by Preethi Nair
Another granny wasn’t that old, about fifty-something, but she looked haggard. It was quite unfortunate because she worked in a shoe shop but she couldn’t pronounce her ‘Sh’s’. ‘A soe sop’, she repeated when I asked her where was it again that she worked. We wouldn’t use her for nursery rhymes when the baby came, especially not ‘Ba ba black seep’ or ‘she sells sea shells on the sea shore.’ They provided a much-needed source of entertainment for me, despite the fact they made lots of noise with their uncontrollable cackling and gossiping.
One day, I heard Fingers tell her closest ally, Nita, about the time she found Ravi Thakker at her door. I stopped doing my homework and put my ear to the wall. They were living in India at the time and making preparations to go to Uganda when a little boy who was six years old wearing threadbare clothes came knocking at their door. He was an orphan, a beggar boy. When she said that, an image came to my mind of him; he was one of the beach children, hankering after a balloon. Her mother-in-law took him in to train as a servant but soon Fingers grew attached to him because he was kind and thoughtful and made them laugh with a song and dance act he picked up off the street. He was also very smart and could learn words and numbers after seeing them just once. When the time came to leave for Uganda, she didn’t want to leave him behind so took him there as her own. It was very difficult, as her older son disliked him intensely and always treated him as an outsider, but Ravi made good friends and studied well and managed to get himself to university. He was going to get married when Idi Amin suddenly took power and his fiancésse’s family were forced to leave overnight, so there was no way of telling him where they were going.
He thought she might have come to England as she had close family here so he came looking for her. Years passed and he never found her. Fingers thought he would never get married and then he met Amma. Fingers said quite frankly that although my mother was not educated, from a different class altogether and had two children, it was better he marry her than remain alone for the rest of his life.
I began to see Ravi Thakker in a completely new light. He knew what it was to lose someone, to feel that heart-wrenching loss that cannot be made better by anything, and then to have life turn completely upside down: twice he had experienced that. I had lost my Ammamma and Achan, we shared the same thing. He made my mother happy, anyone could see that, and he tried with us, although many times he got things wrong. A week later my new sister was born. I brought them a card and signed it to Amma and Dad and I let him kiss my forehead.
Much to the disappointment of Fingers, they named my little sister after my grandmother Ammu. She was born two days after I turned thirteen. As I held her, she looked so vulnerable and innocent. The new baby’s arrival meant a new start for all of us and everything that had gone before seemed not to matter so much. I told Ravi that if he still wanted to change my name to Thakker so it would fit with everyone else in the family, then it was okay by me. He was absolutely shocked.
The ticket inspector called out for tickets. This was the one who thought he was Casanova of the railways and took every opportunity given to extend conversation with any woman on his train. He would caress their hands as he took their tickets to clip. I pretended to have that just-woken-up look as if I didn’t know where exactly I was.
‘¿Dónde va morena?’
‘A casa,’ I replied curtly, as I snatched the ticket back off him.
‘Home’ sounded really strange as I said it. Spain was now my home, I meant–…
He tried to continue the conversation but I closed my eyes.
Ravi and Amma brought Maggie around to persuade me to go back to Edinburgh and continue with architecture. ‘You can’t keep running away, Maya, darling,’ she said. ‘One day it all catches up with you and you’ve got to face it.’
‘You mean like you did? Faced up to everything, did you?’ I retorted. The words came out before I could stop them and she looked at me, hurt and disappointed, but tried not to let it show. I wanted to say I didn’t mean it, that I was sorry, but I couldn’t.
‘I wouldn’t mind if you went because you wanted to travel and see the world but you’re going because you think you have found something else, Maya, and you haven’t. What you are looking for has always been right here. It is not what you think it is, it is not over there, it’s right here. I know it gets a little hard, darling, but ride it through. Talk to me about it, you know you can, you always used to. You always used to come around and tell me things. What’s happened to us, Maya?’ she continued.
Maggie just didn’t know and I didn’t want to say anything because whatever I had to say she wouldn’t understand, she couldn’t. I shook my head. She pressed my hand and kissed me. I looked down as she got up to leave. I wanted to go after her, give her a big hug, and pour out everything and tell her that I needed her, that I wanted it all back, the way it used to be between us, but I left it. Locking my bedroom door, I crawled into bed, pulled the duvet over my head and fell asleep. A few hours later, a little knocking sound would not go away.
My little sister began calling out my name so she could come in and pester me. I let her in and she ran towards the bed and immediately began trying on the shoes and the clothes that I had emptied from the cupboards.
‘Where are you going, Mayo?’
‘Away, Bobo.’
‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not crying, Bobo, I’m just tired.’
‘When will you come back?’
‘Soon,’ I said.
‘When is soon?’
I lifted her up and sat her on the bed. ‘By the time you have learnt all your times tables, that is when I will come back.’
She looked upset. ‘But you know I don’t like them and that will take forever.’
‘It won’t, you know your two times already. What are eight twos?’
‘Fifteen,’ she replied.
Maybe not, I thought.
‘You won’t go away like Satchin, will you, Mayo? You won’t leave and not come back?’
‘No, Shorty.’ I pushed her over the bed so she lay on her back.
‘Mayo, Mayo, is it really true that if you swallow an apple pip, the seed will grow into a tree in your stomach?’
‘Of course it is, so maybe by the time I come back you’ll have turned into a little tree.’ I began to tickle her stomach and she laughed hysterically.
Amma didn’t come to the airport, taking ownership of a bad headache. It was just Ravi and myself. Ravi talked around Spain; the fact that India had lost the cricket; how traffic was slower than usual because of the icy roads, and the direction that the Conservatives might take since Major had taken over from Thatcher. That was Ravi; he never hit things head on but walked delicately around them so as not to offend or upset. He was like one of those buffers, safe and reliable, preferring not to see what was in front of him but looking around to the sides, hoping that whatever it was that was coming towards him might veer off the road and go away. We got to the airport and I said he didn’t have to come in but he wanted to. There was still an hour and a half to wait but I wanted to get to the departure lounge. I said goodbye to Ravi, adding that I would see them all very soon.
‘This is for you, Maya,’ he said, pulling out an envelope. I kissed him again and went through the gates. As I sat waiting for the plane, I opened it and inside was some money with a simple note: ‘We love you. Ammu, Amma and Dad.’
As the baggage was being unloaded at Barajas airport, I went into the ladies’ and made up my face, putting on the lipstick colour that Marcos liked best and trying to draw a straight black line across my eyelids. The eyeliner went everywhere, a combination of nerves and because I wasn’t used to it, so I covered the mess with some eyeshadow and made my way to find my case.
Marcos stood there waiting for me at the meeting point and I abandoned my trolley in the middle of the walkway as I ran towards him. Kissing him and holding him, he hoisted me up and swung me around. I knew I had made the right decision. ‘Maya, I
can’t believe it, you came. I can’t wait, I have something that you will love, Maya, you will adore it.’ He held me tightly. My heart leapt as I thought of the possibilities: a ring would be too soon; the painting, I thought, the painting that I had done of the two of us, perhaps he had it framed as promised. We walked out of the terminal, clutching each other, and went into the car park. He pulled out a set of keys and pointed it around so that an alarm went off and lights began flashing. ‘Do you see it?’ he asked me, pointing, ‘It’s mine.’ We got into a new metallic silver BMW and the seats could not have been any lower than my heart was at that point.
‘It’s … really nice,’ I replied.
I got a full explanation of power steering and suspension. Maybe I was feeling this way because it was late. We drove to Palmadoro.
Marcos had moved out of the halls of residence into a flat shared with two friends, Miguel and Roberto. We arrived in the middle of the night so I didn’t get to see them immediately, but I bumped into Roberto mid-morning, after I woke up, and he introduced himself. Marcos had gone back to work and left me a note on the kitchen table along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a set of keys. It will work, I kept saying to myself, he remembers the small details. I got dressed and ventured out.
The sun was beaming down, despite the fact that it was cold outside. The local bar was bustling with people shouting above each other, clattering coffee cups, and waiters who did their best to look in control of the situation knowing that they were fighting a losing battle. Orders were fired at them as they charged around carrying trays stacked with cups, cutlery and wet dishcloths, running between the women, their fur coats and prams; the workmen who were restoring the church; the town hall officials who had popped in for a quick ten-minute respite, and a group of elderly men who were playing cards in the corner.
People stopped to stare momentarily, finding me an exotic curiosity. Then they got back to what they were doing. A few of the workmen whistled and said things that I couldn’t understand, the older ladies began laughing and shouted retorts across the table. I sat at the bar, ordered a coffee and let the different tempo wash over me. Another new beginning, I thought, drinking my coffee. I had retreated to a place where once again, I was the outsider. I left my harassed waiter with a tip as he had managed to keep smiling throughout and then went to the supermarket to pick up a few things for lunch and dinner.
Miguel had arrived back at the flat and opened the door as I struggled with the key. ‘Maya, how are you?’ he shouted enthusiastically. ‘Marcos said you were coming.’
I felt relieved to see a warm, familiar face and I hugged him. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘You know, Maya, I never thought it would last longer than the summer, but I am really happy that you are back.’
Are you? Do you think I have done the right thing? I wanted to ask but at that moment Marcos rushed in. He said he could not stay for lunch as he was teaching law at the faculty over lunchtime. He kissed me fleetingly and said he would be back for dinner. Miguel tried not to look embarrassed and invited me to sit and eat with him.
After lunch, Miguel and Roberto went for a siesta. I didn’t know what to do and after flicking through all the TV channels and finding nothing but huge peroxided ladies displaying their goods on every programme, I decided that the best thing was to go to sleep as well.
After I woke up, I went for a long walk. On the side of a hill overlooking the town a cross had been built. I sat there looking at the miles of stone wall that snugly enveloped the monastery and buildings, keeping them safe from invaders. Suddenly, I felt as unwelcome as they would have been. Around the wall were cypress trees, growing taller so they could get a peek at what was going on inside. Over to my right was some misplaced scaffolding that seemed to represent the mess and confusion of my own head. I went back and waited for Marcos to come home.
Killing time, I started cooking some disastrous concoction of eggs, garlic sauce and pasta. How Amma would laugh at me if she could see me now, struggling with the ingredients. So many times throughout my childhood she tried to get me to cook with her in the warmth of her kitchen, and perhaps in my early teens, I spent a few moments there but that was all, a brief moment. Many things were sent to come between us and the result, my feelings of absolute rejection, was symbolised by what was cooking now: a few basic packet ingredients thrown together chaotically which tasted bitter and smelt burnt. I had a bath, got dressed up, put on some make-up and waited for Marcos. It was eleven o’clock before he arrived home.
A month into my stay, this emerged into a standard routine. I thought of Maggie seeing me turning into a woman occupied by cleaning, lunchtime soap operas, siestas, shoulder pads and lipstick. ‘Oh, you’ll never make a lady, darling, Maya, all that prettiness is wasted on you. You have to make an effort with yourself every day instead of hiding behind that sweatshirt of yours,’
she nagged, on the days I went to the shop in a tracksuit. I called my family to say that I was really happy and life in Spain was great. I ended the conversation by saying that I didn’t understand why people lived in England. Ammu picked up the other line to kiss me goodbye and recited her three times table. She ended by saying that at this rate, I would have to come home soon. If only it were that easy Shorty, I would come home on the first flight back.
Sensing my boredom, Marcos enrolled me on a Spanish course in Madrid. I commuted four hours every day and had four hours of language courses which were divided by a huge lunch. Things improved greatly as the days went by and I met other foreigners who had come to Spain. Most had become English language teachers. A particular student who looked as lost and confused as I did was a girl called Jennifer. She had come from the States to forget her boyfriend, Steve. Not really to forget him but he had asked her to marry him and she got scared and wanted to see if she could survive a year without being with him. If, at the end of it, they both felt the same, she would go back and marry. Initially, I began smiling at her when I sensed that she too did not understand the purpose of the subjunctive. Then we went out for coffees which turned into lunches.
Our friendship grew quite quickly in the way that it does when you are in a strange place. You feel the need to tell a new friend everything about yourself, maybe because this familiarity is the only thing that is solid and stable in all that is foreign, or perhaps it is because we sense that the friendship is transitory and so we try to cram as much as we can in our time together. Spain did this to many of us; we made it into a safe place where nothing mattered so you could share your innermost thoughts with people that didn’t know you, or you could escape whatever you wanted to. Jen thought it was crazy to commute to Palmadoro every day and said that I should move in with her until the course finished.
I spoke to Marcos about it that evening and he didn’t want me to go, saying that he would leave work a little earlier so we could spend more time together. It wasn’t the fact that I needed to spend more time together, it was more a question of finding my own space. I said it would only be for another six weeks and then I would move back and, in the meantime, I would come to Palmadoro on Friday evenings and leave on Monday mornings. He agreed reluctantly and that is what I did.
Madrid was amazing. It came alive at night with so much energy. People squeezed every minute of fun out of the hours. Eating, dancing and drinking until the early hours of the morning, not caring that they had to get up and go to work in the morning. Jen and I would go out most evenings with people we met from the course or friends of friends. I couldn’t last until three or four o’ clock in the morning so I left around one and the rest of them would continue on. Friday nights, I would catch the train back to Palmadoro, spend the weekend with Marcos in the hills and then catch the first train on Monday, which left at five-thirty in the morning. Things were getting much better between us and we made the most of the weekends by visiting places and doing things. I loved him when he came out of Palmodoro and stopped trying to be important.
The
six weeks were almost over and I thought that there was no point in going back to live in Palmadoro. Jen said that the school where she was teaching were always looking for English speakers and she would ask around to see if I could do anything. On Tuesday, I went in for an interview and on Friday afternoon, Loretta, the head of the English School, asked me to come in to see when I could start and to discuss the classes I would take. She gave me twenty-five hours a week of children’s classes and said that in the hours I had off, I could attend the Spanish classes that they also ran. I was elated.
I took the first train back to Palmadoro to tell Marcos. Marcos was furious, arguing that there was no need for me to work, especially in Madrid, that he thought the whole point of me coming to Spain was so we could be together. ‘We can,’ I insisted, ‘I will come up every weekend as I already do.’ We spent the rest of Friday in silence until I broke it by making some stupid joke.
‘I’m sorry, Maya cariño, but you know it is only because I miss you.’
‘I know and I miss you when you are not around,’ I said, reassuring him.
Sometimes on journeys back to Madrid, I questioned why I put up with such outbursts, the long period of silence that followed every argument and the constant reassurance that I so needed myself but gave to another. On each trip, I resolved to do something about it but then when I saw him, I caved in; it was like I had this overwhelming compulsion to make things better, even if it was to my own detriment. At other times, I remembered how it was in Scotland or the times we went on holiday together, thinking that if only he could manage to get out of Palmadoro, he could then be himself, the Marcos that I knew he was and not someone who was desperate to prove how important they were.