Asha winced at the mention of the city she had almost called home. Her father’s death place. “What did it say?”
“Apparently one of the professors there saw my paintings in Delhi, and he’s offered me a full scholarship to study in their fine arts program. I could become a teacher and keep painting. They’ve offered me a studio, housing, transportation, everything.”
Her stomach turned over. Would he be leaving? “That’s wonderful, Jay!” Somehow, she managed to sound delighted. “When will you go?”
“I’m not going,” he said. “I haven’t even told my parents about it.”
“Why in the world not?”
“I’m an Indian, Osh. If I move to America, I’ll lose . . . all this.” He gestured across the coconut trees, the pond gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, the vendors setting out their wares, homes where people were beginning to stir after their afternoon rest, the span of sapphire sky overhead. “I put Calcutta into my paintings, and I don’t want to replace it with New York.”
“Oh. I see. A move like that would change you as a painter.”
“It would change me as a person. And I don’t want that. Besides, now that you’re not going anywhere, painting at home is much more bearable than it used to be.”
“I make your life more bearable?” she asked, so relieved that he was staying that she couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Is that the best word you can come up with?”
He smiled back. “Interesting, then. You make my life more interesting. Better?”
“A bit.”
They talked about the new painting he was working on, a landscape of their neighborhood. Soon, too soon, Reet called from below, and Asha floated down the stairs.
Her sister met her at the landing. “Him again?” Reet asked.
Asha nodded, and couldn’t keep herself from smiling.
“Lucky you,” her sister said. “Lucky him.”
Asha’s smile faded as she registered her sister’s narrow silhouette in the hall. “Reet, have you eaten anything today?”
“I had some tea and a couple of biscuits. Don’t scold me all the time, okay? It was hard enough to eat those, and I’m trying my best.”
“No rags on the line again this month.”
“No washing them, either. Now, hurry; Raj is waiting for you.”
TWENTY-THREE
RAJ WAS SITTING WITH HIS MATH BOOK CLOSED, AND HE didn’t let her open it when she reached for it.
“We have to review that problem from yesterday, Raj,” Asha said. “You still don’t see how—”
“Shut up about the math. I’ve got something to tell you.”
She sat back. “What is it?”
“Ma is . . . she’s hammering away at Baba night after night. I’ve heard them.”
“About what?”
“About Reet. She wants Baba to put the word out that we’re receiving proposals for real this time.”
“And what does your father say?”
“She’s wearing him down. We can’t have a wedding in the home until a year has passed, but she keeps telling him that it takes a while to arrange a match. Last night he agreed to tell some of his friends.”
“Oh no! Listen, Raj, thanks for telling me.”
“But what can we do? You can’t rip apart all your sister’s potential husbands on the tennis court.”
Asha smiled ruefully. “I know.” That prank seemed like child’s play now. This time things were serious. She had to talk to Reet. “I’ll take care of it. Now let’s get back to your math; this exam I want you at the very top of the list.”
After they were done, she found her sister and took her into the bathroom to be assured of total privacy. It didn’t reek now that Reet had started managing the two servants who still worked for them. In fact, it sparkled, and smelled of lemon juice and vinegar. When the girls hid in there, sometimes one or both of them still cried over Baba, but more and more they talked about how to save their mother.
“Grandmother keeps going on about money,” Reet said now. “Ma hates that beyond anything.”
“And Auntie’s really bossy in the kitchen, have you noticed? She treats Ma like one of the servants.”
“What can we do, Osh? How can we help her? We promised Baba we’d take care of her and we’re failing. Her heart’s like a stone, and nothing I try seems to break through.”
“It gets worse.”
“What do you mean?”
Asha didn’t mince words: “They’re going to marry you off, Reet.” She told her sister what Raj had overheard.
Reet absorbed the blow quietly. “That might be our only choice, Osh,” she said finally. “I can’t keep living here forever, sponging off Uncle and Auntie. It will make things easier for Ma if they’re spending less on us, and maybe I’d be able to send her some money of her own.”
“No, it isn’t your only choice, Reet! It can’t be! We can . . .”
Asha’s voice trailed off; she couldn’t think of anything her sister could do to leave the house apart from getting married.
“It would actually be better if I bring it up before Uncle has a chance to,” Reet continued. “I’ve been giving it some thought myself. Listen, if I can find a man with some money, I can take care of Ma and you. Maybe you could move in with me.”
“I’m one hundred percent certain that your mother-in-law-to-be is not going to want Ma and me lurking around.”
“I’ll marry a man whose parents are dead, then.”
“Oh, that’s going to be easy. Uncle is going to request proposals only from rich orphans. I’m sure there are three hundred of those in our neighborhood at least.”
“No need for sarcasm, Osh,” Reet said. “Our relatives can surely find one or two in Calcutta who fit the bill.” She paused. “My only hope is that our husbands will be as kind to us as Baba always was to Ma.”
“Definitely. Remember that new bride down the street in Delhi who used to drape her saree to hide her bruises?”
Reet leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
The next day at tea, Reet held Asha’s hand tightly under the table and took the plunge. “Uncle, Grandmother, I have something to ask you.”
Ma, who was passing around a plate full of steaming samosas, looked quickly at her older daughter.
“Yes, Shona?” Grandmother asked.
“I’m—I’m ready to get married,” Reet said.
The plate fell on the floor and shattered. “What?” Ma asked. “Why didn’t you talk this over with me first?”
Reet looked confused. “But, Ma. Uncle and Auntie—I mean, you’re so . . . I’m sorry, Ma. I’m sorry.”
Ma stepped carefully over the pile of crumbled samosas and broken china on the floor as she left the room. The girls exchanged desperate looks, but they knew they couldn’t take care of their mother till later.
“I’m glad you brought that up, Shona,” Auntie said, smiling. “We think you’re ready to be married; you’re as old as I was when my parents found your uncle. I’m sure your father would give his blessing.”
“And besides, then we’ll have one less mouth to feed around here,” Raj said disgustedly, standing up and shoving his chair into the table. “That’s what you mean; why don’t you say it?”
“Beta!” his mother gasped.
Uncle stood up, strode around the table, and grabbed his son by the ear. Gripping tightly, he shook the ear so that Raj’s whole body rocked back and forth several times. “A son never talks to his mother like that, do you hear me?”
Raj yanked his ear away from his father’s hand. “Ow! Yes, I hear you,” he said, and left the room. They could hear him fighting back sobs as he raced upstairs.
“Eesh!” said Grandmother. “Neither of my boys ever talked to me like that. A mother has to teach her son how to respect her.”
Auntie threw a look of fury at her mother-in-law before making her own exit. They heard the door to her bedroom slam behind her.
Sita and Suma got up from the floor and came to the table. “What’s the matter, Shonadi?” Suma asked Reet. “Why is everybody crying and fighting and shouting?”
“And leaving?” Sita added.
“It’s my fault,” Reet said, standing up, too, the tears beginning to fall. “I thought I was trying to help, but I’ve just made everything worse. I’m sorry, Uncle.” And then she left the room, followed by the twins, who were doing their best to comfort her.
Uncle and Asha were alone, staring across the table at each other. “So your sister wants to get married?” he asked finally.
“Not really,” Asha answered, testing the waters. “But it’s her only choice, it seems.”
Uncle tipped his head to one side, agreeing, and her heart sank. “What sort of a boy should I look for?” he asked.
“Somebody who will be good to her, Uncle. Just look for that.”
“I’ll do my best, Tuni. I’ll try to find the husbands my brother would have chosen. For both of you girls.”
Asha cringed at being included. “Thank you, Uncle. You’re very good to us.”
They finished their tea in silence; then Asha brought in a broom to clean up the mess her mother had left on the floor.
When Asha went upstairs, Reet was pretending to be asleep under the mosquito net.
“Shhh,” Suma told her as the twins tiptoed out of the room. “We stroked Shonadi’s hair until she fell asleep.”
“Thanks, sweeties,” Asha said, feeling a rush of love for her cousins. Even Raj’s insolence had been a way of standing up for them.
She crawled in next to her sister. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“We made a big mistake, Osh,” Reet said. “We dishonored Ma by not going to her first.”
“But what could she do, anyway? It’s not her decision. Besides, she’s nowhere in sight these days, Reet; the Jailor has taken her over totally. It’s been four months now since we heard the news about Baba, and she hasn’t cried a single tear.”
“We should still treat her as though she’s Ma, even if she’s not acting like herself.”
“She doesn’t care enough to even scold us much anymore.”
“She spoke up that day we came back from the Ganga. To defend Baba. Remember?”
“That was the last time she said a word to either of us.”
“Osh, she’s devastated. We’re all she has left. We have to keep trying.”
Asha sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”
They walked down the hall hand in hand past Raj’s closed door to the small room where their mother slept. “Should we knock?” Reet asked.
“No. Let’s barge in like we used to in Delhi.”
“You first.”
Asha turned the handle and pushed the door open. Their mother was sitting in the small chair by the window and staring into the coconut leaves outside. She didn’t turn to greet them; silhouetted against the window in her white saree, she reminded Asha of a faded black-and-white photo.
“Ma?” Reet ventured. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be, Shona,” Ma answered. “You were right to go to your uncle first. I can’t help you anymore.”
“Yes, you can, Ma!” Asha said, walking over to where she could see her mother’s face. “You have to speak up! They’ll marry Reet off to anybody they want!”
“Why should they listen to me? I’m nothing in this house. A dead son’s wife’s mouth is for feeding, not for speaking.”
Asha’s hand twitched with a desire to slap the Jailor out of her mother’s face. But at least she was talking; they had to keep the words coming. “If you say something about the kind of boy they should choose for Reet, they’ll hear it. Talk about what Baba would have wanted; Grandmother has to weigh that into the decision.”
Reet walked over, squatted in front of Ma, took both of her mother’s hands in hers, and looked up into her face. “Please, Ma?” she asked.
But their mother pulled her hands away. “I can’t do anything for you girls,” she repeated.
She stood up, went to the door, and waited until the girls left. They could hear her locking the door behind them. Asha and Reet slowly made their way down the hall.
“They’re both dead,” Asha said. “We’re orphans.”
“No! Osh, don’t say that. We can get her back. I know we can.”
“Only Baba could do that, and he’s gone, Reet. It’s up to us, but I’m at my wits’ end.”
“What about knitting? Maybe we can get her some wool.”
“How? We can’t afford it.”
“That’s the first thing I’ll buy with my husband’s money,” Reet declared. “A skein of the best-quality wool in Calcutta. And then you’ll have to make sure she uses it.”
“She’ll be knitting baby booties someday,” Asha said, trying to smile.
“Disgusting thought,” Reet answered. “I plan to wait a few months after the wedding like Grandmother until we get to know each other.”
“What if the kind, rich orphan boy doesn’t want to wait?”
“He’ll have to,” Reet said. “Now get downstairs with the twins and start making yourself indispensable.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“IT’S 1975 TOMORROW,” ASHA TOLD JAY ONE AFTERNOON. SHE was up on the roof wrapped in a wool shawl. The days were colder, and on some afternoons, she could see their breath in the air as they talked.
“I know. Big celebrations in other parts of the world.”
“Except here. People in Calcutta still don’t pay much attention to the Western calendar.”
“Nobody seems to be paying attention to news outside our borders. Prime Minister Gandhi is bound to be overthrown by the opposition—they’re getting more powerful every day.”
“I know. Uncle has the radio on every minute. But she’ll fight back, don’t worry.”
“And we’ll have to pay the price,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Our freedom. We’ll have to give that up if Mrs. Gandhi tries to get things under her control. Soldiers on the streets. The newspapers not able to write anything against the government. No elections. Curfews.”
“Probably won’t change my life one bit,” Asha said. “What difference does a curfew make when you’re already not allowed to go out?”
Since Baba had died, she and her sister had left the house only once—to sprinkle his ashes over the river. Ma hadn’t stepped outside the gate at all. Sometimes Asha thought that if it hadn’t been for Reet, and teaching her cousins, and the time she spent with Jay, the boredom of her days would have sent her running into the Jailor’s arms.
“I hear you’re working miracles with your cousins’ schoolwork,” Jay said.
“Who told you?”
“Oh, your aunt bragged about their results to my mother, who immediately told my aunt, who told her neighbor. Which means—you’re about to get a job offer.”
“I am?”
“Yes. My aunt’s neighbor’s daughter is apparently quite stupid. The neighbor wants you to start tutoring, and he’s going to offer you five rupees an hour.”
“He is? Jay, that’s great news!”
Asha started dancing around the roof, her ankle bracelets sounding like tambourines, hair floating around her like a veil. It had grown out to her shoulders; she always wore it loose when she came up to talk to Jay. After a few more spins, she stopped to catch her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me right away? You know how much I want to earn some money!”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if it was really going to happen. But here comes your potential employer now; I see him rounding the corner. Run downstairs and make a good impression.”
Asha stopped in her room to comb and braid her hair and take off her ankle bracelets. She paused just outside the living room
to make sure the scarf of her salwar was draped properly around her shoulders, and peeked in. Ma was nowhere in sight, and neither was Grandmother, but Uncle was smiling agreeably, Auntie was beaming, and Reet was serving tea.
“It will be a good chance for our brilliant niece,” Auntie was saying. “She was born to be a teacher.”
Their guest was a meek-looking plump man. “Why not let her study, then?” he asked curiously. “Our city has several wonderful teachers’ colleges for young women.”
Auntie and Uncle exchanged careful glances. “She . . . er . . . isn’t quite ready to study so soon after her father’s death.”
Tuition at the colleges was steep; Asha had no hope of ever attending. Besides, she wanted to be a psychologist, not a teacher. Anybody could be a teacher, but as far as she knew, there wasn’t another Bengali woman psychologist around and there definitely needed to be. How she was going to make her dream come true, she had no idea, but earning some money was definitely the first step. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room.
“Ah, here’s my niece,” Uncle said, gathering himself up to make the necessary introductions.
Suddenly someone pushed past Asha like a whirlwind. It was Grandmother. “What’s this? What’s this? The little girls told me somebody was trying to hire our Tuni to do some work in their house for them. Is this true?”
Their guest rose courteously. “Yes, madam, I am. I’ve heard she’s making real strides with your granddaughters’ studies. My daughter needs a tutor, and—”
Grandmother drew herself up to her full height, which was about as high as Asha’s shoulder. She held up one palm in front of the gentleman’s face. “You will find your tutor somewhere else, sir. My husband was a highly educated man, and my own father was a landowner. Any grandchildren living under my roof will earn salaries as professionals, not an hourly wage as hired help.”
The guest backed toward the door, stuttering and stumbling as he went. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Pardon me, I was misinformed. Thank you, I’m sorry.” He was gone, and with him Asha’s chances of earning a single rupee.
“Grandmother! What’s so degrading about earning money?” she demanded, ignoring the warning look Reet flashed her way.
Secret Keeper Page 11