I swivel back to Tolly, my heart thumping. So that’s how it is.
Tolly clears his throat. “Well, Tara’s excellent presentation demonstrates superbly the need to examine history from alternate points of view.”
He says it like he’s a super-cool teacher for giving us this awesome assignment. Nadia makes a gagging motion.
Tolly continues. “Pete brings up a good point. What was happening in England at the time. And here, too. Canadian men, er, and women, at war.” He grins. “I guess we plain old regular Canadians need to know the history of other places to get a real and balanced view.”
Plain old regular.
As in white.
It jolts through me like lightning. I almost bought his idea of regular—that’s why I was afraid to read Naniji’s story. In case it made me different, not a regular Canadian. I almost bought it!
Suddenly, everything falls into place, diamond-sharp. I know where I fit. This is my home, and no one—no one—is pushing me out.
My heart races like it’s going to burst, but I have to say it. “Mr. Toller, I am a regular Canadian.”
“Pardon?” Tolly looks at me.
“I am a regular Canadian,” I repeat.
There’s a sudden silence, then a few voices. “Yeah, she is.” “So am I.”
Lynne’s face is wary; Nadia, Ben, and a few others look surprised.
Tolly says quickly, “No, no, all I meant—”
I interrupt, “I know what you meant, sir, but maybe you need to expand your idea of a regular Canadian.” Blood pounds in my face. I don’t care if that’s rude, but I’m not taking it back, not if I get detention, not even if everyone thinks I’m overreacting. I sit straight and stare directly at him.
Someone says, “Right on.”
Trev says, “You go, girl.”
And Lesley says loudly, “Yeah, it’s all this grouping crap that makes trouble, all this defining.”
There’s a chorus of agreement, and I think I hear Jeff’s voice, but I’m not sure, and I’m not looking again, I can’t.
Tolly smiles awkwardly. He bobs his head up and down. “Of course. I stand corrected.”
Okay, so he’s a dork, I mean, those pointy shoes, but at least he heard what I said, he listened. I don’t know if he quite gets it, but I can see he’s trying. I manage a shaky smile and scan the class.
Most of the kids are nodding. But Lynne and Mel are still shuttered, and a few others are puzzled. They just don’t get why it’s a big deal; they probably think I’m a real freak, bringing it up.
My heart twists. All these faces, all these stories. There’s such a chance to interweave and come together here. It could be so different.
For a split second I have the same feeling I had in the dream that night, all of us together. Then it’s gone and I’m back in the class with old friends—but there’s also Pete, who is troubled; Nadia, who’s never thought about regular Canadians and who still doesn’t get it; and Lynne, whose laughter is at, not with; and Mel; and Jeff. But mostly friends.
Doug says gruffly, “Yeah, Mr. Toller, we don’t need stuff like that. We’re a brave new world and—”
Lesley bursts out laughing. “Brave new world. Doug, have you even read the book? D’you know what it’s about?”
Tolly says, “Now, wait a minute, I think what Doug meant was…”
Doug mutters, “Jeez, why’s she freaking?”
Lesley rebuts, “Read the book, moron, and try to get the metaphor right.”
Just then the bell goes.
I start to gather my things and turn around casually. Jeff glances my way, his face grim.
I turn to Nadia and flash on a huge smile. “So—about that concert, how much are the tickets?”
Nadia looks at me like I’ve got two heads. “I’ve only told you about three thousand times.”
“So tell me again.”
Jeff’s standing at his desk as we walk past. My face is turned to Nadia like I’m totally absorbed by what she’s saying.
As we walk towards our lockers, a few of the kids slap my back and say, “Amazing story, Tar,” or “That was awesome.”
No sign of Jeff. I swallow the bitter taste in my throat.
Erin’s waiting by her locker. Just as I get there, I feel someone’s arms go around me from behind.
Lesley.
“That must have been so … difficult, Tar, and, well … I just want to say thanks.”
I smile, hug her back. She squeezes my hand and bounces along.
I open my locker slowly. All those things I thought about her, because of her blond hair. I bite my lip. It’s not just about other people’s lines. It’s also about me not adding to it.
Erin says, “What was that about?”
I look at her. “Oh, my history assignment. I read it today.”
“Yeah? How’d it go?”
I put my books in my bag and say, “Pretty well. I think. But it was, well…”
Erin’s face is puzzled. “Lesley sounded like it went over big.”
As we walk home, I tell her. It’s such a relief to let it out—how I felt different, how I wondered about the reaction I’d get. I hesitate, then tell her about Jeff’s grandfather. Erin’s eyes widen. Only it’s not about Jeff, so I hurry on, and I know I’m not very coherent, but she listens intently. She nods, at times she looks puzzled, but still she listens, and it’s one of the things I love so much about her.
When I get to the bit about Tolly and regular Canadians, she gasps, “What? Shit! What did you say?”
I tell her.
“Way to go, Tar! And what did the other kids say?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know, it’s like most of them got it, but a lot didn’t. I mean, Nadia, she had this puzzled look. It wasn’t like Lynne—sort of distant and Who cares?—but I know she didn’t understand. Nadia had this Why does this matter so much? kind of expression.”
Erin shakes her head. “Nadia’s not the brightest bulb.”
“But she wasn’t the only one.”
Erin puts her arm around me. “That’s really crappy.” She looks at me sharply. “What about Jeff?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But right after I finished reading, he … he looked mad.”
Erin’s arm tightens. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grin at the concern in her face. “Hey, what d’you expect—Jeff’s close to his grandfather and probably thinks it’s some sort of criticism of him.”
Erin hesitates then says, “You sure it’s that?”
“Come on, what else could it be?”
“I don’t know. I’m surprised at Jeff. I mean, it’s not like him to—”
“Drop it, Erin, I don’t want to talk about him. If he can’t take it, too bad. What matters is that I read it.”
Erin nods vehemently. “Right on.”
I hold on to that satisfaction; I wrap it around me like a flag.
CHAPTER 22
As we turn the corner onto my street, I pick up speed. I can’t wait to tell Naniji. I strain to see our driveway. Is Mom home? She’ll be pretty thrilled, too, especially that I stood up to Tolly. As we get closer, I make out Mom’s and Dad’s cars. Well, whaddya know.
I wave goodbye to Erin and shout, as I open the door, “Hi, I’m home.”
They’re all in the kitchen—Dad at the stove; Mom, Naniji, Nina, and Maya at the table. Oh yeah, Dad’s night to cook. Smells like his spaghetti sauce. I’m surprised Naniji let him—Mom probably insisted, to make the point!
Naniji beams at me as she sips her tea. “Tara. How was your day?”
“Great.”
Mom tilts her head. “What’s up, pet?”
I drop my bag on the floor and announce, “I did my history assignment. You know, the stuff Naniji told us, I read it today.”
“Oh, and I haven’t seen it yet,” cries Mom.
Dad turns around, wiping his hands.
Naniji gets straight to the point, her eyes alert. “And what w
as the reaction?”
There’s a sudden silence.
I grin. That’s so Naniji.
“Well, there were some people who were defensive about it.…” I tell them about Pete, and even Lynne and Mel and the shutter. I tell them how most of them listened, how everyone was silent, because it was all too much. I tell them about Lesley, but not everything, not what I’d thought about her. I don’t say a word about Jeff.
Naniji nods, grimly pleased. “Thank you, Tara.”
“Good for you,” says Mom quietly.
Dad thumps my back. “Yes, it’s something people need to know about.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s what Tolly said. And then, guess what? He says something about how regular Canadians need to know about this kind of—”
“What?” squeaks Nina.
Mom’s eyebrows fly upwards. “Well! It seems there’s no end to this poor man’s confusion. Tara, dear, I really think I need to have a gentle little word—”
I burst out laughing. “No, Mom, I took care of it.”
“Did you tell him to drop dead?” asks Nina eagerly.
Mom frowns at Nina, then turns to me.
“No, but I said I am a regular Canadian, and, you know, a lot of kids joined in. I mean, a few of them didn’t get it, why it mattered, but mostly there was a chorus of support, and I got the point across. I spoke out, I did it. All by myself.”
“Well done, Tara,” says Mom, beaming. “Well done, indeed!”
Oh God, she’s looking at me like I’m a carbon copy of her.
“Regular,” says Maya importantly. “I’m regular Canadian, too.”
The knot at the back of my neck loosens. It’s such a relief to be home, where they understand. I glance at Naniji; at Dad, who’s smiling and nodding; then, abruptly, back at Naniji. Her face is grave and shuttered.
What? Now what?
“Regular Canadian,” murmurs Maya.
Naniji’s eyes flick upwards.
Is that it?
Naniji catches me staring and tries to smile. She’s stiff, but it’s not like before, with the criticism and disapproval, and the hostility. Her eyes—they’re hurt.
I’m floored. I mean, we’ve connected. We can’t go back to that old antagonism; it’s not how I feel about her. But I can’t take back what I said. I’m proud of what she did, proud it’s my heritage, but this is my life, and I had to say what I did to Tolly. I had to—it’s part of who I am, how I fit here.
Mom’s noticed, too. She’s smiling awkwardly.
Dad clears his throat and says a shade too heartily, “Well, are we ready to eat soon?”
Naniji makes herself smile. “My goodness, my poor son cooking for his mother.”
Mom flushes but refrains from a retort. Nina winks at me.
It’s a bit easier when we sit down to eat half an hour later, but only slightly. I’m still elated, but also jittery about Naniji, and starting to get mad. I read it, didn’t I? What more does she want? It’s bad enough that some of the class didn’t get it; I don’t need that here as well.
Nina’s rattling on about this kid in her class who got kicked out for swearing at the teacher, and Mom jumps in with her opinion of what’s really troubling him.
Naniji’s quiet, lost in thought.
I offer an olive branch. “Say, Naniji. Maybe sometime you can tell me all about the stuff you did with the underground newspapers, huh? And I can write it down, too, sort of for family history.”
Naniji gathers herself together. “Yes, Tara, of course, if you want.” But the fire’s gone out of her. She turns to Dad. “Raj, over the next few days we should call the airline and book my return flight.”
I freeze.
Dad says, “Mummyji, you can’t go this soon.…”
Mom says, “No, of course you should stay longer.…” She’s not entirely convincing.
My heart squeezes painfully. Is she going because of what I said? I blurt, “Naniji, don’t go already, we.…”
Naniji smiles. “Thank you all. Very much. No, I don’t mean I have to go at once, just within a couple of weeks. But we have to arrange it.”
“Oh,” says Mom. I see how her shoulders ease as the unknown duration of the visit is lifted.
“But even then,” says Dad, “what’s the hurry?”
“Well, I may not work, but I do have volunteer boards I sit on, and they require attention.”
“Yeah, but you have to stay for Halloween,” I say quickly. “You don’t have Halloween in India, do you?”
Naniji shakes her head.
Nina says, “You have to come with us for our annual pumpkin hunt. You’ll love it, Naniji.”
Naniji looks puzzled. “Pumpkin hunt?”
Nina says, “Yeah, we go to the market to buy the biggest pumpkins for Halloween, and scoop them out and carve faces, you know, and put candles inside. Say, Mom, I’ve got to get a new mask this year. Tiff and I, and the gang, are going as bums and…”
“It’s on October 31,” says Dad to Naniji. “Children go out dressed up in costumes, and people give them candy.”
“I love Halloween,” sighs Maya.
“It sounds like fun,” says Naniji. Then, quietly, warily, “And this year Divali is the first week of November.”
“Yeah?” says Nina.
Naniji asks casually, “Do the girls know about Divali?”
Oh, great!
Mom says hastily, “They know a little, but, you know, what with school, and all their other activities…”
“Oh yeah,” chips in Nina. “Fireworks and stuff. We did that one year, Mom and Dad took us to the temple or something.”
“It was fun,” I say, overeagerly. Actually, we were kind of bored. We hardly knew anybody, and all they let us kids have were those feeble little sparklers. On the way home Dad had gone on apologetically about how great Divali, the festival of lights, is in India, with fireworks everywhere. Then Nina threw up in the car because she’d gorged on too many Indian sweets, and somehow no one really wanted to go through it again.
Dad shifts uneasily. “Well, it’s not the same here, not like Delhi.…”
Naniji is smiling, but she’s stiff, so stiff.
Nina grimaces at me.
My mouth tightens. Naniji’s acting like a spoiled brat. I’m not going to let her retreat. I ask firmly, “So—what boards do you sit on in India, Naniji?”
Naniji gives herself a little shake and looks up. “Well, one of them is to raise money for cataract operations. You know, the eyes, to cure blindness. And the other is similar to the work your mummyji does. It’s to help women who are abandoned by their husbands.”
“Hey, cool,” I say.
Mom smiles. “Yes, I’m sure it’s enormously beneficial.”
Something the two of them have in common. Who’d have thought?
I seize it eagerly. “Yeah, it’s really needed there, too, isn’t it? Mom’s told us about how difficult it is for women in India.”
Naniji’s smile freezes.
What now? She brought up the shelter.
Naniji says tightly, “Yes, there is need, of course there is, but so is there here.”
“Well, yeah,” I falter.
Mom says, guardedly, “Of course.”
Naniji’s eyes glitter. “In many ways, it’s better in India, compared to here. In fact, there are fewer single-parent families in India. The divorce rates just aren’t as high.”
I see the alarm in Dad’s face as Mom lifts her head like a warhorse going to battle. I try frantically to think of something to say, anything, but I’m too late.
Mom’s voice is creamily dangerous. “Yes, but is it because marriages necessarily work better, or is it because women have fewer choices?”
Naniji flushes bright red and says sharply, “We aren’t as backwards as you think. There are laws giving equality to women, and changes are taking place.”
Mom raises her eyebrows.
Dad interjects, “Mummyji, Rohini didn’t mean—”
Naniji continues, “I’m perfectly aware of how the west considers everything Indian to be primitive, but I thought you at least would teach the girls in a more balanced way.”
There’s an ugly silence.
“What do they know about India? Do they know anything about the art, the spirituality? Mahatma Gandhi? No, they hardly even know about the Independence struggle. I can’t imagine what your papaji would think.”
My heart hammers. I blurt, “Dad has told us some of it.…”
Dad’s face is pale. “Mummyji, that’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You don’t even speak Hindi; you’ve never brought the girls to India. How can the girls know anything about their heritage? All they know is Canadian, Canadian, Canadian.”
Oh God, no.
Mom’s face turns scarlet. “You’ve never been able to accept that, you’ve always—”
“No, I can’t accept that.” Naniji’s voice is forceful. She looks at Mom, then at Dad. “I can’t accept that you, your father’s son, left your country when there is so much need. Yes, we have problems there, but at least I’m doing something about it. I stayed.”
Dad flinches. Mom turns pale with anger. Nina’s eyes are wide with shock, and Maya has stopped chewing and is staring.
Mom’s words spill out in a torrent: “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? You’ve never been able to accept our decision. Or me.”
Naniji’s eyes flash. “And did you even try to fit into our family? Did you try to accommodate at all to our way of life, our values?”
“Mummyji, please,” says Dad. “Don’t start.”
Maya is rocking back and forth.
Mom snaps, “Why is it that you always expect women to accommodate and change? Why can’t you accept that it was also Raj’s choice to live here?”
Naniji raises her eyebrows. “Was it really—”
“Stop it, both of you.” It’s Dad. “You’re frightening the children.”
For a moment everyone’s frozen. Then Maya’s eyes brim over and she starts to howl.
Mom reaches for Maya and holds her close. Dad pushes his chair back and goes to them.
My head spins. Nina’s face is white and bewildered. I go over and hug her.
“Jeez,” she whispers. “What the hell happened?”
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