Bindi

by Paul Matthew Maisano

  Her sister-in-law and Mrs. Bhatia retreated to the kitchen, taking Jasmeen with them. Ramesh and Raj went to watch the football match on television. Nayana remained with her book in the den. Years ago, she would have followed the women, trying to contribute, if only on holidays. But that was over now. She no longer cared to be told she couldn’t chop an onion right or keep a sauce from separating. And it distressed Nayana to watch Tahira have to bite her tongue upon hearing the aspersions their mother-in-law cast in a tongue only they shared. Nayana may not have always understood what was being said, but she knew it was a criticism of her childlessness as much as her cooking skills. It helped, wielding a secret today, like a shield against her mother-in-law’s disapproving gaze. Tahira, on the other hand, could do no wrong in Mrs. Bhatia’s eyes. And Jasmeen was perfect, of course. Raj, too, except for the fact that he was the second son, and his ideal little family was eclipsing that of her firstborn. The words on the page fell under a shadow. Ramesh was leaning over her, kissing the top of her head. She closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss.

  “Are you sure we can’t tell them?” he whispered.

  She smiled up at him, relieved to see him genuinely in such good spirits. Still, she shook her head gently. Jasmeen had joined them now.

  “Will you tell me a story, Auntie?”

  Like Nayana, Jasmeen preferred stories to helping in the kitchen. This felt like a small victory won against her mother-in-law.

  “Come sit on my lap. I’ll tell you a story about two little girls, not much older than you, living far, far away in a place called Delhi.”

  “The capital of India!” Jasmeen said, proud to know it.

  Ramesh chuckled. She reached for his hand. He took hers, kissed it, and left the room. Jasmeen set to work on Nayana’s hair as she often did—she loved how long it was—her delicate fingers strumming it like so many harp strings.

  “Yes, in India, a place where two sisters were once blessed with amazing powers.”

  “Powers?” repeated Jasmeen, as much an expression of awe as a question.

  “Yes, and these two little girls were twins. Many said that was bad luck, especially their evil stepmother, but the two girls thought differently. With one look, they knew each other’s thoughts. This allowed them to communicate without speaking, using only their minds, and to make awful jokes about the wicked woman. One day, their stepmother grew tired of their sudden bursts of laughter and locked them up, each in a different part of the castle where they lived.”

  “Were they princesses?”

  “Yes, they were, but the evil queen had charmed their father so he didn’t know how awfully she treated his daughters. As she locked each girl away, she promised to keep them apart forever, hidden from the rest of the world, and especially from their father, the king.”

  “What did they do?”

  “Oh, they were scared, and lonely, and they cried and cried, but no one heard them. The queen had been cunning and found parts of the castle where others didn’t go. One day, Princess Aditi got an idea. Maybe she and her sister could still use their powers to talk to each other, she thought. She was always the first to have a good idea. Her sister thought it was because Aditi was thirteen minutes younger and had learned something important in that brief time alone in their mother’s womb, something her thirteen-minute-older sister might never understand. It was Aditi who had discovered their powers and shown her sister how to use them in the first place. But once they were separated, her sister could not hear Aditi. She could only hear herself crying, alone in the abandoned broom closet where she’d been locked away. Finally she cried herself to sleep, and, in dreaming, was reunited with Aditi, who told her if she concentrated very hard, they could still use their powers to communicate. When they awoke the next morning, each in her faraway corner of the castle, they tested their powers until they could easily hear each other once again. They were so happy not to be alone, but soon enough they remembered they were still hidden from the rest of the world.”

  “Forever?” asked Jasmeen, apparently horrified at the thought. Nayana suddenly wasn’t sure. Where was her story leading? How was she going to turn things around? Jasmeen stopped playing with Nayana’s hair and stared wide-eyed up at her aunt, desperate, it seemed, to learn the fate of the girls. Nayana caressed her face and smiled.

  “No, not forever, my dear.” Jasmeen’s relief was palpable. “You see, once again Princess Aditi had an idea. The sisters had a cousin whose name was Jasmeen, and she was the most beautiful princess in all of India. She lived in a faraway place in southern India called Kerala.”

  “I’m a princess, too?”

  Nayana told her she was, and a brave one, who, while sleeping, dreamed of her cousins in Delhi. The cousins told her what their stepmother had done, that she’d locked them away from their father. They begged Princess Jasmeen to make the long journey north to their palace, where she could save them and expose the wicked queen. “‘But,’ they warned their cousin, ‘you must be very careful with our stepmother, for she is dangerous and truly evil.’”

  “I’m a princess, too!” Jasmeen announced to Ramesh, who had reentered the room, now carrying two beers on his way to rejoin Raj in the TV room.

  “Yes, you are,” he said.

  “Did I save the princesses?” asked Jasmeen, eager to return to the tale.

  “That’s right. You traveled many, many miles, and you visited your uncle, the king of Delhi, King Ramesh,” she said, looking back the way Ramesh had gone and hearing him chuckle.

  “What did the king do?”

  “Well, he found his daughters, and he banished the wicked queen far away to a place called London, where she’s rumored to still be alive, torturing everyone around her because she’s a miserable old witch.”

  Tahira called for Jasmeen from the kitchen. Jasmeen looked at Nayana, her eyes wide once again with fear. She whispered, “The evil queen lives in London, Auntie?”

  “Yes, darling, but I will protect you. Now go and do what your mother tells you.”

  Nayana got up from the chair as well, leaving her book behind, and followed after Ramesh. He and Raj were seated on the floor, in front of the sofa, shouting at the football players on the screen. She wanted to be alone with Ramesh. She needed to be in his arms, right now.

  “Ram, can you help me a minute?” she asked.

  He turned from the television, then back just as quickly, as if he’d miss something in that instant. “What is it, jaanu?”

  “I just need your help for a moment.” He looked at her again. In the bathroom, she mouthed and pointed, then turned, leaving him perplexed.

  She left the door cracked and hoisted herself onto the bathroom counter. The door opened, and Ramesh looked panicked. He went to her, his hands searching her body for the problem, passing from her shoulders to her waist and finally resting at her knees.

  “What is it?” he said. “Is something the matter?”

  She’d scared him without meaning to.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “What? Jaanu?”

  “Kiss me,” she repeated.

  His head fell against her chest, and he sighed. She ran her fingers through his hair, inhaled his scent.

  “My God, woman, you scared me half to death.” He looked back at the door, pushed it closed. “What’s gotten into you?”

  She pulled him close, sliding his hands to her waist again. She kissed him, and his fingers traced the length of her torso. Her head released to the mirror behind her, and Ramesh buried his face in her neck. There was love between them, and a future, and this seemed to demand at least a little hope.

  “Happy Christmas, Ram,” she said, and then she kissed him again.

  XVIII

  Their first Christmas. Madeline had stayed up late chatting with Eddie the night before, telling him all about her trip to India and as little about Spain as she could get away with. He even stayed and helped her wrap presents, then he surprised them both, it seemed, by saying he wo
uld stay the night and the next day as well. He left the room to call Jane and tell her he wouldn’t be joining her and her family. Clearly there was something going on between him and Jane. Madeline had always thought Jane was simply the wrong choice for Eddie. As a person, she was fine, but she wasn’t good for Eddie, who needed, in Madeline’s opinion, someone less abrasive. She didn’t know how they’d lasted so long.

  She’d set her alarm for seven and was only able to force herself out of bed because she knew there was a café au lait in her immediate future. But downstairs it was so quiet, and the lights on the tree were blinking away, flashing against the gold star Bindi told her he had chosen himself and put on top with his uncle’s help. Maybe there were too many presents under the tree for one child—her brother seemed to think so—but so be it. She wanted to spoil Bindi, to make up for whatever had landed him in that orphanage, but such bounty didn’t have to turn him rotten. She would teach him to be generous as well. She had a sense he already was. And she wasn’t going to change who she was or pretend that he wouldn’t benefit from his new circumstances. She’d worked her entire adult life to build her career, and she’d been truly fortunate to succeed. Plenty of deserving, talented women didn’t. It was a privilege she and Bindi would now share, but it would be her duty to teach him what privilege meant as much as what it didn’t mean. It was the cumulative weight of all the big lessons she would have to teach him—the immense responsibility she felt for molding the mind of a future man in this world—that struck her so often and so completely with momentary fears and doubts. What would she learn about herself in the process? What if she didn’t like what she saw? What if he didn’t?

  She shook her head and took a step back, as if to rebuff the questions. Not today. Today she wanted to be like one of those families on an after-school special, just enjoying the holiday together. Being enough for each other. Playing Christmas music and opening presents. Feasting on too much food and just enough holiday cheer. And Eddie would be there with them today as well. She had left his present in her room, where she’d wrapped it before going to bed. The stockings were also upstairs. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and close her eyes, but she forced herself up the stairs. Maybe they could have pancakes for breakfast. Eddie liked bananas in his. Bindi was allergic to bananas, she’d discovered on the plane. It was the only allergy he knew of. She might have some frozen strawberries, or they could decorate the pancakes with raisins, if he liked those. She crept past his room quietly, resisting the urge to peek in. And just moments after she’d placed Eddie’s gift among the rest and hung the stockings, Bindi was coming down the stairs, sleepy-eyed and barefoot. She wondered if he felt cold and turned up the heat on her way to him.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, holding her coffee to one side while she squeezed him close with her free arm.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, and his eyes grew wide upon seeing all the gifts under the tree. He looked at Madeline, asking without words if they were for him. She gave him an encouraging smile and said he could open one before breakfast.

  “Pick one that’s from me and come to the kitchen. I thought we’d have pancakes.”

  “With coconut?”

  “Coconut?” She recalled a whole coconut out of which she’d once drunk a piña colada in Mexico. “Do you mean dried, shredded coconut? Little pieces?”

  “Not dry,” he said, seeking the right description. “Like sticky and sweet and rolled up inside.”

  Rolled up? Apparently they were not talking about the same kinds of pancakes. Eddie walked in, stretching his arms overhead. He was more adventurous in the kitchen. Perhaps he could figure out the pancakes.

  “How’s everyone this morning?” he asked. “Merry Christmas.”

  It was odd, all of them there together. She could hear it in her brother’s voice, too, and see it in his expression, a smile that said it was all a bit surreal. But who cared, if it felt this good? Surprisingly, Bindi had chosen one of the flat boxes, which any other kid would have cast aside, knowing they contained clothes. She almost told him to pick a different one, but he’d already torn the wrapping open and was removing the lid from the box. He slowed down now, gently unfolding the tissue paper to reveal a sweater inside. She nodded to indicate he could pull it out. Eddie walked over and felt the sweater with one hand, then put the other on Bindi’s shoulder.

  “That’s a good-looking sweater,” he said. “Oh, I think there’s something else in there.”

  Bindi set the sweater on his lap and pulled out the Levi’s below as if they were some great hidden treasure and not a pair of blue jeans. “Thank you, Mama Maddy.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, how about you tell Uncle Eddie just how you like those pancakes? He’s a real whiz in the kitchen. I’ll make some orange juice and put on some Christmas music. Sound good? Oh, Eddie, there’s coffee in the pot and some hot milk on the stove.”

  She pulled a can of concentrate from the freezer and set it on the counter. Then she called Bindi over to help her. Her grandmother always let her make the juice. Madeline was happy to have these small lessons in life to balance the big ones they had ahead. Everything was new and exciting for Bindi. That made it so for her, as well. What a gift this was. He stirred and stirred until the frozen block grew smaller and finally became something he could break apart. Eddie, meanwhile, was at work on those mystery pancakes. She left her boys in the kitchen and went to put on some Christmas music, shocked to find that she wouldn’t actually mind hearing it. For once she wasn’t sick of it, and this, she realized, was because she’d been out of the country for most of December.

  Eddie had managed to concoct a pancake-crepe hybrid, which he then filled with strawberries he’d cooked down with sugar and rolled up per Bindi’s directions. Bindi seemed to love every bite. And Madeline couldn’t get over the day. She rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder and thanked him. He smiled at her seriousness. It wasn’t merely a thank you for breakfast. She didn’t know what it was for, exactly, except being there with them.

  “Who’s ready for more presents?” she asked.

  Bindi looked at his uncle, then at Madeline, then slowly raised his hand. She had to laugh in order not to cry. He had a systematic way of choosing the gifts he opened, by similar size and shape, and he soon must have thought he was only getting clothes. Even so, each outfit thrilled him. Eddie intervened, finally, and handed Madeline a gift from Bindi. She recognized his wrapping handiwork from the monkey. And he’d written Mama Maddy on top of the wrapping paper in black marker. It looked like an oversize square envelope, and inside there was a piece of construction paper that had been folded in half twice. A drawing of three lions perched on the edge of an island, looking out. It was remarkable how he’d captured their anxiety and how they seemed to be looking at Madeline across the water, bidding her to come.

  “There’s a story that goes with it. I didn’t have time to finish it.”

  “This is wonderful, Bindi,” she said and passed it to her brother. “Isn’t that good?”

  “It’s very good,” he said. “Well done. Can I open mine?”

  Bindi nodded enthusiastically. He took as much pleasure, it seemed, in watching others open the gifts he had given them as he did in tearing through the mountain of gifts he received.

  “This is really cool. Look, Maddy.” She took the drawing Eddie handed her and saw that Bindi once again made the viewer an active participant in the picture, which this time depicted a brown bear seated on a bench and staring out at a rooster in the foreground and thus at the beholder as well. They were technically uncomplicated, but there was beauty in that, too. “Pretty good, don’t you think, sis? Looks like we’ve got another artist in the family.” She said it was excellent and handed the drawing back. “Why don’t you open that one just there?” she prompted Bindi.

  Eddie moved closer to Madeline on the sofa, not quite whispering as he inquired after their mother and Jack. Had she at least invited them? She shook her head.
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  “Do they know?”

  “Not yet. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Well, you have to tell her,” he said.

  “Have you spoken to her recently? I called before my trip and something wasn’t right. She sounded off.”

  “Drunk?” he suggested.

  “Maybe, but not only. It’s that man, I’m sure of it. I’ve never trusted him, and now they’re so far away.”

  “Palm Desert? It’s not so far,” he said, as if Madeline were making excuses.

  “So you’ve gone recently?”

  “No. I haven’t.” He was guilty, too. She could hear it. The sad part is that Madeline knew their mother might love this, all of them sitting around together. Perhaps her mother had finally moved past whatever heartbreak had made it so impossible for her to show her love when they were young. Bindi was trying to determine what he was looking at, what the image on the big box represented. “Maybe we could all go over together.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t want to think about it now. No one was going to spoil this day. In the same hushed tone, she said, “He doesn’t know what it is. Tell him.”

  “That there is a Sega Genesis, which is a video-game console you can connect to your TV.”

  Bindi was now unwrapping the smaller gift that had been taped on top of the box. It was a video game to accompany the console: Sonic the Hedgehog.

  “What’s a . . .” He hesitated. “Hedgehog?”

  “It’s a small animal, about this big.” Eddie held up his hands to show the size. “It’s covered in—what?” He looked at Madeline, and she shrugged. “Like quills. Do you know what a porcupine is?”