Tell It to the Trees

by Anita Rau Badami

  The weather report is calling for another major storm tonight and the sky and the earth have merged into a steely sameness. The thought of living through this for the next six months depresses me. What was I thinking of when I signed my wretched lease for an entire year? The silence which seemed so idyllic in summer is now a nightmare. And the frigging cold—I don’t remember cold being this cold!

  I tapped on the kitchen window and Suman looked up, startled, from her cooking. She smiled when she saw it was me and opened the door. “What are you doing here, Anu? I would have come later on. I have made such tasty rasam today. Perfect for this cold weather, you know.”

  “Does he hit you too, Suman?” I asked her, straight off the bat. I didn’t want to give her time to consider her response. “The way he beats your children? And don’t tell me he doesn’t—I’ve seen those bruises and they don’t come from falling down the stairs or tripping on shoes. Why are you lying? Why are you protecting him?”

  She backed away, her face sinking into familiar lines of anxiety. “I wasn’t lying,” she said at last, wearily. “He doesn’t beat me, not really.”

  “Oh? Then what does he do? How come everybody in this house, including you, is so clumsy? Falling all the time? Give me a break, Suman. I’m not a fool.”

  “Shh, stop talking so loudly. She will hear.”

  “Who? Akka? Well, she should be ashamed of herself, letting her son do this to you. I would have thought she knew better!”

  “No, no, Varsha. She is at home with flu. She is sleeping upstairs. Please go away now.” Suman pushed me towards the door.

  “No, I won’t. And if you don’t tell me the truth, I’m going up there to wake up that girl and drag it out of her. You mustn’t be afraid. You can get help. I can help you. Please.”

  Suman gave me a bitter look. “You don’t know anything,” she said in a low voice, turning away from me. “You don’t know how it is to be alone, to be without any money or anywhere to go for help. Yes, I lied about what he does to me, but it was only a partial lie. He doesn’t raise his hand to me the way he does with the children. Not anymore. Not after I lost my baby.”

  “You lost your baby? I’m sorry, Suman. What happened?”

  She shook her head.

  “Was it his fault? It was, wasn’t it?”

  Silence again.

  “Okay, you said he doesn’t hit you anymore. But he does hurt you, I know. What does he do? Tell me.”

  “Pushes me sometimes, or squeezes my arm so hard I can feel his fingers on them for an entire week. He isn’t a bad man, really. He doesn’t mean to hurt us. You must understand.”

  I don’t understand at all. I am angry at the excuses.

  “He punishes me in other ways,” Suman continued. “No money in the bank account that I am allowed to use, so I have to pay at the grocery store with handfuls of pennies and nickels and dimes. Calling me stupid, criticizing everything I do, even my food. My food—anyone can see how good I am in the kitchen, but you’ve never had to ask anyone for money like a beggar every day, have you? Even to buy sanitary napkins? Or a chocolate candy? No, you haven’t. So how would you understand? Vikram is good at that sort of subtle humiliation. His violence is more hurtful because nobody can see it. You can’t put ointment or a cold pack on or eat a Tylenol to take away those marks and that pain. His attacks, they go for the root of your being, kill your self-respect, your idea of who you are, take away your sense of balance. That’s why we are always falling, we have no sense of balance in this house. Vikram calls me a fool and I’ve become one. I hate how easily I’ve given in. I thought, for a while, that if I loved him enough he would stop. But it doesn’t work that way. It could only be the kind of love a prisoner feels for her guard.” She stopped, drew a harsh breath and turned to look at me. “There,” she said quite calmly, no tears. “There, I’ve told you. Can you still help me? Hanh? Can you?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I can. I will, I promise you. Have you never told anyone all this? Surely somebody would have done something. I can’t believe everybody in this town is indifferent. Don’t you have any friends?”

  “No, I don’t. I was ashamed to tell anyone. And anyway, what could I have done without money or a passport? He has hidden my passport so I can’t leave. Even now, you say you can help me, but where do I get a passport from?”

  “We will deal with the passport thing later. It’s probably expired anyway. You can say you lost it. But that can come later. To begin with, let’s get you out of here. After that, you get in touch with my lawyer. Here, I brought you her address and phone number. Keep it until you decide. If you agree, I’ll phone her for you and fix an appointment, okay? And I can lend you money to tide you over until you find your feet. Yes?”

  “No. I don’t know. I won’t be able to manage.”

  “Yes you will, Suman, you just need to set your mind to it. It’s not right. Not for you, not for those kids. Do you want them to end up like you?”

  “No,” she whispered. She tucked the piece of paper inside her pocket. “But Varsha won’t come, she loves her father. I am not really her mother, you know, and how can I take Hemant away from his father? It is not right. No, I can’t do it. You must leave now. If Varsha comes down, she will be upset. She must not know. She will be so hurt.”

  “Well then, you will have to leave her behind, nothing to be done about that. But you, and Hemant—think of him at least, Suman. You’ve got to leave.”

  “Who’s leaving?” Varsha materialized near the kitchen door silently. I jumped then, in a kind of fear myself. How much did she hear, the little sneak? “What is she doing here? Mama, are you going somewhere?”

  “No, I am,” I said. “I’m sick of this weather. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.” I smiled at her, ignored the ferocious scowl. The Aunty Anu business has faded right out of her system—the girl is back to being her nasty little self. “I hear you’re not well. Did you catch something at school?”

  “Yes, you better leave, you might catch it too,” she said. “And since you are old, it might kill you.”

  Brat! She went up to Suman, curved an arm possessively around her waist and dropped her head onto her shoulder. “Mama, I feel terrible,” she pouted, giving a sad little sniff. “I think I have a fever. Here, feel my head.”

  Suman avoided looking at me and placed her palm on Varsha’s forehead. I caught the girl’s eye and got the feeling she had heard our entire conversation. It makes me uneasy. I wonder what she will do with the knowledge—tell Vikram? So what if she does? He can’t touch me. But I think of what he could do to Suman and am worried. I know I must make one more attempt to persuade Suman to leave. If that doesn’t work, what do I do? If she won’t help herself, can anybody help her?

  Varsha

  A horrid day. I was sick with the flu and Suman was planning to go away. I heard her say so to Anu. She was going to take my brother with her but not me. She told Anu I’m not hers. But she is mine, and Hem too. He’s most definitely mine. I saw him first.

  It was all Anu’s fault. She was the one influencing my stepmother. She was the one messing with my family. Suman is weak, she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

  “Are you going somewhere, Mama?” I asked, holding her close. I am almost as tall as her. A nerve in her soft neck jumped against my cheek.

  “No, no, where would I go without you and Hem?” she lied.

  “I heard Anu and you talking, Mama,” I said. Again her pulse leaped against my cheek.

  “She was talking about her story, that’s all,” Suman said. She unwrapped my arms from around her waist and moved away.

  Liar liar lipstick, borne on a broomstick. I hoped the broomstick broke and gave her a good poke, a hard, painful poke. I was mad at her. I am mad at her. I love her like she is really my mother, even though she is nowhere near as beautiful or as smart. But she’s going to take my brother and leave us like Mom did. I am madder than mad.

  “Here, some hot tea with honey.” Suman gave
me a steaming mug. Who will take care of me if she leaves? Who will stop Papa from beating the shit out of me? Who will wash my hair on Sunday mornings and make chocolate cake on my birthday? I cannot let her go.

  She gave me a worried look and was about to say something when we both heard a funny noise.

  “Did you hear that?” Suman asked. “Was that your grandmother?” She ran out of the kitchen, hurrying to Akka’s room with me behind her. Akka was slumped down in her chair, going rrr-rrr-rrr like an engine which won’t start up. Her mouth was twisted sideways.

  “Oh no,” Suman cried. “Something is wrong with her.” We leaned over Akka, so old and beloved, and she stopped going rrr-rrr for a few seconds to mutter something. Her voice sounded like a rusty gate creaking open after a thousand years, and then she fell silent. Her dry breath rustled through her ancient lungs like dead leaves. Only the fingers of her left hand moved in a funny little dance. I started to cry even though I know that tears are a sign of weakness. But this was my beloved gran, my Akka, and she was going to die, I could feel it in the air around her.

  She was going to die and Suman was leaving with my brother. They were all leaving me.

  “Go phone 911, quick, we need to call the ambulance,” Suman said, pushing me out of the room. It felt like that day seven years ago when Hemant was born. Only this was a departure and that was an arrival.

  “Then I must phone Papa and let him know, and you go and get Anu,” Suman said. She was running back and forth. What will she do on her own without me or Papa to take care of her, has she thought about that?

  “Why do I have to get Anu?” I wanted to know.

  “Because I am going with Akka to the hospital and you can’t stay alone at home.”

  I didn’t want that meddling bitch here, but it was not the time to create a fuss. I called 911, and we waited and waited forever, but perhaps it was only fifteen minutes. Then I went and got Anu.

  We watched them load my grandmother into the dark hollow of the van, and watched Suman clamber in after her. Anu stood beside me in her black parka, shivering slightly. I hate her. She tried to put her arm around my shoulder but I moved away. Her fault. Everything is her fault.

  “I am sorry,” Anu said. The traitor. The thief. “I hope she will be okay.” She put her notebook and her keys on the dining table and took off her jacket.

  “She’s my grandmother, not yours,” I said.

  Anu opened her mouth then changed her mind. “Yes, of course she is yours, Varsha. And I’ll bet you’re feeling miserable right now. And with flu and all too. Why don’t you go up to bed and I’ll open the door when your dad gets home.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to, I can do it.”

  She shrugged and sat on the sofa. I was dying to sit too. My legs were shivery. But I stood at the window instead, and watched for Papa. He was home in half an hour and started packing to go to the hospital.

  “We might have to stay there overnight,” he said. “Anu, would you mind sleeping over here with the kids?”

  “She doesn’t need to, Papa. I’m old enough to be here alone, remember? And if there’s something we need help with, I can always go get her from our cottage.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Varsha,” Papa snapped, giving me the kind of look he usually keeps for Mama. How could he humiliate me in front of a stranger? He knows what a responsible girl I am. I’m capable, I’m smart, I’m efficient. He’s said so a million times. I’ve taken care of my brother all of his life, haven’t I? Watched him being born, changed his diapers, helped Suman with him when she was sick, taken him to school, made sure he eats his lunch and nobody does anything mean to him?

  “Not to worry, Vikram,” Anu said in her smarmy voice. “You go ahead and look after Akka. We’ll be fine here, won’t we, Varsha?”

  I ignored her.

  “Thanks so much, I owe you one,” Papa said.

  “And I can go get Hemant from the bus stop, not a problem. Now go, we’ll be fine. Give us a call after you get there to let us know how she is.”

  At four o’clock, we left to get Hemant.

  “You shouldn’t be out in this weather,” Anu said, trying to put her hand on my forehead the way Suman does to feel the temperature. Pretending to be my friend.

  I brushed her hand off and got into my jacket. “It’s not a good idea to be alone out there. There’s safety in numbers,” I told her. Hem is my brother. I didn’t want her stealing him from me with sweet talk and T-shirt gifts. And he’s a blabbermouth. God only knew what he might tell Anu if I wasn’t there to stop him.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Anu argued. What does she know? She hasn’t lived here all her life, has she? She hasn’t seen the kind of winter we have, has she? “I mean, if you’re at home, and we don’t get back at a reasonable time, at least you can phone for help. Right?”

  I shrugged. “I’m going to pick up my brother. You can stay here if you want.”

  Anu shook her head and followed me out. It was freezing and my breath hung like a ghost in front of my face. The sky was icy white and so low I felt I could reach out and poke my finger through it. We trudged silently towards the bus stop, me on one side of the road and she on the other. I wondered if she could feel how much I hated her.

  The bus roared up and stopped. Hem jumped out bright in his red jacket with the dark blue stripe that Papa bought for him last year, and his new red toque and gloves which are attached to his sleeves with long elastic string so he won’t lose them.

  “Why is she here?” he demanded. “Where’s Mama? What happened to my Mama?”

  “Nothing happened to Mama,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Come on now, hurry.”

  “Then where is she?”

  “Your grandma fell ill,” Anu said, like it was any of her business. “Your parents have taken her to the hospital. I’m going to stay with you until they get home.”

  “Akka’s going to die?” Hem shrilled, his voice high with panic.

  “No, she will be fine,” Anu said. She held out a hand for him, but I jerked him closer to me.

  Hem was quiet for a while, running along beside me. Then he said, “There’s a blizzard coming. I can smell it.”

  “You can?” Anu said. I could almost hear her smiling, making fun of Hem. She doesn’t know anything.

  “Yes, it’s coming from over there.” Hem pointed a red finger towards the faraway mountains which were invisible from all the snow that the wind was tossing up.

  Our house was waiting for us, the living room window toasty with light. I love seeing the house in winter like that. We rushed inside and Anu offered to make us some hot chocolate.

  “There’s no need,” I told her. “I am perfectly capable of doing it.”

  She hung up her jacket carefully and turned to me, hands on her waist. “Look, missy, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I have had it up to here!” She stuck her hand up against her eyes. “Now, I’m doing this for Suman’s sake and for your Akka—staying here with the two of you. So try to be a bit more pleasant, okay?”

  I glared at her. I was going to get back somehow. I hated her then with all my heart.

  “Fine,” I said. I could pretend too. That she’s a friend, not a thief who is planning to take my family away from me. I’m good at pretending.

  “Now scoot upstairs and have a lie-down—otherwise we’ll have to call the ambulance for you too. Off, off. I’ll take care of your brother and fix us some dinner.” She smiled at me and I smiled back.

  “Hem needs to come upstairs too and change his clothes and have a wash. Then he can have a snack and a glass of chocolate milk. That’s how we do it,” I told her. “And Mama has already cooked food, so no need for you to make anything.”

  “Of course, thanks for letting me know. I’ll make us all chocolate milk then while you’re upstairs.” She turned on the lights in the living room and the dining room and the kitchen.

  I followed her, turning them all off
except for the kitchen and one near the stairs going up.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Anu asked.

  “Papa said waste not want not. We don’t need all those lights.”

  “Okay, okay, whatever your Papa says. Anything else?”

  “And the curtains must remain shut too. That way the heat stays inside the house.”

  Anu was getting annoyed, I could see. But I didn’t care. This is my house. I went around the house drawing all the curtains and it was like we were inside a cave.

  “Are you mad at me, Varsha?” Hem asked, trailing after me up the stairs to our room. “Why are you mad at me?”

  “No, I’m not mad at you.”

  “Are you mad at Anu? She’s making us chocolate milk, that’s nice of her,” said my stupid brother.

  “You don’t know anything at all, do you, Hem?” I said, dragging him into our room and shutting the door. “She isn’t nice, she’s a wicked woman.”

  “But why?” Hem looked at me with his silly round eyes. He had already forgotten the nasty things she had written about us in her notebook.

  “She wants to take you and Mama away, that’s why.”

  “Where to?” His eyes got even bigger and he squeaked like a rabbit.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you come with us?”

  “No, Mama can’t take me. It would be illegal. And I can’t leave Papa alone, can I?”

  “But I don’t want to leave you,” Hem said, holding on to me really tight. “Tell her she can’t take us away.”

  “No, she doesn’t know I know,” I replied. “And don’t go blabbing to her, you hear? I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

  I wandered over to the window while Hem got out of his school clothes and changed into his pyjamas. It was already dark and the snow was coming down thick and fast, swirling around in the wind, all mixed up with the snow tossed up from the ground. Pretty soon you could see nothing. I was glad we were tight inside our warm house, safe.