Bindi

by Paul Matthew Maisano

  “It’s a long-overdue vacation,” he said. “And one of my favorite cities.”

  There was an awkward silence. They both drank from their beers.

  “Where did your sister find the boy to adopt him?”

  “In a place called Trivandrum.” He wasn’t sure he’d gotten that right, but Raj was nodding.

  “Yeah, it’s the capital of Kerala,” said Raj. “And they never mentioned his relatives?”

  Edward was stumped, embarrassed, even. He felt complicit and had no good answer. What was the story behind the adoption? How could it be that Maddy knew nothing, that they were never contacted?

  “Look,” Raj continued. “I’m not sure what to tell you other than that Nayana left London before learning about her sister.”

  “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “But it’s been nearly three months. How is it possible she wasn’t aware of her sister’s death for so long?”

  “My brother just got the news. There was a letter sent in November, but it was delivered to a neighbor’s house, and that neighbor was out of town. Anyhow, my brother has been making calls to India since he got it, trying to figure out what happened to Nayana’s sister and her nephew. It’s been a frustrating experience from the sound of it.”

  “So if Nayana left England before this letter arrived, you’re saying she would have only found out her sister was dead when she got there?” Raj nodded gravely. “I’d love to talk to your brother, of course.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would. But what you have to understand, Edward, is they’ve gone through a lot. My brother loves his wife very much.” He hesitated before he went on. “I’m not sure that has always been entirely easy.”

  The door to the pub opened, and a black Labrador entered, followed by a blind man. They watched the man and his dog get situated at the bar, both clearly regulars. It was an opportunity to pause over all that was being said. Edward considered Raj’s position, wanting to be sympathetic, but there was Birendra to consider as well. He felt he had to do just what Raj was doing: protect the interests of those closest to him.

  “I understand, Raj. I really do. And I’m sorry about the timing and showing up unannounced. I am. I can’t imagine worse circumstances.”

  “But you’re here now, is that it?”

  “Yes, precisely. Don’t you agree that Birendra deserves the chance to contact his family, especially his aunt? As far as we know, she’s his only surviving blood relative.” He waited to see if Raj might have further information on this point. If he did, he gave no sign. “By the way, he’s a wonderful boy; it’s not like we’re wanting to unload him or anything. He’s remarkable, in fact.”

  Edward kept saying “we,” which made him anxious on two fronts. It seemed to increase his own responsibility for Birendra while reminding him that his sister would be devastated when she found out that Edward had made contact with Birendra’s family.

  “Of course, none of this is his fault. But I have to say, Nayana has had a rough go of it lately.”

  Raj had come back to this point. As if he were warning Edward about something concerning Birendra’s aunt. But what? They had reached the point in their conversation where they had heard each other’s position. They were both invested messengers who didn’t like the messages they had to deliver.

  “I promise to be sensitive to your brother’s situation,” Edward said, unsure what more he could do or say.

  “I’ll talk to him. See what I can do.”

  “I can understand if he doesn’t want to meet me,” he said. “If that’s the case, though, I would hope for a chance to reach Nayana.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Raj said again, then emptied his glass with one swallow.

  XXXII

  “It’s time to go, Bindi.”

  Madeline was leaning against the frame of the open front door, watching huge white clouds lit by a sun she couldn’t see from where she stood. She was showing the Los Feliz house today and wanted to get an early start. She called for him again.

  “I’m here.” He appeared in the entryway, out of breath and carrying the particleboard model town he’d built for his social studies class.

  “What were you doing?”

  “I had to go back upstairs for my project.”

  “You forgot it? Silly boy, you’ve been working on that all week. Here, give me your backpack.” He turned and let her remove the bag from his shoulders, helping him balance the base of his project as he slipped each arm out. She admired his work again, his imaginary town. Of course she’d helped, but she hadn’t had to do much. He was so creative and resourceful in unique ways; he might just follow in her footsteps, she’d thought. Or maybe he’d be the architect in the family. “C’mon, let’s go. I’ve got my meeting at the house today.”

  “It’s all done?” he asked.

  “Mostly. We’re still waiting on some import pieces, but almost.” She opened the car door and put his bag in the backseat. She scrunched her face and gritted her teeth nervously. “You-know-who’s coming to see it.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not really, actually. I mean, I hope she likes it, of course.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “Yeah, you know. She’s just a person, like you and me. Well, a very rich and famous person, but still flesh and blood.” He nodded. “Ooh, I like that,” she said, pointing to a small stand of trees he’d fashioned from green twist ties wrapped around painted toothpicks. “Did you add that last night?”

  “Yeah. I used the extra toothpicks from the bridge.” He fiddled with a tree next to the footbridge they’d constructed together.

  “So it’s a big day for us both.”

  “I hope Mr. Gruner likes it.”

  “Of course he will. It’s beautiful. I’d live there.”

  “The famous lady will like your house, too,” he said and worked to straighten one last tree. “You should be more confident. You’re really good at your job.”

  He made these little comments, without even looking at her, as if they were the most mundane, axiomatic observations. He had no idea just how much they meant to Madeline. How much she needed to hear that, and to believe it.

  At his school, she offered to hold his project while he got out of the car and put on his backpack. He leaned in and took the board carefully in both hands.

  “Voilà, monsieur,” she said. He almost hit the door’s frame. “Careful.”

  “Merci, madame.”

  “Je vous prier.”

  She knew it wasn’t right as she said it. She’d asked him to help her learn some French, and this was one of their little exchanges, in which they pretended to be strangers, but she never could remember the last bit.

  “Je vous en prie,” he said, correcting her, and she repeated his words silently.

  She was still repeating them when he disappeared over the top of the steps. She got lost in the words for a moment until she noticed the clock. If there was traffic, and there usually was these days, she was sure she’d arrive late. But she had a stroke of luck, and she zipped down Santa Monica, catching the lights until Vermont Avenue, a feat that grew daily more difficult with people avoiding the freeways to cross town. Maybe she was a little nervous. It wasn’t about the meeting, exactly; she’d never been very starstruck. Though, true enough, she’d spent more time with the lawyers on this job than with her client. Mostly Madeline had been left alone, and she’d put more heart into this project than any before it, which was saying something. She hoped that would be enough in the end. Both assistants were waiting, leaning against their cars in the driveway, looking bored.

  “Sorry I’m late. Had to drop the kid off at school. Is she here?”

  “No, she’s not,” said the less pleasant one. Candace was her name. “But she wouldn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Then it’s a good thing she’s not here,” Madeline said and winked at the one she liked, Cindy. “I’ll be inside.”

  While Candace and Cindy
waited, Madeline got to work placing the custom cushions that had finally arrived by UPS with the drapes late the night before. Paige told her she’d had to stay at the house until eight to sign for them. She’d hung the fabric over the rods, as Madeline had asked, so the folds would come out. Madeline set to work hanging them properly and had fallen into one of her arranging vortices and forgotten all about the appointment when Cindy came inside and told her the meeting would have to be rescheduled for that afternoon. With both assistants gone and the extra time, Madeline moved on to the cushions she’d yet to place. It really was a magnificent house. She loved how it took full advantage of the natural light that Los Angeles had in such abundance. Sometimes she thought about leaving this city, but where would she go? New York was the obvious choice, but she’d lose two of the features that most often guided her in her work: space and light. Even the big city lofts didn’t appeal to her; she liked rooms of various shapes and sizes, each serving a different function. San Francisco, perhaps? She was already receiving calls. For the odd job, maybe, but she would quickly grow bored of the Victorian and Edwardian layouts so abundant there, one on top of another. No, it wasn’t perfect, but Los Angeles was home. And in any case she wouldn’t make Bindi move again, not until he graduated from high school. She still had nine years, even if he caught up, and she was sure he would. She had to think this way, to will their future into existence. Her brother was in London, doing God knows what. But if she let her fear and imagination get the best of her, she didn’t know what she might do. She got on her knees to arrange the excess fabric from the window treatments that fell to the floor. Madeline had warned her client that it was a trend that wouldn’t last, but Apollah wanted it, and she could certainly afford to change it as often as she wanted to.

  The patio furniture still needed arranging, and there were more cushions to be placed and light shades to be hung. She’d been waiting for the February rains to come and go, but they’d mostly stayed away this year. The days were even warmer than usual, like this one. Passing by the pool, she kicked off her wedge sandal and dipped her red-painted toes into the warm water, then watched the symbol, which appeared to float at the surface, retreat back in a ripple to its location on the pool’s floor. The tile had worked perfectly and was perhaps even the touch she was proudest of in the end. She didn’t always take on the outdoor areas of a home, but this house was going to define Madeline, and she wanted her mark on every inch of it. The sun was so warm on her neck that she contemplated taking off her clothes and going for a dip, but the last thing she wanted was for someone to walk in on her and send word to Apollah that Madeline had christened the pool in her birthday suit. No, she’d keep working, she thought, and when the lamp shades were hung, she moved on to the yoga studio.

  Above a window that ran the length of the poolside wall, she held up various shades and types of sheer fabrics she’d bought to hang there. She hadn’t been convinced by the evening light the day before and wanted to test them against the sunlight that filtered in before making a decision. Because the studio was set partially beneath a shaded section of the patio—the trellis would eventually be covered in creeping wisteria and bougainvillea with a backdrop of star jasmine—the room needed as much natural light as possible, but Madeline had wanted it to glow, giving the appearance of illumination, of enlightenment.

  Her instinct had been right, and she went with the rose-gold silk muslin. The sun’s tinted beams shimmered and danced around the room as the fabric moved in the breeze, and the light touched down on the giant face of a Buddha that she’d hung on the opposite wall. His knowing smirk seemed to invite Madeline to be still with him. She slunk down on the floor and watched his face glow. It really had been a good find. And it was all the more special because she’d bought it while shopping with Bindi after lunch in Chinatown. Of course, if asked, she would say she had it shipped in from Bali. And if the appointment were canceled again this afternoon, she might just take this one home with her and go back to Chinatown to see if there was another one or something similar to it. She wanted to hang this one on the fence in her own backyard, where it would patina with age and watch over Bindi and her and their home in the years to come. It had been silly of her to think of giving it up. The Buddha’s face was so serene, so beautiful. She felt herself drifting.

  It was the silence that brought her back; it was too foreign. They had all gone: the voices, the doubts, the feelings, the buzz of her mind. For a moment there, however briefly, she had fallen into peace. Into bliss. She was so grateful that she scooted herself across the glossy wooden floor and kissed the spiraling flame that rose from between the Buddha’s eyebrows. At long last she had experienced what she’d always been seeking. No matter that she couldn’t secure it: at least she knew it was something she could grasp, maybe fleetingly, but all by herself. She lay down before the Buddha and tried to re-create the sensation. She fell asleep still smiling. She was back in India, with Dr. Wright, sitting cross-legged, palms facing up and resting on her knees. She was meditating, actually meditating, repeating a mantra:

  She would be kind. She would be confident. She would be loved.

  Kind. Confident. Loved.

  It was the end of a yoga class, and the boom of the instructor’s “om” grew louder, then louder still, until Madeline knew she was awake, yet the sound was still filling the studio around her. She looked to the Buddha’s mouth to see if that was where it was coming from. Was she still dreaming or finally losing her mind? She turned and found she was not alone. Was it afternoon already? Apollah was there in any case, eyes closed, mouth wide, hands in prayer. Striking a pose. The sound was deep and long, and her voice was more beautiful than it had ever sounded on the radio.

  Madeline was embarrassed to be found sleeping on the job. This was no dream. She stood and waited for the hum to fall away and for her client to open her eyes. She didn’t know whether to applaud or follow suit and put her hands together at her chest. She opted for silence and an admiring smile and waited to be spoken to. They took a silent tour around the studio together. Madeline watched as Apollah touched the walls, the Buddha’s face, the floors. They looked out the window, resting against the soft touch of silk, at the pool. Her skin was luminous.

  “It’s perfect,” she said.

  The words, no matter that Madeline didn’t agree—nothing was ever perfect, and she would always be the first to find a flaw—were just what she needed to hear.

  “I’m so glad you like it,” said Madeline. “Shall I show you around the rest of the house?”

  “No. I’ve seen it. And I love it. I’ll be moving in next month.”

  “That should work well. I hope to be completely done within a week or so. We’re just waiting on two small pieces now.”

  She took Madeline’s hand without shaking it. It was a tender, if brief, hand-holding. And just like that she turned and left Madeline alone once again. She could already sense the strangeness of the experience forming itself into a wonderful anecdote: the day she awoke on the floor of a yoga studio to the sound of no one less than Apollah herself, chanting “om” in harmony with the giant face of a Buddha. The day she found her bliss. And with this thought she felt the project itself coming to a close. She gathered the fabrics that would not find a home there and left the studio. There were no signs of Candace and Cindy. They were gone as well. For now, the house was still Madeline’s, as were all the houses she designed, until she let them go, handed them over, almost never to return. She collected her purse and shawl and locked the house. On her way to her car, she saw the landscapers still at work. The garden was coming along as well. It really was almost complete. She dug her phone out of her bag and called home to see if Bindi might want to go to Chinatown for dinner. They had a Buddha to rescue.

  At home there was a letter waiting for Madeline from her brother. He must have sent it when he left town. She considered whether reading it would disrupt the lingering peaceful hum she still felt within.

  “What are you doin
g?” Bindi had found her standing in the kitchen with her eyes closed.

  “Just thinking,” she said and set the letter down. She went to the fridge and poured them each a glass of water. “How would you feel about a little shopping after dinner?” His eyes lit up. He loved Chinatown as much as he enjoyed Chinese food for dinner. “All right, then, because there’s something we need to pick up for our home. Get your shoes on. We leave in five.”

  * * *

  Dear Maddy,

  First, I want to thank you. I’m grateful to you for so much, actually, but I’m referring here to my time with Bindi these past months. It’s such a privilege to have him in our lives, but I know I don’t have to tell you this.

  I understand you weren’t happy about my decision to look for his family in London, and we didn’t discuss it as much as we should have. I’m not sure how much you know about them. I gather they were in fairly regular contact before his mother died. Did you know they paid for his schooling? I’m not sure what prevented them from going to India, but I can’t imagine how painful that choice must have been for them. Whatever their reasons, I’m compelled to sit with them, to tell them that he is safe and well, and to connect them with you both, so that they might be in their nephew’s life. I hope you want this, too.

  I also need to apologize, Maddy. I’ve been unfair to you, and you’ve been such a support in my life. I’m not going to lie: I was disappointed when you left after Bindi’s birthday party and when you stayed away as long as you did. It was unfair to both of us. But it was also only human. Sometimes I forget you’re not the superwoman I’ve made you out to be in my mind, the big sister who succeeds in every endeavor, the one I’ve always looked up to. I hope you know what I mean. I know you make mistakes like anyone but also that you will do your best. What’s more, I know firsthand how good that can be.