The Golden Son

  Chuck leaned backwards in his lawn chair, dangerously close to tipping. “Whatever that means.” He swung forward and stood up, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the dying embers. “Well, I’m goin’ to kick it, boys. Guess I’ll see all you real men in the morning.” The others around the fire drained their beers and began to disperse. Anil stood and followed them into the house.

  “Would y’all look at this beautiful plant he brought us from Dallas?” Mrs. Boxey held up the pot as they passed by the kitchen. “Isn’t that special?”

  Chuck grunted. “Looks like it’s got the chicken pox.”

  Mrs. Boxey swatted his arm. “Now, you be nice, hear? This boy is smarter than all the rest of y’all put together.”

  Anil smiled at Mrs. Boxey, bent down to get his overnight bag from the front door, and followed the others toward the staircase.

  “Oh no.” Mr. Boxey clamped a heavy hand down on Anil’s shoulder. “You’re staying in Chuck’s trailer, out back.” One side of his lip curled up into a smile. “Can’t have you too close to my little girl, case that vegetarian stuff rubs off on her.” He chuckled.

  The trailer was small, and filled with the odor of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Chuck showed Anil to the couch, then disappeared behind a gaudy-patterned curtain to his own bed. It wasn’t long before Chuck’s loud snoring began and continued all night.

  THE WEDDING was small, no more than a couple of hundred guests who all seemed to know one another. Since Amber was attending to her sister, Anil was largely left on his own. He didn’t even recognize Amber when she walked down the church aisle, her hair in a big pile of stiff curls, wearing a pale green dress that reminded him of hospital scrubs. He didn’t realize it was her smiling at him, trying to catch his eye, until she had passed him by.

  At the reception afterward, Anil joined the guests flocking to the hunting lodge. All the family members were still at the church, posing for photographs. With a beer in hand, he made his way to the patio and tried to relax. He forced himself to smile and say hello to the other guests, but no one engaged him in conversation. There was no chance of anonymity here, as there would have been at a wedding back home, with thousands milling around. Here, Anil stood out like a rash—the only person at the lodge who wasn’t white, other than the black servers.

  When Amber found him at the bar more than an hour later, Anil was on his third beer and his head was buzzing. “There’s my handsome date. How you doing?” Anil wanted to steal her outside, to have just a few moments alone on the back patio to remind himself who they were together, but Mrs. Boxey was approaching them with a large redheaded woman. “Oh God, it’s Momma and her best friend,” Amber said.

  “Well, there you are,” the redhead said. “Amber darlin’, don’t you look just beautiful?”

  “Hey, Mrs. Tandy.” Amber embraced the woman. “How are you?”

  “I was just tellin’ your momma, you look as beautiful as a bride yourself today.”

  Mrs. Boxey beamed, and Anil smiled back to acknowledge Amber’s beauty, even if it was shrouded by the ridiculous costume she was wearing.

  Mrs. Tandy leaned toward Amber and whispered loudly, “Now, don’t you worry your little sister beat you to the altar.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Mrs. Boxey repeated, squeezing Amber’s arm.

  “Your momma says you’re just waitin’ for the right man.” Mrs. Tandy winked. “You know my Billy still asks about you. Goes fishin’ with your daddy every Sunday after church.”

  “Mrs. Tandy,” Amber reached out for Anil’s arm, “this is Anil. He came with me from Dallas.” Anil stumbled a little as she tugged him forward.

  Mrs. Tandy turned to Anil, clearly noticing him for the first time. “Oh? Why, hello.” She extended a limp hand. “You’re from . . . Dallas? Is that where your people are from?”

  Anil gently tried to shake her lifeless hand. “Well, from India originally, but I’ve been in Dallas a few years.” He used his best drawl. “I’m a real Texan now. Even got my own boots.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Tandy nodded slowly. “Well, you are lucky. I just burn like a match in the sun. I sure wish I could tan nice and good like you.”

  Anil, perplexed by her comment and foggy from the beer, was trying to figure out how to respond.

  “Wasn’t it a lovely ceremony?” Mrs. Boxey piped up.

  “Yes, yes it was,” Anil said. In truth, he was surprised at how short and somber it had been: a few words from the priest, a song, and vows, all in under twenty minutes. “Short and sweet. Doesn’t take much to get married over here, does it?” His words slipped out easily. “In India, the ceremony goes on for days and days. Maybe that’s why our divorce rate is so much lower than in this country.” He wondered if a few beers would always keep his stutter under control.

  “Oh, look.” Mrs. Boxey clapped her hands together. “Becky’s gettin’ ready to throw the bouquet. You better get on over there, Amber!”

  FOR DINNER, Anil was seated at a table of family friends, along with Mrs. Tandy and her son Billy, who interrupted his stories of high school football triumphs only to pick food out of his teeth with a fingernail. After several beers and no food, Anil could feel the alcohol saturating his mind, his stomach, his skin. He felt a modicum of empathy for the patients who showed up at the Parkview ER ill from drinking. Although there was little on the buffet Anil could eat, he filled his plate with fried chicken and ribs to stave off any more questions about his vegetarianism, carefully eating only the mashed potatoes and gravy.

  Three hours later, Anil sat alone, eating his second piece of spongy wedding cake, watching Amber dance the Texas two-step with Billy Tandy. He was glad he hadn’t embarrassed himself by attempting those dance moves himself. And yet, watching her move in perfect synchronicity with Billy, Anil couldn’t help wish it was him with whom Amber looked so natural. After the music had finished playing, the plates of wedding cake had been cleared, and the farewells said, the crowd at the hunting lodge thinned rapidly. Anil and Amber walked back to her parents’ house in silence. When they reached the foot of the driveway, Amber took off her shoes and stood barefoot on the blacktop, her hideous green pumps now dangling from one hand.

  “You didn’t want me to come here, did you?” Anil said. “You didn’t want your family to meet me.” A lump began to form in his throat. “Charlie went to two weddings last summer with a nurse at the hospital, and they’d only been on a couple of dates. We’ve been together over a year,” he said. “Fourteen months.”

  Amber nudged at a pebble with her bare toes, rolling it back and forth on the pavement. “I’m sorry, Anil. I just knew this wouldn’t be fun for you.”

  “For me? Or for you? You’re ashamed of me.”

  “No.” Amber looked up. “It’s not you. It was never about you, Anil. Never.” She shook her head. “It’s just . . . my family. I was afraid what you’d think if you met them.”

  “They didn’t even know about me before, did they?” Anil asked.

  Amber kicked the pebble away. “What do you want me to tell them? It doesn’t matter, Anil.” She choked on tears. “That you’re a doctor, you’re brilliant, you speak better English than me? . . . They’re not going to get any of that. They’re just hicks, okay?” She sat down on the ground, right there in the middle of the one-lane road, and drew her knees up under her chin. “Everyone in this crappy little town. This isn’t Dallas, you know.”

  Anil wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her statement. In two years, he had not experienced Dallas as the bastion of cultural tolerance. Amber was starting to cry, and one part of him wanted to wrap his arms around her, bury his nose in the fresh apple scent of her hair. Another part wanted her to feel the same kind of pain he did at that moment. Anil sank to his knees a few feet away. Amber was rocking back and forth in the dark, her chin resting on her knees.

  The blare of a horn sounded in the distance, and headlights flashed over their faces and away as the vehicle turned. When she spoke again, Amber’s voice w
as muffled. “Have you told your family about me?”

  Anil exhaled. “Amber, my father just died. It isn’t the right time.”

  “Your father died before we met.”

  “Exactly, and there hasn’t been a good time since then.” Anil had just booked his trip to India for the short break between his second and third years of residency, two months from now. He hadn’t yet considered whether to tell his family about Amber. “It’s not that easy, Amber.” He turned away, picked up a fallen tree branch, wishing desperately they could be back in Dallas, carrying on as normal, spending the evening stretched out on Amber’s couch. He remembered the first time he’d sat with her on that couch, after their first run at the lake, how she curled up under his arm and they kissed for what felt like hours, until the light pouring in the window dimmed to gray and they realized they’d spent the entire day together, effortlessly.

  Amber had been his first kiss, his first sexual experience, and his first girlfriend. Now, he knew, she would also be his first heartbreak.

  17

  EVERY DAY WHEN PIYA CAME, SHE UNWOUND LEENA’S BANDAGES and cleaned the wounds. It was a painstaking process, removing the charred layers of skin, during which Leena tried to keep from crying out. Once Piya had redressed Leena’s leg with fresh cloths, she would stay for another hour, sometimes two. She brought Bollywood magazines and regaled Leena with stories of film stars’ antics. She read to Leena from her Enid Blyton books; some days, they played cards. Piya never once made her feel pitied. Leena’s mother tolerated Piya’s visits, though she did so with more reluctance than warmth, never offering Piya tea or sweet lime juice.

  Leena took Piya’s counsel to focus on her recovery and barely moved from her bed. She was beginning to feel better—until that day she’d heard a car door slam outside, then a voice she’d recognized. A prickling feeling had traveled through her body.

  Without thinking, Leena was on her feet and rushing toward the back door, then blazing across the ground, aware of but unencumbered by the pain in her foot, the chafing of her leg. She didn’t stop until she reached the gully between the Big House and her family’s land. She carefully picked her way down through the branches and stones to the bottom of the gully, buried herself under the dried leaves, and lay there completely still but for her rapid breathing. The spot had been Anil’s favorite hiding place when they were young. He would gamble on other children being too lazy or careless to find him there, and he was often right. Leena had not been to the gully for many years, yet her feet had taken her there instinctively. As she lay in the gully, panting and staring up at the clouds overhead, she felt safe again, but she knew it would be fleeting. She could not outrun her problems. Leena had made a commitment to her marriage, her parents had made great sacrifices, and she had ruined it all by running away. What else could she have done to make the marriage work? And why hadn’t she, before things went so wrong?

  Later that night after she’d returned home, Leena had heard her parents arguing through the thin walls. They hadn’t raised their voices, but the sharp-edged tone of their words revealed the underlying fracture.

  Leena recognized that the house to which she’d returned was not the same as the one she’d left a year earlier: the chapatis had grown smaller and the yogurt thinner, and they’d eaten few vegetables other than potatoes and onions. Her father rose earlier each morning to go out to the fields and no longer came in to share meals with Leena and her mother. Once, when Leena rose in the middle of the night to get a drink of water, she saw her father in the drawing room. It frightened her, his ghostly figure, and she returned to bed without speaking to him.

  Her mother had changed too, becoming joyless in her household duties. No longer did she sing under her breath as she chopped vegetables or kneaded dough. Most curiously, she had suddenly taken on the impossible task of clearing the house of the dust that accumulated everywhere, the thin layer of earth that blew in through their open doors and windows along with the cooling breeze. Every morning and every night, her mother set to work on the floors and furniture, first with her broom, then with damp cloths. Leena had stopped offering to help with this task, sensing it involved some sort of demon her mother was determined to expunge. She had developed an equally fierce protectiveness over Leena, tending to her daughter as if she were a fragile thing. Leena used to help her mother prepare every meal, but now she was sent out of the kitchen, and sometimes out of the house itself.

  It was the distance between her parents, the strife that had erupted, for which Leena felt responsible. As their only child, she had spent a lifetime serving as the bond between them, the one clear manifestation of their union. When she was a young girl, she had slept between them, and swung between their arms when they walked together. She found herself thinking often about those days, when she could spend all day outside, exploring the hills and valleys surrounding their home. The coconut trees beckoned to her, inviting her to find the small bumps and ridges along their tall, smooth trunks to use as perches for climbing. From the top of those trees, she could see miles of pasture and pick out the tiled roofs of everyone’s houses. It gave her a sense of comfort to see everything she knew and loved in the world in a single frame. When the sky grew dark, her father would come looking for her, calling out her name playfully, pretending he didn’t see her hiding in the fields.

  As she grew older, Leena acquired her mother’s oval face and her father’s smiling eyes. She inherited her mother’s precision in stitching, and when she ate spicy food, the edges of her ears grew red like her father’s. Leena had always understood herself in relation to her parents, and their foundation had been steadfast. Their home and their plot of farmland were modest compared with that of other families, but it had always been enough for the three of them. When Leena was younger, she occasionally wished for a sister or brother, but over time this yearning faded away, replaced by the special link she had with each of her parents, the simple reassuring knowledge that she was at the center of their love.

  Now that it was beginning to unravel, Leena could blame only herself.

  NAVRATRI CAME and went without dancing or music; they celebrated Diwali quietly at home. Leena’s parents avoided village gatherings and festivals, and did not invite anyone to their home. Leena knew they were protecting her, but she also felt like a shameful secret. When relatives or friends came by the house unexpectedly and were surprised to see Leena, her father explained she had taken very ill, and had come home for a short period to recover.

  Was it true? Would her father send her back to her husband—to the marriage to which she’d committed, and for which they had sacrificed so much? Although it seemed unbearable to her, this was what everyone probably expected. She was not the first bride to suffer mistreatment at the hands of her in-laws. The thought burrowed deep into Leena’s consciousness like an insect: Did her father believe what happened was her fault?

  AS SOON as Leena could walk on her bandaged feet, she went into the fields every morning as the sun was warming the air. She left her sandals on the terrace, preferring the feel of the damp earth under her feet, the soil molding under her arch and in the spaces between her toes. Every step reminded her she was home. She found stray reeds that had fallen from viney palms: long reeds, golden as the sun, dotted with drops of morning dew. Something about the way they hung by one last thread to their mother plant made Leena inexplicably sad, so she began to gather them up, and soon her sari was filled. At home, she laid out the reeds on the balcony and smoothed them with her palms.

  Leena could not explain what she intended to do with these reeds, but it brought her comfort to see them gathered on the balcony, in a pile that grew larger every day. Only later did she discover how flexible the reeds were when they were damp, how she could bend and twist them without breaking. She began to weave them together into mats, then braid them into stronger layers. One day, she made an entire basket out of the reeds, out of material that had been discarded in the fields.

  Leena presente
d the basket to her mother, filled with vegetables from the small garden behind the kitchen, where her father cultivated the family’s favorites: small delicate tindora, fragrant methi. Her mother smiled and placed the basket in the corner of the kitchen. The next day, Leena found the vegetables bundled with the crops her father was taking to sell in town.

  The only time Leena’s parents left her on her own was when they made their weekly trips to the market. One day, Leena begged her parents to take her along with them, and they reluctantly agreed. She was tired of feeling like a prisoner at home, cut off from the rest of the world. Those friends and relatives who’d learned of Leena’s return had not come back to check on her or to bring food, as her mother had done so many times for ailing neighbors.

  When they first arrived in town, Leena worried it had been a mistake to come. The market was a chaotic jumble of people, a cacophony of sounds that left her feeling jarred, as though she’d forgotten how the rest of the world carried on outside her parents’ modest home, their small piece of land. But despite her initial unease, something propelled Leena forward into the vibrating core of the market. She left her parents at their vegetable stall with a promise to return soon and moved slowly, tentatively, from stall to stall, appraising the array of goods for sale: hand-stitched leather sandals, textiles of every color, small bottles of perfume, and brass pots. The sounds of crowing roosters, hawkers’ calls, and bargaining chatter faded into a low hum as she moved through the crowd.

  “Leena?” The hum was broken by the sound of someone calling her name. Leena turned. Piya was across the walkway, moving toward her. Her cheeks were flushed as she held up her bags. “We just finished our shopping,” she said.

  Mina Patel, standing next to Piya, wore an expression of curiosity. “Leena,” she said. “You’ve come home? To visit your parents?”

  Warmth spread from Leena’s neck to her face. “Yes, Auntie, for a visit.” She dropped her eyes to the ground.