“Brothers, this is a complicated situation,” Anil said. “I realize it will affect many people, so I want to give it some more thought and come back to you with a decision.”
After working out the arrangements for the next call with his mother, Anil closed his notebook and considered the possibilities. They could give Dilip the opportunity to earn the land at a favorable price with his coming years of service, but that would likely take too long. Perhaps Chandu could let him win the parcel in a card game? No, Ma would undoubtedly object to the use of gambling as a solution. He was bound to anger someone, no matter what he advised. How was he to make this decision for them, from all the way over here? Irritation bubbled up inside him, percolating into anger. Whatever he decided, Anil knew it was not he, but his family, who would live with the consequences, and it was this idea that weighed on him as he sat at his cluttered desk, thousands of miles away.
He recalled something his mother had said last summer about Chandu playing cards with the servants. It doesn’t look good. The phrase sounded innocuous, even well-meaning, but it grated on him in a visceral way. Ma had used the same words many years earlier warning Anil about his friendship with Leena. He shared his brother’s ire now at her condescension.
THE QUESTION of what to do about Dilip was still troubling Anil later that evening. As he sat with Amber on her couch, swapping cartons of Chinese food, he explained the situation.
“Your family has servants?” Amber asked, sipping her wine. “Isn’t that like modern-day slavery?”
“It’s not slavery,” Anil said. “They’re . . . workers. They’re paid, and given a place to live and meals while they work. It’s a system that’s worked for generations.”
“Well, slaves were given room and board too.” She passed him the noodles. “Look, I’m not blaming you for the way it is, I’m just saying maybe it’s time to change.”
Anil reached for his wineglass and took a deep sip.
“What if you could make life better for all those people?” Amber said. “Change their lives, and their children’s lives?” She traced her fingertip around the rim of her wineglass. “What do you think your father would do?”
Anil rested the carton of noodles on his knee. He’d been thinking a good deal about that himself, recalling how Papa had been trying to find a role for Chandu, a way to fold him into the family business. As reckless as his younger brother had been in the past, Chandu was now making a genuine effort to be involved with the farm operations. He’d come to the table with a serious proposal. Perhaps Anil would need to make a contentious decision in order to make things better, something his father had never been afraid to do.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what he would do,” Amber continued. “They want to know what you think.” She reached across the couch and combed her fingers through his hair.
Anil smiled at her touch, but he knew this role he’d inherited had nothing to do with who he was as an individual. He doubted anyone back home wanted his personal opinion, but since they’d put him in this position, he would give it to them. His time in America had shown him that the prospect of a lifetime of grueling work without reward was unthinkable. By the last sip of wine, Anil had made up his mind. They would give Dilip the land.
Amber cleared away the remnants of their dinner and brought over a pint of ice cream. Anil lodged another pillow behind his lower back, which had been aching all day. He wondered if he had herniated a disk from standing on his feet so much in the CCU. “So, you’re going home again this weekend?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. He had only two weekends off a month and he counted on spending them with her. Outside the hospital, Anil was always at a loss about what to do on his own. “I thought we could go to the state fair on Saturday. It’s the last week.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Amber laid a hand on his knee. “Maybe you can go with the guys?”
Anil shook his head. Mahesh refused to go to the State Fair of Texas on the basis of the costly tickets, and Baldev claimed there wouldn’t be enough eligible women in attendance to make it worthwhile. Plus, Anil wanted to go to the fair with a Texan. Apparently, they sold fried butter on a stick. “But you went home two weeks ago. Why again so soon?”
“I just . . . have to.” Amber pulled her hand back into her lap. “Didn’t I tell you I was going a while back? I thought I did.”
“Why can’t you go next weekend, when I have to work anyway?” Anil dug his spoon into the ice cream, aiming for the nuts.
“I can’t, I have a . . . thing.” Amber looked down at her hands and began inspecting her nails.
“What kind of thing?” Anil tilted the ice-cream carton toward her but she shook her head.
“Just a, like a . . . a family thing.”
“What kind of family thing?” He placed the carton on the coffee table and laid the spoon down gently beside it.
Amber held a pillow in front of her chest and looked down as she spoke. “My sister’s getting married. I just . . . I should have told you earlier, but I knew you wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“I can come with you,” Anil said. “I have the whole weekend off.” Charlie had gone to a wedding with a nurse at the hospital and reported that Texas weddings were a sight to behold.
“Oh, you don’t want to come,” Amber said. “It’ll be boring. I’ll have to be with my sister the whole time, and my family—”
“I’d love to meet your family,” Anil said. It wasn’t particularly true, but he didn’t want to face an entire weekend without her. In the past six months, his relationship with Amber had grown from a pleasant distraction into something he needed desperately, as much as food or sleep. He’d been planning to go to the library this weekend to read through cardiology journals for research ideas to pitch to Dr. Tanaka. But he would gladly give up that time to be with Amber, knowing he would have to make it up with some late nights when he returned. He moved closer to her and lifted her hair to kiss her neck. The scent of her was tantalizing. Anil unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off her shoulders.
15
SOON AFTER LEENA’S RETURN, HER IN-LAWS BEGAN PHONING, demanding to know why she had run away and accusing her of starting the kitchen fire in her clumsiness. Nirmala knew Pradip wanted to shout at them, to blame them for mistreating his only child, but he spoke politely on the phone, bargaining for time while they sorted out what to do. He explained that Leena needed time to recover from her injuries and it was best for her to heal at their home, where she would not be a burden to her new family. Leena’s in-laws in turn demanded that either Leena return to fulfill her marital obligations or the remaining dowry be paid in full to compensate them for her abandonment.
One day, as her daughter still lay defenseless in bed, Nirmala heard a car pull up outside their home. It was those bastards, she saw, feeling herself shake with rage. As Pradip returned from the fields to intercept them, the back door opened and slammed shut, and Nirmala caught a glimpse of Leena running away from the house. Somehow she had managed to get out of bed by herself; she was running on bandaged feet, on wounds that had not yet healed.
A few moments later, Leena’s father-in-law and brother-in-law were inside her home. Girish, the coward, had not come with them. “It’s been long enough,” the father-in-law said. “Where is she? Let us see her!”
The man’s pride was injured, Nirmala could see. A runaway daughter-in-law did not reflect well on any of them. “She has not yet recovered.” Nirmala tried to keep the venom rising within from infecting her voice. “She is resting.”
“Please, will you have some tea?” Pradip offered, but they didn’t want tea, or even to sit down in the drawing room. Nirmala stared at her husband, trying to warn him with her eyes that Leena had left.
“Why doesn’t she come out and explain herself to us?” Leena’s brother-in-law asked.
“It would not be proper for Leena to see you in her present condition,” Nirmala answered. “Not worthy of the respect you deserve.” She cl
enched her left hand into a tight first, using her fingernails against her palm to keep from crying out the truth.
“Hmm,” said the older man, picking up a small silver figurine of Ganesha, the elephant-headed god who warded against disaster, from a small table at the front door.
“Please, Sahib,” Pradip said. “Please, take it as a small token of our appreciation.”
Nirmala’s stomach curdled. The older man slipped the figurine into his pocket without acknowledgment. He and his son proceeded to wander through the drawing room, into the kitchen, and around the rest of the house. Nirmala followed them as they took whatever they wanted: food from the kitchen, a lamp from the drawing room, even a bundle of harvested crops from outside. Nirmala could not watch as they took her wedding saris, after they had already taken all her jewelry.
At last they left, after assurances from Pradip that everything would be resolved soon. He had said what was necessary for them to go peacefully, without Leena or the money for which they had come, but Nirmala was disappointed at the way her husband had begged and appeased the very men who had frightened their daughter into running.
Leena came back only after the men were gone, her bandages covered with grass and mud. Nirmala had to unwrap her legs, clean the wounds carefully, and wrap them again: a terrible pain Leena chose to endure rather than see those men again.
That evening, after Leena was safely asleep, Nirmala and Pradip spoke in hushed tones about what to do. The other family wanted an additional ten thousand rupees for Leena’s freedom. Even if they sold every single possession of theirs—every stick of furniture and farming implement—it would not bring in ten thousand rupees. Leena’s in-laws had already taken everything of value.
“I can sell my homemade sweets, and make jars of pickles for the market,” Nirmala offered.
“And where will we get the money for all that ghee and sugar?” her husband said. “Those things are expensive to buy up front.” He shook his head. They had already paid nearly eighty thousand rupees to this family. Their savings were gone, and the debt they’d taken on was crippling them, depleting their crop income as soon as it came in. “Maybe it would be different if she went back.” Pradip spoke slowly. “They must miss her, the way they’re calling and coming around. They might treat her better now that they realize her value.”
Nirmala stared at her husband, a stranger for the first time in twenty-four years. “What are you saying?” She rose from the bed on which they sat together and took a step back from him. “What are you saying?” The words caught in her throat as it thickened. “You would send her back there?” Her voice was a low, angry whisper. “Your own daughter?” She expected to see anger on his face, or frustration, but it looked like something else—a blank stare of resignation.
“I don’t know, it might be the only way.” He turned his eyes away from hers. “Nirmala, you know as well as I do she’ll be ostracized if she stays here. What kind of life is that?”
“Never,” Nirmala said. “There must be another way.”
“Yes,” Pradip said, rubbing his fingers together in a mindless gesture. “Yes, I’ll figure something out.”
IN THE week following that visit, Nirmala often woke up in the middle of the night and found Pradip out in the drawing room, sitting upright in a chair, staring out the window. He sat there for hours, until the first hint of daylight, then went out to the fields and worked without break until the last rays of sun had drained from the sky. Had she not brought water and food to him in the fields, he would not have eaten or drunk all day.
This continued, day after day, until Pradip’s face grew thinner and his eyelids began to sag. He seemed intent on working himself to death. Nirmala worried about her husband’s health. She worried about Leena, ready to escape like a caged animal out the back door whenever a car drove up to the house. She worried what that vile family would do when they returned, expecting their payment. And she worried what her husband, with all that anger brewing inside him, might do to them.
16
THE NIGHT BEFORE THEY LEFT FOR THE WEDDING, ANIL STAYED up all night to finish the data-analysis segment of the MRSA research study. He’d barely seen Charlie in the past couple of months, and when he did, the guy looked absolutely wiped out. Anil was determined to keep pushing their project forward until Charlie could come back to it.
He and Amber left for Ashford late Friday, after Anil’s shift. Unsure what the appropriate attire would be, he packed nearly everything in his closet, including a pair of new cowboy boots he’d bought online. He chose a gift for Amber’s parents, the largest potted plant in the hospital gift store, despite its inflated price. It was a rare specimen, its green leaves covered in tiny pink spots so perfect, they appeared to be painted on.
“Okay, now, the men will probably ask you to go hunting,” Amber said, her hands on the steering wheel. “So just say you don’t have your hunting clothes.”
“I don’t have hunting clothes,” Anil repeated. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He reached over and rested a hand on Amber’s thigh as she drove. He found himself unduly excited about their first trip away together.
It was well after dark by the time they arrived in Ashford. The ranch house was set back from the road and surrounded by a large fenced-in pasture. As Amber pulled up the long gravel drive, two oversized dogs came bounding down the steps. They leapt onto Amber when she got out of the car. “Hi, Dixie, hey girl,” she said, patting one of them.
The other dog charged toward Anil when he got out of the car, and he put up his arms in defense. Amber laughed and grabbed the dog’s collar. “Down, Mason!” She pulled the dog away. “Sorry, they’re always a little excited to see me.”
The screen door swung open and a short, plump woman leaned into the small pool of yellow light cast by the porch lamp. “Amber, that you, honey?”
“Hi, Momma,” Amber said in a singsong voice. She climbed the porch steps and embraced her mother, who looked much as Anil had expected, and nothing like Amber. “Momma,” Amber turned to him, “this is Anil.”
Anil stepped forward and held out the plant. “Hello, Mrs. Boxey. This is for you.”
“Oh, bless your heart.” Amber’s mother accepted the pot and held the screen door open for them. “Your daddy and brothers are out back, honey. Your sister’s upstairs fussing over her dress. Go on up there and talk some sense into her, would you?”
“Okay, Momma, in a minute.” Amber touched Anil’s elbow. “Come on, I’ll introduce you first.” He followed her through another screen door to the backyard, where a group of men were sitting on plastic lawn chairs around a small fire pit. They all held beer cans in foam holders of various colors, and a few were smoking cigarettes.
“Ber-Ber!” The gruff voice came from a large man in a fishing vest with short-cropped hair. He pulled Amber down onto his lap, where she almost toppled over.
Amber laughed. “Hi, Daddy.”
A younger man, presumably one of her brothers, reached over and yanked her ponytail. “Chuck!” Amber squealed and righted herself. “Daddy, y’all? This is Anil.” She gestured behind her chair to where he stood.
The bloodshot eyes of six men turned to Anil. Chuck took a swig of his beer. “So you’re the doctor, huh?”
“Yes. Well, training to be a doctor.” Anil walked around the circle of chairs to Amber’s father. “Mr. Boxey,” he said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“What’s your name again?” Amber’s father’s arms were wrapped around Amber’s waist. He did not free one to shake Anil’s hand.
“Anil, Daddy,” Amber said, turning her head to face him. “Ah-neel.”
“Hmm.”
“Amber?” Her mother’s voice cut through the screen door and smoky air. “Becky is positively going to have a fit over that dress zipper if you don’t get up there soon.”
Amber hoisted herself off her father’s lap and touched Anil’s shoulder as she passed. “Be right back.”
“Get used to t
hat, man.” Chuck punched the guy next to him in the shoulder. “Becky has a fit over something every dang day of the week. Welcome to your life.”
Anil was introduced to the groom, who had strong, callused hands, and to Amber’s two brothers, Chuck and Frank. “Burger and Hot Dog, that’s what I like to call these two meatheads,” Mr. Boxey said. “Pull up a seat, doc.” There were no more chairs, so Anil perched on top of a plastic cooler.
“What time we leavin’ tomorrow, Pops?” Frank asked.
“Before first light,” Mr. Boxey said. “Five o’clock, I think.”
Chuck swigged his beer. “You comin’ on the duck hunt, ain’t you, doc?”
“Me?” Anil asked. All he could think about at the moment was sleep, after pulling two extra-long shifts in a row.
“Yeah, it’s a tradition. Men go hunting, women get their nails done or whatever. You’re a man, ain’t ya?” Chuck glanced around the circle, grinning.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have hunting clothes.” Anil tried to smile politely, despite images of guns and dead birds and bloody feathers coming to mind.
“Well, that’s okay, Frank’s got extra clothes you can use.” Chuck flattened a beer can under his boot. “What’s the matter? Don’t have a queasy stomach, do ya, doc?” There were guffaws of laughter around the circle.
“No.” Anil eased the cooler he was sitting on back from the fire pit, which was blowing smoke into his eyes. Queasy stomach? This morning he’d treated the pus-oozing gangrenous foot of a diabetic patient, for God’s sake. “It’s, uh . . . I’m just not into h-hunting. I . . . I’m a v-vegetarian, actually.”
Mr. Boxey screwed up his face. “You’re what now?”