Lakshmi shook her head curtly, staring at the table. “I okay.”
“Listen,” Maggie said. “What happened—”
Lakshmi rose. “I goes now, Maggie,” she said. “I will take the bus back. Everything is ready. You just please to put out to serve guests.”
Maggie felt a rising desperation. “Lakshmi,” she said. “You can’t leave in the middle of the party.” She put her hand lightly on the younger woman’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I said something stupid . . . I know I hurt your feelings. I know you . . .” She shook her head and started again. “I’m a doctor. Do you understand? I’m not supposed to be friends with my patients. Not for my sake but for yours,” even as she asked herself, Is that really the reason why? “But you know what? You were right. You are my friend. And I’m sorry that I denied it.”
Lakshmi looked at her, and Maggie saw that her nose was bright red. “I not angry with you, Maggie,” she said. “I have eyes. I see. I know your friends have important job, go to the college. I know I’s nothing . . .”
“Don’t say that. Please.”
“. . . that I can’t be friends with people like you.”
“Listen,” Maggie said fervently. “My mother had a high school education. My father didn’t finish sixth grade. And yet they were two of the smartest people I knew. Okay? So don’t tell me—”
“Honey?” Sudhir came into the kitchen, a Heineken in his hand. “What are you doing? Aren’t there any more appetizers coming?” He looked from one woman to the other, suddenly aware of the tense atmosphere. “Is everything all right?”
There was a second’s silence, and then Lakshmi smiled. “Everything fine, Sudhir babu,” she said. “You go. I bring food out in ten second.” She hurried toward the oven and pulled out a tray.
Sudhir threw Maggie a quizzical look before leaving the kitchen. She waited until he was out of earshot and then walked toward Lakshmi. “Thank you,” she said.
“Mention not.” Lakshmi gave her a slight push. “You go out, also, na, Maggie. I take care of everything.”
Maggie had left, not knowing how much Lakshmi understood or whether she was still insulted. She had hoped to have a chance to resume the conversation after their guests left, but Lakshmi had rushed around, anxious to clean up the kitchen and go home. Maggie had been much too tired to force the issue, and the moment had passed.
Now, in the car, she could only hope that Lakshmi had forgotten the earlier rudeness. Maggie closed her eyes and heard the steady murmur of Sudhir and Lakshmi’s voices. Sudhir was laughing softly at something Lakshmi was saying, and the sound of it filled Maggie with pleasure. She knew enough from her visits to Calcutta that in India, Sudhir would not talk to someone from Lakshmi’s station in life as easily as he was doing right now. So much would divide them in India: language, region, class, caste, education. Here in America, all the differences paled under the imperative of their brown skin. And the tenuous links they shared—a love for Hindi film music, a passion for Indian cooking—carried so much more weight here than they would back home.
Stop it, Maggie scolded herself. You’re overthinking things. And what’s with this sudden color consciousness? (A snapshot of Peter’s white, strangely vulnerable-looking bare back flashed before her eyes, but she blinked and the image disappeared.) Sudhir likes Lakshmi. It’s as simple as that. He is amused by her. He recognizes her goodness, her innocence. Also, he feels sorry for her. That’s it. In any case, I’m glad that my husband likes my friend.
Friend. How easy it was to think of Lakshmi as a friend. But claiming her as one in front of her guests, why, that had proved to be a different matter, hadn’t it? Both of her parents would’ve disapproved of the way she’d rebuffed Lakshmi a few hours ago. Though her mother had been light-skinned enough to pass, the very idea was anathema to her. Instead, she had married Wallace Seacole, the darkest-skinned man she knew. For years, Hilda worked at a small paper factory where she was active in the union and her coworkers were blacks and other dark-skinned immigrants. Hilda felt a natural affinity between herself and them, even when the new immigrants initially saw her as nothing but a small, invisible black woman. Once they got to know her, they recognized her formidable intelligence, her energetic, relentless devotion to the union, her scathing humor, her matter-of-fact compassion and generosity, and they loved her. At home, Hilda never said a bad word about whites as a race—although she had a lot to say about individual bosses and policemen and grocers—but her loyalties were clear. She threw in her lot with the darker races, not because they were morally better or smarter or kinder than whites, but simply because they were oppressed. In sports, in politics, in war, her loyalty was always with the underdogs—the Red Sox over the Yankees, the Vietnamese over the Americans, even African dictators over their colonial masters. She remained silent only on the question of the Israelis versus the Palestinians; she would shake her head at the absurdity of two oppressed peoples fighting each other.
This was how they’d been raised, she and Odell, though, of course, Mama had died while still young. Maggie hardly remembered the years when Mama lay wasting away in bed. Now, if she ever dared to allow herself to think of those awful years, all she could conjure up was a figure in bed that started out as a woman and ended up as a ghost. Of a frail voice that would call “Hello, darlin’ ” when she came home from school. Of a bony hand that would reach out to stroke her hair, of curious gray eyes that would search her face like a searchlight, looking, looking, for something, until it would seem to Maggie that the most important thing in the world was that her mother find whatever she was hunting for in her daughter’s face, that what she saw reflected there should please her. And then the dry lips would thin into something that Maggie presumed was a smile. If a ghost could smile.
In the car, Maggie blinked back the tears that formed in her eyes. She leaned forward in the seat and lightly tapped Lakshmi on the left shoulder. She turned around immediately. “Hah, Maggie?” she said, her voice eager and strong despite the long day and the late hour.
Lakshmi’s voice was so devoid of malice, so trusting, that the tears returned to Maggie’s eyes. She had obviously been forgiven for the earlier slight, and it surprised her, how relieved she felt. “Listen,” she said. “I’ve been thinking. You had all these people asking you to cater for them. I bet some of them will also need a housecleaner. You should . . .”
“You think so, Maggie?” Lakshmi’s voice had a breathless tone that made Maggie laugh. She’s so young, she thought. She often forgot that Lakshmi was only in her early thirties. With a whole life ahead of her.
“I do. But here’s what I’m thinking. You’re gonna need to learn to drive, Lakshmi. It will make your life so much easier if you can drive.”
There was an abrupt silence. She noticed that Sudhir was looking at her in the rearview mirror, but it was too dark to see the expression on his face. Then Lakshmi said, “I’s ascare to do the driving.”
“Nonsense. Sudhir can teach you. He’s a great driver.”
Both of them spoke at once: “My husband, he not allow gents to teach me driving.” “Ahem. Ah, Maggie, I don’t think that’s a good idea for me to teach Lakshmi. If someone were to see us . . .”
Good God, Maggie thought. I’m not asking you guys to have sex with each other. What’s the big deal, for heaven’s sake? However, she knew better than to say that aloud. She knew she was testing Adit Patil’s patience by whisking away his wife like this. She had to respect that Lakshmi knew her own circumstances better than Maggie ever could. “Okay,” she said, sighing. “It was just an idea.”
She began turning her head to look out the window again when she heard Lakshmi say, “But Maggie, you can teach me to do the driving. We can do the there-py in the car instead of the house, no?”
She was about to refuse when Hilda Seacole spoke to her: This solidarity business I used to talk about ain’t just—what do you youngsters call it?—theoretical. It means putting your body, your physical self, on the line
, baby girl. Even when—especially when—it ain’t convenient.
But Mama . . . Maggie started to argue, but Hilda had vanished. What was left was a vibration in the air, a certain expectation, as if Hilda were scanning her baby girl’s face, waiting to see what kind of a human being she and Wally had raised. Maggie looked around for a way out, tried to think of something that would let her out of the hole she’d dug for herself. But Hilda Seacole had pulled up the rope after her.
“Yeah, okay,” she said reluctantly. “I guess we can give it a try.”
She lifted her head to see Sudhir looking at her in the rearview mirror. This time there was no mistaking what he was thinking. He was laughing at her.
19
LAKSHMI CLIMBED INTO the driver’s seat of the parked car and then swung her feet so they were hanging out the door. Bending slightly, she removed first one shoe, then the other, pivoted, and threw them in the backseat. She put her bare foot against the gas pedal, so that the car emitted a low growl. Maggie felt like growling herself. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“My uncle is truck driver,” Lakshmi said. “He always say wearing the shoes not good for driving. Maybe this is reason why I is not driving good.”
No, the reason you are not driving good is because you’re an absolute imbecile when it comes to things mechanical. The uncharitable thought crossed Maggie’s mind before she suppressed it. Stop, she chided herself. Everybody sucks when they learn to drive. Remember how bad you were when you first started? Thank God Odell had the patience of a saint.
She forced herself to remember how easily Lakshmi had passed the written exam to get her temporary license. Her reading comprehension was much better than her spoken English. Maggie had driven her to the DMV and had sat nervously in the waiting room while Lakshmi took her test. Maggie had not expected her to pass her first time, let alone do as well as she had done. Lakshmi, however, didn’t seem surprised at all. So be supportive, Maggie told herself. There’s nothing stupid about this woman.
But the next second, the car made an awful scraping noise and Maggie’s good intentions went out the window. She jerked around to see that Lakshmi was turning the ignition even though the car was already running. “Stop that,” she yelled, smacking Lakshmi’s hand to knock it away.
The noise stopped abruptly as Lakshmi’s hand fell into her lap. It was replaced by a stunned silence as a startled Lakshmi stared at Maggie. Already, her nose was turning red.
“Oh, shit,” Maggie said. “I’m sorry. I just reacted to the sound of the car. . . . You don’t turn the key when the car is already on. It can damage it. You understand?”
Lakshmi gulped hard and nodded. These driving lessons are no more fun for her than they are for you, Maggie reminded herself. She sighed. She was distracted today. She had begun seeing Peter again, despite repeatedly telling him that their affair couldn’t continue. Each time he’d nod and say that he understood. And then, two days later, there would be a text or an email from him asking to see her. And being a weak, contemptible idiot, she would find herself driving to his house, practicing her speech of how this was the final time they would be meeting, how she really meant it, how much she loved her husband. Peter would be waiting for her and she would recite her practiced speech and he would nod solemnly and he would kiss her and . . .
God. Was it her, or was it hot in this car? Maggie’s hand involuntarily went toward the air conditioner knob, but Lakshmi said in a pleading voice, “Please, Maggie, I’s cold.”
Maggie gritted her teeth. She should’ve insisted that Sudhir give Lakshmi driving lessons. He was so much more patient than she was. What Lakshmi and Sudhir had said about Lakshmi’s husband being upset if she was riding around with a strange man—well, they were lying to him anyway, right? Instead of being at therapy, this was what she and Lakshmi had done the last three weeks. What was the damn difference who taught her to drive?
“Maggie? What you need me to do?” Lakshmi’s voice was tentative, shaky, and hearing it, Maggie felt a pang of guilt.
“Let’s just drive around the parking lot a few times,” she said gruffly. “I want you to focus on keeping the steering wheel steady.” As always, the car took off like a shot. “Easy,” Maggie said, trying to keep her voice even. “Don’t step on the gas so hard.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Now concentrate.” She reached over and steadied the wheel. “Why are you jerking the wheel? You want to keep it straight, like so. Nice and easy.”
They circled the lot a few times, Lakshmi gripping the wheel tight, her entire body stiff and scared. “Relax your shoulders,” Maggie murmured. “No need to take the corners that hard. The car should glide into a turn.”
Lakshmi appeared to be heading straight for the lamppost. Maggie tried to gauge the distance from the car to the post, forced down the tension she was feeling, wanting to trust Lakshmi, not wanting to point out the obvious but unsure whether she would have to replace her front fender. At the last second, just as a yell was forming in her throat, Lakshmi threw the car to the right, yanking the steering wheel dramatically, as if enacting a car chase from a movie. Then she slammed on the brakes.
Maggie bit down on her lip to suppress the rage she was feeling. She was aware of Lakshmi staring at her, expecting to be chastised, but she looked away, waiting for her heart to slow down and her anger to recede. When neither happened, she said in a clipped voice, “Are you daydreaming? Or did you not happen to notice the twelve-foot pole in front of you?”
“I sorry, sorry. I not wanting to learn the driving. It not happen for me. My husband telling truth—I am maharani of stupid.” Lakshmi banged her head forcefully against the steering wheel.
“Lakshmi. Stop that.” Maggie was shocked at the violence with which the woman had struck her head. To lighten the mood, she added, “You’ll crack the steering wheel with that hard head of yours.” Lakshmi did not so much as pretend to get the joke. Maggie put her hand on the younger woman’s head and stroked her hair. “Come on, now. Everybody finds it hard at first. It’s like anything else, you know? You gotta stick with it.” Even as she said the words, Maggie began to believe them, and for the first time this afternoon, she felt hopeful that Lakshmi could learn to drive. She felt her own bad mood lift, buoyed by that hope.
Lakshmi raised her head. “I having something to tell you,” she said. “A secret.”
Maggie sighed to herself. All she wanted was for this lesson to be over so she could go home and lie on her couch. With a nice cold rag on her head. “Okay,” she said.
“I try to learn the driving before. The husband teach me first year I come to Am’rica.”
Maggie raised her eyebrow. “Really? How come you didn’t—”
“Because I embarrass to tell you,” Lakshmi said in a rush. “I failing, you see. The husband doing so much shouting-shouting, I get ascare. He not kindly like you, Maggie. After few time, he give up. Say I too stupid to learn.”
Maggie was surprised—and flattered—to hear that Lakshmi thought she was being kind. Goes to show how low the bar is, she thought. “Well, you can’t give up now,” she said. “Just imagine how much freedom this is going to give you. Look how far you’ve already come. You want to build a catering and housecleaning business, yes? Think how much time you’ll save not having to take the bus.”
“I knows. I knows. That’s why only I was so excite to learn.”
“And you will,” Maggie said firmly. “Listen, in Calcutta, all those auto rickshaw drivers and taxi drivers, you think they have the schooling you do? No, they are total duffers.” She was aware that she was slipping into a kind of Indian English, trying to talk to Lakshmi in a way she would understand. “And they all drive, no? If they can learn, why can’t you?”
Lakshmi looked surprised. “You sits in rickshaw, Maggie?”
“Yes, of course.” She didn’t want the conversation to veer off topic. She knew how tired and frustrated both of them were, how easy it would be for them t
o drift onto some other, comfortable subject, like her visits to Calcutta. Maybe go get an iced coffee somewhere, she thought dreamily. She forced herself to sit up in the seat. “Come on,” she said. “A few more rounds. Next week you’ll be ready to drive on the road.”
Lakshmi squealed in horror. “No, Maggie. I too ascare. No driving on roadside. Not after last week.”
“You are scared? What about me?”
The two women eyed each other and then emitted nervous giggles. Last week Maggie had urged Lakshmi to venture out of the school parking lot and onto the residential side street. Lakshmi had sat at the edge of the parking lot, screwing up her nerve, and then shot out into the street—into the left lane. “Jesus, Lakshmi. Stop,” Maggie had screamed, even though there had been no oncoming traffic. “You’re in the wrong lane. This isn’t India. We drive on the right side here. You know that. Now, pull into this driveway and turn around. Jesus.” Lakshmi had been so flustered that she’d been unable to put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway, and Maggie had taken over.
Now, remembering, Maggie said, “I think I lost five years of my life last week.”
“That’s why only I don’t want to drive on the roadside, Maggie.”
“Okay, then. You just go everywhere driving from one parking lot to another. Maybe you can drive all the way to India someday in that way.”
Lakshmi giggled. “You big joke-master, Maggie.”
“Okay. Enough dilly-dallying. Drive.”
“Dilly-dawllying?”
“Dilly-dallying. It means wasting time. Like you’re doing right now.”
“Dilly-dallying. Dilly-dallying.” Lakshmi repeated the words out loud as if they were a mantra. And maybe they focused her mind, because Maggie noticed she was driving better.
20
SATURDAY. MAGGIE’S FAVORITE day of the week. And here they were, ushering in the weekend with her favorite activity. She and Sudhir had been coming for open swim to the campus pool every Saturday for at least the past six years. As she closed her eyes and floated on her back, Maggie felt the sun on her face, filtered through the large skylight, and the tight muscles in her aching neck sang and blessed her as they released. Around her, she heard the muffled sounds of the Carpenters’ “For All We Know,” the distant screams of the kids splashing in the shallow end, felt the disturbance in the water that the other swimmers created. None of it bothered her or even registered. This was her time. The intrusions of the world, its clatter and chatter, would have to wait. The lapping water, the cathedral ceiling, the sun pouring in through the skylights: Maggie felt as if she had waited all week for this moment, that she’d earned it. For one merciful hour, she could silence her thoughts, as if switching off an alarm clock. What took their place was a blissful, precious calm.
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