A Lovesong for India: Tales from the East and West

by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

  Magda looked back at her in surprise. ‘I thought you didn’t have a place.’

  ‘I don’t. They’ve turned me out of theirs; their place.’ Ellie usually assumed that everyone was as familiar with her circumstances as she herself was and needed no explanation. However, she now gave one more clue: ‘Because of her boyfriend moving back in.’

  Magda suspected rather than knew Ellie’s living arrangements. They did not bear looking into very carefully, consisting of shifting from one hole to another in a part of the city that was common ground for criminals and young middle-class bohemians.

  ‘Don’t you have anywhere to go? No other friends?’

  Ellie became uncharacteristically voluble. She explained how she had parked her stuff with some people she knew and that some other people she knew had allowed her to sleep on their floor, but since they were expecting a sanitary inspection due to an infestation of cockroaches, she could only stay there for a couple of nights. ‘And then?’ Magda asked. ‘Then I don’t know,’ Ellie said, and again she raised her eyes to Magda, in candid submission this time.

  Magda was not the first person to whom Ellie had appealed for help. She had only gone to her after Robert had turned her down. She had gone straight to his studio; she thought he lived there. He didn’t, but then she knew very little about him except that he was Magda’s cousin; and of course this famous composer. She had only met him that one time when she had sung for him. He hadn’t said much to her about her voice but she was aware that he liked it – and there was something in the quality of his appreciation that she liked. Maybe because she herself tended to be monosyllabic, she felt the full weight of the one syllable he had uttered. ‘Yes,’ he had said – the sort of yes she said in her own mind when something came out right.

  His studio was the top floor of a brownstone. On her first visit she had asked for him by name, but this second time she only said, ‘He sent for me,’ tilting her head towards the top of the house from where piano music sounded. ‘You know where to go?’ asked the young man who had opened the door the first as well as the second time – was he the butler? He was very good-looking. She went straight up and didn’t even knock, knowing she might not be heard above the piano. As soon as she entered, he stopped playing. ‘What do you want?’ he said, his voice suggesting even to her, who was too needy to be sensitive, that maybe her visit was a mistake.

  ‘I told you I’d send for you when I had something,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’ She hovered within the door so miserably that she was sure he would relent and be nice to her.

  ‘Then why do you come slinking in here?’ he said, not nice at all.

  ‘You said you liked the way I sing.’

  Robert, still sitting at the piano, looked towards her with narrowed eyes. ‘Did she tell you to come? What’s-her-name – Magda?’

  After a split second, in which she tried to decide whether it would be better to lie or not, she shook her head. ‘I lost my place,’ she explained but was met by an icy stare that forced her to continue: ‘So if you wanted to send for me, you wouldn’t know where to find me.’

  ‘What’s that accent you have? It’s appalling.’

  ‘That’s what they say: my mum and dad. They’ve got lovely accents, like actors. They are actors. Shakespeare and Noel Coward and all the other classics.’

  He waggled the fingers of one hand for her to come over to the piano. He pointed to some notes he had scribbled and told her to sing them. After frowning at them for a moment, she did so, evidently to his satisfaction for he said ‘Yes’ again. Then he told her to leave, which she did, slowly and in the hope of being called back, but he had resumed playing his piano before she even reached the door.

  When Ellie moved in, Magda expected that everything would soon be covered with a young girl’s disorder, discarded panties and lipsticks that had lost their tops. But this did not happen. Ellie left nothing lying about, as if she had nothing. After every meal she ate, she washed and wiped her plate and cup and stowed them away. When Magda marvelled at her neatness, she said it was because of always living in a very small space. From her earliest childhood, she was used to occupying a single room with her parents on their tours, when they were lucky enough to be hired by a repertory company; and when they weren’t, they waited out the time in lodgings in some far-out London suburb, usually the upstairs part of a semi-detached house, with a gas-ring to cook on and the lavatory on the landing.

  In the mornings, dressed up for her meetings in her business suit and blouse with matching bow, Magda would tiptoe into the spare bedroom, careful not to wake Ellie. But she was always awake, sitting up in bed and brushing her hair. Magda reminded her of auditions she might have fixed for her that day, and also asked, trying to sound casual but sounding shy instead, what time she thought she might be calling in at the office? She longed to but refrained from inquiring about Ellie’s plans for the evening. She herself came home earlier than she had ever done before; sometimes Ellie wasn’t there, and if she came in very late, Magda would leave supper for her and go to bed, so that Ellie shouldn’t feel she had been waited up for. Next morning she said, ‘Where did you go yesterday?’

  Ellie yawned. ‘Oh, the usual.’

  ‘In SoHo?’

  ‘And around there. Thanks for the quiche last night.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘Yum-yum.’

  Ellie went mostly to the same place: the house in the Village where Robert had his studio. Usually the same person let her in – he was the butler, and his name was Fred. She went straight upstairs. The first couple of times Robert had fussed again, but after that he let her stay. She was no trouble at all, sitting very quietly against the wall with her arms around her knees; sometimes she was useful, when he asked her to sing something he was trying out. She stayed till he sent her away – which was later every day, for as his work progressed he worked longer hours. She had assumed that he lived in the studio, but one day he left off early and said he had to go home. She said, ‘You are home.’ He didn’t bother to answer but opened the door to let her precede him down the stairs. When they got to the street, he said, ‘I go this way’; she tried to follow but he said, ‘No, you go that way.’

  As it happened, Magda too got home early that day and was delighted to find Ellie already there. At once Magda suggested all sorts of outings – dinner in an Italian restaurant, a movie, whatever Ellie wanted; but it turned out all Ellie wanted was to stay home and talk to Magda. ‘No, really?’ said Magda, laughing and pushing back her hair fallen into her flushed face. She went into her bedroom to change into something more relaxed, careful to put away her clothes as neatly as Ellie did hers; in this respect, Magda had become a reformed character. She was just slipping into her kaftan – her best one, gorgeous in black and gold – when Ellie came in without knocking. Magda quickly tugged the robe down over her hips and thighs – had Ellie seen them? ‘Oh sorry,’ Ellie said, so maybe she had. Magda flushed scarlet; she really must go on that diet, or eat less, or both, or something. But Ellie had other things on her mind than Magda’s figure.

  ‘When’s he calling people? Robert? For his new piece?’

  ‘How do you know he’s writing one?’

  ‘Oh, you hear things. At the auditions. Like who’s doing what when. Everyone talks at auditions.’

  ‘How did you get on today? Are they calling you back?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Ellie tried to remember to what audition she was supposed to have gone; she had forgotten to attend, as she did most days. ‘Funny, isn’t it: he’s your cousin and you don’t know what he’s doing . . . Don’t you like him, or what? Then why do you never see him? I mean, your cousin.’

  ‘Well, actually I was supposed to see him today. But I got out of it, and thank God I did because now you and I can have the evening together. What do you want to eat? I’ll call Call-cuisine, their menu’s right here – ’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s in the drawer behind you.’


  ‘Where were you going to see him today?’

  Magda was puzzled for a moment, then she laughed. ‘Oh you’re still on Robert? His mother’s having her birthday party today: Aunt Hannah. Big deal. Of course Mother’s there – my mother, Lottie – ’

  ‘But shouldn’t you go? If it’s her birthday and she’s having a party and all. You haven’t said you’re not going?’

  ‘I called to say I have this ghastly throat. Hannah’s scared to death of germs. Just hand me that menu, would you – in the drawer, just behind you? Thank you, darling.’

  ‘You could say you’re better. Then we could go. We could both go.’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  Ellie’s lips trembled so that she could hardly speak, but she managed it somehow: ‘You’re ashamed of me.’ Magda quickly laid her hand over Ellie’s mouth to silence her, but Ellie removed it. ‘That’s why you don’t want me to go to your aunt’s party or meet her or anyone. I know you don’t want me to meet your mum – you speak to her every day and you’ve never even told her about me. You’re ashamed of me, that’s the reason. I’m not grand enough.’

  Magda gave a dry laugh. ‘It’s me who’s not grand enough. Oh, she’s proud of me in a way, that I’m this agent with this big deal agency everyone knows about. But it’s not what she wants; not for her daughter. “You’re more like Hannah,” she tells me, and believe me, coming from her that’s not a compliment. Hannah? I told you: Robert’s mother.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Like her? Certainly not! She’s the Teutonic side of the family. I used to dread going to her place as a kid. “Don’t tread on the carpet with those shoes!”’

  ‘What about Robert?’

  ‘I never did fathom how he can bear living with her, but he must like it all right because he’s still there. His studio is strictly for business, for his work. For everything else he runs home to Mother. He’s a classic case, if ever there was one.’

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘On Park, in one of those stodgy old apartment houses full of bankers and real-estate developers. People like my parents preferred to live on Fifth—’

  ‘Where on Park?’

  ‘No, on Fifth – oh, you mean Hannah? Park and 85th, as if it matters. I cannot believe, Ellie, that you and I are having this one evening together and we’re sitting here talking about my family.’

  Ellie was perched very meekly on one of the throne-like velvet chairs that decorated the stately lobby. When Robert stood in front of her and said, ‘What are you doing here?’ she silently stared up at him. ‘What do you want?’ he said, tapping a foot impatiently.

  ‘To see you,’ she answered and got up, still staring at him. She followed him through the main doors held open for them by a doorman. As soon as they were outside, he told her, ‘You must not, ever, come here.’

  ‘But if I have to see you very badly?’

  It had begun to get dark, also to rain. The road glistened with the reflections of headlights swimming down the Avenue and a swarm of lit-up windows glimmered through the wet dusk. Rain appeared to be Ellie’s natural element: the way it washed her pale face and made her hair cling to her cheeks recalled centuries of English waifs growing like tall weeds out of their gutters.

  ‘And I don’t want you coming to the studio either.’

  ‘Oh but I have to.’

  ‘Why? Why do you have to?’

  ‘To see you.’

  He had no time or inclination to be kind to a crazy girl. ‘I’m going to tell everyone not to let you in so you’d better not try.’ When she was silent, he said, ‘When I’m ready, I’ll send for you. Till then, stay away from me. You understand?’

  She shivered with awe and pleasure. ‘You’re so cruel.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m getting wet too, so I’m going in and you’re going home, wherever that may be.’

  ‘I’m staying with your cousin but I want to stay with you. I want to sleep with you. I mean, only to sleep near you. In the same room and hear you breathe.’

  He put his hand in his pocket and took out some notes to give her for her cab fare. She held them carelessly in her hand, where they got wet. He tried to wave down a cab, but they had all turned on their Off Duty signs and swiftly slithered past, one of them so close that it splashed him.

  ‘Your suit’s getting spoiled,’ Ellie said. She touched it admiringly – Ellie knew nothing of men’s clothes, or any clothes, but she recognised quality when she saw it.

  ‘I don’t have to stand here with you,’ he said. ‘You can get your own cab.’

  ‘I can walk.’

  ‘Or walk, or whatever you want.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘What did I just tell you?’ Already half turned towards home, he stood still to look down at her sternly. She was so wet by now that she looked stringy, half drowned, pitiful, but the way she looked back at him, smiling slightly in a superior way, it was as if she pitied him – for being unaware of the situation that had arisen between them.

  All day Magda had been looking forward to an evening alone with Ellie. She took care to get home first, which gave her time to dress up – she chose the black and gold kaftan again – and lay the table very nicely with candles and silver and cloth napkins. She heard a key in the lock and called out: ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes it’s me, darling.’ It was Lottie, her mother, the only other person with a key to the apartment.

  ‘Oh, you look gorgeous! Stunning!’ exclaimed Lottie at the sight of Magda dressed up. Next moment she was thrown into even greater astonishment, for not only Magda but the apartment was transformed. Instead of the former mess, it was as clean and fragrant as a bower where two virgins lived. Lottie’s eyes fell on the table laid for two. ‘I see I’ve come on the wrong day,’ she said coyly and seemed completely prepared to depart immediately.

  Magda muttered, ‘You can sit down for a bit.’ It was the wrong day, but her mother came rarely. She was very discreet about spacing her visits, though she must have had many lonely hours by herself at home.

  ‘Are you sure, darling?’ Absolutely delighted, Lottie unpinned her little hat from her golden coiffure. Lottie was always turned out perfectly and could be viewed any hour of the day, or even night except for her hairnet. ‘I haven’t seen you for such ages – and you haven’t been calling, darling, but now I see you’re otherwise engaged.’ Her eyes twinkled at the laid table again, and from there at Magda, who remained expressionless. ‘And you didn’t get to Hannah’s party – lucky you! It was the usual disaster. What I find disgusting is the way she trumpets her age around. So all right – you are whatever you are – but you don’t have to write it in pink icing all over your birthday cake. Next she’ll have that many candles – if there are that many candles to be had . . . Is it someone you just met?’ she could no longer refrain from asking about the table laid for two.

  ‘It’s a client.’

  ‘Oh. A client.’ Lottie was pleased, excited. ‘Anyone very famous? Would I have heard of him?’

  Magda hesitated for only a moment. ‘It’s a she.’

  If it hadn’t been so irritating, she might have been amused by the way her mother’s face fell. Since Ellie would be home any moment – and why wasn’t she already? – Magda thought it best to continue: ‘She’s living here. Only for now. She’s got nowhere to stay.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘What do you mean, why not? Not everyone has a ten-room duplex on Fifth Avenue, you might be surprised to hear.’

  ‘But she’s your client. I thought they were all rich and famous. That’s what Robert says,’ she defended herself against Magda’s response. ‘He said it again the other day – he told Hannah, “Don’t worry about Magda, she has all these rich and famous clients.”’

  ‘And why should Hannah be worrying about me?’

  ‘Oh you know, her usual.’ Lottie squirmed, partly embarrassed, partly indignant. ‘“What’s wrong with your Magda? I don’t hear any m
ention of a boyfriend and why isn’t she getting married?” She should talk,’ said Lottie, indignation winning out. ‘But of course she has her line about Robert: “He’ll never get married and it’s no one’s fault but my own for making it too cosy for him at home.” As if she didn’t know, along with the rest of the world.’

  Ellie had slipped in so quietly that Lottie had a shock when she was suddenly in the room with them. Magda was used to Ellie’s stealthy movements, and anyway had been waiting for her. ‘This is Ellie,’ she said to Lottie, who acknowledged her with a gracious inclination of her coiffure. She mistook Ellie for the maid and was about to congratulate her on the unwonted neatness of the apartment when Magda said, ‘She’s my client I’ve been telling you about.’

  ‘She’s your client!’ exclaimed Lottie with an amazement that bordered on scorn, and it took her a moment before she could come up with an apology. ‘I was expecting an older person.’

  ‘I’m nearly twenty,’ Ellie said.

  Lottie measured her up and down, not in appreciation: ‘You look younger.’

  ‘I could go on the bus half-fare till I was eighteen,’ Ellie said.

  ‘I’m not surprised. You’re English, aren’t you. I love the English accent, I could listen to it all day. Sid and I had some very memorable vacations in London. We always stayed at the Savoy; it’s so central and you can get to all the theatres. We saw some great shows. Sid was interested because he had money on Broadway.’

  ‘You never told me your father was in the theatre,’ Ellie said to Magda.