A Good Indian Wife: A Novel

by Anne Cherian

It was his chosen bottle, knocking around the other necessities, that made Leila say as she reached for the almonds, “It’s for the baby.”

  “As long as I don’t have to,” Neel responded.

  “Do you think the baby could be allergic to them, too?” she worried immediately.

  “I doubt that. Eat whatever you want. Is there anything else you crave? Some other type of pickle?”

  “Vadu manga is fine.” She pointed to the tiny mangoes floating in the red chili sauce. “When I was small I used to frighten my friends by saying it was like a shrunken head, only it was a shrunken mango.”

  The woman who rang up their purchases was in a chatty mood. She spoke with the customer just ahead of them for such a long time Leila was afraid Neel would want to leave without the groceries.

  “You handle it,” Neel whispered. “My Hindi isn’t very good anyway.”

  So Leila took care of the transaction, while Neel waited by the door.

  “She’s the owner,” Leila shared the information.

  “Really? She had better bone up on English if she wants to make a success of her store.”

  “I think she’s already a success. Imagine running a store in a foreign country.” The woman was so different from Anu, who was intimidated by her husband and her new country. Leila admired the woman’s ability to take on such a large and confusing endeavor.

  When they got home, the phone was ringing. Thinking it might be India, Leila grabbed it before Neel could free his hands.

  “Hello?” There was no response and she said again, louder, “Hello?” A buzzing replaced the silence and Leila said, “I don’t think it was India. Someone just hung up. It happened yesterday also.”

  “Wrong number, I guess,” Neel said casually.

  FIVE MILES AWAY, Caroline lit a cigarette. She’d taken up smoking in the past week, back to the one-packet-a-day habit she had given up since moving out west. It gave her something to do as she worried about Neel, their future, his odd behavior, and now his silence. He hadn’t even told her about his grandfather’s death. It was also from the hospital grapevine that she learned he was coming back to work on Monday. Hoping he might return early, she had called his pager. When she realized he must have turned it off, she called the house all morning. Each time the wife—soon to be ex-wife—answered.

  Neel had to call her. There was so much to discuss. Maybe they could fly up to Sonoma to celebrate. She stubbed out the cigarette and reached for another one. Her fingers trembled. She hadn’t eaten all day and it was mid-afternoon. If only she knew where Neel was. Was he home? On his way to see her? In case he was, she showered. She didn’t want him to see her fat-faced again, like the other time he had returned from India and she cried so much they had to put his shirt in the dryer.

  She came out of the bathroom, clean and smokeless, and immediately noticed the blinking green light on the answering machine. One call. Hope cranking up her heartbeats, she played it. It was Neel: “Caroline, it’s Neel. I’ll try and call you later. Don’t call me.” He was home. He wanted to talk to her! Sure that he would call before the night was over, she kept the phone beside her.

  Neel bided his time, waiting for an opportunity to phone Caroline again. He didn’t want her calling here again. Leila might begin to suspect that the hang-ups were Caroline clicking off because he hadn’t answered the phone. He was quiet during dinner, allowing Leila to believe his cold was the reason. He ate quickly, eyeing his watch, hoping Caroline was not getting impatient. Leila chattered on, and he nodded to the tone of her voice, not the words. He was busy conducting his next conversation with Caroline.

  “Wonderful quesadilla.” Neel pushed away his empty plate. “You’re becoming a real gourmet cook, galloping through all the Western countries. But you will make Indian food occasionally, right?”

  “I thought you might like a change after being in India. Indian food tomorrow,” she promised.

  “Great. Listen, do you mind if I leave you to do the dishes? I need to make some calls to get ready for Monday. I left in such a hurry.” This was going to be his last Caroline-inspired lie.

  He sat down at the desk, reluctant to pick up the phone. If only he could put the entire episode, especially the last incident, to sleep. Close off that furtive part of his life so he could start dealing with the instant family in the other room. He hoped Caroline would take it well, that she would not create additional problems. Did she really think he would stay with her after she had told Leila everything?

  He stared at the black phone and realized, through the throbbing of his temples, that he couldn’t remember her number. It had been a while since he had called her and he had long erased her name from the auto menu. If only the pounding would go away. The cold had accosted his head and made thinking clearly difficult.

  He dialed slowly, then with greater sureness as his memory returned.

  Caroline answered on the first ring, as if she had been sitting there, waiting for his call.

  “Neel, sweetie, you’re back. I’m so sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

  “Thanks. You called earlier today, didn’t you?” This was how he had planned to launch into the breakup. Put her on the defensive.

  Caroline hesitated briefly. “Yes. I hung up.”

  “I told you never to call here.” Neel considered bringing up that other call to Leila, but decided it would take too long. He wanted to do this as quickly as possible.

  “But sweetie, I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know when you’d be back.” She couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice.

  “Monday. Didn’t they tell you at the hospital?”

  “They did, but I was talking about us.”

  There was a pause, and Caroline held the receiver tightly, her heart surging in loud, erratic thumps. Please, please, let him say he is coming over right now.

  Neel was just about to start talking when she said, “Sweetie, I haven’t seen you since my brother…I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I was so angry that I kicked him out. I told him that I didn’t like the way he treated you and if he couldn’t be nice to you, the man I love, I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Ever.”

  Her words penetrated the miasma surrounding his brain and found that small vice of vanity he had thought was buried. For one glorious second his head cleared and he felt vindicated, victorious. She had chosen him.

  Then his senses righted themselves and he realized that this was too much, too late. Indeed, it was something he had never really wanted from her. “You shouldn’t have. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I had to. He got the whole family involved so now I’ve cut them out of my life. I only want to be with you.”

  This was what he had wanted to hear from Savannah. Instead, she had ended things the day after he flew to see her. It still puzzled Neel that she hadn’t broken up with him at Stanford. Why had she made him spend money on a plane ticket and a hotel room?

  “Neel, when can I see you? We have so much to talk about.”

  He was pondering how exactly to answer when she suggested, “Tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow was Sunday. He hadn’t made any plans with Leila. Should he meet Caroline? The two options sifted slowly through the painful currents in his head. He was going to end it. That was certain. At least he wouldn’t feel like a total heel if he did it in person.

  “Let’s go to a café,” he said. She wouldn’t be able to make a huge fuss in a public place. He could take the risk, knowing it was the last one.

  “But we haven’t flown in so long.” They would start fresh, she’d make him forget that last tearful trip.

  “I’ve got this cold,” he said truthfully.

  “Please? I’ve so looked forward to it. I love going up with you. Please, Neel?”

  For a moment he thought longingly of the plane. It was his refuge, his time away from stresses. How he loved arching through a clear blue sky, feeling himself in control of his life, the rich, clean city spread out beneat
h him. But of course he couldn’t take her up anymore. Those days had ended. Forever. “I just remembered,” he lied, taking the easy way out. “Jake’s using the plane. I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  LEILA DIDN’T CARE WHAT THEY DID on Sunday as long as they were together. She slipped out of bed before Neel awoke, brought in the fat, rolled-up newspaper, and started the sambar.

  When Neel came into the kitchen, he thought he was in his mother’s house. The instant dosa mix was rising in the large bowl and the sizzling sambar spat small brown dots all over the white stove. He had asked for Indian food yesterday, but now wondered if the smell of asafetida would ever leave the kitchen.

  “You’re up,” Leila said happily.

  Caroline used to use those same words for another reason.

  “Good morning,” he said, and pulled out the sports section, relieved that his headache was gone. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I was waiting for you.” Leila heated the iron tava Amma had insisted she bring to America and spread a spoonful of dough in a thin layer, similar to the crepes suzette she had watched chefs make on TV. “There’s no potato curry, just sambar. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m not too hungry,” he warned. “I don’t have much of an appetite in the morning.”

  “I know, but you need to eat, at least a little. It’s good for your cold.” She put a dosa on his plate and ladled on some sambar.

  When the second dosa was ready, she took her place opposite him. She imagined a baby jumping up and down on the highchair, playing with the salt and pepper shakers while she fed it tiny pieces of dosa. When Kila was little, Leila used to give her small bites from the softest part of dosas.

  “I hope the baby looks like you,” she said, feeling a sudden rush of affection for him. She had been one among three sisters and after his accident Appa had not been a strong presence in the house. Neel’s very maleness had been exciting and intimidating in the beginning. Now it was only thrilling. The spread of muscles across his back, the size of his ankles, the way he turned the steering wheel with one hand. His hands. She had always been partial to large hands and his almost covered the dinner-size plate that held the dosa.

  “Maybe it will have your hands,” she said. She used to tell Indy, “If a man doesn’t have big hands, there will be nothing to hold on to during romantic walks.” Today, she could see them going on such a walk. She would show him the Presidio, that special spot where she found blackberries, the aisle of trees permanently changed by the way the wind blew.

  “The baby already knows exactly what he or she is going to look and be like. That was decided the minute the egg and sperm met.” But she had been so sweet that Neel relented and added, “However, I do think a girl with my hands might have trouble getting a date.”

  “Date? I can’t imagine any daughter of mine dating.”

  “You won’t have to. She’ll do it for you.” Neel laughed. “I think a girl would be nice, though. Most of my cousins were boys, so a girl will pose a challenge for me.”

  “Two females with PMS. Yes, that will be a challenge.”

  “I guess we’ll have to have a boy just to even things out.”

  He sneezed and she said, “If you are not feeling better, maybe we shouldn’t do anything today. In the Bible even God rested on Sunday.” After ten years of attending Catholic School—to which Amma had sent her reluctantly and only because it was the best school in their town—she knew the major stories.

  “I guess God could afford to rest because He had taken care of all His obligations. I’m afraid I have to go flying this morning. I completely forgot about a date I’d made with Jake. It’s to teach him to fly a loop,” he explained. “I’d ask you to come with us but I don’t think it’s a good idea in your condition. Incidentally, this dosa is very good.”

  Would she realize the lengthy explanations covered up lies? He had wondered what reason would get him out of the house alone for a few hours. He had come up with this—the tidiest of all possible lies—late last night. Jake was a salesman who was hardly ever in the city. That trip to Reno had been the first time Neel had seen him in a year. And Leila had heard Jake asking Neel to teach him the loop.

  Leila smiled at the compliment, though she was disappointed by the rest. Still, he wanted to take her flying. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to cancel, but he didn’t suggest it and she didn’t want to be pushy. Besides, a part of her admired him. He was an honorable man, keeping his promise even with a bad cold.

  “Would you like to take some tea with you?” she asked.

  “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. Though we may not have a thermos.” He wouldn’t be able to take it to the café, and would have to remember to pour the tea out before returning home.

  “I found one with your camping stuff in the closet.”

  “I’ll bring it down. Now I think I’ll take a long, hot shower. That should wake me up.”

  His empty chair was replaced by the hum of the hot water pipes. The kettle began to gurgle and she listened to the noises as if they were a symphony conducted by Zubin Mehta. These were the sounds she had longed to hear, the everyday workings of a home and its occupants.

  The phone joined the chorus and she picked it up knowing Neel would not be able to hear it. If it was an important call—maybe India—she would go right into the bathroom and get him. She would not be shy and knock on the door.

  It was Jake and she hoped immediately he had called to cancel the lesson.

  “I’m going up to Reno next weekend and I had such fun the last time, I was wondering if you and Neel wanted to join me again.”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Neel?”

  “Want to put him on the phone?”

  “He’s in the shower. But you can ask him when you see him. Aren’t you flying with him?”

  “Not with me, he’s not. I’m off to New York in a few hours. Why don’t you think about the Reno trip and let me know? Just leave a message with my answering service.”

  Hair wet, Neel strode into the kitchen holding a red thermos. “That shower did the trick. I’m feeling much better.”

  “Shall I make enough tea for Jake?” she tested him, taking the thermos.

  “I’m not sure he drinks the stuff. He probably doesn’t even know about masala chai, but sure, go ahead. How soon will it be ready?” He didn’t want Caroline calling here again.

  “Shouldn’t take too long,” Leila answered, feeling like a servant. He only wanted to be with Madam Fake. Why else would he lie to her? He probably wasn’t even going flying. Caroline must be waiting for him at her home with her French accent, French cooking, French lingerie, French kissing.

  She spooned in the dark, bitter tea leaves without thinking, and threw in the spices any which way. With every addition she felt more betrayed and belittled. Why was Neel continuing to do this to her? Why did he lie so much? How could he expect her to share him?

  The brew grew darker, leeching color from the tea leaves. He had told Cynthia and Harold that he had fallen in love with her over a cup of tea. She had served him coffee that morning, but had believed his lies during dinner.

  From the corner of her eye she saw the brown nest of almonds. Her wedding saree was scattered with almond designs embroidered in gold thread. Almonds were good luck, Amma had told her. Amma had told her many things. She had told her to keep the saree for the first baby. Amma had strung her own wedding saree into a long hammock, hanging it from a hook in the ceiling. She had placed Leila amidst the soft silk, letting the wind rock her to sleep. It was a tradition Leila had hoped to follow. Now she wished she had cut up her wedding saree that day when half her clothes went into the garbage.

  “Is it ready yet?”

  He was standing in the doorway, looking down at his watch, tapping his foot. His impatience was so loud it reminded her of the cars that waited for her at the crosswalk, engines throbbing as if they couldn’t bear to be st
ationary.

  “Almost,” she said.

  He looked handsome in the dark blue shirt she had bought him. “It’s a welcome-back present,” she had said. “I selected a blue one because your name, Neel, means ‘blue’ in Hindi.” Lord Krishna was blue. He was her favorite God, the easiest one to recognize because of his coloring. Krishna, the great lover, was the only god with the ability to be with numerous women at one time. His power was so immense, he gave each woman the illusion that he was with her alone. She thought Neel had given up that erotic dance of ras-lila. She thought he had decided to stay with her—his wife—soon to be the mother of his child.

  Her back was to him and he couldn’t see what she was doing. She wasn’t sure herself what she was doing when she reached for the jar of almonds. She put her hand in and brought out a handful.

  The milk had formed a wrinkled layer over the cooling tea. As the almonds disappeared into the open mouth of the thermos, Leila saw Neel open his mouth to kiss Caroline. She saw his tongue swell, his throat grow so constricted that it was difficult to breathe.

  He would not even be able to talk to Caroline. He would be too uncomfortable to roll around on the bed. He would come back to her, where he belonged.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  CAROLINE WOKE UP EARLY, anxious because she would be seeing Neel today, nervous because though he had agreed to meet, it was at her suggestion, and she didn’t know what he was going to say. Would he bring up the call to his wife?

  Fidgety, she phoned Natalie. They were always there for each other, and she need kindness, understanding, a sympathetic ear. She poured it all out, the phone call yesterday, that awful, terrifying pause on Neel’s part and her insecurity about today. Natalie already knew about the aborted Sonoma trip as well as the romantic night Dan had interrupted. She had warned Caroline not to lie to Neel about throwing Dan out, told her that if things worked out between them, he would find out and be furious with her. As always, Caroline laughed it off, saying, “We’ll be married by then.” Natalie had countered, “And you think that solves everything, right? That’s when it all begins, Caroline. In the scheme of marriage, a wedding is just the beginning.”