.” Using his pen as a pointer said, “Here, in the parietal lobe, which is at the top crown of the head, the occipital lobe, at the back of the skull, her cerebellum, which is under the occipital lobe in the back of her head just above the neck and the temporal lobe, which is in the middle of the brain.”

Seeing our lack of understanding, he went on, “Since each of these areas shows signs of small pockets of damage, only time will tell what her exact condition will be. There are certain things we know now. Such as, Faatina has some memory loss. This may be temporary or it could be permanent or even a combination of both.”

Turning to us he explained, “Each part of the brain controls certain body functions. The occipital lobe deals primarily with vision. Since she been in the hospital, it’s hard to judge her acuity because of the damage to her parietal lobe, which controls speech. Right now, she has forgotten how to talk. This could be permanent or temporary. The pressure on her skull compressed the temporal lobe, which controls short and long term memory along with other things like sexual urges. When most of the outer portions of her brain swelled, it compressed the cerebellum, which has caused her to lose the ability to walk. She’s also lost some muscle control in that she is like an infant and can’t control her bladder or bowel movements.”

I put up my hand as if to ask a question and said, “So, if I understand you correctly, Faatina is basically an infant-like toddler that can’t walk, talk or control her bodily functions. Is that correct so far?”

“Yes.” he confirmed.

“Is this permanent?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “I say this not to confuse you, but to be honest. The damage to these areas is at best slight and minimal at worst, but it’s in numerous places of the brain. For instance: she may have lost the ability to walk or talk but she may either remember how to do these things later or even be re-taught. The same goes for potty training.”

“The brain,” Dr. Gupta explained, “is a very mysterious organ and lost neuron paths are mysteriously re-routed. At three, her brain is still growing and with it new neurons paths and she may possibly be as healthy as before. We know these things because it’s like a stroke victim whose brain is damaged, some a lot more severely that Faatina’s can learn to walk and talk and reclaim their lives. We just don’t know, only time will tell.”

Sighing Mom asked, “So what can we do: wait, or what?”

“No,” he replied,” assume the worst. Faatina is going to need a lot of dedicated time, effort and love to be re-taught to do the things we take for granted. She has two things going for her in her favor: first, she’s young and kids are very resilient. Two, because her brain is still growing, there’s time for her to grow new neuron paths as she learns to do things over again.”

Mom and I looked at each other with sadness as we both pondered Faatina’s future. Mom turned to him and asked, “Are her parents aware of her trauma? What did they say?”

Dr. Gupta took a breath and replied stoically, “Her mother has been to see her sporadically. She seems confused and overwhelmed by what she can understand. Her educational level isn’t very high. I have yet to see the father.”

“This,” he emphasized, “will be that child’s downfall. I seriously don’t think that they are equipped to deal with their daughter and devote the time and effort it takes to bring her back to a point where Faatina can learn to have a somewhat normal life.”

“Why?” I asked imploringly. “She’s their child! What parent wouldn’t give their own life to save their child? Even an ignorant mother without an education can still nurture a child with her attention and love?”

Hanging his head Dr. Gupta replied, “It’s a sad fact that here in India, sometimes an afflicted child is deemed a burden and as a result becomes unwanted or unloved.”

After several long moments of silence, Mom gave a heavy sigh and said, “Thank you, doctor for talking the time to explain everything and also for the treatment she’s received. When can she go home?”

Putting his pen back in his pocket as he stood he replied, “Probably in about a week.”

I thanked him again as we walked down the hall to rejoin Priya and her little cousin. Dr. Gupta said he had some patients to see and after saying our goodbyes, we watched as he walked down the hall and turned the corner.

Re-entering Faatina’s room, Priya and she were sitting on the floor as Priya taught her patty-cake. Faatina would giggle, smile and cooed sweetly. They both turned when they realized we were watching. Faatina looked up at me puzzled for a moment so I squatted down and said smiling, “Hi, Punkin.”

I brushed a couple of stray hairs from her face and she gurgled at me. I chuckled and replied, “I bet you say that to all the blonde haired boys don’t you?”

I picked her up and sat her on my thigh and began to bounce her as I held her under her arms. She cooed and gurgled some more and Mom observed, “It’s such a shame. She’s such a beautiful little girl. I think she’s happy to have visitors, don’t you, Priya?”

We looked over and Priya was sitting in the chair silently weeping. I scooped the gurgling little pixie up in my arms, stood and walked to Priya with Mom as we rubbed her back trying to comfort her.

Faatina began pulling on my nose and ears, oblivious to her cousin’s pain. Priya sobbed, “Oh, Mom, she’s like a little baby. She can’t walk or talk. I changed her nappy and she just looked at me and cooed.”

“We know,” Mom whispered. “She needs a lot of help, Sweetie.”

Priya clung to my mother and cried, “She and Leeya were so close. Faatina was like a little tomboy. She liked to climb and jump around and things…”

Priya stopped talking and was looking at the door. Mom and I turned to see Alpa and her husband (I guess) standing in the doorway. As I bounced Faatina in my arms, Priya stood and ran to her aunt.

They embraced as the man looked on with his shoulders back, arms folded in front of him and a scowl on his face. I didn’t like the man immediately.

Although Alpa is petite like Salima, this man stood nearly as tall as me, overweight and with an acne-scarred olive complexion. He had very wavy black hair speckled with grey. He wore a black robe-type garment with a white kufi on his head.

After embracing for several moments, Priya and her aunt separated, walked to the chairs and sat. Priya again stood and said, “Sean, this is my Uncle Amaad.”

She then said something in Tamil and he nodded as he stared me in the eye. I extended my hand and expressed my salaam and shaking my hand he returned it with his.

Priya introduced Mom to both of them and Amaad refused to shake my mother’s hand and simply nodded. Mom asked Priya to ask Alpa if she knew the extent of Faatina’s injuries. Priya asked her aunt in Tamil.

Alpa covered her face with her hands and sobbed her reply. Priya translated and said that Alpa understood some of it but not fully. Amaad stoically looked on in silence.

Mom began to explain what Dr. Gupta had told us and finished by saying that Faatina would be able to go home in about a week.

Although distressed over Faatina’s condition, Alpa kept glancing at her husband as she asked, “But will she be okay? Will she be whole again? How can I care for in invalid child and take care of my husband too?”

Mom replied as Priya translated, “Alpa, it would be just like when she was a baby. You’ll have to re-teach her how to walk and talk and you’ll have to potty train her again, that’s all. Think of it as sharing all those milestones of your child all over again.”

Alpa looked at Amaad then back at Mom and said, “You don’t understand. I don’t know if I can bear seeing her like this; not after knowing what she was like before.”

I sensed that she was expressing her husband’s sentiments rather that her own. Mom replied, “She’ll need lots of love attention but we’re willing to make things easier for you and bear any costs you may have for her care: hospital, therapy, supplies - anything at all.”

Amaad shook his head and spoke in Tamil. Priya translated and said, “He says that he doesn’t want our money. He owes no man anything and will keep it that way.”

I knew then that this cunning fucker understood English but refused to speak it. I turned and responded, “But we’re family. It’s not charity; it’s a family helping each other, that’s all.”

After hearing the translation of my remark he said, “What concern is it to you?”

“My concern,” I replied, “is that she’s a child that needs a lot of love and help. Surely anyone would want to help a child in need.”

“We’ll manage,” was his translated reply.

I saw Alpa look at him then looked down. Mom looked at him as if to say, “You insensitive bastard.”

Mom and I knew then that continuing this conversation was fruitless for the time being, so Mom said to Priya, “We’d better go and give Faatina time to visit with her parents.”

Reluctantly, Priya and I agreed and I had to untangle the tiny child’s hands from my hair as I handed her to her mother. We said our salaams and departed.

We were relatively quiet on the ride across town to the piano shop when Priya broke the silence said, “See, I told you he was weird.”

I replied, “I can’t figure him out. He seems completely removed and detached about the whole situation.”

“Aunt Alpa,” Priya answered “whispered to me when we were hugging that their phone has been disconnected because they could no longer afford it when we were hugging.”

“God Almighty!” I said, “Then what the hell is his problem? Why won’t he accept our help?”

Priya replied, “He wants to save face and appear capable of taking care of things himself.”

Mom chided, “Yeah, a person like that chokes on a gnat but swallows a cow.”

“Oh well,” Mom added, “there’s not much we can do. Faatina’s their child and they’ll do what they see fit regardless of what we do or say.”

Sadly, we laid the topic to rest. We arrived at the piano shop a little before four. We walked around the showroom looking at all the pianos for a few minutes when a quiet gentleman came up to us and asked if he could be of help.

I told the gentleman that I had an appointment set for four pm to discuss buying a piano. He replied with a smile that it was he who I’d scheduled to meet. He introduced himself as Dinkar Naimish. He spoke English with a very heavy Indian accent and was kind of hard to understand.

As we walked around the showroom, he explained the different types of pianos and skillfully tried to sell me a concert grand. I explained to him that this instrument was for a child who was a beginner, and secondly, I didn’t have room for a monstrous grand piano.

I told him I was looking for something like an upright and he directed me to a console upright. It was a nice instrument and he said that he had two: the one we were looking at which was in black lacquer and one with a medium walnut finish.

I asked to see the one in walnut finish and he silently motioned for us to follow. We followed him up a set of rickety stairs to the second floor, pulled a blanket covering the piano and waved his hand for us to inspect it. We immediately liked it. It was compact, and best of all it matched the furniture in the study.

I told him I’d take it. We went back downstairs where he wrote out an invoice and I gave him a check. He looked at it then at me and said haltingly, “I will take to bank and cash. Soon as it clear, I will deliver free to you home.”

I thanked him and asked if it could be delivered on Wednesday, two days hence and he nodded. Giving me a receipt, I gave him my address and cell number and we left for home.

Once in the car, Priya eek’ed out her excitement and said, “Boy are the girls gonna be surprised when they see this!”

Mom shook her head and replied jovially, “Yeah, I can’t wait. Now all we’ll hear is the banging of piano keys by two little urchins!”

I chuckled and responded, “We’ve managed to survive worse.”

Mom quipped, “Yeah, that’s true, but for what that thing cost, I hope we get a virtuoso outta this.”

With a raised eyebrow I replied, “Never know.”

We arrived home about six. Dad was home and engrossed reading the paper with two little heathens running through the house whooping like two little Indians (pun intended).

Monaavi was getting ready to leave so I asked her to step into the study a moment. She smiled, put down her bag, nodded and followed the three of us into the study. I told her I bought a console upright piano today and it would be delivered on Wednesday.

You’d think it was for her she was so excited and exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Sean, that’s just wonderful! I can teach them to read music and I play a little so I can at least get them started to playing. Allah be praised for you generosity!”

Surprised Mom asked, “Do you play, Monaavi? That’s wonderful! You’ll have to play for us when it arrives.”

Monaavi blushed and said, “I’m not that good, Mrs. Michaels, I just learned the basics in college when I took my music courses.”

“Well,” I replied, “I just wanted you to know that we took your advice and hope that your hunch is correct. We’d do anything to help unlock that child’s mind.”

“Oh it will!” she said. “Wait and see. I’ll bet Attiya will do very well, I just have a feeling about her.”

“Oh by the way,” I said to Monaavi, “please stop calling me Mr. Sean: just Sean, okay?”

“Oh no sir!” she blushed, “That would be too forward of me to call you by your first name.”

Sighing I smiled and replied, “As you wish, but it isn’t necessary.”

Monaavi bowed her head slightly and said, “I must go now. Papa is probably waiting outside for me. It’s my mother’s birthday and we’re going out to dinner.”

I asked her to give her mother our best birthday wishes and we exchanged salaams as she picked up her bag. Opening the door, sure enough, Ravi was waiting for her to leave. I waved and offered my congratulations to his wife and we exchanged salaams as Monaavi got into the car. Priya and I waved as they departed.

Entering the house Mom said, “She’s such a sweet girl. Sean. You should find a nice Muslim man at the office for her. She deserves a good husband.”

Shaking my head I replied, “Mom, my track record as a matchmaker isn’t very good right now. I think I’ll leave that one to her father.”

Nodding agreement Mom sighed and said, “Yeah… it’s just a shame. She’s at that age where it’s probably on her mind.”

Looking at Priya with a raised eyebrow, I remained silent. I had enough on my plate to deal with besides finding my nanny a husband.

“Which reminds me,” I said, “I need to talk to Dad.”

I walked to the living room and Dad still had his face buried in the paper. “Dad?” I said as I sat down.

Flipping the corner of his paper and looking at me her replied, “Yes, Son what is it?”

Leaning over and putting my elbows on my knees I said, “I need the number to that investigator so I can locate that piece of shit husband of Haseeba’s.”

Think of her he grimaced and replied, “Yeah, let’s go to the study. I hate situations like these. They always end up getting messy.”

“Well,” I retorted, “that fucker started it and now I’m gonna finish it for good. I can’t believe he actually hit her in the face!”

Cautioning me he warned, “Just keep your head, Son. Don’t let your anger make you do something you’ll regret like we did with Haseeba. Everything worked out but I learned a lesson from that.”

“I know, Dad,” I agreed, “but she’s worked so hard and doesn’t deserve to be treated like a punching bag or have her dreams stolen right out from under her feet. A man who hits a woman is lower than snail shit as far as I’m concerned.”

“I agree. That’s one step above a child abuser,” he said as he handed me the number.

I called Adib’s and asked to speak to Haseeba. I obtained a list of Mahmoud’s friends, drinking buddies she said, and anyone else she could think of to help locate him. I thanked her and reassured her that everything was going to work out and to be happy about starting college in September.

I called Dad’s investigator and told him what I wanted. I gave him all the info I’d obtained from Haseeba and he said he might have something for me in about a week or so. I thanked him for his co-operation and we disconnected; the exchange was short and sweet.

When I’d finished my call, everyone was at the table, ready to eat dinner. I washed up and joined the family. Dinner started well with casual conversation and the two little imps where clowning around making funny faces, opening their mouths showing off a mouthful of food.

Teasingly I told Aleeya, “You know you’re supposed to chew with your mouth closed.”

She gave me an “oops” look then at Attiya and replied, “Saw-ree, just playing around.”

On a bright note I said to the little monsters, “Guess what, girls?”

Leeya looked at me while Attiya just glanced over.

After a long pause, Attiya gave me a look silent look as if to say, “I’m slow, but out with it.” So I said, “I bought a piano today. You girls will be able to start taking lessons on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Yippee!” Leeya exclaimed, “Tiya, we’re getting a piano!”

Leeya made like she was playing an imaginary piano and said, “You know, one of these?”

Now Tiya understood and nodded quickly and smiled. Pita heard and dropped her jaw and I said, “It’s mostly for Attiya. Maybe she’ll excel at it, we’ll see.”

Pita set the dish down, covered her face and began to cry. Mom stood, embraced her and said, “Pita dear, it’s as much joy to do this as it is for you to see it happen for your daughter. Both of you are like family and we just love making family happy,” (looking at all of us) “don’t we?”

We nodded, smiled and Dad replied, “It’s worth every penny just to see the look on your faces!”

Needless to say, Pita’s hands shook during the entire meal as she was overcome with emotion several times during dinner. I told her, “Get a plate and eat, Pita, We’ve told you many times, you’re family.”

“Oh, Mr. Sean,” Pita said emotionally, “You have given us the greatest joy. There must be a God that’s blessing us!”

Feeling humbled by her reply I responded, “No, Pita, it’s us that have been blessed! I cannot imagine our family without both of you here now. Your daughter has touched all of our hearts.”

“Sahib,” she said crying, “We don’t deserve your kindness.”

Mom interrupted with, “Nonsense, Pita! There’s no greater joy than to see a child reach their potential and knowing that we had a part in helping her get there. My greatest joy for her will be when I see her get married.”

“Oh, Ma’am,” Pita replied, “that would be too much to hope for, but I dream of that day also.”

Priya smiled, touched her hand and said, “She will, Pita, just wait and see, she will.”

Pita sat tentatively and ate as she silently cried.

This is what makes life’s sorrows bearable: seeing the look and emotions of joy for a child. I thanked God that we had been fortunate to be able to help little Attiya. I added that He might find a way for us to help Faatina also.

We finished dinner late: about eight. I told the girls that it had been a long day and that we should say prayers and turn in.

We said prayers and took a family shower (more like a family water fight) and after clowning around and getting all the water on the floor mopped up we headed for bed.

Leeya left the bathroom first followed by me with Priya bringing up the rear. I saw Leeya’s tiny cute honey colored buns as she sash-shayed to bed. I leaned over and gave her tight little butt a love tap.

She jumped and said, “Hey! Why are you always slapping my behind?”

With a devilish grin I replied, “Because it’s so tiny, round and pretty.”

She stopped in her tracks, craned her head around to look at her butt and rubbing her left butt cheek asked, “Do you really think my butt’s pretty!”

“It’s delectable!” I affirmed.

Slapping my shoulder from behind Priya commented, “Letch.”

“Harlot,” I replied over my shoulder.

Leeya spun around, spread her legs a little, lewdly thrust her pelvis forward and pulled her pussy lips apart saying “How ‘bout my coochie? Is that de-lickable too?”

I grabbed her pudgy fat pussy lips between two fingers and replied with a smile, “Absolutely de-lickable!

From behind I heard a two-toned call (as father’s well know) “Shaw-aan.”

I turned around to see my chocolate ebony princess sexily stroking her slit as she cupped her left breast. When she had my attention, she cooed “How ‘bout me? Am I de-lickable too?”

I smacked my lips and replied, “Better than a hot fudge sundae!!”

Having heaped my nymphs with compliments, we crawled into bed giggling.

I hugged my wives, one in each arm and sighed. After a moment of silence, Priya quipped, “Hmmm, hot fudge… sounds interesting.”

Leeya craned her head up towards Priya and added, “How ‘bout Sean’s thingy smothered in whipped cream?”

“Mom was right,” I retorted, “we may need serious therapy.”

“What’s therapy?” Leeya asked.

“Never mind, Squirt,” I replied.

“What’s a squirt?” she asked again.

“Go to sleep, Munchkin,” I ordered.

“Jeez!” Leeya replied, “I’m just a kid you know.”

Priya added her two cents with, “Yeah, five going on thirty-five.”

“Goodnight, girls,” I said at the ceiling.

Goodnight, Sean,” they replied.