Dev Dreams, Volume One (4 page)

They were practicing their routine for a
competition coming up in a few months. Mariann was hardly in the
mood for it. In the past Kevin, conscientious of her desire not to
have the other dancers know about him, came to the dances later and
sat quietly at the side, never acknowledging knowing her. Mariann
thought it was sweet of him. She always appreciated his presence.
In fact, she wasn't sure she could dance without it. Why couldn't
she just be proud of him? Show him off to her friends? Let them
wonder. Let them ask questions, she didn't have to answer them.

Over and over Mariann and Charles danced the
same routine. Toe, side together, heel up, knee bent, slide back,
arm over head. Two, three, four and one; two, three, four and one;
two, three, four and one. Mariann lowered her head for a moment and
it threw her body off balance. The dance fell apart and Charles
stopped. The director of the studios sighed and snapped, “Pay
attention to the dance, Mari.”

“I’m sorry,” Mariann murmured, “I’m having
trouble concentrating.”

“I know something is bothering you,” The
director of the studio said walking over to them, “But you can’t
let it interfere with your work.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Mariann said.

“I don’t mean to be harsh, you understand,
but you have a job to do,” the director said, “But if you want to
talk about what’s on your mind I’ll be in the office late
tonight.”

“No, I’m fine. But thanks, Sam.”

“All right, back to work,” he said, striding
over to the other couples. He passed by all the mirrors walking
away from them and each one reflected him back.

Charles liked to talk while he and Mariann
danced. To keep away boredom, he said. He was in a cheerful mood
today, and so chattered about whatever came into his head.

“Do you know what they teach kids these days?
My girls are getting this great concept of esteem. They come home
and tell me how they can do and be anything.”

Mariann nodded politely. Toe, side together,
heel up, knee bent, slide back, arm over head.

“And it’s true. When I was growing up people
told me not to be a dancer. But here I am. The sky’s the limit, you
know?” He smiled happily. “Do you have kids, Mari?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you had kids.”

“Oh. No, no I don’t.” Toe, side together,
heel up, knee bent, slide back, arm over head. Two, three, four and
one; two, three, four and one.

“That’s too bad. You’ve been married a while,
haven’t you?”

“A few years.”

“Me and my wife had our first before we were
married.” He laughed.

“Mmm-hhmm,” Mariann murmured. She didn’t
really care about Charles’s life and she didn’t want him poking
into hers. If only what he said were true. If only children could
grow up to be whatever they wanted, then Kevin would not be
watching her achieve her dream while his leaked away. When Kevin
was a kid they didn't tell him he could do anything. He tried out
for his high school play and, he had told her more than once, “I
was up on that stage and I had watched all the other people trying
out. I was better than all of them, but they were angry at me for
it. They couldn’t tell me I wasn’t allowed to try out, but they
didn’t have to even pretend that I could get a part.”

He was born an actor. A very good actor with
a beautiful, startling voice and a face adept at taking on
expressions. No one ever gave him the opportunity to express his
talent. Kevin was stubbornly persistent, but no one even gave him a
chance. Together they had rehearsed a scene from Taming of the
Shrew and Mariann had started crying half way through. Never had
fiction moved her to tears before. At the theater they refused to
see his audition. She hadn’t been surprised, but Kevin was a
talented man who deserved to be doing what he loved.

Mariann and Charles finished their rehearsals
and Mariann went to the bathroom to wash the sweat from her face
and re-clip her hair before the class that she was teaching began.
The mirror showed her a face flushed with energy and the love of
dance. She couldn’t get away from it; she loved dancing more than
anything. Did she love it more than Kevin? But then she started
thinking about kids, about Charles's kids. When it came to kids, no
one ever asked you to justify your love. You could love them just
for being.

She had a class to teach, but first she ran
to her bag and pulled out her cellphone, taking it with her
outside, behind the studio. She leaned on the brick wall and dialed
her home number. There was no answer.

The voice mail beeped and she said, “I
married you because I love you. I'm sorry.” It probably wasn't
enough, the phrase “too little, too late” came to mind, but she was
glad she had apologized at least.

She walked back to the studio and found her
class milling about. This was her advanced class. She taught it
with the help of a male dancer. Mariann would show the woman’s
part, and he would show the man’s part and then they would
demonstrate it together. The wall to wall mirrors would show a
million glistening arms flying in circles. Usually Mariann’s eyes
sparkled when she danced...but she knew they were dull and flat
these days. Mariann was teaching the Rumba today. It was the
slowest of the Latin dances. One, two, three, and four; quick,
quick, slow; quick, quick, slow; one, two, three, and four. Slow,
sensual, pained, full of heartache and longing.

There were other classes too. The private
lesson Mariann gave to the couple preparing a waltz for their
wedding dance, the advanced technique class, and then the meetings
with Sam about how they could expand and what they should be
teaching. Would anyone sign up for lessons in Mambo? How could they
use the new interest in Swing and Salsa in their advertising?

At the end of the day Mariann went out for
dinner before the social dance hour. The bottoms of her feet still
got sore after such a long time dancing. To go out she changed into
sneakers. Mariann went to the same fast-food restaurant she always
went to on Friday. Before they were married she and Kevin would
share meals here, Mariann eating more of his food than of her own,
and Kevin always sticking his fork in whatever she was eating.

Back at the studio the director had been
working on the mood of the place for the evening social dance. The
lights were on dim; the mirrors glimmered faintly in the darkness.
The music was turned up and all the dancers got in their costumes.
Mariann wore a short pink skirt with small leggings underneath and
a purple shirt that clung tight to her skin and exposed her entire
back. She pulled on her high-heeled dance shoes and took Charles’s
hand. They were using this time to improve their partnership and
how they worked with each other. He led her mechanically through
the Cha-cha, the Samba, and the Merengue, chatting the whole time.
Then came the Rhumba. Either Charles had run out of things to talk
about or the mood of the gentle, soft music had reached him. It
didn’t matter; at least he was finally quiet.

The Rhumba, the slowest and softest of all
Latin dances. Mariann moved from her center, her ribs going
forward, then her hips, followed by her knees, her toe, her heel.
Slow, sensual, her head up, the arm Charles wasn’t holding moved in
rhythm, twisting in the air.

Then Charles raised his arm, pushed her hand
and Mariann began to spin. As the room went by faster and faster
Mariann tried, as she often did, to imagine that the hand holding
hers was Kevin’s. Suddenly Charles’s hand snapped up and Mariann
jerked to a stop, lost her balance, and fell to the fake wood
floor.

“Geez, I’m real sorry, Mari.”

“Damn it.” Mariann stood up, brushing off her
skirt.

Then she noticed over his shoulder, just
inside the door, a man with short-cut black hair sitting on a sleek
black wheelchair. Charles tried to take her hand again, but Mariann
wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Are you looking for something?” One of the
other dancers asked the man.

Mariann took one step forward from the dance
floor toward him. He rolled gracefully forward to meet her. He
raised one eyebrow.

A voice said, “Mari, what is going on?” She
didn’t know who had spoken. She didn’t care.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she said.

He held out one hand. Mariann knew everyone
was looking at them; but then, looking just at his hand, everything
in the background vanished. There was only she, this man, and a
gentle Rhumba.

She put her slender fingers in his and his
hand almost swallowed hers. They were in the center of the dance
floor; in the center of the universe. Expertly his hand shot
forward and her long legs snapped together, twisted, and one came
forward in a beautiful arc. Her hips moved as she walked around
him, then both his hands covered her hips and, as she came forward
to him, she bent her knees and he lifted her into the air. Her arms
ran down his like intertwined threads. Her legs split above his
head, and then he lowered her down behind his back. She grabbed his
shoulder and pivoted him to her. They danced across the floor
holding both hands between them. She danced backwards, zig-zaging
him with her. His shoulder blades curved the same way as the center
of her body.

Half way back across the floor, in the dim
light he held onto her hands and she used him to lift herself off
the ground. Her knees came up and his arms lowered her onto his
lap. Their hands in perfect synchrony, both touched his wheels and,
as one body, they began to spin. His wheels sparkled and her red
hair glowed, creating a cylinder of brightness in the middle of the
dark room.

As the spin slowed, Mariann uncurled and her
body stretched over his legs. His strong arms held onto her. The
wheelchair came to a gentle stop and Mariann twisted across to land
beside him on her knees.

The song ended. Her breath and his were the
only sounds. She stood up and pushed red curls out of her face,
wiping aside sweat. She stood beside Kevin and they faced the
entire studio. No one moved. They just stared. Mariann felt Kevin’s
hand squeeze hers. A new song came on the stereo, but no one
danced. Finally Mariann smiled and said, “Everyone, this is Kevin,
my husband.”

Home Country

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Priyanka spent most of the flight from
Bangalore to Boston, stopover in Germany, silently observing the
people around her. She had never been on a plane before and she
didn't know anyone, but she had learned that if she stayed quiet
she could figure out what to do. There were plenty of movies in
Hindi and she brought a book, but she found the people much more
interesting.

The man on her right was taking notes while
reading a Bible. In the row ahead was a couple with a small boy.
The girl she presumed to be the mother was very young, probably
younger than Priyanka herself, and she wore western style clothes,
but with a small red tikka mark between her eyebrows. The
stewardesses spoke German to one another and Priyanka tried to
guess at what they were saying. The German language was more
clipped with hardened sounds, unlike the rush of jumbled sounds of
Indian languages like water rushing over stones.

After the stopover, different people joined
them. The Indians became fewer, now most of the plane seemed to be
Americans. For that flight Priyanka slept with her head in her arms
on the open tray table. She woke as they started down toward
Boston.

Suddenly she was nervous about how she looked
after sleeping. She made her way to the bathroom and finger combed
her hair for a few minutes and re-plaited it. She smoothed the
pleats in her sari. Her aunt had insisted that she wear a sari on
the flight, to look her best when she arrived. What she meant was
to look traditional, like a good girl who wouldn't cause any
trouble and that's exactly what Priyanka had always been.

There was nothing Priyanka could do in the
bathroom to quiet the fury of nerves in her stomach. In just a few
minutes she would meet the man she would spend the rest of her life
with and all she knew of him was printed on the back of his
photograph that was in her bag. She had spent the nights since she
found out looking at that picture and trying to imagine what kind
of person he was. He was older than her, but younger than she
expected and he looked a bit shy in front of the camera. She was
surprised by how handsome he was and she hoped it was an up to date
photograph. In situations like these, you never knew what people
might do. It was not the usual way, to go sight unseen to a new
place.

Ever since her parents had been killed in an
accident, Priyanka had lived with a distant aunt. She brought with
her a bad horoscope, additional expense, and the taint of tragedy.
Daksha Auntie worried how she would marry Priyanka off from the
time the girl arrived at eleven years old. Daksha Auntie wanted
people to believe that she loved and cared for Priyanka, but in
reality she wanted nothing more than to be rid of her and she
resented any expense that Priyanka took as coming from her own
children. Daksha Auntie and Babu Uncle started looking for matches
when Priayanka turned eighteen, but found nothing until she was
twenty.

Daksha Auntie had not told her much about her
groom. He was an NRI, living in America. He was a doctor. It all
sounded like a very eligible man. There had to be some catch,
something Daksha Auntie wasn't telling her for him to agree to her
horoscope.

“You will go to America and meet him there,”
Daksha Auntie told her, “This is the best offer we will get for
you.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“What makes you say something is wrong? You
are an ungrateful girl for all the work that we do for you. You
will go there and you won't make a fuss. Lucky girl that you should
go to America and marry a doctor. Everyone we know will be
jealous.”