And Laughter Fell From the Sky (21 page)

She hung her purse, a gray pouch kind of thing, over a shoulder. “I told you, I just came out here to have some fun.” She spoke softly and stepped away from the reception desk.

He stayed put and declared, “Most people don’t run off to see other men right before they’re about to get married.”

“Come on.” She headed toward the outside door. “Let’s not make a scene. I’ve already had breakfast. Let’s just go see something.”

At the streetcar stop in front of the building, Abhay tried again. “You’re really serious about marrying this guy?”

Rasika slipped sunglasses over her eyes. “I haven’t met him in person, yet. We’ve talked over the phone. I think I’ll like him.” She turned away from him so her shoulder and purse were between herself and him.

“Yeah. You’re so excited about marrying him that you flew all the way across the country to see scruffy old me.”

She ran her black lenses over him from head to toe. He wore a pair of faded jeans and an old green fleece jacket. “You don’t have to be scruffy if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not the issue. Why are you here?”

A middle-aged, square-shaped woman holding a large tan shopping bag stopped right in front of them to look at the streetcar schedule.

“You invited me,” Rasika hissed. “Why did you invite me?”

“I invited you because I love you.”

“Oh, please.” She turned her back to him again.

The streetcar pulled up with a faint squeak of its wheels against the track, and he decided to give up figuring her out for the time being. “Let’s go to the library,” he suggested as they hung on to the streetcar straps and swayed down the street. “I want you to meet someone.” Justin Time spent hours at the public library, finding and photocopying new materials to bring to Abhay.

On the sidewalk in front of the library, they gazed at the grand building. “I love the fact that this building, which is free and open to the public, is more imposing than the Portland Art Museum,” he told her.

She followed his gaze to the beautiful tall arched windows, the broad steps from the street to three arched doorways, the bronze lamps on either side of the stairs. They climbed the steps and entered the lobby, with rows of pink marble pillars and a black grand stairway ahead of them.

“It looks like a ballroom, or something.” She pulled off her glasses and tucked them into her purse.

“Yeah and it’s for all of us. Take a look at these stairs.” He led her to the black staircase, heavily embossed with garden imagery. “You can see shapes hidden in the design. Here’s a bird. There’s a crocodile, I think.”

“It’s like finding the hidden pictures in one of those children’s magazines.” They clambered around the staircase. She was giggling with pleasure, putting her hands down to feel the shapes.

On the second and third floors, she admired the rose-patterned carpet. There were more pillars, beautiful light fixtures, heavy wooden doorways leading to rooms with rows of bookshelves, and tables of people reading or using computers. “I don’t think I’ve been in a library since I was in college,” she said.

“Where do you get your books?” Abhay asked.

“I buy magazines. Sometimes I borrow a book from Jill or a friend at work, but I can’t even remember the last book I read.”

Justin Time generally occupied a far table on the third floor. As Abhay led the way, he could see Justin’s bald head bent over a pile of papers.

“Justin,” he whispered, and the man startled.

At that moment, Abhay saw Justin as Rasika was likely seeing him: a humorless middle-aged man in rumpled clothes. He felt embarrassed to be introducing this glowing woman to this lifeless man. But Justin was waiting expectantly, so Abhay finished the introductions. Rasika held out a clean, elegant hand, and Justin grasped it in his ink-stained one. Abhay said a few sentences to Rasika about the important goals of the organization. Justin seemed impatient to get back to his research, so they left him and walked out of the library.

Outside, they sat on a stone bench. “That guy gave me the creeps,” Rasika said.

“He’s a little eccentric.”

“He’s like a zombie or something. There’s nothing there. What is it you guys are trying to do?”

Abhay explained HOPE again to Rasika. Her eyes grew larger, and she burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Do you know that the world’s population will top nine billion by 2050? That’s about eight billion more people than can live a comfortable, enjoyable life on this planet. And do you realize that each person born in America will produce millions of pounds of trash, and lead to the consumption of thousands of barrels of oil?”

“Do you really think you can get everyone on the planet to stop having children?” She shook her finger at him, and he realized she was imitating his gesture to her. In fact, his hand was still up in the air, ready to make his next point.

He put his hand down. “That’s a goal.” He tried to make his voice less strident. “You have to have a goal, so you know what you’re aiming for.”

“It’s not a goal. It’s a delusion.”

She looked so funny, with her eyes wide open and her eyebrows raised, that he had to laugh. “He is kind of a strange guy, I admit. And the organization is unusual. I’m just doing this for a while, until I figure out what I really want to do.”

“Are you getting closer?”

“Maybe. I’m realizing at least that I like the research I’m doing for Justin. I love libraries, and I love books. I miss being in school.”

“You could become a professor. Then you could be in school all the time.”

“I think what I really want is to be a perpetual student!” He laughed.

“Sometimes I wish I could permanently be eleven years old,” she said.

“Why? What’s so great about eleven?”

“I wasn’t conflicted then. I wanted the same things for myself that my parents wanted for me. I made cookies. I was a Girl Scout. I collected Beanie Babies. Boys had cooties, and I stayed away from them.”

“I thought you still wanted the same things your parents want.”

“I do. But—it’s just different now.”

“Rasika, if you’d just admit that you don’t want the same things as your parents—”

“Abhay, if you’d just admit that you’re refusing to grow up—” She held up both hands, palms parallel, as though handing him a large box of her thoughts.

He realized she was imitating his gesture again. He dropped his hands. “I guess we should stop trying to fix each other.”

“Good idea.”

A woman with a wrinkled face and gray hair walked a bike slowly past them. Blue sky and sun peeked out from among the clouds. The misty air of the morning was gone.

“Everyone seems so casual,” Rasika said. “I guess it’s casual Friday?”

“People in Portland are always like this. No one dresses up.”

Two men in dress shirts and ties approached. As they passed by, one of them revealed a backpack, and the other sported a ponytail.

“What should we do now?” Abhay asked.

“Let’s have some fun! Isn’t that why you moved all the way out here? Because you thought it would be more fun?”

“I moved out here to find meaningful work in a community that cares about the fate of the planet.”

“That sounds so serious.”

“Well, what do you want to do, then?”

“I love water.” Rasika sighed. “I just want to see something flowing.”

They took a bus down to the riverfront and rented bikes. “The city tore down a freeway in order to reclaim this green space,” he explained to Rasika as they stood on the lawn next to the bike path. “On the other side there’s even a floating path to ride on.” He had to shout when talking to her, because although the city had torn down one freeway, there was another one on the other side of the river, roaring with traffic.

“Look at the bridges.” He pointed to the series of arches spanning the river. “They’re so massive, and all so different. Like giant sculptures.” One bridge was made up of a series of green arched trusses above the roadway, and another had gray trusses underneath. “They’re so big, so industrial. I mean, I prefer nature, but this is amazing. I sometimes wonder what this river was like when Lewis and Clark arrived. It’s hard to even imagine what it looked like then.”

Rasika dangled her purse on a handlebar, and they rode along the path by the Willamette River. “I haven’t been on a bike since I was a kid!” she shouted, wobbling her way down the asphalt. As they approached the black trusses of one of the bridges, Rasika stopped and straddled her bike. “I’m supposed to ride on that thing?”

“The bike path is lower down, so we won’t be up there with the traffic. But if you’re afraid, we can just keep riding on this side of the river.”

She boosted herself onto her seat again. “I’m here for adventure, so let’s do it. But you go first.”

On the other side, Abhay stopped and looked back at her. “You OK?”

She smiled breathlessly. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

“I thought it was kind of scary, too, the first time I did it.”

They rode on. The path widened into a small plaza with benches. They parked their bikes and stood next to the handrail. Rasika gazed down at the steel-blue water rippling past, while Abhay gazed at Rasika. She had gathered the end of her ponytail into one fist to keep it from blowing in the breeze. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head, and her eyelashes dipped over her eyes as she glanced from the water below to the shoreline across the river. Behind her head a faint glow appeared and brightened.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“Nothing.”

“No, really.”

She took a deep breath and let out a long, slow exhalation. “I really wasn’t thinking about anything. Or—I guess I was just enjoying the idea of flowing, like the river. Just going, and not caring. You’re so lucky, Abhay, to be living out here, away from everyone. You can do anything you want.”

“You can live out here and do anything you want, too.”

She leaned her back against the handrail. “No. It’s different for me. Indian parents expect more obedience from their daughters.” She settled her glasses over her eyes again.

“Seema has a boyfriend,” he said.

Rasika’s forehead dented.

“My sister,” Abhay repeated. “Remember?”

“I know who Seema is.” She removed her ponytail band and shook out her hair.

“She isn’t letting my parents stop her from living her own life.”

Rasika shrugged. “Seema is very different from me.”

“That’s true,” Abhay said. Gulls swooped overhead, screeching to one another. A crowd of children swarmed onto the plaza, clambering on the benches, crowding against the railing. A few adults strolled after them. Rasika scooted closer to Abhay along the railing. “Do you come out here a lot?” she asked.

“Not since I first moved out here. I’ve been really busy.”

“With what?”

“Work. I’m scheduled for thirty hours a week at the bookstore, and I put in thirty hours with Justin.”

“Why? Is it that expensive to live here that you need to work all the time?”

“I don’t have much else to do, so I figured I might as well earn money. I’ve got a lot saved up now, and it feels good. I have more money in the bank than I’ve ever had before. I don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Abhay.” She lifted her glasses and looked at him reproachfully. “You’re being silly. You’ve got this amazing city to play in, and all you do is hole up with books and papers. Is that why you moved out here? To slog away in a bookstore, and to organize papers for a creepy man who smells funny?”

“I moved out here partly to get away from you. I figured if I worked hard enough, I’d forget; I’d be able to move on. But, it’s not working.”

“You shouldn’t have invited me, then.”

“Are you sorry you’re here?”

“I don’t want to think about that.” She twisted several strands of hair tightly around her fingers.

He untangled her fingers and kissed her fingertips. “What do you want to do now?”

She was motionless for a few moments. A gull sailed down and landed on the ground near her. She shook his hand away and regathered her hair into a ponytail. “Let’s get lunch.”

Chapter 12

T
hey ended up at a casual Pan-Asian place not too far from his neighborhood. He still couldn’t figure out his bearings with her. During lunch she asked him all sorts of questions about his life in Portland and his friends in town. He carefully avoided mentioning Kianga and Ellen. He wasn’t sure how Rasika would react to the idea that he had women friends.

When they exited the café, he had an inspiration. “I’m going to show you some beautiful old houses in this neighborhood.”

She had her arms wrapped around herself as she walked. They turned up a side street and stopped outside the iron fence of a large powder-green house amid the apartment buildings and cafés. Two columns of bay windows went up all three floors of the house on either side of the wide stairs leading up to the pillared porch and double doors. An intricate wrought iron fence bordered the yard.

“Take a look at how far back this house goes.” Abhay stepped along the sidewalk until he could see the side of the house. “It looks like they have a greenhouse back here.” He pointed to a glassed-in porch at the back of the house, with large houseplant leaves against the windows. “Maybe they have a separate library room downstairs. And maybe there’s an artist’s studio on the top floor. Wouldn’t you like to live in a house like this?”

Rasika lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. “I never thought about living in an old house, although it’s very pretty.”

“I like the plaster decorations between the bay windows,” he said. “And the flower baskets hanging from the porch roof.”

She stood with her hands pulled into the sleeves of her jacket. “It’s right up against everything else. There’s a print shop on the other side, it looks like.”

“That’s what’s great about it. You have this wonderful house, and you can step out your door and go out to eat or see a movie, without even having to get in a car. There are a bunch of big houses around this neighborhood. I like to walk around and look for them.”

“I’d want to live away from everyone.”

“Like on some kind of English manor? That’s what the new expensive housing developments are trying to imitate, with their huge lawns and the houses set so far back. They want everyone to feel like they’re on their own private little estate. What would you do, away from everyone?”

“I’d invite people over, I guess.”

Abhay laughed. “You’d live far away from everyone so you could invite them over and have them admire your secluded mansion?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

He took a step closer to her and put an arm around her waist. “What would it be like if the two of us lived in this house? If we were married?”

She nudged him away. “I can’t marry you, Abhay.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not the kind of man I want. You’re too young, for one thing.”

“I’m only a year younger than you.”

“Well, you act like a boy. If I were as smart as you, I’d go back to school and get a degree so I could have a really great job. It’s not just about making a lot of money. You could get a job where you’d be someone in the world, and make an impact. I don’t understand why you’re letting yourself work at these menial jobs. It’s like—you’re not grown-up, Abhay. You’re still playing around.”

“When I was a kid, my mom would give me my allowance and then take me over to the discount store, but I could never choose anything until Mom threatened to leave. And then I’d always feel sad in the car, with my toy, because I couldn’t have all the other toys, too.” He laughed at this memory.

“You’re still being like that. Except your mom’s not here to threaten you, so you haven’t chosen anything yet. If you don’t pick something, you’ll never get anywhere. That’s why I’m going to get married. I know I can’t have every man in the world. I can only have one.”

“So if I pick a good career, then you’d marry me?”

“Why do you keep talking about marrying me?”

“I love you. You love me. It makes sense.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Rasika, you came all the way out here to see me. You’ve never traveled anywhere alone before.”

“I just needed a break from my life.”

“Then why did you choose to come out here? You could have gone anywhere.” He unwrapped one of her arms and placed her hand against his heart. “If you want to get away from your life, why don’t you stay here for a while? Portland’s full of interesting things to do. Maybe you’d like to get involved with watercolor painting, or beading, or self-defense. We have movies, music, lectures. You can take all sorts of exercise classes. You can learn Japanese flower-arranging, and how to read tarot cards. You can even go shopping every day, if that’s what turns you on. And then we can decide later about our future. I know your freedom is really important to you. Just let yourself be free for once.” He slipped his fingers into her coat sleeve and stroked her wrist and forearm.

“I’ve got enough freedom as it is.”

“You’ve spent your life trying to fit into an impossible situation, being Indian in America. Just come out here, and figure out what you really want.”

“You sound like my friend Jill. She wants us to run away to some tropical island together. But my parents would never leave me alone.”

“You have to train them to leave you alone. Don’t answer their phone calls for a while. They’ll get the idea.”

She pulled her hand away. “I can’t. They’d be on my case all the time if I were single and living on my own. And I could never marry you. My father—”

“He’ll get over it.”

“No.” She stamped her foot like a child. “Let me finish. You’re from a different caste. My father is very proud to be a Brahmin, and he says he could never accept it if I married someone who isn’t.” She looked down.

“You don’t agree with your father?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what caste you are, and I don’t care.”

“I personally don’t think of myself as belonging to any caste.” He spoke gently, hoping to soothe her. “My parents consider themselves Vaishyas, the traditional caste of business and trade. It’s the caste Mahatma Gandhi belonged to, and that’s pretty much all I know. Anyway, even in India, things are changing. Lots of people are marrying outside of their caste. One of my uncles married someone from college who was of a completely different caste, and everyone’s been fine with it.”

“Not in my family. Things are different for me. That’s why I’ve decided to go ahead and get married the way they want me to.” Rasika’s hands were inside her jacket sleeves again.

Abhay put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wrought iron fence. Down the street, a hairy man in athletic shorts and hiking boots clumped closer and closer. Rasika stared at the man as he tramped past.

“This is why I can’t stay in Portland.” She jabbed a finger at the man’s receding back. “I’d forget how to dress and wind up in faded jeans and hiking boots all the time.”

He smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you the bookstore where I work, and then we’ll get some bubble tea. I bet you’ve never had that before.”

“I’m so tired.” Rasika sank onto one of the rows of brick steps surrounding the open, empty oval space. She felt a pleasant ache all over her body. She was content to sit and rest. “We must have gone all over this city in one day. What is this place, anyway?”

“It’s just a community space.” Abhay sat on the step beside her. “There’s the courthouse on that side.” He pointed to a large gray building across the way, with two wings and what looked like a little bell tower in the middle of the roof. “They have different events and fairs here.”

Right now the place was almost deserted. Dusk gathered around them. A few people sat on the steps across the courtyard, reading or just sitting in the fading light. To her left down below was a small circular pond with a bridge across it leading to a set of glass doors. “Is that the entrance to a store?” Rasika asked.

“That’s the TriMet office,” Abhay said. “You can get public transportation passes and maps there. Stuff like that.”

She looked away from the promising glass doors, which now held nothing of interest.

“You look like a picture,” Abhay said. “Or a statue. You’re so still.”

She sat with her elbow on a knee, hand supporting her chin. He slid closer to her on the step and put an arm around her. She leaned against him. She felt empty and light, as though the weight of her life had dropped away.

Nearby, at the bottom of the steps, a bearded man lifted a violin out of its case. He tucked it under his chin, closed his eyes, put the bow to the strings, and drew out a melody that sounded meloncholy and happy at the same time.

Abhay stood up and held out a hand to Rasika. “Let’s dance.”

“Not right now.” She stayed put on the step. “There’s no one else dancing. People will look at us.”

“So what? Come on. No one knows us here.” He pulled her up, and they descended to the vast brick-floored space. He put a hand at her waist and took her right hand in his left. Rasika tried to make her pink sneakers follow his sandals, but they kept stumbling over each other. She giggled quietly and glanced over at the violin player, who still had his eyes closed.

“I think it’s an Eastern European tune,” Abhay said. He put his arms all the way around her, and they managed to sway together, hugging and standing in one place.

Rasika closed her eyes and relaxed against Abhay. He was surprisingly sturdy, despite his short stature. The violin music seemed to penetrate her, the strings vibrating inside of her. She was hollow, as though she were a reed instrument being played by someone else. She could allow herself to float along in Abhay’s arms.

After the song ended on a long, high note, the violin player immediately launched into a fast, bouncy tune. Abhay stepped back and looked at her, and then leaned forward and kissed her. She didn’t resist.

Abhay dug in his pocket for a few dollars, tossed them into the violin case, and led Rasika by the hand up the stairs. They walked silently back to her hotel with their arms around each other. At one point, her phone rang.

“You gonna get that?” Abhay asked.

“I’ll just let it go to voice mail.”

The melody stopped, then started again. She slipped her hand into her purse and turned the phone off by feel. She was so far away from anyone who might be calling her that she didn’t even care. She wasn’t even aware of where they were going. She just floated along. Up in her room, when Abhay pressed her close to him and kissed her, she allowed everything. It all seemed fine and right and perfect.

The next morning, when she opened her eyes, she saw Abhay sitting in an armchair, hunched over a folded-up section of newspaper.

“You’re up already?”

“I’ve been awake for a while. I took a shower and went downstairs to buy a newspaper.”

She stretched under the covers and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift in pleasant relaxation. It was funny to be out here with Abhay. She was supposed to be in Los Angeles. Well, really, she was supposed to be at home, preparing for her wedding. The thought made her giggle.

“What’re you laughing about?”

She wriggled herself upright on the bed, holding the sheet over her front. “It’s just strange. I’m not supposed to be here.”

He flung aside his newspaper and crawled onto the bed. “Sure you are.” He slid a hand under the sheet. “This is exactly where you’re supposed to be, because you made the decision to come here. You’re in charge of your own destiny.”

“You’re freezing.” She gasped, yet didn’t push him away. She shivered and giggled as his cold hands stroked her. She helped him shed his clothes. Soon she grew warm in the tangle of sheets. There was nothing in the world except her and Abhay, moving together in the pale morning sunlight. They dozed again, and when she woke up, the sun was bright and high, streaming into the room.

Once they were dressed and outside on the sidewalk, Abhay asked, “What should we do today?”

She squinted in the bright light as they stepped onto the sidewalk. She thought about putting on her sunglasses but decided not to bother. She felt so light, as if she could drift along like a leaf without caring where she went.

He took her out to a fancy brunch at a nearby hotel. They filled their heavy china plates at a long, gleaming bar stocked with marinated asparagus, herbed potatoes, mini-omelets, scones, and a fruit salad with glistening berries, orange sections, and melon slices. They sat at a table covered with a thick white cloth and ate looking out the window at a patio and garden.

Rasika enjoyed the taste of everything. She felt empty of worries, and full of—something. Happiness? No, not exactly. Just full of being here with Abhay. He was so funny. It was adorable how he had tried to dance with her the evening before. But
her
husband had to be sophisticated, accomplished, important, and both older and taller than she. Abhay was none of these things.

They split the bill and stepped out to the sidewalk. “Let’s go to the Japanese garden,” Abhay suggested. He took her hand and they walked, swinging arms, to the MAX station.

“This garden is one of my favorite places in Portland,” he said as he paid for both of them. They passed along the stone-slab path among the trees to the pavilion. “Sometimes they hold receptions here,” Abhay said. They stood on the wooden porch and leaned over the railing to look at the Zen garden of gravel raked into a complicated pattern of circles and swirls.