I turn off the phone. I’ll call them back, but not yet. This last day is for my father.
Last night we had an emotional reconciliation, with apologies on both sides. Now we feverishly ask each other questions, wanting to know everything possible in the few hours left to us. I learn that my father is an avid woodworker. He has built three feeders in his backyard for hummingbirds and shyly hands me a pen he made out of cedar, with my name carved on it. He must have stayed up late to finish it before he flew out.
He asks me about our house, which he always wanted to visit. “Your mother spoke of it so many times. When I came to India, I asked your grandfather’s permission to come and see the room where Anu grew up.”
“What did he say?” But already I can guess.
“He said, ‘You’ll enter my house over my dead body.’ ”
I’m angry for my father, but unexpectedly, I feel a jolt of sympathy for Grandfather, too. While my father had been longing for something to connect him to his sweetheart, Grandfather had been desperate to protect the last bit of his daughter that was left to him.
Because he has the right to know, I tell my father what I learned from Grandmother about my mother’s last visit. Afterward, as he sits holding his head in his hands, I whisper, “You must hate Grandfather very much. All I can say is that he suffered, too.”
Lacey gives a sigh. “I did hate him at first, with a deep, corrosive hatred that ate into me. I hated what he did to Anu by forcing her to choose between her family and our love, the life we could have made together. It broke a beautiful, intelligent woman in two. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for that—and for keeping you and me apart. But over the years I’ve come to see that Anu, too, was responsible for her situation. She knew what he did was wrong, but she couldn’t shuck off her guilt. Couldn’t break away from his control. Her childhood conditioning went too deep.”
We sit in silence, thinking of many things. Hesitantly, I tell him about the dream that started off this whole search for me, my mother’s visit. I’ve held on to it until now, afraid he might scoff. But he nods and says, “I believe.” He says, “You were lucky. What I wouldn’t give to see her one more time, even if it’s in a dream.”
The slump of his shoulders is so forlorn that, even though I had not intended it, I open my purse and take out my mother’s love letter and slide it across the table to him. As he reads it, an expression of tremulous joy takes over his face. He reads the note several times, smoothing out the worn sheet with a reverent forefinger. For a moment, he has forgotten me. When he finally raises his head, a dazed, faraway look is on his face as though the note had pulled him back in time.
“Thank you,” he says, a little shakily, as he passes the note back to me.
I hold it, the talisman that has brought me this far, the only thing of my mother’s that I possess. Then, quickly, before I can change my mind, I press it into my father’s palm. “She would want you to have it.”
At the airport I ask, “Will you come for my wedding? If I get married, that is? You could stay in the house, sleep in my mother’s bed.”
He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be the same without Anu. Besides, I’d only cause you trouble. With your in-laws—and that politician they’re courting. I know how people feel about mixed-race relationships. Anu and I faced a bit of that in California, even. You’ve seen me and I’ve seen you. We’ve had this time together and spoken the words that needed to be said. We’ve promised to keep in touch. That’s enough for now.”
As we walk to the security area, a question I hadn’t intended to ask tumbles out of me. “What if I stay on here? With Vic? What would you think of that?”
That brings him to a standstill. He cups my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. “I’d love to have you closer to me, you know that. Make you part of my life, make up for some of the lost years. I’m going to tell Selena about you as soon as I return. But I don’t know you enough yet to judge if staying here would be the best for you. This much I will say: never choose something because it’s easier. That’s what I did when Bimal Roy handed me those death certificates. I should have investigated further instead of getting on the plane home. A part of me wanted to, but I squashed it because it would have been too painful to stay on and search.”
At the security line, I hug him and hold my breath so I can keep the smell of his cologne with me a little longer. He turns on his cell phone. Soon I must do the same. We can’t fend off the jealous world any longer.
A crush of people presses him forward. Soon I’ll lose sight of him. I raise my voice to ask him the question that has plagued me all my life, though I don’t think he’ll have the answer. After all, even Grandmother didn’t know.
“Did my mother ever tell you why she wanted to name me Korobi?”
“She did, actually,” he calls out over the heads of the other passengers. “Because the oleander was beautiful—but also tough. It knew how to protect itself from predators. Anu wanted that toughness for you because she didn’t have enough of it herself.”
This time when the phone rings, Sarojini is ready. She has been waiting all morning, in fact, beside the phone, waiting and fretting and nodding off from time to time because she spent the night in the hospital.
“Grandma! Sorry I’m late calling you back. I’d turned off my phone because I was with my father. Oh, there’s so much to tell you, good and bad both, I don’t know where to start!”
The girl babbles on about the day the two of them spent at Berkeley, visiting places where Anu had lived, walked, eaten, studied. All the amazing new things she has learned about Anu. Part of Sarojini hungers to hear more. What kind of a person is this Lacey, what was his life with Anu like, what does he intend to do about his newfound daughter? But she has a more urgent agenda.
“Korobi, I must tell you something, too—something really important,” she cries, but it’s like trying to stop an avalanche.
“I love him, Grandma. I refuse to lose him again. I need to tell Rajat all about him. But you were right, I must wait until I get back. Because I learned something else about myself, something—terrible. Well, at least the world would consider it terrible. I don’t even know how to tell it to you.”
Sarojini feels a spiral of nausea rising in her. She wonders if her sugar has fallen again. What now, Goddess? What else can there be?
“I tried to call Rajat several times, but I can’t seem to get hold of him. Where is he?”
The accumulated stress of last night crests and breaks, and suddenly Sarojini’s furious. “If you had thought for a moment beyond your own plans and pleasure and returned my phone call—or Jayashree’s—you’d know that Rajat is in the hospital. So is Pia.”
There’s a long silence. Korobi’s voice, when she speaks again, is so abashed that Sarojini feels the sting of compunction.
“What happened?”
Sarojini explains what little she knows. She tells Korobi how Rajat has been asking for her.
“I’ll call Maman right now,” Korobi says. “I’ll change my ticket and come home as soon as possible.”
Only after she hangs up does Sarojini realize that she never got to hear Korobi’s terrible news.
Mrs. Bose, too, is waiting for the phone to ring as she paces the hospital corridor with her mobile. She hasn’t talked to Mr. Bose since yesterday. She sifts through the latest updates that she needs to give him. For once, they are good.
He’ll be pleased to hear that Pia is being discharged in a couple of hours, and that she’ll stay with Sarojini. Pia was so delighted at this news that she didn’t get overly upset when she saw Rajat. She wrote her name in large purple letters on his cast. She still insists on visiting Asif before she leaves, but Mrs. Bose has told the doctor that such a visit would be traumatic for her sensitive daughter, and the doctor has agreed to officially forbid it.
Rajat’s news is good, too. He was able to sit up this morning and eat a light breakfast. His painkillers have been reduced. He isn’t talki
ng much, but Mr. Bose doesn’t need to know that right now. Subroto the foreman came over to the hospital this morning. He informed her that the union leaders are shocked at what happened and are investigating the matter. The accident, unfortunate though it was, has roused significant sympathy among the workers for the Boses, and Subroto believes this will help the negotiations.
She hopes Mr. Bose has equally good news to give her.
Who says a watched phone never rings? The mobile buzzes in Mrs. Bose’s hand. “Shanto?” she says eagerly. “Sweetheart?”
A woman clears her throat. “Maman? This is Korobi here.”
“Oh, it’s you.” Disappointment flattens her tone. As soon as the words come out, she realizes how unfriendly they sound, though she hadn’t meant them in that way. She knows, from personal experience, what can happen if one is not on good terms with a son’s intended. But she cannot shake off her resentment toward the girl for not responding sooner to her inarticulate cry for help.
“Maman, I’m so sorry I took so long to phone you back.” Korobi’s voice sounds tortured. “My phone—it—got turned off. Grandmother told me about Rajat and Pia. I’m so sorry! I wish I were there to give you support.”
Tiredness and tension make Mrs. Bose want to snap, But you aren’t, are you? Even though my poor boy keeps calling for you. She closes her eyes tight and imagines what her husband would say: Come on, Joyu, you’re better than that. She makes herself smile so that her voice will sound sweeter. “It’s okay. Your grandmother has done a lot for us.”
“How is Rajat? Grandma said he—asked for me.” Korobi’s voice is shaky with tears.
Something about that must be contagious because Mrs. Bose finds herself tearing up, too.
“Tell him I love him. I’m so sorry I’m not there by his side. Tell him I’m changing my ticket and coming back as soon as I can. I’ll never go anywhere without him again.”
“I’ll tell him,” Mrs. Bose says, wiping her eyes.
“I love you, Maman.”
“I love you, too.” Words they’ve never said to each other until now.
After Korobi hangs up, Mrs. Bose thinks with regret, I should have asked her what’s happening with her search. Probably she found nothing, or she would have mentioned it. Poor child, she must be disheartened.
But Mrs. Bose doesn’t have time to dwell on her oversight because the phone rings again. This time, ah, Blessed Goddess, it is Mr. Bose, asking about the children. But he’s concerned, most of all, about her. How is she handling all this stress? If it’s too much, he’ll drop everything and come home. She just has to say the word.
Tenderness wells up in her. “No, Shanto. You finish what you went there to do. Otherwise the entire journey will be wasted. I can manage. I know you’re with me in my heart.”
She gives him, proudly, her news, and he gives her his, which is also better than expected. The meetings with the insurance company have been promising. They’ve agreed to pay a percentage of the damages and even the theft. Only the amount remains to be negotiated. Desai has been of immense help in setting up a moving sale. That should make them some more money. Once that’s over, Mr. Bose can ship the remainder of the inventory and return to Kolkata.
“How about Mitra?”
“No sign of him. The police discovered that he was involved with an illegal gambling concern. That must be where all the money we were sending him went. Desai and I accompanied them to his apartment. We were shocked to find that it was completely trashed, the dishes shattered on the floor, the sofa ripped as though with a knife. At first we thought intruders had done it, but the police think he did it himself.”
“How very strange! What about his wife?”
“The police questioned the neighbors. One of them said that a few days ago she left for India without telling Mitra. Mitra was beside himself with fury when he figured out that she was gone. He came over to this woman’s apartment, yelling, threatening her for conspiring against him, until her husband threw him out. They haven’t seen him since. The police think he’s skipped town.”
“I hope so. Be careful, though. Please.”
“I will. About Rajat’s accident—did the police discover anything else?”
“No. They’re waiting to question Asif. The doctor said he’s regained consciousness, but he’s still very weak.”
“Have you been to see him since then?”
Mrs. Bose is silent.
“You need to go, Joyu. He probably saved our children’s lives by scaring off those goondas.”
“I feel so ashamed, Shanto, for distrusting him with Pia.”
“You can’t change that. But at least you can thank him. Reassure him that we’ll take care of all his medical expenses, and that we’ll speak on his behalf to his employer. If Asif’s out of a job because of what he did, tell him he can come back and work for us. If, God forbid, he’s disabled, we’ll take care of him.”
“How will we pay for all this?”
“We’ll just have to. And, Joyu, you can’t keep Pia away from him. What he did, risking his life—I have a feeling he did it for her. She needs to see him, and it’ll do him good to see her. Take her with you.”
He speaks softly, but she hears the steel in his voice. He waits until she says meekly, “All right, Shanto. I’ll do as you say.”
FIFTEEN
Late at night I’m pulled bleary-eyed from sleep by the insistent ringing of the phone. I’d been awake until late, worrying about Rajat, and had just fallen into a doze. Who could be calling at this ungodly hour?
“Sorry to wake you,” Desai says, “but it’s urgent. My office was broken into when I was helping Mr. Bose with the art sale. By the time I got back after dinner, most of the files had been torn up. My computer was smashed, as were disks with client information. Whoever did it was smart enough to figure out the alarm and disconnect it.”
I’m so shocked I can’t speak for a few seconds. “I’m terribly sorry,” I finally stammer. I can’t even imagine how Desai must feel. Hundreds of hours of work, destroyed. His whole business, probably. What will he do?
Desai gives a mirthless bark of a laugh. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, though I have to confess it gave me quite a turn. It’s the first time I’ve been vandalized like this. Luckily, I’d taken precautions. I have client information backed up off-site, and insurance will cover most of the damage. The reason I’m calling you is because I realized something just a few minutes ago, after I went through the debris. Your file and disk aren’t here.”
I feel even worse. I’m the cause of his troubles. “Mitra?” I whisper.
“Definitely. He’s desperate. I bet within a day or so he’ll try to blackmail your in-laws with the information he stole. And now he has more ammunition than what he hoped for—he knows your father’s black, and that your parents weren’t married.”
I’m still in shock. I’d guessed that Mitra was dangerous. I’d warned Rajat that he might try to harm the gallery, or even Papa. But I’d never guessed that he’d choose me as the vehicle of his revenge. How one-eyed I’d been, like the deer in the fable.
“You need to forestall Mitra. That’s why I disturbed you so late at night. Call your fiancé immediately and tell him about your father.”
“I can’t! Rajat is in the hospital with a concussion. I changed my ticket to get back to him as soon as I can.”
“It might be too late by the time you get to Kolkata. If Mitra gets to the Boses with the information before you do, he could convince them that you meant to deceive them. If you can’t talk to Rajat, tell Mr. Bose. He’s a levelheaded man—”
“No!” I cry. “Rajat has to be the first to know. I can’t let him hear this news from anyone else. I owe him that much. And I have to be with him when I tell him. If he has reservations, I’ll see them in his face. Then I’ll know I can’t marry him.”
“Korobi, forgive me, but you’re making a big mistake. And you’re being too idealistic. Any man would be shocked by this news—even a
man who really cares for you. If he loves you, he’ll get over it. You’ve got to give him that chance.”
But I remain silent until Desai lets out a sigh. “That pigheaded Vic has been a bad influence on you, I can tell.”
Lying in bed, Rajat meditates on the softness of his pillow, the crisp, clean smell of his sheets. How wonderful to be back in the privacy of his own room, with a feathery strain of jazz floating through the air. He can hear Pia in the kitchen, begging Maman to let her stay home from school today in honor of Rajat’s release from the hospital. Rajat does not expect Maman to agree. She’s a stickler about Pia’s studies. Perhaps she’s making up for having been too indulgent with Rajat. But to his surprise, she says yes with a distracted air and goes off to answer the phone. It is probably the foreman again. Negotiations are proceeding favorably with the union; following the incident on the river road, and in light of Rajat’s injuries, they’ve modified their demands. Finally, Rajat thinks, with some irony, he’s been of use to the family!
A triumphant Pia settles herself at the foot of Rajat’s bed. She has taken upon herself the task of making him drink the pomegranate juice the doctor has prescribed. She tells him sternly not to dillydally with the glass she has handed him. Why is he so quiet? Is he still groggy from the painkillers?
He nods because it’s hard to explain. The painkillers, which have been reduced, have little to do with his mental state. A strange calm, different from anything else he has ever experienced, has descended on him. Through its filter, the world appears dappled, like sunlight through leaves. Pia’s voice is like a treeful of birds, more music than meaning. The various dramas surrounding his life—the strike, Korobi’s search for her father, the night attack—all seem part of an intricate design, not fully comprehensible but engrossingly interesting.
This calm had descended on him at the very moment the car flipped over, even as a part of him was screaming in agony and terror. The painkillers had shrouded it, but it has now spread itself across this beautiful day, this turquoise sky outside his window, stippled with possibility. He recalls a line from a song he heard on the radio when visiting Sarojini: Anondo dhara bohiche bhubonay. A river of joy flows through the world. He’ll have to ask her how the rest of the song goes.