She come down the stairs barefeet, wearing a white robe, and I see her hair all messy and her face swelling. She look like homeless woman. I feels bad for her but then I see the picture I don’t want to see in my head, and I feels my heart become small and hard.
“Lakshmi,” she say. “I just want to . . . oh my God. I don’t know what to say. Can you just . . .” Suddenly, her voice become angry. “Jesus, Lakshmi. How about knocking before letting yourself in? Or ringing the doorbell for—”
“I knock two times,” I say in loud voice. “Your doorbell not working. I told you last week, only. And I call—”
“Why are you here, anyway? It’s not your day for cleaning or therapy.”
Before I can explain, a tall man in blue shirt come down the stairs. He buttoning his shirt while coming down and I turn my eyes away from such shamelessness. I looks at Maggie but she is staring at the floor. Something in her jaw move, like she eating chewing gum.
The man stand in front of us and Maggie say to me, “So what do you need, Lakshmi?” Her voice change, as if I am stranger on a bus.
“I come to loan vacuum machine,” I say quickly, not looking at the man. “Joseanne madam’s machine is broke. I thinking you not home,” I adds loudly. “I knocks and call you.” I wants the man to hear I not entering people’s home without knocking.
“Okay.” Maggie’s voice soft now. Something broken in her eyes. “Why don’t you just go up and get it? Go ahead.”
I not wanting to enter the room of Maggie’s badness but I not having a choice. They both looking at me. And so I goes up the stairs. The bedroom door is open. He has put the bedspread over the dirty sheets, and seeing how clean the bed now look, I want to vomit again. But I keeps my eyes on the closet. Just then, I sees it on the floor. A neck chain with a pendant. But this not a regular gold-silver pendant. This looking like a tooth. Some big animal tooth. This badmash man kills some poor animal to take away his tooth. I think of what those ugly men in my village had done to my poor Mithai and I feel poison. Maggie allow this man to touch her body. Maggie, who having happy marriage to Sudhir babu.
My heart crack like the chicken bone when I thinks of Sudhir babu. I see him chopping garlic to help me in kitchen. Or his head bending over the important books he read at his desk. Or giving Maggie a kiss each time he leaf for work. Maggie, who cheat on him with this ugly man. Maggie, who so judging me when I tell her about my paper marriage to my husband. Instead of understanding why I doing fake marriage, Maggie siding with my husband. Who she to judge me? My husband cent percent correct—all blacks cheater and liar.
The neck chain in my hand. I knows I should give it to the badmash man. Instead, I take out vacuum machine, and before I goes down the stairs, I enters the main bedroom. I knows Sudhir babu’s side of bed. Quickly, I opens the drawer of his bed stand. Many months ago, Sudhir babu had shown me a copy of the Gitanjali that he read every night before going to bed. He love that poetry book, he tell me. I now put the neck chain on top of the book.
From downstairs, I hear them talking softly, like two thief. Liar and cheater. Liar and cheater. I know they waiting for me to leaf to start their dirty business again. I climb down the stairs one step at time because of heaviness of the machine. Not one of them come to help me.
In living room, I not look Maggie in the eye. “Good day, madam,” I say, and Maggie get look on her face like I hit her. Then only I realize I call her madam instead of Maggie. But she not saying anything, and I open the door and walk out of the house.
Only when I’m two blocks away safe, I start to cry. I park my car on side of road, put my head on steering wheel. I not knowing what I cry for. Maybe I cry for Sudhir babu, who is trustful as a new baby? Maybe I cry for Maggie, how she look when I call her madam? But then I knows the truth—I crying for myself. For what I losing in one minute. Because I can never go back to that house. That I am sure of. Which mean I not seeing my Maggie again. And then something get hard in my heart. How is she your Maggie? I says to myself. How you belief anything she say after the wickedness she do? I reminder again how shock Maggie look when I tell her how I trick my husband on my wedding day. The burning I feel in my stomach on that day enter my body again. But this time I not feeling ashame. This time I feels angry. Why Maggie trick Sudhir babu with that white badmash? Why she trick me?
Randi. The ugly word come to my head and I shock. In my whole life, I never think that word about a woman. Why now, and that also about Maggie? But what else to think? Only loose women do what Maggie do. And that too with the whiteman who button his shirt in front of me, as if he master of Sudhir babu’s house.
All of sudden I thinks of Bobby. How I use to dream of him as my husband snore next to me. How he make me feel especial, how he so kind to me. Maybe this whiteman make Maggie feel same way? But then I shake my head, no, no, no. My love for Bobby pure. I never touches him, never kiss him. Also, Bobby so sweet. He never wear animal tooth on his neck the way this man do.
That reminder me. Of what I do. Sudhir babu out of town, I know. But he coming home this evening. What he do when he find the neck chain? How he know what it meaning? Maybe Maggie say she buy it as the gift? He will belief her, even if he think it stupid gift. My heart slow down. It not my meaning to hurt Sudhir babu. Let him think his wife buy him the stupid gift.
I starts to drive toward Joseanne’s house, but I knows I cannot go inside. Joseanne home today and all worry about her party and she wanting to talk and talk about menu and if she need to order more food and what time I come with food on Friday. I know she waiting for me to come back with vacuum machine, but I needs to be alone, needs to get the picture of Maggie in her guest room out of my mind. I takes out my cell phone—it is my cell phone, I buy from my own money—and dial Joseanne number. She yell and scream, say she going to cancel Friday order, but I don’t care. Let her try and find caterer who can put up with her worry nature. I come tomorrow and finish cleaning house, I tell her, and close the phone.
It is two o’clock when I gets home. Husband is busy in kitchen so I go straight up to apartment. Rekha want to talk but I tell her I not well and need to sleep. Two hour later husband come up. “What wrong?” he say. “Rekha say you sick?”
Is he being kind? Or is he upset because I not working in store? But then I see the lines on his forehead and I know he worry about me. “I’s okay,” I say. “I coming downstairs soonly.” But as soon as I say this, I begins to cry, and now he look confuse.
“Lakshmi,” he say as he sit on side of bed. “What wrong? You having the fever?”
In a flash, I seeing the look on Maggie face as she sleeping with her head on the whiteman’s chest. She look peaceful. She smiling like she just finish a plate of jalebis. I reminder this and then I feel like I is having the fever. My head feel heavy with the evil thoughts they carry. Maggie rich. She having big house, beautiful garden, topless car. Most important, she having happy husband who love her, not a husband who in love with a girl he seen for ten minutes at a mela. How she can trick Sudhir babu? If Maggie not happy in her life, what chance for me?
“Ya, baba,” husband say. “You looks like you mad with fever.”
“I’s not sick,” I say. “I—I just . . .” He bend his head to side, waiting for me. “I . . . you correct. About what you say about the blacks. They all liar and cheater. Maggie, too. She, most of all.” And now I crying so hard, husband put his arm around me. First time ever he do this outside of the sex. But then, first time ever I cries like this in front of him.
“Chokri, chokri, what’s wrong?” he says. “What Maggie do to you?” And despite my sadness, my heart jump. Husband call me girl. Not old woman. Not stupid. Girl.
What Maggie do to me? Nothing. Everything. She trick me. She confuse me. She go from being my teacher to becoming plain woman like me. I trick my husband into marriage with me. She trick her husband during marriage with her. She turn out same as me. Ordinary. Maggie mean so many things to me. But never ordinary.
“C
hokri,” the husband says. “What are you crying for?” His arms are tight around me, and in the middle of my tears, I feels a tickle. Down there. I never feels this way about my husband before. I shift position in the bed slightly. But it enough for him to notice. His eyes become big and he stare at me. He lick his lips, his eyes never leaf my face.
He say something I cannot hear and then he bury his face between my breasts.
I caters Joseanne’s party on Friday. As usual, guests go latoo-fatoo over my cooking. Mostly, this makes me feel good. Today I not notice. I am looking to the front door every two minutes, waiting for Maggie and Sudhir babu to enter. How I will meet Maggie’s eyes if she come to talk to me? What I will say if she ask me why I create mischief by putting the neck chain in Sudhir babu’s drawer? What I answer if Sudhir babu ask why I leaf the vacuum machine in the garage instead of coming inside the house? I looks at the door every two minutes, wanting them to enter and not wanting them to enter.
By nine o’clock I know one of my prayers come true. They not coming. Why? That I not know. Maybe one of them tired or sick? Maybe they forget party invitation? Maybe Maggie not wanting to see me? Then my anger come back. I also not wanting to see her.
But today, Saturday, I get my answer. My cell phone ring while I am waiting on customer at the store and I pick up without checking caller name. For one second the line is quiet, and then Maggie say, “Lakshmi? It’s Maggie.” Her voice stiff like cardboard.
“Hi,” I say, although my chest feel like it held by rubber bands. Why Maggie calling me? To tell she calling police? To curse at me the way old women in my village do? To ask me to forgive for filling my mind with picture I don’t want to see?
I waits. Quietly. Customer trying to ask me question but I walk away from him. Then Maggie says, “I just wanted to let you know that, under the circumstances, I obviously can’t continue treating you.”
My mouth is like famine, empty of word. Maggie sounding so far away, like she calling from Pakistan. She saying she not never wanting to see me again, which is what I want also, so why I feel sadly?
“Are you still there?” Maggie voice sharp.
“I’s here.” My own voice sound like squeaking of mouse.
Even though we both quiet, I can feel Maggie anger, like faraway thunder. But still I cannot speak, and after few minute, she say, “Okay. Well, that’s it, then.” I know she about to hang the phone, but then she say, “One more thing. I can understand your anger at me. But why you had to hurt Sudhir, I don’t know. I guess I’ll never understand that. After all, we’ve—he’s—been nothing but kind to you.”
What can I say? She correct. But why she not lie to Sudhir babu and tell him necklace is a gift? I wants to say sorry. I wants to say: It was a serpent of wickedness deep inside my stomach that make me hurt you and Sudhir babu. But I say nothing.
Maggie let out sharp breath. “Okay. I can see there’s nothing to be gained from this. Guess I was hoping for an explanation or something. Silly me.”
I opens my mouth to say, No, wait, please, let me say something. But Maggie has put down the phone.
I walk down the aisle of our store, where the customer is complaining about my rudeness to Rekha, who say something to me. I don’t hear what she say. Air. I needs air. I opens the door and goes outside. I walk a few steps away from the store window, so Rekha cannot see me. Then I walks some more.
One other time I run out of store like this was on Bobby’s last day at restaurant. Later that same day, I had tried the suicide. And because of this, I meet Maggie. Who is now gone away also. Almost one full year gone since that day. But nothing has change. My hands were empty on that day. They empty today. My heart was alonely then. And it still.
But then I think, Lakshmi, you wrong. Everything has change. You have change. You will never try the suicide again. Maggie has show you the value of your life. Maggie burn your old life and make you a new one. Now you having your own business, cell phone, car. Even husband treating me more good than before. Something change inside him after I call him a stupid for loving Shilpa more than he love his real wife. For few days after, he look at me different, as if some jaali covering his eyes is gone. One time in the store I make mistake and not charge customer for biscuit packet. He open his mouth to call me stupid, like always. But then he stop and say, “Simple mistake. Anyone can make.”
And last Tuesday, when I come home from Maggie’s house and my husband come upstair to check on me? We make the love then in middle of afternoon. First time my husband not pulling for me in the dark. First time he looking into my eyes and first time he smiling, like he not angry at what he seeing. When we are finish, he stay with me for long time, and when he get up to go back downstair, he act like he sorry to go.
A plastic bag blows from the parking lot and dancing in front of my feet. I bends down and pick it up. Maggie say people in Am’rica littering so much that there is a country of plastic bottles and bags growing inside the sea near the California. The litter blow across the whole country to go swimming inside the California sea. Maggie get upset when she talk about it, but in my mind it make such a pretty picture—blue and pink bags flying like birds over the whole country. I wish I free like that, to go where the breeze taking you.
I knows it is time to go back inside store to help poor Rekha. Saturday our busy day. I knows this is my life, with Rekha and husband and store and restaurant. For one year, my life became a big house because Maggie enter it. She give it color and new shape. But Maggie now gone. And I have no idea whether the new house can stand or it fall down.
33
MAGGIE WAS GRATEFUL that Sudhir had offered her a ride to the campus pool. For the past two Saturdays, he had made some excuse for driving separately, and even though he was sullen and silent during the drive there today, hope flared in her heart. But then she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, took in the stiffness of his posture, the set of his mouth, and her heart sank again. The rigidity that had taken over Sudhir ever since he’d discovered Peter’s neck chain, that frozen quality, as if his body were encapsulated in a slab of ice that nothing could melt—not apology, not entreaties, not offers to enter couples counseling—was very much present. And yet this was the first time they’d been in the car together in several weeks. The proximity enforced an intimacy that their large house, with its many rooms to escape to, didn’t. And surely Sudhir had known that it would when he offered her a ride.
For the past two weeks, Sudhir had studiously avoided her at the pool, chatting instead with the other regulars and looking away if his eye accidentally caught hers. Once or twice she’d swum up to him, made some observation or comment, and he’d paused and heard her out, nodded, and then swum away from her.
Remembering this now, as Sudhir parked the car in the open lot, Maggie felt a spurt of anger. It was this coldness, this precision, this control over his emotions, that had driven her toward Peter in the first place. How unfair it was that, because she was the one who had the affair, Sudhir could forever be the aggrieved party. How unfair it was that he would never have to take a cold, hard look at his own behavior, his culpability. If their friends ever learned about her affair—and Maggie had no idea whether Sudhir was talking to anyone—she would always be the cheating spouse, and Sudhir would forever be the martyr.
But by the time she changed out of her street clothes and emerged into the pool area, Maggie’s anger was spent and replaced by sharp regret. She remembered again how uncomfortable Peter had been after Lakshmi had fled the house, how eager to get out of the house himself. There had not been a trace of the warmth, the neediness, with which he had looked at her as he stood at her front door a few hours earlier; it was the hunger in Peter’s eyes that had made her invite him in, secure as she was in the knowledge that he was leaving town. They had stood wordlessly in her living room as Lakshmi gathered the vacuum cleaner and left, their earlier passion already a distant memory. Even as the enormity of what had just happened, what Lakshmi had just seen, dawne
d on Maggie, Peter offered nary a consoling word. He was already eyeing the door that Lakshmi had recently exited, looking at it and the open road that lay beyond, with the same hunger he’d looked at her. Distraught as she had been, Maggie had marveled at Peter’s talent for self-preservation and realized it was this quality that allowed him to do what he did. Peter was, above all, a survivor. He had a degree of self-absorption, of single-mindedness, that probably only one percent of the world’s population shared. He was in elite company, along with the professional athletes and actors and politicians and sociopaths. Peter would always sweep aside anyone who came between him and his work. Domestic drama—angry husbands, distraught wives, jilted girlfriends—was anathema to him. Maggie had realized all this in a flash. Or rather, she had always known it; it was part of Peter’s attraction for her, how light, how unbound and ungoverned, his life had seemed. There was none of the earth-binding heaviness of mortgage payments and car loans and work schedules and family obligations. Peter, and men like him, were the last nomads, the bird-men, the world a series of open doors that they could slip in and out of. In the last few seconds that she gazed at him before he kissed her lightly on the cheek and left, Maggie saw how she’d romanticized his life. Peter had always seemed so rugged to her, so manly, in contrast to Sudhir. But the Peter who stood shuffling his feet had the face of an immature youth, someone who had never been tempered by domestic routine, by duty, by the weight of being responsible for another’s happiness.
She had looked away, afraid that he would see the contempt in her eyes. And as she did, a long, silent wail started somewhere deep within her. How wrong she had been. How poor her judgment. What a lousy trade, risking her marriage to Sudhir for the sake of someone like Peter. She had gotten it right the first time with Sudhir, had hit the luckiest of jackpots—a good marriage—and she had screwed it up. Over what? Over a man who stood shifting from one foot to another, emptily saying that everything would be okay, leaving her to clean up the mess they both had made.
The Story Hour Page 22