Menon sahib smile. “I see. I see. Okay. Ask your dada. If he willing, I pay you to help with Mithai.”
“Pay me? I comes for free,” I start to say, but Shilpa squeeze my hand and loudly sing “Jana Gana Mana,” the national anthem. Anytime I say something stupid, Shilpa sing “Jana Gana Mana,” so peoples cannot hear me. She younger than me but smart.
It start to rain as Shilpa and me go home. But we skipping all the ways, our feets making glup-glup noise in the mud. Shilpa thinking I’s happy because of money Menon sahib is offering. But it is not that. It is because I am now having a brother. Mithai all alone in this world. Why his dada or ma leaf him, I not knowing, because he is not a bad son. But that okay. I will take care of him. I will give him bath. I will take him pedas when I go. Every day I will feed him one of my rotis and some dal. I will making sure he never alonely for his family. I his family now.
22
I NOT TELLING STORY of Mithai khali-pilli, for no use. I telling to—as Maggie say—to make the point. I telling to say: Maggie right, husband wrong—I is not stupid. Because of Mithai, I gets the job at Menon sahib’s store, doing the accounts. From my moneys I pays for the medicine for my ma the last year she living. Medicine not save Ma’s life but it give her some pain-free time.
I don’t know what I going to do with moneys I saving from my jobs now. Half I gives the husband but halfs I keep in different bank than him. Sudhir babu help me open account. Maggie say I’s a businesswoman now. Every week I cleaning four house, counting Maggie house. At least four-five time a month I get catering order. Sometime I prepares foods in our restaurant kitchen. But sometime, if Maggie is knowing the family, I goes there to prepare in their kitchen. Christmas and New Year time, we so busy. Husband have his catering; I have mine. One or two time, he steal some of my recipe.
How I get to my jobs? I will tell. I drive. It snowing now and I ascare—this area have so many hills—but I drive. You know why? Because I more ascare not to. I more ascare to sit at home, to work at husband store and restaurant, to be dead from inside like I was for six years. Husband not happy with my new life but he happy with free moneys I give him. I still help Rekha arrange items on shelves every morning. At eleven o’clock, I leaf for my jobs. Husband hire friend’s son to serve in restaurant. I lose six kilos just from all work I do. Husband say people will think he starve his wife, but I feels good. I have so much energy. How Maggie say? I fool of life.
Last Sunday, husband do something very sweet to me. We at Costco and he tell me to go buy the oils, eggs, milk. He say he coming straightaway, and when he come back, he holding a box. It is the GPS. He buy it as present for me, to help me with my cleaning jobs. It is first present he ever buy me, and there and there, in the middle of the Costco, my eyes heavy with tears. He look like he embarrass by me but I can tell that inside he feel prideful. When we get home we eat dinner and he show me how to make work the GPS. He so happy playing with it, he looking like little boy, and I go to him and kiss his head. He look up surprise and now it his eyes who wet. Seeing him look so surprise, I feel ashame. I know my husband as alonely in this marriage as I. It is I who keep him from marry the woman he love. Nothing to do about that now. But after a long time I again think, Maybe husband learn to love me? Maybe he can be train to look at me way Sudhir babu look at Maggie? Or Bettina look at her cat?
Bettina Bennett is a senior citizen woman who live alone in big house two miles from Maggie. Her husband use to work with Sudhir babu but he dead. First time I see Bettina house, I so upset. Not because I ascare to clean such big house. But because Bettina living there by herself. “What if some bad mens come in the middle of night to thief you?” I ask Bettina, but she only laugh. Nothing happen to her, she say. “I’m strong as an ox.”
“Ox?”
Bettina shake her head. “It’s just an expression. It means I’m really strong.”
And she is. All white hair but she swim and go jog, which means to run for no reason. Do yoga. If Bettina born in my village, she would be bend over and thin and old and staying at home all the time. Her daughter-in-law making her chapatis and tea. Instead, Bettina go out with friends to the movies, drink wine with dinner every night. She even offer to teach me the English but I say no. I having my own business—where I’m having the time? Beside, my English better just from working in Am’rican homes. The other day, I say “Oh, shit” for first time. Maggie laugh and laugh.
Bettina waiting at the door as I get out of the car—my husband loan me his 2006 Honda Civic to take to jobs—and walks up to her house. She not look happy. “Late again, Lakshmi,” she say. “Second time in two weeks.”
I feel my face burning, like I standing in front of gas stove. “I sorry,” I say. How to explain I ascare driving up the hilly street during snow? So I drives very slowly and other drivers blow horn at me and give me their fingers.
Bettina in bad mood today. “That’s it? No explanation?”
I swallow the shame I feel. Bettina still standing near the door, and I say first thing come inside my head: “Lots of traffic today. Sorry.” Where I get this lie? Last night I watching Am’rican TV show. The police officer say this line to his girlfriend.
Bettina open her mouth to say more but I goes to broom closet and pull out her vacuum cleaner. She look at me for one more minute and then go into the living room. As soon as I start cleaner, I reminder something—Ma in last few months before she die. Anytime Shilpa or I late coming home, she start the fight with us. Where you been? Why you late? You bad girls. Complain, complain. Shilpa use to get angry but I understand—Ma is sad to be by herself. She needing the company. Same thing with Bettina. Old people in my village use to say, Being alone in old age is biggest curse of all. They’s right. Bettina shout at me because she missing me.
I turn off vacuum, open my purse, and takes out the packet of sweet fennel seeds. We sell these at our store and Bettina love these. I go into the living room and offer packet to her. “Please. For you,” I say.
Bettina eyes get big and she smile. Like small child, I think. “Thank you, Lakshmi,” she say. “How much do I owe you for these?”
Every week we say same dialogue. “No mention,” I say. “Present for you.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Bettina put down the book she reading. “Will you join me for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” I say. “Shall I make?”
“No, no,” Bettina say. “You carry on. I’ll call when tea’s ready.”
So I goes back to vacuuming. First few weeks, I feels bad to let Bettina serve me tea. Now, I knows. Am’rican women don’t like having the servant. In India, women proud to have servants. It mean you’s rich. Here, it meaning same thing. But Am’rican women not feel good being show-off. It make Bettina feel like we same if she make the tea. So I lets her.
As we drinks, sitting side-beside on her couch, I thinks of all the years I spend working for Menon sahib. Each time I enter his house, I was remindered again that I’s from lower caste. Once, only once, Menon sahib let me sharing the food with his family, using their plate and glass. His wife take objection, say he pollution the house, but Menon sahib so happy that day, he shout at her to listen to him. Only once.
If I tells Bettina what Menon sahib treat me, she will laugh. Or get angry. I tell you truth—I still miss my India. I missing the smell of fruit trees, the rich, dark mud of our farm, I missing how nobody having enough to eat but people always help with a little rice or ten-rupee note. Peoples poking nose in each other business, but they also making my business their business. Still, Am’rica is the tops country. Here, I can sit side-beside with Bettina and drink tea. No separate glass or cup kept for me. Here I can drive car and no mens make dirty eyes watching the woman driving.
“We have landlord in my country,” I hears my voice say. “He good to my family, but he from different caste. He die of shock if I sit on his couch like this.”
Bettina frown. “Ah, yes, the caste system. Was he a Brahmin?”
&
nbsp; I surprise. “You know about Brahmin caste?”
“Yes, of course.” Bettina pause and then say, “Were you an Untouchable?”
“Excuse, please? Untouchable? I not knowing that word.”
“You know, the people who were like the outcasts?” Bettina close her eyes and try to think. “Gandhi tried to help them? I think they’re like the folks who clean the latrines and stuff?”
I stare at Bettina. Is she thinking I’s a Harijan? A Dalit? The lowest of the castes? Does I look like a Dalit? Would my husband, who own store and restaurant, marry a Dalit? “No, madam,” I say loudly. “I’s from higher caste. Just not Brahmin.”
Bettina nod, like it all same to her. “I see,” she say.
But I feeling angry-confuse. I wants Bettina to understand who I come from, how I may be housekeeper in Am’rica, but in my country, my father own land. And I does the bookkeeping for biggest landlord in our village. Who one day allow me to eat at his table.
“Bettina,” I say. “I tells you story of how Menon sahib, our landlord allow me to eat in his house.”
She finish her tea and looks around the room. “Shouldn’t you get on with cleaning the house, dear?”
“I will. But first I tells you about Mithai,” I say.
23
A RRE, BAAP. ARRE, baap, arre, baap.
Mithai only a baby but he eating like guest at a wedding feast. When Shilpa was baby, she drink milk only, bas, nothing else. Mithai want to eat everything.
Menon sahib come stand next to me. “There is the saying in our community,” he say, pointing to Mithai. “It is said, ‘If you wanting to destroy your enemy, gift him an elephant.’ I am wondering if I am having an enemy who hate me. This animal will eat me out of my house.”
I not knowing if Menon sahib serious. Can Mithai eat Menon sahib’s big house? I take out chapati and vegetable I bring for Mithai. “I will feed him,” I say. “No worry. Every day I will bring him food.”
Menon sahib put back his head and laugh. “Oh, you, Lakshmi,” he say. “You little . . .” All of sudden, he kiss the top of my head. I get the shock. Menon sahib is Brahmin. He never enter our home, not even take glass of water from us. When he pay Dada each month, he putting money on the table so he not to touch his hand. And now my chapati make him kiss me? Menon sahib also seem to get the shock. He scratch his nose and then he say, “You like my niece. My Munna living because of you. You don’t worry. I will take the care of Mithai. I am giving you my promise.”
That evening I gives Mithai bath. I taking tub of water and cleaning him. He love it. He close his eyes and make sweet-sweet sound and his ears move like a hand fan. But Mithai so naughty. He put his trunk in the tub, pick up water, and then spray me. I feeling shy because I am big girl now and my body show through my wet cloth. No, Mithai, I say, and next time his trunk go to water, he spray on himself. When Shilpa was little, she hate taking the bath. But Mithai love it.
Taking care of Mithai make my heart happy. I takes care of Ma also, but she so much in pain, she has lost her happy. No matter how much I doing for Ma, I can’t help her. But Mithai make me full. I can see him grow, become less ascare, like his home with us now. Mithai teach me big lesson—it easier to love someone if you can make them happy.
Arre baap, arre baap, arre baap.
What jadoogar do spell on my Mithai? He evil now. He raise his trunk and make horrible noise. When Bhutan, his mali, go up to him, he try to crush him with his foot. He not touch his food. This elephant make my hair turn white, Menon sahib say. My family getting no sleep last night, he make so much commotion.
“Maybe he sick,” I say.
Menon sahib turn to me. “Maybe. But what I can do? Hardly any people-doctor in this area. Where I going to find doctor for an elephant?”
“Seth,” Bhutan say. “This elephant gone mad, I telling you. He dangerful. We need to kill him.”
I get red when I hears those words. “Shut up, you stupid,” I yell. “Mithai need our help.”
And now, Bettina, funny thing happen. Mithai hear my voice and the horrible noise stop. He walk to the end of his gate, sit on his back legs, and look at me. I looks into his eyes. Usually, Mithai’s eyes full of masti, fun. Today they looking so serious. So sad. Then Mithai make loud, long noise, and both Menon sahib and that stupid Bhutan take two step back. I stay. I know Mithai speaking only to me. He saying, “Help me.” Just like when Ma need to do soo-soo in middle of night and need help. She no saying the words or waking me up. I automatic get up and go give her bedpan. Mithai asking me for help.
I open the gate to go in. Both Menon sahib and Bhutan yelling. “Stop, Lakshmi,” my landlord say. “He could hurt you.”
“Nothing more dangerful than mad elephant,” Bhutan yell. “Get out of there.”
I cannot hear them. All I hear is my Mithai’s voice. I not even reminder to be ascare. Mithai not mad. He just in pain. But why?
I reach my hand and touch Mithai trunk. What you think? He turn his head toward me and put trunk around my shoulder, like he my best friend and we walking home from school together. I wants to tell Menon sahib to leaf, to take Bhutan with him and leaf me alone with Mithai. But I cannot. Menon sahib is the boss.
“Mithai,” I say soft. “Lie down. Come on, jan.” Mithai love when I calls him jan. It mean life, love.
He drop to mud floor so hard, whole tent shake for one second. I can hear his breath—hummf, hummf—and I know my Mithai is sick. All of suddens, I feel young. I only fourteen-year girl. What I know of treating sick elephant? My ma I can help because she talk. But Mithai cannot tell me how he sick.
But my hands must be older than fourteen. Because on their own, they examine Mithai’s body. I begins with his trunk. I looks inside his big nose. I touch the inside pink part and Mithai sneeze, shaking his head. I pulls my hand back quick-quick. All time I keep looking at Mithai’s eye. His eye will tell if I near trouble spot.
When I look inside his big fan ear, Mithai whine and bang his left leg on the hay. For one minute I think Mithai have earache but then I reminder—he feel the tickle near ears. Always. I keep moving my hand. When I touch Mithai right leg, he stiff his leg and pull away. Oh, I think, he have leg fracture. But then I angry with myself—I just learn “fracture” word from Shilpa last week, so it playing in my head. No need to think Mithai have fracture.
Then why he pulling leg and moan? “Mithai,” I whisper. “What is wrong?”
Mithai let me touch his leg again but I know he ascare. Just then that Bhutan jump to his feet. “Seth,” he say to Menon sahib. “That elephant will crush that foolish girl. I not responsible for her death. As Mithai’s mali, I say to please stop her. What she know? I already do full inspection of the animal.”
Hearing his voice, Mithai let out huge roar. His whole body get tight and then shake. I feel my hand move, like I touch electricity. “Tell him to leaf,” I say to Menon sahib. “Tell Bhutan to go out. Mithai ascare of him.”
Menon sahib think for minute and then turn to Bhutan. “Out,” he say.
Bhutan look at me with such hateful. He spit on the ground. “Idiot chokri,” he say. Then he goes.
I continues to touch Mithai leg. I press, massage, press. He not in pain there. Then I gets near his feet and he raise his head and start making moan sound. He look me straightum-straight in the eye. For first time, I’s a little scare of Mithai. And I knows I near the problem. I moves toward his feet. And even though there is no light except from the opening of the tent, I sees it right away. And I begins to cry right there and then.
“Lakshmi? What is it, beta? You come out if you scare,” Menon sahib say.
But I not hear or see him. I only see the hate. The meanness. In my life, I hear so many evil story from Dada. About how, two village from us, the Brahmin landlord kill whole family of Dalits to death because they ask for more pay for their crop. About how mother-in-law burn new bride for not bringing enough dowry. About how, during British raj, the goras use to make villagers trap poor
tiger in cage and then the white mens go shoot the jailed tiger. But until now, age fourteen, I never having my own evil story.
Three nails. Someone put three nails into Mithai’s foot. Mithai big animal but his foot pad soft, like sponge. One nail maybe accident, but three? Not possible. Someone—who?—do this to hurt Mithai. Who? But even as I try to let Mithai know I will help him, I know who did this evil.
“Menon seth,” I yell. “Please to go catch that badmash Bhutan.”
“What? What is it, girl?”
“He allow someone put three nails in Mithai’s foot,” I yell.
Menon sahib’s face go dark. He hurry out of tent.
“Mithai,” I say. “You safe now. We will help you. Nobody hurt you again. This my promise to you.”
He just look at me out of those tiny eyes. Even though he still in great pain, he look relax. He trusting me.
“So what happened?” Bettina ask. “Did you find that scoundrel? Was it the caretaker who did this? Why?”
I smile. Bettina no longer alonely. My story take her out of Cedarville and puts her in the tent with me and Mithai. For first time, I fully understanding what is Maggie’s job, what she say about why telling story is important.
“It was Bhutan. See, Menon sahib is good man but he making one mistake. He asking all villagers to give one percent of their crop every month to Mithai’s upkeep. People in my home village is poor people, Bettina. They watching elephant eat more than their own children. So they jealous. Then they angry. They offers Bhutan three hundred rupees if he fixes Mithai good and proper. So Bhutan do his wicked thing. Then he tell Menon sahib Mithai mad. Best to shoot him.”
Bettina give big shiver. “Horrible man. I hope he lost his job.”
“Oh, Menon sahib give him good-proper thrashing. And when he find out why Bhutan acting so mean, he ask me what he is to do. Can you imagine, Bettina? I fourteen-year-old girl and richest man in village asking me decision. So I tell him truth—people hungry. They cannot give cut to feed Mithai.”
The Story Hour Page 14