The Weight of Heaven: A Novel

by Thrity Umrigar

  Rekha looked so relieved and eager-to-please, it made him want to cry. You’re a jerk, he told himself. You really scared her. “I’m sorry,” he said again before making his way out of the building.

  The workers were on their half-hour lunch break when he reached the factory. He smelled the sharp, pungent smell of the crushed girbal leaves as he entered. He inhaled deeply and walked over to where Deshpande, the foreman, was sitting against a machine. The man, who was eating a simple lunch of a roti dipped in daal, jumped to his feet when he saw Frank approach. “Good afternoon, sahib,” he said in his thickly accented English.

  “Afternoon,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other workers staring at him. “Listen, Desh. I have some good news. I’ve decided to raise everybody’s salary by two rupees a day, effective next week. And we’re adding an extra fifteen-minute break to each day. Okay?” He waited for an expression of delight to cross the man’s face, but Desh was expressionless. Damn poker-faced bastard, Frank thought.

  Desh finally spoke, lowering his voice. “We should also offer a good sum to Anand’s mother, sahib. Will help tensions a lot.”

  To his surprise Frank realized that the foreman was talking to him as an equal, as if they were partners brainstorming a business strategy. The guy really cares about this place, he thought, and found the notion comforting and oddly touching. A feeling of good cheer spread across him. “Tell you what,” he said. “You recommend what you think is a fair amount. I’ll leave that to you.” He was rewarded by a shy grin.

  Desh waited until Frank exited the factory to break the news to the others. On his way out, Frank heard the men erupt into cheers and whistles. He smiled to himself. As he walked back to his office, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d turned a corner.

  That night, the chicken pot pie tasted delicious. “How does he do it?” Frank gasped. “I mean, the guy looks like Howdy Doody but cooks like Wolfgang Puck.”

  Ellie giggled. “He does look a bit like Howdy Doody, doesn’t he?”

  “Yup. He should teach Ramesh how to cook. Good skill to have if the kid’s gonna study in the States someday.”

  “You really think Ramesh is that good?” Ellie asked. “That he could hold his own in the U.S.?”

  He waited to see if he detected any hostility or sarcasm in her voice and decided there was none. “I think the kid’s brilliant, Ellie,” he said. His voice was sincere, even-keeled. “With the right kind of parents, the sky would be the limit—”

  “But that’s just it, babe,” Ellie said. “His parents are a bright but passive mother and a father who seems more interested in booze than anything else. Those are the cards he has to play.”

  Not if I play a stronger role in his life, Frank wanted to say. And I would, if I didn’t have to watch over my shoulder and gauge your reaction all the time. But he swallowed the words even as they formed on his lips. As he did the thought that followed: How come Ellie is so damn liberal about global issues—the rights of women, the obligation of rich countries to help poorer countries, even what should be done at HerbalSolutions—and so pinched and narrow when it came to solving the one problem they actually could—helping one poor boy live up to his full potential?

  Frank felt a little pinch on his shoulder. “Hey, you,” Ellie said. “I’m still here. Where did you go?”

  He immediately felt guilty about his ungenerous thoughts. Ever since that lovely evening at Nandita’s, things had been sweet between him and Ellie, and he didn’t want to upset the cart. Just last night he had made love to her for the first time in weeks, and it had not been the cautious lovemaking that they’d slipped into since Benny’s death. He had fallen asleep pleased that they had not lost that electric connection, that they were still capable of fucking like they were twenty-five.

  “I’m here, babe,” he smiled. “I was just thinking…how about if we go somewhere for the day on Sunday? Might do us good to get away for a few hours.”

  “That’s a great idea. I’ve missed you this week. And you’ve been working such long hours that I worry about you.” She squeezed his hand. “Tell you what. How about we pack a picnic and go to a nice beach somewhere along the coast? Would you like that?”

  He began to grin his approval and then stopped, struck by a thought.

  “What?” Ellie said.

  “Nothing. Only that, I’d promised Ramesh that I’d spend a whole day at the beach with him soon. So if we go, we can’t tell him where we’re going, okay?”

  Ellie’s face was expressionless. “I see,” she said and again, that awkward, infuriating silence grew between them.

  “It’s okay,” he said hastily. “Really. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. It’s just that—he’s so sensitive, that boy. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. But as long as we don’t tell him—”

  “Well, we can just have him join us,” Ellie said. “That would solve it, wouldn’t it? Would you like that?”

  Would he like that? Despite his best efforts to keep his face blank, Frank could feel it inflame with joy. From the look on Ellie’s face, he knew that she’d noticed it too and felt ashamed. But the fact was inescapable. The thought of Ramesh joining them made the proposed picnic immediately more pleasurable. With just him and Ellie at the beach it would be sweet, but with the ever-present possibility of awkwardness or even hostility. But Ramesh would liven things up. There would be no room for silences, for strained conversations, for the deliberate avoidance of subjects that could trigger sad memories.

  Ellie was staring at her dinner plate, getting the last of the chicken pie onto her fork. Frank sensed that she was looking away out of kindness, embarrassed for him and his naked need for this young boy. He also knew that her question was a test of sorts.

  Saving his marriage was more important than an idle promise to Ramesh, he decided. He remembered Scott’s reminder about Ellie being the most significant thing in his life. “Listen,” he said. “Let’s forget I even mentioned Ramesh. Let’s just you and I go and have a good time, shall we?”

  For a second, Ellie looked tempted. Then, as she got up and picked the empty plates off the table, she said, “It’s okay, hon. Invite him. I know you’ll feel better if he’s there—that way, you don’t have to break your promise to him,” she added hastily. She kissed the back of his head as she carried the dishes to the sink.

  He sat alone at the table, feeling that he had failed her test despite giving her the correct answer. But even while he was chastising himself, a thin, sharp feeling was piercing him. He recognized it as anticipation at the thought of spending the whole day at the beach with Ramesh.

  CHAPTER 9

  Edna seemed thrilled at the prospect of her son’s outing with Ellie and Frank, but Prakash was a different story. The man had come over at nine to put together their picnic basket, and a little later Ramesh bounded into the kitchen. “Dada,” the boy said, “Ma wants to know if—”

  “Chup re,” Prakash hissed, slapping the back of Ramesh’s head. “Stupid boy. Turning my brain to yogurt with your Dada this, Dada that.”

  From the living room, they saw Prakash’s gesture. Ellie felt Frank tense. “If he touches that kid one more time, I swear I’m gonna deck him,” he said.

  “Frank, just ignore it,” Ellie whispered. “He’s just—who knows what his problem is? He’s just acting out for our benefit. Anyway, we’ll be out of here in no time.” All the while thinking, that she knew exactly what Prakash’s problem was—the man was jealous. Jealous and ashamed, because on his salary, he could never put together a lavish picnic, could never treat his son to a day on the beach in the style that they would. She marveled again at how obtuse her usually perceptive husband became when it came to matters involving Ramesh. The boy was truly his blind spot.

  They heard Prakash raise his voice again. “You come home, jaldi-jaldi, understand? Lots-lots homework to do. No waste whole day on beach like a mawali.”

  “But Dada—” Ramesh’s voice sounded angui
shed.

  Before Ellie could stop him, Frank strode into the kitchen. She followed him, standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “You knew we were going to be gone the whole day,” Frank was saying. “What’s all this fuss now? In any case, the boy’s all caught up on his homework. So what’s the problem?”

  Prakash kept his head bowed as he concentrated on the chicken sandwiches he was assembling. A long moment passed. “Prakash,” Frank said, as Ramesh looked tearfully from one man to another. “Is there a problem?”

  The cook finally looked up. His eyes glittered with—anger? Malice? “No problem, sir,” he said. And then, with a sudden grin that had not a trace of joy in it, “Have a nice day.”

  Frank stared at Prakash for another moment—a moment too long, Ellie thought. There’s no need to humiliate the man in front of his son, she thought to herself, willing Frank to walk away, ready to intervene if he didn’t. Just as she was about to, Frank let out a short sigh and turned away. So that he didn’t see—but Ellie did—the quick, furtive look that Prakash threw toward Frank. This time, she had no trouble reading the expression on the man’s face. It was pure hatred. Her stomach dropped.

  As if he knew he had been caught, Prakash expertly smoothed his expression into the mask of pleasant blankness he usually wore around them. “You wanting pickle with food, madam?” he asked. “Me pack pickle?”

  “No thanks,” she said. She couldn’t imagine eating the tangy, spicy lime relish with the other foods they were taking.

  “Put some for me, dada,” Ramesh said as she walked toward her bedroom to find the sunscreen.

  “Shut your mouth,” she heard Prakash hiss. “Bad boy. Getting father into much trouble with the feringas.” Feringas. Foreigners. So that’s how they think of us. Although she knew she was being ridiculous, she couldn’t help feel disappointed.

  The interaction with Prakash had put a damper on their spirits as they got into the car but not for long. “Good morning, Satish,” Ellie said to the driver and was gratified to receive a smile that was warm and genuine.

  “How are you today, madam?” Satish asked. His eyes fell on Ramesh. “He’s coming?”

  “Yah,” Ramesh said. He turned to Frank. “I want to sit in the back, in between you and Ellie.”

  “Well, good thing we’re taking the Camry then.” Frank laughed. He looked over Ramesh’s head at Ellie. “That okay with you?” he mouthed, and she nodded.

  Ramesh scampered into the back seat. “Bye Ma, bye Dada,” he called to his parents, who were standing by the gate of the driveway.

  “Good Lord,” Frank whispered to Ellie before making his way to the other side of the car. “You’d think we were away for a week rather than a damn day.”

  As he backed out of the driveway, Satish got into the spirit of things. “You’re sitting in the back,” he said mournfully to Ramesh. “I’m all alone in front. No company for me, yaar.”

  “Want me to come to front?” the boy asked promptly. “I can climb over the seat.”

  Satish looked at Frank and Ellie in his rear view mirror and laughed. “No, ustad, it’s okay. I’m just taking your firki.”

  “What’s that mean? That last thing you said?” Ellie asked.

  “Taking someone’s firki? Like making fun, you know?” Satish grinned.

  “Arre, I’ll take your firki double,” Ramesh said. His accent was thicker and his manner less diffident in Satish’s presence. She wondered if Frank had noticed, also. “My three best friends and I are teasing each other all day at school,” he announced.

  “You have three best friends?” Ellie said. “How is that possible?”

  Ramesh looked puzzled. “Why not possible, Ellie?”

  “Well, you can have many good friends. But there can only be one best friend, right?”

  The boy considered for a moment. Then, “But if I have only one best friend, then what happens to my other best friends?” He looked so pleased with himself that the others laughed.

  “Wah, wah, ustad. You are a champion arguer.”

  “I’m also champion at maths. And basketball. And history.” He turned toward Frank. “Tell him.”

  “He’s right,” Frank said. “Ramesh is a champion eater. And a champion tall-tale teller. And a champion nose-picker.”

  “Hey,” Ramesh yelled, hitting Frank on his arm with his fist. “Stoppit.”

  “Such talents, Ramu,” Satish said. “I’m impressed.”

  Ellie could tell that the boy was hovering at that point between giggling and getting whiny. She knew if she didn’t intervene, the two men would continue teasing the boy until they’d have a full-blown tantrum on their hands. “So which beach are we going to?” she said, changing the subject. “Where should we go, Satish?”

  “You wanting to go to Foreigner’s Beach, madam?” he asked. Foreigner’s Beach was the local name given to the beach that Hotel Shalimar and the other, newer resorts overlooked. Ellie considered. If there was another American couple on the sand, they would feel compelled to come up to the Bentons to chat. Frank would hate sharing his time with Ramesh with anyone else. Plus, she was hoping that if Ramesh fell asleep in the afternoon, she and Frank could go for a walk.

  “No Foreigner’s Beach,” she said. “Something more—quiet, maybe? With just local people?”

  “No locals on the beach in daytime, madam,” Satish replied promptly. “They go during sunset.”

  Ellie remembered. Indians hated to sunbathe and came to the beach wearing their regular clothes, although she had seen the affluent Indian tourists who visited the resorts out on the sand in T-shirts and shorts. Even that, Nandita had told her, was a relatively recent trend.

  Satish drove them to a pretty, secluded beach with a grove of coconut trees behind them and huge boulders where the water curved in to meet the sand. “This is beautiful,” Ellie gasped.

  “Thank you, madam,” Satish replied. The young man helped them carry their beach chairs and the large rainbow-colored umbrella that would protect them from the bubbling sun. He and Frank pounded the metal pole of the umbrella into the sand. Then he straightened and looked at Frank. “What time should I pick you up, sir?” he said.

  For Ellie, this was always the awkward part, after Satish had dropped them off someplace and disappeared until he was summoned again. For a moment she contemplated asking this nice young man to join them for the day, but she knew Frank would not forgive her if she invited Satish to intrude upon their day. No, better to get through the momentary embarrassment, which, for all she knew, only she felt. Satish was probably glad to get away from them and have the day to himself. Though where he went, she didn’t have a clue. Despite herself, she found herself asking, “Will you have someplace to go?”

  “No problem, madam,” he said. “Village is close by, only. Some friends there I’ll be seeing.” This was Satish’s stock answer. He apparently had friends every place they ever went, including Bombay. Ellie suspected he was just being polite, not wanting them to feel discomfort on his behalf, the way the have-nots always seemed to protect the sensibilities of the haves.

  “I’m hungry,” Ramesh announced as soon as Satish had left.

  “Boy, your mother told me you’d eaten breakfast,” Frank said. “You must have worms in your stomach.”

  “I have a nail tree growing in my belly,” the boy said seriously.

  “A nail tree?” Frank and Ellie asked simultaneously. “You mean, like, metal nails? Shall I hammer them out?” Frank grinned.

  “No, no. Fingernails.” He held out his chewed nails for them to inspect. “I biting my nails. Ma says it makes a tree grow in your stomach. Maybe that’s why I’m eating all the time.”

  “That’s just an expression,” Ellie started to say and then thought better of it. For all she knew, Edna probably did think her son had a tree in his belly. This was a country where the lines between metaphors and reality, fact and fiction, were virtually nonexistent because strange, improbable things happened al
l the time. She remembered the first time she’d visited Bombay—she’d seen a cow, an elephant, a snake, and a monkey in the streets on the very first day. And all these animals coexisted peacefully with the mechanical animals—the Jaguars and the Dodge Rams and Ford Mustangs—parked on the street. Edna was forever telling her strange stories—of how her aunt once saw a crocodile and a cow fall out of the sky while it was raining; how, when she was a little girl and traveling with her father in a bullock cart on some rural road at night, they had seen a cobra in the middle of the road. They had stopped, and before their very eyes, the cobra had turned into a beautiful woman who disappeared into the nearby woods. If one of her patients in America had told her this, Ellie would’ve tested him or her for various mental conditions. But here in India, she was learning to take such things in her stride, was beginning to realize that reality was more multidimensional than she had ever suspected in Cleveland or Michigan.

  She pulled out a sandwich and handed it to Ramesh. “Will this tide you over until lunch?”

  He cocked his head. “Tide me?”

  “It’s an expression,” she said again. “It just means—”

  “Time and tide wait for no man,” Ramesh intoned slowly. Ellie thought he looked like nothing so much as a wise owl at that moment. The boy turned toward Frank. “Have you heard that saying?”

  Frank was poker-faced. “I think so,” he said. “A few times.” After a few minutes, he got up and lifted off his T-shirt, blocking the sun for a moment. “Speaking of tides, how about a quick swim?” He tagged Ramesh. “Last one in is an elephant’s turd.”

  Ramesh threw the last of his sandwich into his mouth, squealing as he scrambled to his feet, tossing sand onto the blanket. “Ae, you cheating,” he yelled after Frank, who was running toward the shoreline. Unbuttoning his blue cotton shirt, he began to follow Frank, looking back at Ellie. “He cheating, Ellie.” He hit the water a few seconds after Frank did.

  Ellie dusted the sand off the blanket and then sat with her hands across her knees, looking at the two of them frolicking in the water, splashing and dunking each other. Even from this distance she could hear Ramesh’s yelps of delight and Frank’s deep laugh. He’s happy, she thought with wonder and realized she had tears in her eyes. It had been so long since she’d seen Frank like this, young, carefree, and genuinely joyous. The sullen, cautious shell of a man that he’d turned into the night that Benny had died seemed to have been cast away, as if the waters of the Arabian Sea were baptizing him in a new faith. Never mind that this faith was rocky, that it was built on a foundation as unstable as this sand that shifted below her. Never mind that this new religion that he was finding was being led by a nine-year-old boy who belonged to two other people who, despite their short, abrupt manner with him, loved him very much. That the nine-year-old belonged to a father who was already uneasy with what he saw as a usurpation of his powers and authority, who sensed in Frank a challenger to the unconditional love he expected from his son.