It was while the car was stopped at yet another traffic light at Parel that Ramesh burst into tears. “I want to go home,” he sobbed. “I hate Bombay. Too much poor people.”
Ellie put her arm around the boy. “I know, baby,” she said. “But it will be okay. We’ll be at our hotel soon. There’s a swimming pool there. We’re going to have a good time, okay?”
Ramesh looked at her tearfully, as if he couldn’t imagine having a good time in this city. “But Ellie, that boy is having no hands,” he said, as if that explained everything. The clamor of the beggars surrounding them grew as they witnessed the scene inside the car. Even with their windows rolled up, Frank could sense the excitement outside. They were jockeying for some advantage, looking for a loophole through which a few coins would slip out and make their way toward them. He felt a grudging admiration. The entrepreneurial spirit at work, he thought.
But the truth was, he was happy at the sight of his wife sitting with her arm around Ramesh. As far as he knew, this was the first time Ellie had done this. He found himself opening his wallet and removing a ten-rupee note. “Tell you what,” he told Ramesh. “You can give this to that boy’s mom. How’s that?”
As the beggars saw the white man reach for his wallet, the beating on the car window grew more frenzied. Satish raised his voice. “Don’t open the window, sir. Please to wait until the car is moving. Then you can throw money out. Otherwise, no peace while we’re at this traffic signal.” He lowered his window a fraction. “Chalo. Jao,” he yelled threateningly at the crowd, and the ones closest to him moved away a few inches, his voice creating a ripple in the crowd, and then, the next second, the ripple died and they closed in again.
Ramesh sat clenching the note in his hand. “How will I make sure he only gets the money?” he asked. “What if someone else take it away?”
“You want me to do it?” Frank asked, wishing the goddamn light would change already, but Ramesh shook his head vigorously. “No. I want to give him.”
They lowered the window a fraction when they were finally moving again, and Frank hoisted Ramesh onto his lap so that he could hand the money to the sad-eyed woman. Scores of hands tried to push their way into the opening, but although he was scared, Ramesh held on to the note until he could shove it into the hand of the mother. And then they were gone, leaving behind a swarm of squabbling, jostling beggars to descend onto the next car.
Inside the car, with Ramesh still in his lap, Frank touched the boy’s sweaty forehead and then put his right hand over the boy’s heart. As he had thought, Ramesh’s heart was racing, beating fast. Frank let his hand remain until he felt the boy’s heart slow down its frantic jabbering. It was a trick he had discovered with Benny, how simply laying his hand on his son’s small chest could calm the boy down. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ellie staring at him and knew that she, too, had remembered the times he’d tried this with Benny, suspected that she resented this easy (in her mind) substitution of one boy for another. But at this moment, he didn’t care. They hadn’t even reached their hotel yet, and already he was experiencing a feeling of liberation at being in Bombay with Ramesh and Ellie. He hoped that Ramesh would come to see this also—how, despite the fact that the city felt like a trap and caught its citizens in a death-like vise, its sheer size, its mindless momentum, conferred upon you a kind of anonymity and freedom. It occurred to him that he wanted Ramesh to return to Girbaug a citified boy, realizing his hometown’s limitations, chafing at its smallness, feeling its squeeze, like a pair of shoes one has outgrown. Someday, the boy would see New York, London, and lose himself in the paradoxical freedom that big cities conferred upon their residents.
But he was getting carried away. The first task was to console Ramesh, prep him for the wonders of the old colonial buildings of South Bombay, prepare him for the opulence of the hotel room that they would occupy in less than an hour. And also, to draw Ellie into the fold again, make her a part of this adventure, so that for a few precious days they could pretend to be a family. He gave Ramesh a light shove. “You’re getting heavy,” he grunted. “All muscle.”
As he had predicted, the boy beamed. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why only I’m beating you at basketball.” He moved off Frank’s lap onto the seat. “I beat him six games in a row, Ellie,” he added.
Ellie smiled. “That’s good,” she said, but her voice was absentminded, distant.
“Whatcha thinking, hon?” Frank said.
“Nothing, really. Just about all this.” She swept her hands to indicate the sprawl of humanity all around them and then leaned forward. “You have family in Bombay, right, Satish?”
“Correct, madam. My sister’s family live in Mumbai. Close by to where we are now, actually.” He lowered his voice. “She married to a Muslim man, madam.”
“Muslims eat cows,” Ramesh declared.
They ignored him. “Your parents okay with that?” Frank asked. He stretched his arm so that he was cradling Ramesh as well as pulling Ellie close to him. She rested her head on his arm and he smiled at the familiarity of the gesture. He remembered a winter’s night in Shaker Heights, on a double date with Ellie’s sister Anne and her husband, Bob. They had gone to Nighttown to listen to jazz and on the way home, he and Ellie had sat in the backseat, Ellie leaning her head on his arm.
Satish turned to give Frank a quick glance. “Better now, sir. At first, lots of fightum-fighting. My mother say she will never see Usha again. But after first baby born, my mother ask me to take her to Mumbai to see baby.”
Frank sighed. While in college, he and Pete had once rented a Bollywood movie, curious to know what all the fuss was about. They had hooted with laughter at the sappy dialogue, the exaggerated gestures, the caricature of a villain, the melodramatic reconciliation between mother and son, and of course, the interminable musical numbers. But after living in India, none of this seemed as exaggerated or unrealistic as before. Every family, every home, in India seemed to have its own saga of melodrama and heartache. For the second time, he opened his wallet. This time, he took out two hundred-rupee bills. “Buy some chocolates for your sister’s children from us,” he said, leaning forward to hand the money to Satish.
“No need for this, sir,” Satish protested, but Frank noticed that when he looked at him in the rearview mirror, the driver was smiling.
“I want some chocolates too,” Ramesh said, and Frank smacked him lightly on his hand.
“How’re you going to be a world-class basketball player if you get all fat?”
“I’m not fat,” the boy said indignantly, and they all laughed.
“No, you’re doobla-sukla, yaar,” Satish said.
“What does that mean?” Ellie asked.
“Like this, like this,” Ramesh explained, holding up his little finger. “Thin-thin.”
“I see,” Frank smiled. “Tin-tin.” He was always teasing Ramesh about his inability to make the th sound.
“No, not tin, thin.” Ramesh caught the smile on Frank’s face and punched him on his shoulder. “Stop making fun of me.” He turned to Ellie. “Make him stop.”
“Stop,” Ellie deadpanned, and they grinned at each other over Ramesh’s head.
The car pulled into the arched driveway of the Taj Hotel. Getting out of the car, Ramesh pulled his head all the way back to take in the tall tower of the Intercontinental, nestled against the original domed building. “Frank,” the boy breathed. “We’re living in a palace?”
Frank laughed. “Yeah, I guess we are, kiddo.” He tried to pick up a suitcase from the open trunk, but Satish came racing back and looked affronted. “Leave it, sir,” he said, nodding his head to where a skinny bellboy was standing dressed in a heavy red uniform. “He will take.” The driver lingered long enough to make sure that the bellboy had all their belongings and to make final arrangements with Frank as to where and when to pick them up for tomorrow’s picnic. Handing the keys of the Camry to the valet, Satish walked briskly away to catch the bus that would take him
to his sister’s home.
Striding into the Taj’s opulent lobby, Frank kept a protective hand on Ramesh’s shoulder. The boy was subdued, though his eyes were wide with awe as he took in the enormous chandeliers, the clusters of white-skinned businessmen and tourists, the soft-spoken, dazzlingly beautiful women receptionists, the unmistakable scent of luxury and opulence that the place exuded. He waited on one of the leather couches with Ellie while Frank got them checked in. He was quiet even as they rode the gilded elevator that led to their room. Once they were in their large room, he silently toured the carpeted bedroom with the large, comfortable bed, the red-and-gold mahagony chaise longue near the large window that overlooked the Arabian Sea, the marble-tiled bathroom with the tub and a vanity dresser in one corner. Then the boy sat down heavily on one of the antique chairs and, for the second time that day, burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked. “Ramesh, are you sick?”
The sobbing boy shook his head. “Not sick.” He tried to say more, but he couldn’t. Frank made a move toward him, but Ellie stopped him. “Let him cry,” she whispered. “He’s just overwhelmed. He needs to get it out.”
While Frank looked at her uncertainly, Ramesh dug into the pockets of his pants. He fished around and finally came up with a dirty-looking note, which he held out to Frank. They noticed that the boy was keeping his eyes on the ground.
“What’s this for, Ramesh?” Frank asked, smoothing the creased twenty-rupee note.
The boy kept staring at the ground. “Ma gave it to me,” he said. “As spending money.” He finally looked up and around at the room and was attacked by a fresh bout of sobs. “But this room must cost so-so much money, Frank. You take this.”
Ellie reached him first. “Oh, honey,” she said. “It’s okay. We can afford this.” She kissed Ramesh on his head. “It’s very sweet of you to offer. But you keep this money, okay?”
The boy shook his head vigorously. “No, I want to give it. You take it.”
“Tell you what, kiddo,” Frank said. “How about you save it for us? And maybe you can buy us all ice cream later today?”
Ramesh thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. The three of them sat on the bed in silence for a moment. Frank threw Ellie a look. See this boy’s character? the look said. See how sensitive Ramesh is? But Ellie gazed back at him expressionless, and he was perturbed by the fact that he had no idea what she was thinking.
“Where am I sleeping?” Ramesh asked. “On the floor?”
“No, bud.” Frank laughed. “We’ll have a cot brought in for you. That okay?”
“Okay.”
Frank rose from the bed and stretched. “Well? What do you guys want to do the rest of the afternoon?” He knew what the plan for the weekend was—attend the picnic thrown by the consulate general tomorrow afternoon and then visit the Elephanta Caves, which Ellie so badly wanted to see, on Sunday. But that still left the rest of the afternoon open today.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Ellie said promptly. “I’m tired.”
Frank was about to protest but then thought better of it. It would be nice to spend some time alone with the boy. “How about if I take him out for a couple of hours?” he asked. “Show him the Gateway to India, maybe take a quick swim in the pool? Will that give you enough time alone?”
Something darkened in Ellie’s eyes, but when she spoke her voice was noncommittal. “It’s not that I want to be alone, hon. I just need a quick nap, that’s all.”
“I understand,” he said quickly, afraid that she would change her mind and decide to accompany them. He looked at her, wondering if she had caught the pulse of eagerness in his voice, wondering if he was imagining the fact that the air between them suddenly seemed charged and tense. There was a time when Ellie’s face had been like a movie screen, so that it registered every emotion she was feeling and her thoughts. When had she learned to slam her face shut like a door? Or had he simply lost the ability to read her? He remembered what he’d whispered to her on their wedding day—You are part of me; you live on my skin. He had repeated those words to her a million times since. And yet here he was today, trying to shake her off, trying to sneak a few hours of guiltless enjoyment with Ramesh.
He turned away, afraid of letting any of this register on his face. “We’ll see you later,” he said and then, over his shoulder, “Come on, Ramesh. Put on the swimming trunks Ellie bought you, under your shorts.”
How lovely it was to see the beautiful stone arch of the Gateway of India and share its history with Ramesh, what a pleasure it was to tell him about the similar-looking Arc de Triomphe in Paris, to describe to him the Parisian bakeries and bistros. How wonderful to stroll down the sidewalk beside the sea, dodging the beggars and the peanut vendors and the balloon sellers who were following them. Frank looked down with affection at the shiny head of the shiny boy who walked beside him. “You okay, bud?” he said. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Ramesh shook his head. “No,” he said. “I like this Bombay. Even the beggars here are nice. Less sick.”
Frank laughed at Ramesh’s perceptiveness. “You’re right, sweetie. This is a wealthy area. So, I guess, even the beggars are richer.”
Ramesh giggled. “You called me sweetie.”
“So?”
“So…” The boy lowered his voice to guard from the most persistent street urchins who were still following them, “only boyfriend-girlfriends is allowed to call sweetie.” He gave Frank a look that was equal parts bravado and shyness.
Frank pretended to be outraged. “Ramesh. You naughty boy. Who taught you about girlfriends and boyfriends?”
“A girl in my school,” Ramesh said. “She say she will marry me.”
“And do you like her?”
He shrugged. “She fine.”
Frank grinned. “She’s fine? Fine? That’s not enough to marry someone.” He suddenly grew serious. “Besides, my boy, you have to focus on your studies, right? No time for girlfriends, you hear?”
Ramesh nodded vigorously. “I know, I know.” He glanced up at Frank again, as if trying to gauge something. Then, “She kiss me once. On my nose.”
“She kissed you on your nose?”
“Don’t laugh.” Ramesh sounded cross. He stopped walking and putting a hand on one hip, looked up at Frank in exasperation. “That’s what mother-father do,” he explained. “Before a baby is born.”
Frank heard the frustration and something else—uncertainty—in Ramesh’s voice. He stopped walking, too. “Come here,” he said, drawing the boy toward the cement wall. “Let’s sit for a moment.” He kept his arm around him as he considered his choices. Was this the right time to teach this boy about the birds and the bees? Was that even his place? Did Indian parents have these conversations with their children? Prakash and Edna had obviously not, and the thought annoyed him. Surely the boy was old enough to know the workings of his body? Ramesh had always struck him as less mature than his American counterparts, but still, it was ridiculous to think that a woman got pregnant from a kiss on the nose. He suddenly wished Ellie was here. She’d know how to handle this.
“Who told you that a woman can have a baby from a kiss?” he asked cautiously.
“Parvati did,” he replied. “My school friend.”
Frank saw his opening. “And is Parvati going to have a baby? Because she kissed you?”
Ramesh looked at him as if he was an imbecile. “No, Frank,” he said patiently. “She kiss me. To have the baby, the boyfriend has to kiss the girlfriend.”
Frank gulped hard and looked out at the water. “I see,” he said. It occurred to him that he would have never had to have such a difficult conversation with Benny. He and Ellie had always been candid with their son, and Ellie had on more than one occasion told their son matter-of-factly that a daddy had to stick his penis inside a mommy for a baby to be born. Ellie had been emphatic about sparing their son any confusion and puzzlement about sex. Even some of their friends had been a little shocked a
t their pragmatic approach. Frank remembered the time Ellie’s mother, Delores, was visiting them in Ann Arbor and had insisted on bathing her three-year-old grandson. He and Ellie had heard their son announce, “Grandma, that’s not my pee-pee. That’s my penis.” The look on Delores’s face, they agreed, was, as the commercial said, priceless.
Still, with Ramesh, he hesitated. How much easier this would be if Ramesh was his son. If he knew that this boy would grow up in the progressive, intellectual environment of Ann Arbor. But the fact was, Ramesh was someone else’s boy. He belonged to a father who seemed content to let the boy raise himself. And besides, Frank knew how weird Indians were about sex, was aware of the odd combination of female prudery and male aggression that was the hallmark of Bollywood movies and, for all he knew, the culture itself. It was not his place to educate Ramesh about sex, and his heart sank at the realization.
Ramesh was wriggling beside him, eager to resume their stroll, and Frank took the hint. “Listen,” he said as they walked. “No getting distracted by the girls, okay? You have to focus on your studies, remember?”
“I remember,” Ramesh said.
Frank hesitated for a second and then set free the words that had formed at his lips. “Besides, if you’re to study in America you have to have good grades.”
The Weight of Heaven: A Novel Page 13