Tiger's Voyage

  “What am I supposed to wear?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I sighed. “Yes. Your taste in clothing is usually better than mine.”

  “Good. I’ll get you something appropriate. If the celebration is true to tradition, a maiden stays near her parents and is allowed to be escorted to certain activities or games only with the permission of her father. It would be customary for you and Nilima to remain close to Kadam. However, because you’re not Indian it really wouldn’t matter. You could roam freely if you wish.”

  “Hmm. I’ll think about it.”

  The next week was bustling with activity. Mr. Kadam and I went through the library book by book, packing up anything we thought might be useful on the boat. I researched on the Internet for hours about the dragons of the five oceans. I also spent a lot of time with Kishan and Ren, though more with the latter.

  Ren was beginning to seem like his old self. We read together often. He liked being in the same room with me, albeit at a distance. He frequently asked me to sit with him while he played music or wrote poetry, and he’d ask my opinion about certain phrases or lyrics.

  He teased and joked with me and tried to hold my hand but it seemed that there was no building up a tolerance, despite his efforts. It hurt him and he got sick every time. He tried not to let it show, but I knew. Still, he seemed happy to be with me, and I contented myself with whatever time I could spend with him.

  I often reached out to touch Ren’s arm or his shoulder but then pulled back, knowing it would hurt him. He insisted touching his clothing didn’t hurt; he just felt the pressing need to escape, and he said he was getting used to the feeling. But still, our relationship felt very limited.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling or thinking. It seemed as if he was making a great effort to spend time with me despite the side effects. We didn’t talk about our feelings again, but he seemed determined to get closer, to be closer to me. He tried all sorts of things to find the trigger that would turn on his memory, and started leaving me flowers and poems through the day, much as he did in Oregon. It was almost enough.

  I didn’t give the festival another thought until Ren found me writing on the veranda one early afternoon.

  “I brought your dress for the festival.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said distractedly. “Would you mind leaving it on the bed? I’ll put it away later.”

  “Put it away? The festival is tonight, Kells. And what on earth are you writing?”

  “What? How did a week go by so quickly?” I clutched my book to my chest as Ren tried to peek over my shoulder. “If you must know, Mr. Nosy, I’m writing a poem.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t know you wrote other than in your journal. May I take a look?”

  “I’m still working on some of the words. It’s not as good as yours. You’ll laugh.”

  Ren sat down across from me. “Kelsey, I won’t. Please? What’s it about?”

  “Love.” I sighed. “You’re going to sit here and pester me until I show you, aren’t you?”

  “Probably. I’m dying of curiosity.”

  “Alright, fine. But it’s my first one, so be nice.”

  Ren bowed his head. “Of course, strimani. I am always the perfect gentleman.”

  I smirked at him but handed it over and sat biting my nails while he read through it once quietly. Then he read it out loud.

  Love Is about Grooming

  Love is about grooming

  It starts …

  Sweet smelling lotion is smoothed over rough skin

  Cologne is splashed on freshly shaved cheeks

  Shiny faces, starched shirts, short skirts

  Colored lips, cheeks, and hair

  We glisten

  We are plucked, plumed, perfumed, and powdered

  We buy flowers, chocolates, candles, and jewels

  It’s not real

  Real love is drab, rough, stubbly

  It’s mothers changing diapers

  It’s toenail trimming, nose wiping, morning breath

  Trade in your high heels for tennis shoes and house slippers

  Mousy manes

  Tangled tendrils

  Love’s chap-lipped, ear waxy, prickly bearded,

  and jagged nailed

  It’s a back scratching, hairy legged, there’s something

  between your teeth, Dear, feeling

  Real love

  Is plucking hairs from your husband’s back

  Emptying Grandpa’s bedpan

  Wearing sweats on a Friday night

  Saving money, not spending it

  Wiping feverish faces with cool towels

  Lionesses lick clean their cubs

  Monkeys pick bugs off backs

  Humans wash dead mothers’ hair before burial

  Love is about grooming

  Ren sat silent for a time as he stared at the paper. My foot tapped nervously.

  “Well? Might as well get it out.”

  “It’s a bit … morose. But I like it. Though technically, monkeys don’t pick bugs off for love. They do it for afternoon snacks.”

  I snatched my notebook back. “And that kind of snacking dedication is love, a dedicated love for the snack.”

  He looked at me curiously. “You’ve experienced all these forms of love, haven’t you?”

  “Most of them, I guess. Though I have to admit I’ve never emptied a bedpan.”

  “Or plucked hairs from your boyfriend’s back, I assume.”

  “Nope, your back is perfect.”

  He studied me under his long, sooty lashes. “You have a great capacity for love, and you’ve been hurt. I’m sorry I added to that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Ren touched my hand briefly before withdrawing. “It’s the only thing I ever think about. See you tonight.” He turned before he disappeared into the hall and grinned. “And save me a dance.”

  After he left, I walked over to my bed and pulled back the gift’s tissue wrapping. Inside was a gorgeous silk Chinese dress. I carefully held it up to me. It was Ren’s favorite color. The dress was a blue gradation that started with a soft royal tone from the neck to mid-chest and changed to a dark zodiac blue—the color of the sky at night.

  Stars, moons, planets, and fierce dragons were embroidered in gold and silver threads all over the dress. The symbols were interspersed with looping vines and flowers, also in silver and gold. The neck was mandarin style with a small keyhole opening and a silver frog clasp. The dress stopped at mid-calf, and I was just raising my eyebrow at its incredibly long side slit when I noticed the tag.

  Ren bought this. He didn’t make it with the Divine Scarf.

  Just then, Mr. Kadam knocked on my door and delivered two boxes. “The dress is lovely, Miss Kelsey. I brought your shoes and hairclips, which just arrived. Nilima said to tell you she’ll be up in an hour to help you with your hair.

  “I’ve never seen a dress as beautiful as this. Why did he buy it? He could have made it with the Scarf.”

  Mr. Kadam shrugged. “The dress is called a qipao. It’s traditional in Chinese culture. His mother often wore similar clothing. You might see some here at the party in India, but it’s probable you will see the more traditional Indian clothing. You will likely stand out, which, I imagine, is the reason he bought it.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”

  “I look forward to the celebration.”

  As promised, Nilima knocked on my bathroom door an hour later as I was finishing straightening my hair.

  “Ah, perfect. I have a certain style in mind and it requires smooth hair.”

  I sat on a cushioned chair in front of the wide mirror and looked at Nilima. She was already dressed in a burnt orange lehenga with a velvet blouse that had silk appliqué. Crystals, beads, sequins, and cut glass embellished her skirt and dupatta. The slim Indian woman’s long dark hair was curled and fell attractively down her back. The sides were held back l
oosely with gold and orange butterfly clips, and she wore heavy gold earrings and bracelets.

  “You look beautiful, Nilima.”

  “Thank you. You will look lovely as well.”

  “Well, if your hair is any indication, I’m sure I’ll pass for acceptable.”

  She laughed as she sectioned off my hair. I tried to pay attention, but her hands moved quickly. She neatly parted my hair to the side and began combing out and rolling sections to tuck into an elaborate bun at the nape of my neck. When she was satisfied, she removed an assortment of combs from one of the boxes Mr. Kadam had brought earlier. The jeweled combs were made of sapphires and diamonds, shaped like stars, moons, and flowers.

  A pair of dangling earrings was included. A glittering royal blue oval stone was the center and dark blue stones fanned out like crescent moons. A star of diamonds hung in the middle and small glass droplet beads in royal blue, dark blue, gold, and silver hung below it.

  Nilima tucked the combs into my hair around the elaborate style she’d done and pronounced me presentable. I asked for help getting into my tight dress. Without the garment’s slit I could not have moved without popping a seam.

  Nilima told me it looked fine, but I was sure I’d be tugging at my dress all night trying to keep my leg modestly covered. The other box Mr. Kadam had left held a pair of shoes—heeled slippers in silver with gold-braided trim around the top.

  I stood in front of the closet’s full-length mirror to get the whole picture. I was shocked that the girl in the mirror was me. I looked exotic. A long bare leg peeped from the slit, and with the heels on, I looked even taller.

  I’d firmed up from all my workouts with Kishan, and it showed. My waist was smaller, and my arms were toned. My hips were still about the same size, which made me look curvier. Nilima had outlined my eyes with dark blue liner and dusted my lids with sparkling gold shadow. I looked like a woman, not a girl anymore. I felt … desirable. I stopped tugging at my dress, dropped my hands, and smiled.

  I’d never thought of myself as beautiful. I always chose comfort over style. But tonight, I was pleased enough with my appearance that I might even be able to stand up to Ren and Kishan. With that thought, I picked up the gold-painted fan that came with the hair combs, looped its cord around my wrist, and walked confidently down the stairs.

  I was met by Nilima and Mr. Kadam, who looked dashing in a simple white suit and a mallard-green silk shirt.

  “Oh, Mr. Kadam! You look nice. But where are Ren and Kishan?” I asked.

  “They went ahead. They’ll meet us at the fountain.” Mr. Kadam offered us each an arm and continued, “Thank you for the compliment, but nothing compares to you ladies. I’ll be the envy of every man at the festival.”

  Mr. Kadam helped us both into his Rolls and complained only briefly that we couldn’t take the McLaren, as it only seated two. Soon we were whisked away to the Star Festival, and I felt like Cinderella arriving at the royal ball.

  The town was brightly lit, and people roamed the streets in colorful clothing. Wires with brightly colored paper lanterns ran between the buildings. Papier-mâché globes with long, dangling streamers hung over the entrance arch to the festival, and garlands of flowers and strings of lights were draped around an open-air dance floor.

  Nilima and I each took one of Mr. Kadam’s arms. With the air of a proud father, he walked us to the wishing tree, picked up two colored strips of paper, and handed us each one.

  “Write your wish on the paper, and tie it to the tree,” he instructed. “If you make a wish at the festival and you have the proper faith in the stars, your wish will be granted this year.”

  I wrote my wish and followed Nilima to the tree, which was adorned with thousands of colorful papers. We found a good spot to attach ours. Then, it was time to meet the brothers and get something to eat.

  We wandered among the groups of people as we headed toward a large fountain in the center of the town. It shot water in high arcs and was lit with rotating colored lights. It was beautiful. Mr. Kadam led us through the crowd, parting the throngs of people so Nilima and I could follow.

  Kishan greeted Mr. Kadam and Nilima and then turned to me, exhaling in a husky breath, “You look … lovely. I have never seen anyone quite so beautiful.”

  He wore dark navy slacks and a long-sleeved burgundy shirt with thin navy vertical striping. His dark rakish hair and glinting golden eyes were magnetic, instantly drawing the attention of several young women nearby.

  Kishan bowed his head and offered his arm. “May I escort you?”

  I laughed. “I would be delighted to be escorted by such a handsome young man, but you’ll have to ask Dad.”

  Mr. Kadam smiled. “Of course. As long as you bring her back before the lantern ceremony.”

  As Kishan pulled me away, I asked, “So … where’s Ren?”

  “He took off when we got here. Said he had to do something.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed even though I was in perfectly good company.

  “Come on. Let’s get something to eat,” he said.

  We walked past stand after stand of delicious foods. Everything imaginable was being sold, even candy. One woman had an entire stand of candy roses. Many of the vendors were offering little tastes or appetizers like tapas. We chose treats from several places.

  We had spicy peach chutney on crackers, samosas, and little cups of baigan bharta, which turned out to be eggplant charred over a flame, peeled, and mashed with yogurt and spices. There was also a variety of Chinese appetizers, egg rolls, wontons, and dim sum. I even found curried popcorn—but turned it down.

  Kishan laughed as I wrinkled my nose. “How can you enjoy India when you hate curry? It’s like living in China and hating rice.”

  “There are plenty of other foods and spices here that I like, just not curry.”

  “Okay, but that leaves me with very few options left for feeding you.”

  “It’s probably better that way. I don’t want to pop out of my dress.”

  “Hmm,” Kishan looked at me and teased, “perhaps you need to eat more, then.”

  Soon we ran into Mr. Kadam and Nilima. Ren, however, was still missing.

  Nilima took my arm. “Let’s go to the lantern ceremony.”

  “What do we have to do?”

  “You’ll see,” Nilima said with a laugh. “Come on.”

  A crowd of people had gathered by the bridge already. The local festival organizers stood on a raised platform and welcomed the crowd. Mr. Kadam translated.

  “They bid us welcome and hope we enjoy the festivities. Now he’s talking about the great history of our town and of the accomplishments we’ve made this year. Ah!” Mr. Kadam clapped his hands. “Now it’s time for fathers with eligible daughters to come and pick a lantern. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Boxes of flower-shaped lanterns were opened and handed out to fathers with unmarried daughters. Mr. Kadam brought back two. He handed a pink one to Nilima and a white one to me.

  “What do I do?”

  “You describe the man you wish to marry,” Mr. Kadam explained.

  Panicked, I sputtered, “Out loud?”

  “No, on paper or in your mind, if you wish. Then each maiden takes a turn and places the lantern in the fire if she feels the man she seeks is near or on the water if she feels he is far away.”

  I glanced up at Kishan, who winked at me meaningfully.

  “Oh,” I swallowed thickly.

  Nilima turned to me. “Are you ready, Miss Kelsey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because the announcer has just asked all single women to step forward.”

  Nilima caught my arm, and we walked together to the front where all the girls were standing. At the ring of the bell, everyone lit their lanterns with tiny candles. When the bell rang again, the throng of giggling women moved forward and one by one made a choice in front of the cheering crowd.

  A wooden aqueduct had been set up nea
r the fire; its stream of water carried the lanterns to the nearby river. Nilima said the aqueduct was built recently so the women’s fancy shoes wouldn’t get muddy. It also made the choice more dramatic because no one watching knew whether the fire or the water would be picked until the last minute.

  I stood in line and scanned the crowd for Ren but still didn’t see him anywhere. Kishan was all grins though. Nilima went first and placed her lantern in the water. I watched it float down the channel and then stepped forward and deliberated on the significance of my choice. Fire or water? I thought briefly about Li in Oregon and sighed thinking how easy my life would have been had I chosen him, but then I remembered why I didn’t. Li was not the man I loved.

  I would do anything to go back and relive that time with Ren. How desperately short those happy weeks were. I looked at Kishan again and smiled back at him. I knew my choice was in India. The man I would pledge myself to was here. I threw my lantern into the fire with conviction and heard Mr. Kadam and Kishan cheer.

  After the ceremony, Kishan asked me to dance, and Mr. Kadam and Nilima joined us. Dancing with Kishan this time was much different than when he first came home. Though still unpolished during the faster songs, he was a very smooth slow dancer. He cradled me close, holding me possessively while swaying, barely moving to the music. There was nothing for me to focus on except him, and I found it hard to resist the handsome man and the sparkling invitation in his eyes.

  Kishan scowled unhappily when the dance was over and explained it was the local custom to dance with a girl for only one song, return her to her father, and then get back into line so that other aspiring suitors would have a chance to impress the girl’s parents too. Nilima had a group of men clamoring for her attention, but to my surprise, there were also several young men lined up for me. That made Kishan very grouchy.

  Mr. Kadam seemed happy to orchestrate the whole affair and introduced me to several people, translating when necessary, which wasn’t often. Most of my “suitors” spoke English. Kishan stood near Mr. Kadam and glared at the men, which scared many of them off. He danced with me as often as he could and tried to intimidate everyone else who tried.