The Sleeping Dictionary

by Sujata Massey

  “Hazel, it is time for you to visit the little girls’ room. Pam, tell us where it is.”

  “In the back. I’ll take her—”

  “No. You stay; the waiter will show her.” Rose inclined her head toward the door in the back of the room; obediently, Kabita went.

  I looked back at my enemy. Resisting the urge to plunge the cake knife in her throat, I took a deep breath. “That’s not a ploy, I hope, where she goes off with Hari.”

  “No chance!” Mummy’s tone was brisk. “I wanted to speak privately. Now that I’ve seen you, I’m guessing you’d like to keep Hazel; but for me to release her would cost thousands in unearned rupees. I don’t think we can afford it; however, my business partner has a tender heart. Lucky thought I should ask what you wanted.”

  So this was the game. Blackmail. I shook my head and said, “You can’t keep her. I’ll go to the Calcutta police—”

  “Who will certainly telephone Chief Howard in advance of coming to Kharagpur. And you can imagine what he’ll tell them about you!”

  “Wait. I won’t—” I broke off, belatedly realizing she had tapped my current fear as easily as she’d tapped my old ones a lifetime ago.

  Rose smiled sweetly, as if anticipating my reaction. “Here is what I can do, my dear. I can give you the chance to pay me for those lost earnings. Then you can keep your daughter.”

  “What are you talking about?” I felt my head spinning with anger and some confusion. “I don’t earn money anymore. I’m a wife.”

  “A society wife.” She wiggled her fingers as if in awe. “Your husband must have oodles of rupees and pounds of sterling. Investments of all sorts that a wife has a right to.”

  I shook my head. I could hardly spring the news about Kabita and follow it directly with a request for money. Somehow, I would have to shut down the blackmail plan before it went any further. Struggling to sound calm, I said, “My husband earns a government salary. He’s not wealthy enough to blackmail—”

  “I am not trying to blackmail! I will not see you again because I’m going home at the end of the month.”

  “That can’t be true. You never had the papers to get a passport,” I reminded her.

  “I had help. Just look.” She opened her purse and withdrew a passport the same dark red as Simon’s. Inside was written her name, Rose Barker, and a visa permitting emigration to Britain. “With my earnings, I shall buy a little boardinghouse by the sea. But I need more money for the ticket.” Again, her eyes fell on my rings. “Those are very pretty. Are they the most valuable things you own?”

  I nodded, although it was not true. The most precious things in my life were my new husband and my long-lost daughter.

  “Perhaps you can’t afford my offer.” She raised her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “If I’m forced to bring Kabita back to Rose Villa, it will cost you three hundred for the time I’ve kept her so far—and the inconvenience. But if you decide to take her home tonight, I will forget that I ever knew you—and so will Bonnie and the others. It will cost a thousand, though—after all, I’m going to England.”

  This financial scheme was ludicrous. A thousand was more than twice the debut price I’d been sold for at Rose Villa and significantly more than the cost of a first-class sea ticket to Dover. I could not let her dominate me this way; I would have to muster the strength she was stealing from me.

  “A sea ticket is six hundred rupees,” I said. “That I can give in exchange for leaving Hazel here and getting on with the rest of your sordid life.”

  Rose’s thin eyebrows arched into horrible, high moons. “The best bargain I can make is seven hundred fifty—the extra covering Hazel’s expenses since June.”

  “Done,” I said before I could doubt myself. “But I don’t have such an amount in my purse now. It is Sunday afternoon. The bank won’t open until tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “But you can’t take her without paying.” Rose Barker ran her tongue over her lips and said, “I’ve got it. You will put us up for the night, then . . . let’s say the Grand Hotel or the Great Eastern.”

  Both luxury hotels were expensive, but the Grand was unthinkable. And Simon had an account at the Great Eastern; I could charge a room there and come up with a story about a tea party with other women volunteers. Reluctantly, I said, “I can get a room for you at the Great Eastern.”

  “I trained you very well,” she said, looking again at me. “Who would think an Indian peasant would ever be inside this fancy tearoom, eating cake so prettily with a silver fork?”

  She was trying to make me feel inferior, but since I had no respect for her, it didn’t work. “That’s enough,” I said. “Does Hazel know I’m her mother?”

  “She thinks you are another auntie. I never said you were her mother because I didn’t know your intentions.”

  “Yes.” In the half hour we’d spent together, I’d had no time to address the impossibility of my situation. What would I do after getting Kabita? I could not simply bring her home and explain she was mine. After all, Simon thought I’d been a virgin until he’d touched me.

  Kabita arrived at the table and was looking covetously at the remains of the sweets on her dish.

  “Sit down and finish,” I said to her. “And there will be more tasty food tonight. You two will be staying at a very nice hotel.” I glanced sidelong at Mummy and asked, “What about Hari’s accommodation?”

  “Now that I have a good agreement with you, I’ll send him back on the late train,” she said with a yawn. “But don’t try any tricks; I expect you by noon tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER

  40

  RESPONSIBLE: . . . 3. Answerable, accountable (to another for something); liable to be called to account. 4. Morally capable for one’s actions; capable of rational conduct.

  —Oxford English Dictionary, Vol. 8, 1933

  I crept in two hours later to the flat, which smelled reassuringly of sandalwood, spices, and tea. How lovely the place was, with its tall windows that were finally free of their brown paper coverings, allowing a glimpse of the night-blooming garden and cool breezes to pass through. Inside, soft lamplight spilled over the fine carpets and well-polished mahogany and rosewood furniture. It was a home into which I’d be proud to welcome my daughter, if only I could.

  “Good God!” Simon’s words burst forth as he emerged from the library, a book still in hand. “You look awful, darling. What happened at the rally?”

  “Not much. It was a peaceful meeting.” I was startled by his reference to the day’s big event. Both the rally and the Sens’ party seemed a lifetime away.

  “Come in,” he said, waving his hand back toward the library. “Shombhu’s still out, so I’ll make the gin-limes. I want to hear all about Deshapriya Park. Something must have happened for you to look like death warmed over.”

  “No, it really was fine.” I tried to force my expression into normality. “Some very good speeches were given and there wasn’t any violence.”

  “What did they say?” Simon said from the drinks cart, where he was mixing up the cocktails.

  In the last two hours, my world had shifted so dramatically, I could no longer recall what anyone had said at the rally. I paused, trying to remember. “A female INA veteran spoke and, of course, there was Panditji, as people are calling Nehru. He could be a strong leader.”

  “You don’t seem especially keen to talk,” he said. “Why is that?”

  I twisted my hands, knowing I needed to help Kabita, that this was my best chance. “Actually, something else is weighing on me; and it has nothing to do with the rally.”

  “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. Please tell me.” Simon gave me a gin-lime and joined me on the velvet settee.

  Settling into his embrace, I said, “Chatting with an acquaintance at the rally today, I heard news about my cousin’s daughter, a little girl whom I’ve always adored. She is in need of schooling, and there is no money for it. I would like to send her to a good school in Calcutta and oversee her ca
re.”

  Simon’s face had been warmly concerned; but now his eyes narrowed. “Who said this to you?”

  “A cousin,” I said helplessly.

  “And how old is the child in question?”

  “About seven, I think.”

  “Ten years of school then, plus college.” His voice was as tight as his expression. “Do you realize you’d be paying the people who forced you to leave school? The family who wouldn’t even give you tea when you visited them two years ago?”

  Now I regretted those lies I’d told about my trip to Midnapore. “The money’s not for the family themselves; it’s only for her to go to school. I shall pay the tuition directly to the school, so there’s no question—”

  Simon shook his head. “I don’t mean to be hard, but I have a bad feeling about this. I think they’re lying to you. If you take responsibility for the girl’s schooling, you’ll soon be paying for all her brothers and sisters and cousins for years to come.”

  “What do you know about it?” A leaden feeling was spreading inside me. “It’s not any of the other relatives asking our help—just the mother of one girl.”

  “Kamala, I won’t give a single rupee to people who were cruel to you. And that’s my last word on it.”

  I would not beg from him. I knew that if he would not support a young relative, he would certainly not support an illegitimate child. Flooded with disappointment, I said stiffly, “I should not have presumed I could ask you to spend money on anything I cared about.”

  “It’s not like that at all; we share money and consult each other on major expenses.” Simon’s fingers were jumping on the little mahogany tea table, tapping out a tense staccato rhythm. “At least you asked about this matter first. I like to make these decisions together.”

  Together was the wrong word to use. He alone vetoed or approved; this was the way of all men and their wives. And despite my love for him, this was not fair.

  Simon suggested supper at a Chinese restaurant in Park Street. I told him to go on his own, because the gin-lime had given me such a headache that I needed to lie down.

  As I crept under the covers, I cursed myself for how badly I’d handled the situation. If only I had never created the fictitious cruel family in Midnapore; if only I had not lied. I wished I could rewind my life the way he could with the speeches on his wire recorder. Then I would never have stepped off the train by accident in Kharagpur and would have gone on to Calcutta as planned. Simon would have found me two years earlier and hired me to work in his library. In time, we would have fallen in love without pretense; we would have had a child together, and there would be no question where she belonged.

  Would. Should. Didn’t. Cannot. These verbs formed a mocking nursery rhyme that sang in my tired, aching head. When Simon returned from dinner, smelling of alcohol and smoke, I kept my back turned to him, and breathed evenly until he fell asleep.

  I had told lies about Kabita in order to stay married. Simon and I were still together; but I did not know if it was worth what I was about to give up.

  SIMON LEFT EARLY the next morning for a day trip to Jamshedpur, and I began the task of finding money and shelter for Kabita. Only a few hours remained before my meeting with Rose Barker. Schools opened before the bank, so I began by telephoning the ones I’d heard Supriya and her friends mention the most favorably. Unfortunately, fall term had already started, which meant Loreto House just down the street was full, as were Saint Mary’s and La Martiniere. I’d need to look outside of Calcutta.

  I dreaded sending Kabita to some faraway place where I would have no knowledge of her treatment. And how would I afford boarding school, with what I had to pay Rose Barker? My bank account totaled less than four hundred rupees and could not be replenished as Simon had stopped paying me a salary once we’d become engaged. There were two hundred and ten rupees in the housekeeping expenses purse that I kept locked in the study; but if I used that, there would be no money to pay the servants or tradesmen. The only way to raise money was by selling my personal belongings. I remembered how little my books were valued, and used clothing would only fetch paise from the rag collector. I looked at the rings Rose Barker had admired. The engagement ring symbolized promise and the wedding band devotion; two ideals I never wanted to break, but would have to.

  At ten o’clock, Hogg Market was just opening up, and I went straight to the jeweler who had once sold me my favorite moonstone necklace. He beamed at the sight of me, but his excitement faded when he realized I wanted to sell and not buy.

  “Just look at this beautiful treasure,” I said, turning my hand before him. “A Golconda diamond solitaire set in twenty-two-karat gold. Of course, you may inspect it yourself.”

  After he’d scrutinized my engagement ring under a magnifying glass, he offered two hundred rupees.

  “But it cost us fifteen hundred at J. Boseck last year!” I had not dared bring it back to that jeweler; how much he had smiled at the way Simon had searched for the very best piece. He would ring Simon if I came trying to sell.

  “Yes, but the times are hard!” the jeweler said firmly. “Nobody who comes here has even five hundred to spend on a nice wedding set. This is not a fancy foreign shop but an honest business.”

  I went to six jewelers before I found someone willing to take the engagement ring for four-fifty, the wedding ring for seventy and would give me acceptable-looking replicas to replace them. The man paid the cash immediately and said he’d have the rings copied for me by early evening.

  At Grindlays Bank, I withdrew the rest that I needed from my bank account. Paying for school would come later, but I’d worry about it when the bill came.

  At five minutes to twelve, I entered the Great Eastern Hotel. Going up the grand staircase, I thought how different this felt from my wedding night. Still, it heralded a different kind of beginning: my relationship with Kabita. I had gathered the money; I could take her; and this made my feet move faster.

  Rose Barker opened the door, fully made up and dressed in a long purple moiré gown with high-heeled pumps to match. Kabita sat on the bed, wearing the same flowered frock as the day before, kicking her short legs aimlessly. She did not acknowledge me with either a look or word. I felt guilt, because I’d never asked if she wanted to become mine. I hadn’t, because I was sure she would refuse. She had suffered too many losses to want to move on to yet another place.

  I went to the desk and began counting out the rupee notes on its polished surface. Kabita was silently crying, long black rivers coming from her made-up eyes.

  “Thank you very much,” Rose said, flipping through the bills. “No tricks now. Don’t interfere with my new life in England.”

  Her defensive words startled me. I might have misjudged the situation. Perhaps she understood Simon’s stature, or feared that when he brought me to England one day, I would seek revenge. In England, she would be an aging lady without relatives around to support her; we would be ex-ICS, with Simon’s mother, siblings, and cousins established in West Sussex, part of a powerful social class.

  “Don’t fret about England,” I said casually. “Let me tell you that I expect the same: no contact ever. I’m taking care of the bill downstairs. Your room must be vacated by one.”

  I picked up Kabita’s small carpetbag and waited for her to follow me. Slowly, she slid off the bed and went to Rose.

  “Good-bye, Mummy,” she said in a low voice. From the way she stood, I could see she was expecting a kiss or hug.

  But Rose did not even turn to answer; she was too busy counting rupees.

  CHAPTER

  41

  As is the tree, so is the fruit.

  Bengali proverb

  If we are quick, we can catch that tonga,” I said after I’d taken Kabita outside. There was an arcade over the pavement, shading us; but beyond that, the sun shone down on a traffic jam. The despair I’d felt moments before was gone. Kabita was alive. She was mine.

  “Are we going to your flat, Auntie?” Kabita’s
green eyes looked up at me hopefully, and I realized that she wasn’t as frightened of me as I’d thought.

  “No. Unfortunately, I don’t have room for a little girl to stay with me.” Each word felt like a bullet coming out of me and into her; and from the way the light left her eyes, I knew it hurt.

  “But your flat building is very nice! And you are going to raise me with all the luxuries. That’s what Mummy said!”

  “Please don’t worry.” I found it ironic that she had already learned one of Rose Barker’s catchphrases. “Right now, we are finding which lady friend of mine will keep you for a few nights.”

  “Oh! Is it a house of aunties like Rose Villa?” Her tiny brows drew together.

  “No, it’s not. But first I have an idea—have you ever eaten ice cream?”

  At Magnolia, I could have spent all afternoon watching her rapturously consume her first ice cream. But so much had to be done. As I dabbed at her face with a wet handkerchief, getting rid of the eye makeup and ice cream drips, I explained that I was searching for a nice school where she would sleep in a soft bed at night and spend her days studying and playing with other girls her age. But first I would take her to College Street. Because of Supriya’s and Mrs. Sen’s school ties, they would surely have ideas of the very best places for a girl to study.

  It was soothing to climb the stairs and have Mrs. Sen open the door with a pleased cry, all the tension of the last few years erased. “You’ve come back to see us! And who is your young friend?”

  “Mashima, she is my dear niece from the countryside. She goes by Zeenat,” I said, squeezing Kabita’s hand. At the sound of this obviously Muslim name, Mrs. Sen raised her eyebrows; I ignored this and asked whether Supriya was home.

  “Yes, but still sleeping. She celebrated very late yesterday; Arvind and Pankaj and some others took her out to the coffeehouse. But I will wake her, since you are here.”

  Kabita and I were urged to sit on the wide, comfortable bed in the reception room, and Mrs. Sen’s maid went into the kitchen to make tea and warm up leftovers from yesterday’s big party. I needed to talk with Mrs. Sen and Supriya without Kabita hearing. Handing my child some of Nishan’s storybooks, I said I was going to the lavatory. Instead, I went into Supriya’s bedroom, where her mother was helping her dress. Both looked at me in surprise.