If Today Be Sweet

by Thrity Umrigar

  Women, Sorab thought with a shake of his head. What treacherous creatures they could be. Unbidden, a picture of Grace Butler’s well-coiffed face rose before him. She would probably see or hear about this story. He felt sick at the thought. He knew what she would think. Who except a third-world ignoramus would do something as uncouth as jump over a fence to go spy on a neighbor? Mamma had just guaranteed Gerry Frazier’s promotion. Sorab knew Gerry’s mother would never do such an impulsive, thoughtless thing.

  He turned back to the page where the story continued. Why is this news at all? he thought. Here the country is at war, the economy is in the toilet, the Israeli-Palestinian situation is as wretched as ever, the whole world hates us, and this is what these idiots decide to publish in their paper? A silly old woman jumping over a fence is so important it makes front-page news? What a trivial, dummied-down country this has become, he thought. He remembered that he had read somewhere that America’s two top exports were arms and entertainment and how that sounded like an epitaph, the symptoms of a dying civilization. Bombs and Michael Jackson, that’s what we import, he’d thought.

  But he had more important things to focus on than the slow demise of America. He looked at the small, black-and-white picture of Tara being escorted from her home and the scowl on her face made him shudder. What would happen to this woman? Would they send her home in a few days? If so, what would she and her dreadful boyfriend do to them? After this unpleasantness, living next door to Tara would be torture. Now the woman would have righteousness on her side because Mamma had clearly overstepped her boundaries, crossed the line. And the result had been a mother who had had her children taken away from her. Looking at Tara’s hard, unforgiving face, Sorab knew that she was not the kind of woman who would let them forget that fact anytime soon.

  He had to tell Susan. Sorab’s stomach heaved when he thought of how Susan would react. He remembered that his wife had expressly asked his mother to not associate with the people next door. And Mamma had blithely ignored her request. What in the world had possessed her? For a weak moment, an image rose before Sorab’s eyes—a picture of his parents welcoming a lost, forlorn Percy into their home. How proud he had been then. But this is different, he told himself fiercely. Here, she is a stranger in this country, doesn’t even have her immigration papers straightened out. And let’s face it—she’s a guest in this home. I mean, thank God Susan is the kind of wife who agreed to let Mamma live here. Don’t know too many American women who would be happy with their mother-in-law living with them. And Susan’s been such a trouper about it all. The way Mamma has been moping around the house…

  He was afraid of Susan, he realized. He was afraid of her reaction, her outrage, her anger when she found out how his mother had violated her request. And then to blather in the newspaper about it. Maybe this would be the last straw. Maybe they would have to reconsider their invitation to ask Mamma to live here permanently. Sorab found he was shaking with indignation and anger. The earlier mood of mellow good cheer had vanished like a boat in a storm. The twinkling lights of the huge Christmas tree suddenly seemed as if they were mocking his earlier good spirits. He now dreaded the sound of Cookie’s impatient footsteps down the stairs. So much for a Merry Christmas, he thought gloomily as he trudged up the stairs toward his bedroom.

  Despite his bad temper, the sight of Susan sleeping stirred him as it always did. He saw the faint beginnings of a worry line on her forehead and his heart softened at the sight. Susan had always had the kind of simple, midwestern beauty that moved him, but as she grew older, he found that she grew even more attractive in his eyes. Time, age, experience were leaving their mark on that smooth face and he found that irresistible. There are women who age badly, he thought. Thank God Susan is not one of them.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “Darling,” he whispered. “It’s Christmas. Time to wake up. Come on now, I have something to tell you.”

  Tehmina felt the frost in the room as soon as she walked in. Susan and Sorab were sitting at the dining table, sipping their cups of tea. They both looked up as she walked in in her nightgown, and exchanged a quick glance. Cookie was nowhere in sight. Her heart constricted. They know, she thought. Henderson has blabbered the news to them.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Susan replied automatically. To Tehmina’s great dismay, Sorab said nothing, just chewed on his upper lip.

  “Good morning, beta,” she said again, and this time he shook himself from his chair and went into the kitchen, returning with a cup of tea for her.

  “Good tea,” she said. “Is Cookie not up yet?” So far, she was the only one carrying on a conversation.

  “I’ll wake him up in a minute. But first, Mamma, we need to talk.” Sorab lifted the newspaper from the chair, ran his fingers over the middle fold, and placed it in front of his mother. “Mamma, what on earth is this?”

  Tehmina’s hands shook so badly upon seeing her face in the newspaper, she spilled some of the tea on the red-and-gold tablecloth. She heard Susan suppress a sigh before she got up to get some wet paper towels. Her face turned pale as her eyes took in the headline and the first few lines of the story. She is a visitor to America, the story began. She is a stranger to this country. But to two frightened young Rosemont Heights boys, Bombay native Tehmina Sethna, 66, turned out to be a Christmastime angel.

  How in the world had the newspaper gotten the story? she wondered. And how did they get that picture of her? And then she remembered: Of course, it was that young boy who had come with the police yesterday. Hadn’t he said something about following them around to write a story about peace? Hadn’t he told her he worked for a newspaper? At that time she had not understood that he would actually write about her. She had thought—what had she thought? Actually, she had not thought much about anything yesterday, had she? Wasn’t that the whole problem—her thoughtless behavior—which had resulted in two boys being taken away from their mother? And once the police arrived, it was as though her mind had scattered, like birds after a gunshot. She had been flustered, scared, panicked at the thought of Sorab and Susan finding out. And while she was extracting promises from little Cookie to not say anything, while she was getting the kitchen back in order after everyone had left yesterday, while she was going through the motions of enjoying dinner with the Vakils yesterday evening while her mind kept wondering how Josh and Jerome were doing—while she was pretending that everything was normal, that newspaper boy had been writing a story that all the world could read. A story that advertised her stupidity, her carelessness.

  “Mamma, look at me,” Sorab was saying, but Tehmina could not look up from the newspaper. She kept her eyes focused on the face in the paper, a face that was horribly familiar but nevertheless looked like the face of a stranger. Did she really look so old and ugly? Did her eyes really look so wild and confused? She saw a damp spot on the photograph grow and realized that she was crying.

  At last, she found the courage to look up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I just heard those boys in pain and I don’t know what happened. I went mad, I think.”

  “I just wish I hadn’t had to find out from Antonio and the newspaper,” Sorab murmured. “I would’ve hoped you would’ve had—”

  “I know. I know, my darling. I was going to tell you, I swear. But we were out so late last night and I—I just wanted to get through today before spoiling your mood. I’m really sorry.”

  “What I don’t get is, we’d told you,” Susan said. “We’d asked you not to have anything to do with that family. And it really bothers me that you had our Cookie witness this scene. I don’t even know what all this means—whether you—we—whether we have put ourselves at risk. What happens when they let that woman out?”

  Tehmina stared at her in horror. She had not even thought of that. “I’ll go,” she said wildly. “I’ll go back to India as soon as I can get a ticket. That way, I won’t be here when Tara gets home. I’
m so ashamed, my dears, I can’t even—”

  “Okay. That’s enough. It’s Christmas morning, for crying out loud.” Sorab spoke with more vigor than she had heard in his voice in a long time. “What’s happened has happened. No point in spoiling the whole day.” He turned toward his mother. “And no talk of returning to Bombay, understand, Mamma? Whatever it is, we’ll face it.” He flung a warning glance Susan’s way and forced his face into a weak smile. “Besides, you don’t know this crazy country. Tomorrow it will be another scandal about Michael Jackson or Tom Cruise or somebody, and everybody’s attention will turn to that. I’m in advertising—believe me, I know. And for the first time I say, thank God for short attention spans.”

  But Susan still looked unhappy. “I’ve tried to live my life so quietly,” she began when they were all distracted by a loud, thundering noise that sounded like an army on the move. It was Cookie racing down the stairs and bursting into the room.

  “It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas,” he yelled, hopping from foot to foot. “Let’s see what Santa brought me.”

  “Cookie,” Susan chided. “How about a good morning for everybody?”

  But the boy was too excited to be reasoned with. “Come on, come on, let’s open presents,” he yelled, pulling on his father’s hand.

  All three of the adults laughed. This boy is like a flower, Tehmina thought. His beauty and scent fill the room.

  “We’ll talk later,” Sorab said as he let himself be pulled into the next room. “But first, come on, let’s go open our presents.”

  Cookie demanded that he open all his gifts first. The gift paper flew around him like a mad wind as he tore into it. Tehmina felt sick at the waste. If this was Bombay, she would’ve made sure Cookie opened each gift carefully so that the paper could be reused. But here, his parents seemed to encourage the frantic plundering. “Ooh boy, wait’ll Brian sees this,” Cookie said about a gift. A few seconds later, “Thanks, Granna,” and a quick peck on Tehmina’s cheek before he went back to his spot on the floor, where the mounds of open boxes and paper grew around him.

  “You’re welcome,” she gasped, knowing that Susan had put Tehmina’s name on a gift that she had purchased for her son. “Thank you,” she mouthed to Susan, and was rewarded with a tight smile and a quick nod.

  The phone rang just as Cookie was opening his ninth gift. “Want to stop for a second, buddy?” Sorab asked, but seeing his son’s crestfallen face, he laughed. “What the hell am I saying? Keep going, I’ll be right back.”

  Tehmina watched Sorab answer the phone at the other end of the living room. “Yes? Oh, hello, Joe,” she heard him say. “What a lovely surprise. Yes, merry Christmas to you, too. How is Heather?” Something in her son’s voice, a certain formality made Tehmina listen closely.

  “Granna, Mom, look at this. A gift certificate for a new bike from Uncle Bobby. And I get to pick it out,” Cookie screamed, drowning out some of Sorab’s conversation. “Hooray.”

  Tehmina’s ears picked up when she heard Sorab refer to her. “Yup, that’s my mom, all right,” he was saying. “A bona fide hero. Oh, sure. Sure. I’ll pass on your good wishes to her.”

  Who was Sorab talking to? He sounded so stiff. But if not a friend, who could be calling so early on Christmas morning? It was not even eight o’clock. She glanced at Susan, but she was squatting on the floor, seemingly lost in putting in batteries in one of Cookie’s new toys.

  “What’s that?” she heard Sorab say. “Oh, Grace? She’s okay, I guess. There’s always an adjustment period, you know.” So he was talking to someone from work. Did these Americans never stop working? Did they not even take Christmas Day off? There was a pause. And then Sorab said, “Oh, Joe, I’d love to. Dinner sounds great. You just let me know the day, okay? If you want to wait till after the holidays, I understand. Just let me know.”

  After he hung up, Sorab stood by the phone for a second, staring at the receiver. Then he walked back toward them, a funny expression on his face. “That was Joe Canfield,” he said. “The big boss. He’s the one who founded the agency and he’s now chairman of the board of directors. Seems like he saw the story about Mamma’s exploits in the paper this morning. Says he wants to have dinner with a genuine American hero.” Sorab’s eyes were shining. “Hon, I guess we’re gonna have dinner at Joe’s home.”

  Tehmina looked anxiously at Susan, hoping that the phone call would redeem her a bit. Susan looked bemused. “I didn’t think Joe Canfield even knew our phone number. Hey, maybe we can make some money shamelessly exploiting our Christmastime Miracle here,” she added lightly. Tehmina noticed that for the first time this morning, her daughter-in-law actually looked directly at her.

  Cookie made a hissing sound and pulled impatiently at his dad’s pajama sleeve. “Dad, did you see what Uncle Bob sent me? A gift certificate for a new bike,” Cookie said.

  Sorab patted his son’s head. “Yes, my darling,” he said. He turned to his wife but before he could say anything, the phone rang again. This time, Susan jumped up from the floor. “I’ll get it,” she said.

  A moment later she handed the phone to Tehmina, her right eyebrow raised. “It’s Eva Metzembaum. Says she wants to talk to the American hero.” She turned to Sorab as Tehmina got on the phone. “Maybe we should start charging admission,” Tehmina heard her say. She was unsure of whether she heard irritation or amusement in her daughter-in-law’s voice.

  “Hello?” Tehmina whispered, conscious of the fact that Sorab and Susan were staring at her. “What are you doing up this early, Eva?” Tehmina knew that Eva was a self-proclaimed night owl who slept in each morning.

  “My Solomon woke me up after he saw the newspaper. I nearly fell off my bed when I saw your mug in the newspaper.” Eva’s voice sounded breathless, as if she had been vacuuming the house all morning. “Oh, Tehmina, I’m so proud of you, I could burst. Doesn’t surprise me at all, what you did. Those poor children. Though why’d you have to go leaping over fences, honey? Could’ve fallen and broken your neck, you could. But let me tell you, I could’ve dropped dead myself when I saw your puss staring back at me from the paper.”

  Tehmina felt such a strong longing to see her friend that her eyes filled with tears. She suddenly felt very tired, as if she’d already been up for twenty-four hours. She had barely slept last night, debating when to break the news of yesterday’s events to the children. And the day was just beginning. Susan and Sorab hadn’t even opened their gifts yet. “How are you, Eva?” she asked.

  “Me? Sassy as ever. Who cares? The main question is, how are you, darlin’?”

  “I’m okay. Just tired.” Tehmina could feel three pairs of eyes following her conversation. “Listen, Eva. Can I call you back later today?”

  She heard Eva take a quick breath. “Trouble at home, darlin’? Yes, I guess your daughter-in-law wouldn’t be too pleased with all this commotion. Listen, you just call me when you can, okay? And remember—no matter what anyone says, you did the right thing. You keep your chin up, honey. We’ll talk soon.”

  Tehmina held on to the phone until she heard the dial tone. Then she went back to her seat on the couch. Cookie, who had been absorbed in spilling and assembling all the contents of his LEGO set, looked up. “I’m glad you’re here with us, Granna,” he declared. And scampering off the floor, he jumped in her lap and flung his arms around her neck. She hugged him back, squeezing him so tightly, the boy squealed. “Granna. You’re hurting me. I’m gonna be as flat as a pancake.”

  Susan rose. “Speaking of pancakes…how about some blueberry pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Yay,” Cookie yelled. “And some French toast.”

  “And some rava.” Sorab joined in with enthusiasm. He looked at his mother and his eyes said what he could not, asked for her forgiveness and told her that she was forgiven. “Please, Mamma? Will you make some of your saffron rava?”

  Tehmina’s heart sang. For the first time today she felt some hope stir within her. Maybe things would turn out okay a
fter all. “My first Christmas in America with my son and he has to ask me whether I’ll make him rava?” She smiled. “Of course I will.”

  “Okay, it’s a plan,” Susan said. “We’ll open all the adult presents after breakfast, okay, honey?” she said to Cookie.

  The boy gave an exaggerated shrug. “Okay. If you can wait that long,” he drawled. There was something so grown-up and world-weary in his tone that they all laughed.

  They had all finished breakfast and Tehmina and Susan were cleaning up in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. They heard Sorab, who was helping Cookie assemble some of his new toys, mutter under his breath and then call out, “I’ll get it.”

  “Holy shit,” he yelled the next second. “Er, ladies, you better get into the living room as fast as you can.”

  The two women looked at each other for a brief second. Now what? Susan’s look seemed to say. Then they wiped their hands and hurried into the living room. Sorab was standing at the picture window and they joined him there. They gasped. It was a scene from a movie. All three local television channels had their vans parked on the street. Men with cameras mounted on their shoulders were filming their house. A female reporter was standing in front of the Channel 3 truck and speaking into a microphone. There were two other people in sneakers, notebooks in their hands and cameras dangling around their necks, who were walking up and down the street. “What the heck?” Susan breathed.

  Sorab expelled his breath. “Mamma,” he said. “What the hell have you unleashed?” There was bemused shock in his tone.