by Irene Black
She snuggled against his body and felt him comb his fingers through her hair, which, left to its own devices, was drying into an unruly mop of auburn curls.
“I never imagined you’d have red hair,” he said, “from that dreadful black and white photograph on the book cover.”
“It’s an awful photo. I’m glad you didn’t recognize me from it.” She traced her finger down the curve of his spine. “And I never imagined dark skin could drive me crazy.”
He shook his head. “You’re an enigma. Most English women I’ve known have simply avoided the subject of skin color. As though it’s taboo. You come right out with it.”
“They’re scared, that’s why. That they might let their guard down.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“Prejudice is deep-rooted. I know that.”
“Knowing isn’t quite the same as experiencing.”
“Which you have done?”
“Oh, yes. There have been times—both at university and later, when I’ve been made to feel distinctly second class.”
“I hope you told them what you thought.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s best to hold your tongue.”
“Never. You should always speak your mind.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You think it hasn’t happened to me?”
“Has it? When?”
Where, she wondered, do I begin? She remembered the confines of Ashley House Boarding School where, at the age of eight, she’d refused to be cowed by her fellow inmates, the bullying minions, who constantly attempted to victimize her. But no, it was no good avoiding the real issue.
“Well, the last time was a couple of hours ago. Here. In this room.”
She waited for his reply. He looked uncomfortable.
“That’s not quite the same thing, is it? I mean, we were talking about racial prejudice here, not... not...”
“Not sexuality? For a doctor, you’re a prude. It’s a good thing you’re not a gynecologist.” Hannah decided not to push the matter any further at that point. Eventually, if their relationship were to last, they would have to face the awkwardness of their intertwining past together. They dressed in silence.
“I’ll make that phone call now. Do you have the number?”
Hannah retrieved a crumpled slip of paper from the depths of her document pouch, and Ashok dialed. She couldn’t understand his conversation with the clerk at the Pandava. She assumed it was in Tamil. Occasionally an English word slipped in, and once or twice she heard her name.
“We’re in luck,” Ashok said, as he put the receiver down. “They have your rucksack, and he’s just checked that the camera’s still in the hotel safe. I told him we’d pay the bill when we pick up the things tonight.”
“Tonight? We can get there by then?”
“Certainly. I’ll go and book the seats. With a bit of luck we’ll get the afternoon train.”
Chapter 5
Bangalore City railway station bubbled and boiled with travelers and their fantastic array of bags and bundles, boxes and cases. The platforms were awash with color. It seemed to Hannah as if a rainbow had melted and showered them with a multitude of droplets or that they were the canvas of some celestial Van Gogh. The women in their saris, chudidars, or shalwar kameez were dazzling butterflies. Many of the little girls wore elaborate frocks, which Hannah reckoned were more suitable for a party than a train ride. The men were more soberly dressed, mainly in Western clothes. Wiry little red-shirted porters with impossible loads on their heads wove through the crowds.
The anticipation of a journey permeated the air, a sort of controlled excitement, an ominous self-discipline, waiting to explode at the arrival of the next train. When the 1430 Brindavan Express for Chennai drew into the station, the storm broke. Hitherto patient passengers hurled themselves at the carriages, in futile attempts to jostle and push their way to the front of the maelstrom that was by now jamming the train doors, elbowing and shoving out of the way any who were too weak or chicken to plunge wholeheartedly into the fray.
“Hannah!” Ashok shouted from somewhere in the midst of chaos. “Don’t lose me.”
“You must be joking,” she shouted back. Eventually, by a combination of brute force and good luck, she managed to maneuver herself to within hand-grasping reach of Ashok, who grabbed her and somehow managed to pull her free of the crowd and down the platform to the second class, air conditioned carriage, where Ashok had reserved seats. Their compartment was the first one in the carriage. Miraculously, they found themselves alone.
“Sorry about that. I sort of got caught up in the flow before I remembered that we’re traveling second a.c.”
“I’d have thought you’d travel first,” Hannah said, lowering herself thankfully onto the hard, somewhat shabby seat.
“Not all trains have first. Anyway, sometimes second a.c. is better than first. Depends whether first is a.c. or not.”
“I’d have been quite happy traveling in the cattle truck back there. Looked like fun.”
“Don’t know about that. As you saw, things can get a little frantic. And hot. I thought we could do with some peace and quiet.”
Hannah nodded. “But don’t make a habit of it. I’m quite prepared to take my chances in the rough and tumble.”
“You might not be so sure after five hours of traveling.”
“Five hours of just each other’s company.” She nudged him. “D’you think we’ll still be talking at the end of it?”
“Well, if not, it will be as well to have found out sooner rather than later.”
“Oh yes? Meaning?”
But Ashok had clammed up.
“Now you’re giving me one of your Noli me tangere looks.”
“My what?”
“It’s Latin—you should know. I thought all doctors understood Latin. It means ‘hands off’—loosely translated, that is.”
Ashok gave a short, quiet laugh and looked out the window at the railway station. The window was sealed, on account of the air conditioning, and splattered with dust and mud.
“Look! We’re moving.” He took her hand in his and gently kissed her fingers. He looked uncomfortable and distracted. “Give me time, Hannah. Things at home are a bit confused at this moment, that’s all.”
She peered at him through narrowed eyes.
“You’re married?”
“No, of course not. What do you take me for? Here marriage still counts for something, you know. Don’t brand me with your Western attitudes.” His face was shaded by a suggestion of annoyance.
She deserved the rebuke. “Sorry. Thoughtless of me. I guess I’m still too new in this country.”
“Let it drop, please. Once I’ve sorted it out in my own mind, I’ll tell you, I promise.” The shadow passed, and his voice became tender and concerned. “Hannah, at this moment I can’t say what the future is holding. All I know is that no one—and yes, that does include Maighréad—has ever made me feel like this. I don’t know what it is. Love? How can it be? Let’s face it, we hardly know each other. But there’s this bond between us, isn’t?”
She stared at him and fought back the telltale signs of unaccustomed, openly displayed emotion. “Weird,” she said. “And yet...” She looked down.
“And yet?”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but...I have to talk about my relationship with Maighréad. I think my feelings towards her were based on a power thing somehow. And I can’t get it out of my mind that the same might be true of what you’re feeling for me.”
“What do you mean? I don’t have power over you.”
“But that’s just it. You do. I’m vulnerable because of this...thing, this stalker. Maighréad was weak and vulnerable when I rescued her from that brute she was married to in Ireland.”
“So? I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I wonder if perhaps the fact that I was protecting her may have been why I found her so attractive and though
t I was in love with her.”
“If you think I’m just getting a kick out of being protective, we might as well call a halt now. I’ve never heard such rubbish.”
“Methinks he doth protest too much.”
“Give over, Hannah. You know it’s nothing to do with power. We just seem to gel, that’s all. We both felt it on the plane, while you were still feeding me a pack of lies. You felt it, too; don’t try and deny it.”
Hannah smiled and pensively ran the back of her finger down his cheek. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose I’ve become very touchy as a result of what’s happened.”
A few moments of silent contemplation; then Ashok spoke, forcing reluctant thoughts into words.
“Maighréad wasn’t always dependent on you. You can’t use that as an excuse. By the time she was re-housed in that Oxford shelter, she didn’t need you for anything.” He paused before adding grimly, “She just wanted you.”
“That’s true, I suppose. But she was still bound to me by a debt of gratitude, and she never let me forget that. After all, once I’d brought her to England, she lived with me for the first six months. Did you know that? It wasn’t just a casual thing. We lived as partners, you know. Sorry if that shocks you.”
“Yes, I did know. It did shock me when she told me. And yes, it still shocks me now.” He paused, searching for words. “It hurts me to think about it. I know you can’t understand this. If I’m honest, knowing Maighréad slept with women was part of the attraction—it fascinated me somehow as well as repelling me. At that time, it was trendy to have a kinky girlfriend.”
“Kinky. I see.”
“But with you it’s different. I really can’t bear to think of it. You’ll have to help me to get over this. Perhaps I will, with time.”
Once again he stopped himself.
“Do you think we have time, Ashok?”
Tension bristled between them as they ached with the longing to embrace, to drown their differences and fears in life-affirming contact. Both held back, restrained by the unspoken knowledge that such a public display of affection was taboo here, even in the comparative privacy of their compartment.
“I don’t know. But I hope so.”
“You know, it’s odd,” Hannah said. “How long have we known each other? A couple of days? And yet I feel as if I’ve known you far longer. As if I know everything about you.”
“Well, let’s face it. If Maighréad told you half as much about me as she told me about you, we probably do know all about each other.”
Hannah’s laugh was sharp, ironic. “I guess we’ve got a lot to thank her for. It must have driven you mad, to hear all about me.”
“Not at first. She had to get it off her chest. Part of healing—or so I thought. But it got to me after a while, as I told you.”
Hannah said carefully, “Did you break it off, Ashok? Is that why she went back to Belfast?”
“I told her she had to choose between us. I gave her an ultimatum. Yes, that’s why she left. And yes, before you ask, I expect that’s why she jumped.”
“So we were both guilty. She knew it was over between us. Even before she met you. She still wrote to me, though. Long, detailed letters—later, mainly about you.”
“She never told me that. I thought she was still seeing you sometimes.”
Hannah shook her head. “What a waste of life. And we have to live with the guilt of it.”
“A waste of life, yes,” Ashok said. “But we shouldn’t have to bear the burden of guilt, Hannah. We couldn’t, after all, be expected to live our lives to suit her hang ups. She was the one with problems, not us.”
They sat quietly for a moment before he continued. “Perhaps we were misguided, thinking we could sort her out somehow. If we’d been older and more experienced, we’d have realized we were playing with fire, no? But with us or without us, I think she was destined for tragedy.”
“You would say that, I suppose. Karma and so on. I don’t believe in destiny. If I did, I’d have chosen a different career. We’re not preprogrammed to act in a particular way. If we were, what would be the point in trying to change anything? Anyway, what’s past is past.”
“Do you think any of your books have really changed the course of events?”
“Yes, I think they have. Take Belfast, for instance. No one before me had made a serious study of what was happening to the kids; no one, that is, in lay terms that the average reader could understand.”
“And how do you know it’s done any good?”
“You should see the correspondence I get. It’s opened their eyes. Made them more sensitive to their children’s psychological needs.”
“Then obviously it’s your destiny to be a great guru.” Ashok gave a little wink.
“And what’s your destiny?”
“Ah…” He looked thoughtful. “Well, I hope it’s also my destiny to leave something positive behind me.”
“You must be doing that already in your work.”
“No, I mean something more. It’s all been too easy. Things have always slotted into place for me. I’ve never had to make any real decisions.”
“You want a challenge, you mean?”
“Well, want may not be the right word. I feel I need one though. I’ll never be a complete person until I reach some crossroad and have to decide which way to go.”
“Didn’t you have to do that with Maighréad?”
“In a manner of speaking. But she took the final decision out of my hands. If I’m honest, I don’t know whether I’d have gone through with it, even if she’d agreed to give you up.”
As they left the city behind, the heat intensified and the air grew heavy and soporific. Air conditioning appeared to be an overbloated term for what sounded like a weak fan whirring away in some hidden corner of the compartment.
Hannah yawned. “I’m shattered. Too much unaccustomed morning activity.”
“Rest on me, and go to sleep.”
“Is that done here? Or will we risk eviction?”
Ashok’s reply was muffled in the rhythm of the train wheels. Within minutes, she had dozed off, aware only of the gentle motion of the train and the comforting beat of her lover’s heart as she rested her head on him.
In her sleep, she seemed to become part of him, her body, her mind fused with his. She felt that she was slowly slipping into him.
Soon they would be one entity: the fulfillment of a long-forgotten prophecy, the last arc in an eternal circle. He was the rock that held her firmly but also the earth to which she was finally returning. He was her birthplace, her temple, her burial ground. For the first time in many months, the specter of that other face did not haunt her sleep with its eyeless stare. The long, slender fingers of a healing surgeon soothed away all traces of the sallow, skeletal spurs that had gripped her that night in the cottage garden. He had smoothed the pillows of her turbulent dreams.
* * * *
After just a few minutes, or so it seemed, Hannah woke with a start. The lights in the compartment were on. The train was chugging gently through inky, unseen night.
“What time is it?”
“Ten past six. You’ve been asleep for more than two hours.”
“Really? Did you sleep, too?”
“Yes. On and off. I could murder a cup of tea.”
They immediately became aware of a strange tapping noise outside the train window. When Hannah turned to look, her face registered horror. There, as if bidden by Ashok’s wish, was the chai-wallah hanging from the side of the speeding train, clutching his hot urn, his plastic cups dangling from his side. Ashok calmly got up and opened the carriage door, which was next to their compartment, to let the chai-wallah in. They spoke in Kannada. The man calmly poured them two cups of tea, smiled brightly, and went off down the corridor.
Hannah’s face was fixed in an expression of complete disbelief.
“He couldn’t open the door between our carriage and next. They sometimes lock them to keep the riff-raff out of second a.c
.,” Ashok said, as if the tea vendor’s unconventional entry were nothing extraordinary, “so he climbed along outside of the train instead. Drink your tea, before it gets cold.”
Hannah smiled—a private, contented smile.
“What’s the joke?” Ashok asked.
“No joke. Happy. In spite of everything. I love this country. I feel as if I’ve strayed into someone’s bizarre imagination. It’s like being a child again. Perhaps I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole or wandered through the magic wardrobe.”
“I think if you lived here for longer you might adopt a less sentimental viewpoint.”
“You think so? Perhaps I’ll try that.”
“Ah. The romantic Englishwoman.”
“I’m not really English. Not by ancestry. My father’s lot were probably Vikings, and my mother’s walked with Moses to the Promised Land—at least that’s what I like to tell myself. So I have one foot in the East already.” And my half-brother’s Sri Lankan, she almost added but thought better of it. George, after all, played no part in her life.
“Remind me to take you to see the Jews of Kerala one day.”
“I’d like that.” Having any sort of cultural identity seemed so much more significant here. It certainly never meant much to her mother. She presented an image of an English rose despite years of scrabbling about in the muck of bygone civilizations, in dodgy parts of the world. Paradoxically, Hannah’s rumored Jewishness was seen by her bullying classmates at Ashley House to be a flaw in her father, not her mother. Hannah didn’t disillusion them. It didn’t matter.
“What did Maighréad tell you about me?”
Ashok grinned. “She said you were a tough nut and pigheaded. She also said you’re a pussycat beneath that granite exterior. That do for starters?”
“Pigheaded, am I? Yes, she’s probably right. I must say, you’ve got a good memory.”
“Maybe I was more impressed than I realized at the time.”
“But of course! Who wouldn’t be?”
Ashok was gazing at her, studying her face. “You have such beautiful eyes.”
“Ah! A professional opinion. It must be true then. Tell me, why did you decide to study medicine?”