A Good Indian Wife: A Novel (21 page)

“Like Sita.”

“Yes, like our famous Mother Sita. Thank God the earth left me alone. Anyway, I don’t want you to go through anything like that.”

“Thank you. And thank you for the compliment.”

“Those two little words, ‘thank you,’ were another learning experience. Bob kept telling me I wasn’t saying them properly. He used to tease me all the time. ‘I tink you said tank again.’ I finally figured out that in India we never pronounce the ‘th’ sound. Bob taught me to put my tongue between my teeth,” she demonstrated it. She didn’t tell Leila that it was only recently that she had started calling her husband “Bahb,” and not “Bawb,” which the hospital personnel never understood.

“I’ll remember that,” Leila said, though she thought she had pronounced the word correctly.

She studied Shanti’s face: the dark, high forehead, deep-set eyes, and jutting nose. Almost black hands picked up a biscotti, a diamond gleaming on the ring finger. Shanti and she had followed such different paths to America. Shanti acted as if she had gotten everything she wanted in life, including a husband who loved her. That was what made her confident, and Leila felt a daub of envy. Shanti was like Rekha. She hadn’t taught students who got married as soon as they graduated and then brought their babies to see her. She never had to sit out endless rejections. Bob was the white knight who had rescued her from all that. Suddenly Leila wanted to know their story.

“How did you meet your husband?”

“Strange coincidence, I always say. I used to have a pen pal when I was in my teens, but you know how it is, after a few years we stopped writing. It must have been, oh, about twenty years later I suddenly received a letter saying her brother was coming to India. Could he look me up? Bob was that brother.”

“Your parents didn’t mind that you married him?”

“Yes and no. I was almost in my mid-thirties by then and we all assumed I’d never get married. I can’t tell you how many men I saw, all of whom rejected me. Then Bob came along. He didn’t seem to care about my skin color, so I decided not to care about his. I think my parents were secretly relieved I was finally getting married. Besides, they could at least hold their heads up because he is a doctor. You know how prestige-conscious people are in India.” Over the years she had stopped telling people—especially Indians—about Bob’s first wife.

“Oh,” things began clicking in Leila’s brain. “You are almost newly married too, then?”

“Heavens, no. We’ve been married almost eight years, but thank you for the compliment.” Shanti smiled and continued, “Now I can finally thank my mother for not allowing me out in the sun. She forced me to stay indoors in the summer, not concerned about cancer or wrinkles, mind you, but in case I got darker. I guess you can say I’m aging well.” She laughed.

“My mother was the same way. Any time we went out, we had to take an umbrella.”

“One of those ugly black ones, right? I tried to tell my mother that black absorbs the heat, but she never listened.”

“My sister Indy would also say that, and Amma always replied, ‘That’s between the sun and the umbrella.’”

“The first time I went back to visit, I took my mother seven different-colored umbrellas, one for each day of the week. It was a joke, but she was thrilled. She still uses them, I think.”

“Do you go back often?”

“In the first few years, yes. Now it’s not automatically India every time we take our vacation. Anyway, I’m quite different now. More of a feminist, so the whole male-oriented Indian society really gets on my nerves. I can’t stand it when my father sits around and expects my mother to serve him. He’s retired, but I guess the work of a housewife is never over.”

“My parents are like that.” Leila wondered why Shanti objected to a woman looking after her husband. “So you don’t miss India?”

“No, not really. But whenever we fought during our first years of marriage, I’d pack my bags and threaten to hop on the first plane. It’s harder to go back now. It’s…well, I guess it’s just different.”

“How?” Leila thought of her classmates who returned as different people. Some had American accents, others claimed they couldn’t eat spicy food anymore. She wanted to become more American, but she didn’t want to stop being Indian. Was it only a matter of time before she also became that way?

“For one thing, we fly in and out so quickly I get a very superficial sense of Bombay. What shocked me the most during my first visit was how dirty everything was. I’d heard others say it, and had always dismissed them as snobs. So it was odd to be in their shoes.”

“You mean the roads, and the buses belching black soot?”

“Those, obviously. But also the five-star hotels. Bob had taken me to the Taj on our first date and I was awed. It was so fancy. The waiters kept filling the teapot and Bob kept pouring, so I kept drinking. I was too shy to go to the bathroom and when we finally left the coffeeshop I was like a giant water balloon, just waiting to burst.” Shanti puffed out her cheeks and laughed. “Anyway, we went back there to recapture the good old days and all I saw was the shabby upholstery and the chipped china. You know, nothing was really five-star about the place.”

“I guess that won’t happen to me. We only have a three-star hotel in our town.”

“You’ll change,” Shanti prophesied. “You won’t know it and you may not even want to, but you will change.”

Shanti was right. She had already changed. She did things by herself without relying on Neel and it was making her a stronger person.

NEEL READ THE SLIP HANDED TO HIM
:
I’m by the pool. Come and see me as soon as your panel is over. Caroline
.

He crumpled it up and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Dr. Ichikawa was still giving his talk, and the audience, like those anywhere, fidgeted, wrote notes, spoke to each other, and occasionally got up and left. Yet everything had changed. What was Caroline doing? Didn’t she know it was too dangerous? The place was crawling with doctors from the hospital.

He tried to concentrate on Dr. Ichikawa’s remarks. But his mind was churning with fear and anger. He had never liked being out of control. First Leila had forced his hand and now Caroline was waiting for him downstairs. She was crazy to have come here.

He considered leaving her by the pool. Not going down at all. But what if Patrick saw her? Or Sanjay? That would be the worst. And what if she did something more stupid? Right now he didn’t put anything past her. His collar felt as damp as his clammy hands.

FIVE FLOORS BELOW
the conference room where Neel was leading the discussion, Leila, Shanti, and Oona took the last table that provided an unobstructed view of the pool.

“Don’t they feel shy?” Leila looked at the women, all clad in bikinis or skimpy one-piece suits.

“My dear, they work out like crazy just so they can show off.” Oona looked regretfully at her Coke. “I know I should have ordered the diet one.”

“But why would they want to show their bodies to strangers?” Amma had forbidden Leila to wear T-shirts from the age of twelve, saying they were indecent. She was slowly getting used to all the bare skin she saw during her walks, but she hadn’t even seen Indy in a bra and panties.

“Why does the sun shine?” Shanti quipped. “Because it can.”

Oona picked up the menu. “Let’s order something. I’m starving.”

“But didn’t we just have lunch?”

“I’m hungry again. So much for wanting to look like those women.” Oona nodded toward the pool. “Hey, isn’t that Neel? He must be looking for us. Quick, everyone, wave and get his attention.”

Leila had seen Neel for almost a full minute before Oona noticed him. But she hadn’t said anything, wondering why he wasn’t at the conference. This morning he had told her he would be busy till midnight. Had the panel finished early—was he really looking for her?

Neel searched around the pool. He couldn’t find Caroline. Perhaps she had gone, he thought, hope outpacing anger. But no, there she was on one of the bright blue chaises longues. She was in a pair of shorts, one of the few women not in a bathing suit.

He strode past the other bodies without looking at them, his eyes on Caroline. She was gazing into the distance and hadn’t noticed him. Should he go before she saw him? Send her a note the way she had sent him one?

“I think he’s coming toward us,” Oona said.

“Are you sure he sees us?” Shanti asked.

“Who could miss all these flying hands?” Oona continued waving.

Neel stopped in front of Caroline and she stood up.

“Hi.” Now that she was seeing him face-to-face Caroline was nervous. His nostrils were flared and the vein on his forehead pulsed. She had never seen him so angry before.

“What are you doing here?”

“What is
she
doing here?” Caroline countered, hurt that he hadn’t even greeted her.

“What do you mean?” Neel hedged.

“I know you brought her, Neel, and you promised not to.” She was sure now. She had called his home repeatedly, hoping the wife would answer, but after a day, had known that the sick, angry feelings inside her weren’t based on neurotic imaginings.

Neel was just about to argue that he hadn’t promised any such thing when he realized he would be better off dealing with the issue at hand.

“Caroline, you had no business coming here. What if someone sees us?”

“What if? They’ll have to know sooner or later.”

“I prefer later and I prefer deciding when and how.”

“I think it’s time you took my preferences into account.”

“Did you come here just to make me angry?”

“No.” Caroline almost broke down, “I came here because I love you. Neel, sweetie…”

“If you really love me, you’ll go back right now.”

“Neel, I’m so sad and upset, I just had to see you. I need you to comfort me.” The more distant Neel grew, the more she wanted him.

“Caroline, this isn’t the place or time for that. I have another panel in fifteen minutes. It’s best if you leave right now. I’ll take care of the bill.”

“I haven’t checked in yet.”

“Good. Then let’s get you a taxi to the airport. We can discuss this in San Francisco.”

He turned and saw Oona, Shanti, and Leila. It was like his very first operation—everyone looking, waiting for him to do something. He forced himself to smile. He’d make up some story later on. It was important that Caroline not see them. When she bent to pick up her bag, he half waved and indicated that he was leaving.

Oona and Shanti turned toward each other like bookends, trying to keep to themselves the knowledge they didn’t want Leila to guess. Leila didn’t look at either of them. She stared down at the tablecloth and counted the packets of sugar. Then she reached for her hair, cut recently to shoulder length, and twisted it into a knot. Suddenly the loose strands felt suffocating.

“Talk about forgetful doctors! Neel must have left something behind so the secretary had to bring it up.” Shanti made the excuse, her mind trying to catch up with her eyes.

“You’re right.” Oona jiggled the ice cube in her glass. “I thought she looked familiar. Sanjay calls her ‘Madam Fake’ because she insists people pronounce her name the French way, Caroleen.”

“Madam Fake.” Shanti laughed. “That’s a good one.”

Leila couldn’t speak. She, too, had recognized the woman. This was the girl whose picture Neel kept in his files. It wasn’t Savannah. It was a girl named Caroline whom Neel saw every day. Whom he was seeing now instead of coming to his wife.

THE REST OF THE DAY LEILA SMILED
and nodded to Oona and Shanti. If only she could make an excuse and leave. Lie down. Cry. Vomit. Stop her heart from thudding its grief so loudly. Her eyes gave her no respite, constantly replaying the picture of the blonde. Caroline. She knew the woman’s name. It wasn’t Savannah. That was someone else to worry about.

Oona kept pointing out the sights, her voice as cheerful as a tour operator’s. Leila couldn’t hear the words and it suddenly occurred to her that Nalini must feel this way all the time. Leila, too, had joined in the chorus of commiseration. “Yes, how terrible that Nalini’s husband refuses to send for her from Malaysia.” Poor, unwanted Nalini. But it can be worse, she communicated silently with her faraway friend. A husband can prefer another woman.

It shamed her deeply that Oona and Shanti had seen Neel bend over the woman, leave with her, while he just waved to them.

She managed to murmur the right responses and even ate half the plate of food. A few hours ago, she had been excited to be going out to dinner with the two women. Now the restaurant felt claustrophobic, the smell of the food nauseating and the conversation interminable.

Nalini had to put on a face for the hundreds of people who knew her story. Leila only had to do it for two women. But it was physically depleting, and by the time they said good night, she was exhausted, though wide awake.

Alone in the room, she slumped on the edge of the bed, boneless. Wanting to weep but unable to. Maybe she had already shed all her tears. Cried them internally these past months when Neel had rejected her every night.

She remembered that first, frantic night in America when she kept thinking a divorce was the answer. Such bravado was only possible on a jet-lagged mind—particularly since there was practically nothing to give up. Now everything was different. She had lived with Neel. Thought of him as her husband. They were not intimate in the bedroom, but she had intimate knowledge of him. That he slept on his back, that he snored only when he drank beer, that a long stream of urine was always followed by three short squirts. She had convinced herself that the letters and the picture in his files meant nothing. Kept waiting like Patience on a monument for him to claim her as his wife. Believed that he spent late nights working at the hospital.

When Neel came in at 1:00 a.m., she pretended to be asleep. She did not want to talk to him. If he had something to say, he would have found her by now. He was the one who owed her an answer. She opened her eyes to slits, like ET, and watched him look down at her. Was he going to wake her up? No, he simply turned down the covers and slid in beside her. She tried to sleep, but every attempt was foiled by the poolside tableau.

The image of the white woman in her short shorts was imprinted onto her eyelids. It was as if she had stared at the sun and every blink produced a dark semblance of the yellow disc. Neel waving, Neel leaving with the woman.

The next morning, as Neel put on his tie, he said, “Sorry I couldn’t come by yesterday, but I had to rush off to another panel. My secretary, Caroline, was delivering a packet of slides she thought I’d left behind by mistake. As it turned out, I didn’t need them.” For a second her heart surged with relief. But the way he pronounced the name, Caroleen, his going to meet her when he’d said he was so busy, told Leila he was lying.

He gave the same explanation to the others when they met for breakfast. “She was coming here for the weekend and decided to bring them herself. As I told Patrick, it’s a bit much. We both think she’s bucking for a raise.”

Leila watched him smile, watched the others move their lips like a family of apes. Sanjay made a joke. “The secretary in Pediatrics is just like a child. Her list of Won’t Do’s is so long, no one has made it to the Will Do part.”

She wanted to embarrass him the way he had her. Wanted to tell the others about the photograph, the late nights, the lonely weekends. But even as the words bubbled inside her, she suppressed the volcanic thoughts. She was still too much her mother’s daughter. She swallowed her shame and, like the dutiful wife of Amma’s expectations, went with Neel to the airport.

Jake had called earlier to say he wouldn’t be returning on the plane with them. She gazed out of the side window, not wanting to look at Neel. The smell of flowers was strong. It was Caroline’s scarf. Jake had been wrong. The scarf belonged to a cheap woman who wore bright shorts in order to hunt down a married man. Neel was in a talkative mood and pointed out this mountain, that lake. She wanted to choke him with the scarf. Stuff it into his mouth. Make him writhe in pain. She did not know how long she could listen to his polite words. She looked in the side pocket for the scarf, but it was gone. Was she imagining things again, the way she had that first night in America? The scene from yesterday asserted itself in her mind. It had been taking place for sometime now. She had just been too trusting, naive, stupid, to realize it.

She had ignored even the obvious clues: late evenings at the office, nights spent on the other side of the bed while she slept on, a virgin. What manner of man did not want to make love to his wife? Gay, or one involved with another woman. The bouquet of flowers that smelled like the scarf that smelled like Neel did after some of his late nights “at work.” And she had been so eager to please him in every way. A beggar.

She remembered a science experiment in one of Indy’s psychology textbooks. A frog was put in a pot of water that was gradually heated. The frog could jump out at any time, but the experimenters found, to their surprise, that it never did.

It would be so easy to jump off the plane. To fall like Icarus, to be absorbed by Mother Earth like Sita. But Shanti hadn’t wanted that, and neither did she. Not this time. This time she wanted to live. No man was worth dying for.

How was her life going to be in San Francisco with this knowledge eating her insides like acid? What was she going to do when he called to say he would be late?

The answers would come to her. No need to rush them. Ten years ago, but so well remembered it was as if it had happened yesterday, she had suffered the repercussions brought on by thoughtless rushing. This time, she would wait. Not wait for him to act, like she had been doing these past months. She would wait to see how
she
would act.

At this moment she only knew that she wanted to stop him playing the innocent guide. “Suneel,” she used his full name deliberately “Jake already told me everything.”

Jake had pointed out the mountains below as well as the scarf in the plane. “Where is that scarf? Maybe you should give it to Jason.”

She was disappointed when he calmly agreed, “Good idea.”