Peacock in the Snow

by Anubha Mehta

  “Diya, when can you come?”

  “I am coming right away. I don’t trust what is going on in your head.” Diya, the parent, had returned.

  “Well, if you are coming, then why don’t you meet me at four o’clock at the music studio in Hartville. Here, take down the address.”

  As I expected, she had a tirade of questions, but thankfully, I was saved by someone calling out her name from behind her, so she quickly noted the address and hung up.

  It was an hour’s drive to Hartville. I knew I had entered a different world as I approached the wooden bridge over the Spirit Valley River. The bridge opened into a narrow cobbled road with small shops on both sides. At the end of the enclave, there stood an old store, as if it were a gatekeeper, the last bastion before the street dropped into the thick wilderness beyond. It was aptly called The New Chapter. The building had been constructed out of Douglas fir logs, its casement windows propped by hard rocks, and its chimney tossed the warm, burnt smells of coal, ash, and wood into the frosty sky. I opened the door to jingling bells and a warm fire next to a decorated Christmas tree. There were musical instruments everywhere—on the shelves, in the windows, on the rugs, and hanging from the walls. Electric guitars, drums, amplifiers, cymbals, tuba, saxophones. There was a grand piano in the corner and a selection of acoustic guitars were stocked in black leather cases. Diya was already waiting. We hugged and cried for a few moments, then picked up two cups of steaming hot cocoa from the kitchenette that had been sprinkled with powdered cinnamon, whipped cream, and miniature marshmallows. We settled back in front of the fire, for a moment silent, and sipping companionably from our mugs. She was calm but I knew the storm that was brewing underneath that facade.

  “Well?” she finally asked pointedly.

  “Diya, my trip to Delhi was not as hopeless as you would think. It really made me want to come home, to you. It also reminded me of a promise I made to your father, and I have decided to keep that promise.”

  “Well?” she repeated, impatiently.

  “We saved a little money. Last week I called up the local property agent and made a down payment on a small studio right above this music store.” Her eyes widened. She could not contain himself anymore. “For what, mother? Are you moving here? This is bizarre behaviour. I know what you are going through. I know how difficult things have been for you. But to indulge in these random acts? I wish Dad was around to look after you. God, I miss him!” she trailed off, looking miserable.

  “Calm down, Diya,” I scolded. “This is not a mistake, I am not going insane, nor is this your fault. I have thought this through, and it makes perfect sense. It is like the last piece of a puzzle. Listen to the whole thing, have a little patience. I want to use this creative space for practising and creating music, and I would like to open it to any artist in the community who would like to do the same. I know that there are so many talented people who don’t know where to start, or don’t have a space that they can use.”

  There was a long silence. She was digesting what I had just told her. The store assistant came to refill our mugs and offered us a tray of freshly baked chocolate pecan cookies. As we reached for a cookie, I started to tell her the peculiar tale of the turtle-skin rattle and Anernerk’s prophecy. “Since that day, the turtle-skin rattle has been tucked away. Until a week ago.…”

  I pulled out the rattle. Diya jingled it and then her fingers automatically traced the branches braving the storm, the same way I had done.

  “Music is a healing process. You revisit the deepest, darkest places of your heart to realize that these places are not so dark after all.”

  Diya’s face brightened. I had finally gotten through to her. She realized that this would take my mind off things. “And there is another reason why you should create music, Ma.”

  “Why?”

  “So that you can give back to your community, for there is no greater satisfaction than that.”

  I smiled, pleased that Diya was now coming around to this idea.

  Diya stood up and beamed. “It is a fantastic idea. Come, Mama, let’s go and see this place—your studio. I am already excited.” She tugged on my sleeve like a little girl.

  We followed the assistant up the winding, squeaky wooden stairs. We landed in a long dark corridor with two doors, one at the beginning of the passage, and one at the end. As we passed the first door, I was suddenly curious. “What is in here?” I asked the assistant.

  “Oh, only another studio apartment rented by another tenant.”

  “Must be another nutcase like you, Mama,” Diya joked.

  “Actually, he is connected with the arts in some way. Funny you should ask,” the assistant mumbled.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because he was asking about your name too. When he came in yesterday, he saw your nameplate being painted for the letterbox outside the door, and he asked me to describe you, but since I had never met you before today, I could not.”

  I thought of asking the assistant to describe the man, but we had already reached the last door in the corridor. He pulled out a long shiny key and placed it into the keyhole.

  It was a large open space split into three levels, with six-foot windows facing north on the cobbled street and south over the river. As the last of the waning sun broke free from behind a cluster of dark clouds and tinted the corners in molten hues, the room smiled back at us. My heart cried. Diya wiped my tears. “Mama?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Without knowing it, I had been waiting for this place all my life. And then, just as suddenly, I knew that there was nothing more I wanted than for Veer to be with me now.

  I watched Diya hop from one corner to the other, visualizing and designing each nook and angle. Her eyes were bright and she was breathless with excitement. When she stopped, exhausted, I pressed her hand gently and said, “Diya, if ever you would like to come and join me in this studio, no one would be happier than your mother.”

  ***

  It took a month to set up the studio, and in a few hours, I would be ready to inaugurate it for the neighbourhood. When I walked in around noon I was surprised to hear “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” from the Wizard of Oz, being played on a violin. Who was playing so beautifully and how did they get into the studio? Did the store assistant downstairs open the door a few hours earlier than I had requested? I would have to ask him not to do this in future. But despite myself, I was deeply moved by the music.

  The glint from the sun pouring through the windows was blinding me. All I could see was the outline of the person against the light. And then he stopped playing and looked up. His dark shadow on the wall soared as he stood up. I stepped back to get a better look.

  It was a face from the past. Sachin. The same jaw line, the same high cheeks bones over a prominent nose. No, that was not possible. I had just scattered his ashes in another part of the world. I looked at him again. A mop of blond hair had fallen over the young man’s smiling green eyes, as he placed his violin down and walked over to me. “Hello Mrs. R!”

  Of course it was not Sachin. It was his son Albert!

  “Albert what are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you find me?”

  I was surprised. I had only advertised in the neighbourhood, and he lived in Alliston, a little town not exactly near by. I had more questions.

  He hesitated. “Well, ah…” he stumbled. “Actually, it was through my school.”

  Just then the door opened and Diya entered with two steaming cups of cocoa. She placed the cups on the counter and ran to hug me. Her lush black hair shimmered like a cascade of fresh water, and her enormous expressive eyes wore a look that I recognized in an instant. She had big news. “Mama!”

  “What is it, Diya?”

  “I have wanted you to meet Albert, my special friend, for such a long time. I met him when I was at school in Montreal, and he and I went
on that expedition in the north, and we were in that first group that got rescued together.” Her eyes were full of hope that I would welcome him into our family.

  Oh my god. Why had I not seen this before?

  Of course it made perfect sense.

  Diya and Albert. Two saplings from an old seed blossoming on fresh soil. They had known no other soil, and yet their destinies were intertwined with the ghosts of the past.

  I wanted to tell Diya that I knew Albert and his father from before she was born. I wanted to tell her how they were connected to our past. But instead I just smiled and shivered and then smiled again. How did the Inuit man know when he prophesized: The wild love from an ancient land flows in the blood of youth.

  I opened my bag and took out the magical turtle-skin rattle that had waited for this moment of revelation, and to be placed in a room full of music and love as Anernerk had decreed with such certainty.

  Fate had brought us a full circle. I could see clearly now. And I was truly bewildered.

  44.

  AT EXACTLY FIVE O’CLOCK, as the grandfather clock chimed, the studio doors were opened to the neighbourhood. We had been distributing flyers for weeks and the gentleman in the store below had informed us that many people had been inquiring. The owner of the music store had allowed us to borrow a few musical instruments and pay for the duration of our studio’s open hours. Everything was falling into place it seemed.

  The first knock came within five minutes of our opening. Three statuesque, brunette sisters dressed in shades of lavender walked in with their knapsacks. They settled comfortably near the large, glossy fashion magazines. Within minutes, two lanky, hesitant teenagers arrived, their pants pulled down to their hips and trailing baggily at their heels. “Is this where the studio space is?”

  “Yes, it is. Come on in. What is your name?”

  “Jack, and this is Colin, my friend.” They made a beeline to the furthest corner of the reading area.

  Then, a young mother with a sleeping toddler strapped to her chest waddled in and sank into the closest chair.

  I was just about to start with the introductions when the door opened once again. This time there were twin boys at the door! I was about to ask the twins if they were with an accompanying adult, when the a tall man walked in. “Uncle, come … come see!”

  I recognized the lean physique and confident gait instantly. It was a familiar face, a handsome face that prompted fond memories. He gave me a long hug and peck on my cheek. His spectacular deep blue eyes were creating havoc with the grey on his temples. “Hello, Maya,” his voice as warm and welcoming as it had always been

  “Hello, William,” I said, at a loss for other words. Finally, I managed to sputter, “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I have brought my nephews, Kevin and Kyle, to you.”

  The two boys were clinging to his legs and pulled him towards the couch in the reading area. “Stay, Uncle Bill,” they pleaded He looked at me and I shrugged. And although he stayed with them for a few moments, he did eventually get up and with a wave, he quietly left.

  Then I turned my attention to the group that had assembled in the room. “Well, let’s start with introductions shall we? A little about why we have come to this music studio today.”

  The next few hours completely rejuvenated me. Some took a musical instrument from our borrowed collection to try out. Others talked about their upcoming music projects or ideas, and the others just did their own thing. At the end of the “open session,” when it was time to go, I gave each student something to remember this time by: A poem, an idea, a notepad, a pen, a chocolate, a borrowed book, a wish.

  As each of the participants said goodbye, I watched as the twins lingered in the corner waiting for William to take them home, I assumed. But Kevin came to me and said, “We are going down to meet our mother. She is here to pick us up. May we go?”

  “Yes, of course, you may.”

  Relieved that everyone had left, I collapsed happily under my blanket on the couch. But not for long. A deep warm voice was calling my name. I did not want to open my eyes. The sun’s warmth was still trapped under my lashes. I heard the voice again and I forced my eyelids open to see William smiling down on me. And behind him was Diya. I propped myself up, still snuggled under the blanket’s warmth. “William, what are you doing here again?”

  “Is this your pet question to me today?” he joked. “I was catching up with Diya. I had no idea how accomplished she is, and this young man Albert, too.” And then he took my hand and clasped it between his own. “Maya, I am so deeply sorry about your husband. Diya just told me.”

  I looked away quickly before my eyes teared up.

  He changed the subject. “And Maya, it may be wise to drop that question about what I am doing here because you will definitely be seeing more of me now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am your neighbour, Maya. I am the person who lives in the first apartment just down the corridor from you.”

  So, William was the mysterious stranger next door!

  “When I saw your nameplate, I was pretty sure that it was you.” He raised his eyebrows as if this was a very frightening thought and we all laughed.

  I looked at Diya. I could tell that she liked him. She was bright eyed, just as she usually was whenever she discovered something exciting or intriguing. I wondered what she was thinking now.

  Albert brought over a pot of steaming sake on a bamboo mat and four Oshoko cups. As he poured, Diya stirred with a ceramic swizzle. Their movements were perfectly synchronized.

  “Who knew you would meet William again, Ma, and this time as a neighbour?” Diya said, her voice almost giddy.

  “Yes, life has a way of surprising us,” William added.

  “Yes … who could have thought that today…?” I could not complete my sentence. I stood up, forgetting the warmth that was enveloping me. I went to the window and opened it. It was a clear but chilly night. The moon was high in a starless sky. I wished I could have melted into the inviting darkness. I felt a hand on my shoulder. A cold, petite hand. It was Diya. Somehow, she always knew. “Ma, come away from the window, you will catch a chill.”

  William had just doused the fireplace logs in oil. Little by little, the flames picked up and the sizzling logs crackled. Albert and Diya had switched on soft music and were swaying in each other’s arms. I warmed up next to the burning logs.

  I looked around the scattered room and thought of tidying it, but could not muster the strength to get up. William was sitting and reading a magazine in the corner. He caught my eye and came to sit next to me.

  “How is work?” I asked. Now was a chance to smoothen out our earlier wrinkles.

  A cloud passed over his even features, and then the sun came out. “Oh, long gone.”

  “Such a pity, you really liked your job.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  There was no bitterness in him. Just acceptance. How easy it was for him to weave through life. He had the same ease about him as he had had from the first day I had met him. I suddenly longed for that ease too.

  William kept talking for a long time. He made me laugh. Without wanting to, I found myself suspended in his sentences and waiting in between them, eager for his next thought. The flames were now reaching out to every corner of the room.

  The grandfather clock chimed again. It was midnight. William stood up to get his jacket, and I started walking him to the door when he stopped abruptly. He looked at me in a way that moved something inside me. “Maya, I know this is bizarre and I am surprised at my own spontaneity. But if I don’t ask you now I will regret it for a long time.”

  I held my breath. I did not want to hear anything that I was not ready for.

  “Maya, I leave for Peru next month. I am planning to attend one of the greatest carnivals that takes place once every three years. It is ar
t and entertainment like you have never seen before. It is a wonderful event with dancers, actors, musicians, painters, and artists from all over the world.” He paused to take a breath. I was still holding mine.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  The silence spoke for me. He turned around and headed for the door. And then once again he turned back and looked at me, probably for the last time.

  “Maya, I understand what you are going through. But I think this trip could take you away from your pain for some time. And you don’t have to make a decision right now. I will come back in a few days and we can talk. What do you have to lose?”

  With that, he left. I was standing with my half sentence of refusal rolling on my tongue.

  I switched off the lights and doused the fire. The embers still sizzled as I lay down next to them on the bare floor. The clouds were gathering, but miraculously a full beaming moon poured its light through my window, tucking the room with a cool silver quilt.

  Restless, I got up. The pain of Veer’s absence always lingered on the edges, in small and big things, in a word, in a sound, in a sign, in my heart. I could not believe that it was happening again. That feeling of something remaining, something unfinished had sprung up again.

  45.

  I PICKED UP MY KEYS to drive home. My answers lay at home, somehow. I was not afraid of the dark house. I opened all the windows to our wild garden overlooking the lake. An icy cold draft enveloped the house.

  I called out to her. Gayatri!

  I knew that she was responsible for my feeling of incompleteness. I needed to finish this with her. Last time we had faced each other, she had overpowered me with her aggression. But not today. Today I needed answers. I emptied my lungs again into the darkness like a glassblower on her last breath.

  Gayatri!

  A low wind had started. A pale moon slithered behind black clouds. I sat on the solitary upholstered chair facing the window, closed my eyes, and waited for the darkness to take me.