Flowers in the Blood (17 page)

 

“This game must stop at once.” Zilpah was not shouting. Her voice was soft, calm, controlled, but vehemence penetrated every syllable.

I faced her squarely. The two of us stood in the room my grand-mother had once occupied, which now was a downstairs sitting room Zilpah used for working on the household accounts.

“A harmless exercise,” I offered weakly.

“Harmless?” Her voice lowered an octave. The tight ball of black hair at the back of her neck seemed to pull her mouth into an obstinate line. The muscles in her gooselike neck lengthened until she towered over me. “Have you forgotten your position?”

“Nobody knows about it, except you . . . and Pinhas.”

“You are fortunate somebody less discreet than my son did not find this.” She waved the note in front of my face.

“Only a sneak like Pinhas would have shown it to you and told you what it meant.”

Her nostrils flared. “For someone who is supposed to be a very intelligent girl, you are incredibly forgetful. Of course, we prefer to push past unpleasantness aside. Since I have come to the house, I have tried to establish order, peacefulness. I have been successful, at least with the younger ones and with your father.” She paused. “I would think, for his sake alone, you would have wished to spare him anxiety by doing your duty at home, as well as in school. Frankly, I think it is possible the influence of your education has not been a healthy one. While I believe that girls must learn to read, do sums, to be educated so they can assume their proper roles in the Jewish community, after a point there is often a negative effect. I warned Benu that something like this might happen.”

I felt close to despair. Zilpah was going to ruin everything. “What do you mean?”

“A girl who goes off to a fancy school every day is duped into believing she will go out into the world every day. At your age you should be home preparing for marriage. I have told this to your father, but since you have dazzled him with your good reports, he has taken your side.”

I quaked under her scrutiny, but remained silent.

“Considering the past, considering what you—what you both—have suffered, I have acceded to him. Now he will see the wisdom of my words. I am only sorry it took so drastic an incident for his blinders to be removed.”

“Are you saying I cannot finish school?”

“When a girl begins to behave as you have, the dangers are everywhere, especially a girl with your background. We can no longer trust you. We must watch you more closely or your reputation will be ruined.”

“What do you mean, 'a girl with my background'? What’s wrong with my background?
You
are the one everybody talks about. If they think badly of me, it is because my father married so low. The name Sassoon will never whiten your skin or give you a Jewish birthright!”

Zilpah did not seem to be provoked further. If anything, she was more quiescent. “Must I say it again? Must I speak even more plainly?”

“Yes, please do. I'm tired of your silences. You and Pinhas are alike. He tells you everything. You tattle to my father.”

“All right, then.” She stood and began to pace in front of me, the swish of her sari on the bare floor punctuating her Words. “The time is coming, Dinah, when you must marry. This year would not be too early. I was betrothed before I was fifteen. Many of your friends will be married within the next few months.”

She reached the end of the long, narrow room, spun around, and marched back, directly facing me. As she turned, the silk hem whooshed like a spill of water. “One of the reasons for having young girls marry is to protect them from themselves. No good family wants a girl who has any questionable character traits or who is thought to have compromised herself with a young man. Your indecent notes to Gabriel, your unseemly conduct at the synagogue, constitute the sort of behavior that give a girl a bad reputation and ruin her chances. Fortunately, nothing has come of this—yet.”

Again she reached the boundary of the room. As she curved back, the sound—like a dragon's foul breath—warned she was coming closer. “Keeping you at home is the most prudent course. This will prove you have conscientious parents. Then, as quickly as possible, we will find you a suitable match. At least your dowry will be so extravagant you will have your pick, or at least that is what your father claims. Then there are other concerns . . .” I could see her deciding whether to check her tongue. My surly expression decided for her. “We still do not know if anyone will have you, no matter the dowry.”

I froze, incapable of speech. A terrible unnamed feeling set my heart to beating wildly. On the far side of the room, Zilpah waited more than a minute before waving me to sit on a hassock. As she slid into the wing chair, her iridescent green sari draped into an obedient puddle at her feet. “You are the daughter of a woman who brought other men into this house while her husband was away. You are the daughter of a woman who could not control her need for opium. You are the daughter of a woman who neglected her family duties. You are the daughter of a woman of loose morals who was murdered in her bed by a jealous lover. Nobody has forgotten this. In this society, children are the products of their parents. Luckily, your father has an estimable reputation, so a case for you might be made, but only if no other taint touches you.”

I felt as though a knife was being twisted between my shoulder blades. A sickness welled up inside me, causing me to bend over. Zilpah must have noticed my distress, but she pressed on. “Your beloved Baghdadi Jews are a superstitious clan. You and I know there is nothing wrong with walking under a tree after dusk—the spirits won't find us. You and I know cats and dogs are not going to bring demons into the house. You and I know this nonsense about the evil eye is ridiculous. But others do not. Even if they are not really believers, they see less harm in following the old ways than in the consequences that could befall them if they failed to do so. Do you understand me, Dinah?”

I lifted my head, but did not meet her gaze.

“Among these same ignorant people are the mothers of the men you might marry. They cannot forget you are the child who was carried out of her mother's bedroom bathed in her traitorous blood. They hold you no grudge. Indeed, they pity you, Dinah. But they do not want you to marry their precious sons. If I have been harsh to you in the past, if I am being harsh to you now, it is only to protect you, to keep you above suspicion to avoid any problems that might arise as your father and I attempt to secure your future.”

At first I was furious she had dared to speak to me so forcefully, but then a fresh feeling welled up and diffused my anger. I was grateful for the clarity of my position. I saw what I now must do. I knew to whom I must speak. There was nothing more to say to her. Besides, I would not give her the satisfaction of knowing she had, in the queerest sense, done me a favor.

A
chick-chick
, a mosquito-eating lizard, skittered between us. I lifted it in my lap and stroked its knobby spine. It froze under my touch. I waited. I knew Zilpah was repulsed by the creatures. Eventually, I am not certain when, Zilpah left me alone. The chick-chick's tail twitched, its eyes caught the afternoon sun and glowed as if it too were on fire from the inside out.

12

 

Y
our mother's speech may have been unnecessarily abrasive, but I cannot disagree with her,” Nani said in a breathless voice I had not heard before.

I was stunned. Where were the words of consolation I had sought?

I concentrated on the banyan tree that curtained the Lower Chitpur Road courtyard in an embrace of shade. Once monstrous to me, the tree seemed diminished in size. Nani also appeared to have shrunk. So many things had changed. Dr. Hyam and his wife now lived here. My grandmother was more a boarder than the lady of the house. She would have been more comfortable at Theatre Road—that is, if Zilpah had not been in command. To have her defend the woman who had made it impossible for her to keep her place was a travesty.

I mustered my energies for the attack. “She is not my mother!”

Nani's expression—eyes rolling back, a snap of her head—was a rebuke meaning: Don't I know that better than you?

My expectation of a miracle crumbled. The indignation in my face dissolved. Unlike Zilpah, I knew my grandmother took no pleasure in my misery.

“How old are you now? Fourteen, isn't it?”

I nodded.

“My mother was married at thirteen. I was also married at thirteen, the first time.”

“First time?”

“You may not have known your grandfather was my second husband. A few days after the marriage my groom took to his bed, and died within three months. I didn't marry again for sixteen more years. Why? Because of our superstitions. His family thought I had brought the evil eye to our union, which was nonsense. He was a weakling from the start. His parents thought marriage would strengthen him, make him more of a man.” She pounded her bony fist on the arm of the chair. “Afterward, I lived in his parents' house almost as their slave, which is why they were not interested in seeing me married again, and my first dowry had been so generous my family could afford nothing more.”

“How could they—?”

She waved her hand to stifle my question. “That was a long time ago. Your mother—” She caught herself and began again. “Zilpah is only protecting your interests. If she spoke too plainly, it was because she believed that was the only way to reach you. You have not been easy to talk to, have you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Marriage offers advantages.” Nani gave me a few seconds to think about this. “You leave the house of your father and move into the house of your husband's family, or, if you are fortunate, one of your own. In your case, either might be welcome.” She stared, her light blue eyes glinting. “You will have so generous a dowry you might be able to build a house, although maybe not one as grand as Theatre Road. And—”

“And maybe you could live with me!” I filled in.

She closed her eyes. “That is a lovely, if impractical, idea.”

“Why?”

“The Hyams take excellent care of me.”

“But—”

“Hush. I'm an old woman with few years left. Let's talk about your future.”

“I do not want to marry.”

“Never?”

“Not so soon.”

“When might it suit you?”

“Two years from now I will be in the first graduating class of the Jewish Girls' School.”

“It is that important to you?”

“Yes.”

As she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, a breeze blew across the courtyard, scattering leaves. “The monsoon is early this year. It will rain all night.” She sucked in a long breath. “What else haven't you told me?”

“About the Latin notes?”

She shooed my question away as the wind ruffled her long skirt, billowing up to reveal ankles that seemed too fragile to support her frame. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.” My hair blew into my eyes, stinging them.

She leaned close and smoothed my hair back. “You are afraid. Most girls are afraid of men; why shouldn't you be? After all, a man killed your mother.”

“Why does everyone keep reminding me? It was a long time ago and she was different from me.”

“A man killed Mozelle.”

“Mozelle?” My voice sounded tinny, distant, as though I was not actually there.

“If she had not had a baby . . .” My grandmother's hand on my cheek was my only link with stability. “Stand up.” I did not comprehend what she wanted. “Stand!” With surprising strength she pulled me to my feet. “Look, already you are taller than me, much taller than your mother when she was fully grown.” She placed her thin hand on top of mine. “Your bones are more like a man's.” She encircled my waist before moving her fingers down to rest on my hips. “You could safely have a baby tomorrow.”

“I don't want a baby.” I thought about Zilpah, who was expecting a child in less than a month. Unlike Mozelle, the pregnancy had hardly affected her. She was so tall the baby rode invisibly under her loose sari, not announcing her condition until the past few weeks. Even now she kept up with her duties, proving she could have a baby with little fuss.

“Eventually you might.” Nani took my hand and led me into the house, where tea was laid out in the drawing room. Mordecai Hyam and his wife, Farha, were already seated.

I answered their initial questions about school and family; then, while Dr. Hyam started to tell Grandmother Flora about a recent case, I thought over my position. Marriage had never been a concern of mine until my gruesome interview with Zilpah. I was beginning to see that if I did not participate in the plans for my future, the adults would settle the issue between themselves. Not that a girl could choose the boy. Only a rare few like my mother and father had ever done so. And they were poor examples.

While I sipped my tea, I contemplated the possibilities. Gabriel Judah headed the list. More than ever I admired his pink, round face and his well-formed lips and especially his light hair, which most other Baghdadi Jews prized as well. I adored being with him, although since the tiffin-carrier escapade both sets of parents had made a point to keep us apart. We only glimpsed each other at the synagogue. I expected he would make me a good companion for life because he was more intellectual than most boys, but not so serious that he could not find jokes in Horace and Catullus. Thinking about how we had been embarrassed by the notes, I winced. I hoped the adults eventually would forget about it. Aunt Bellore was having a garden party in a few weeks. Surely Gabriel would be there, and we might be able to have a few words privately. Anticipating that day, I repressed a smile.

“Is something wrong with that pastry?” Farha Hyam asked when she saw the odd expression on my face.

“Oh, no,” I stammered. “Just a sensitive tooth.”

Reaching over, she poured cooler water into my cup and told me to drink it slowly. I went along with the charade, nodding that I felt better; then I went back to my musings of Gabriel. He was the first son from a jute-trading family that was not as prominent as the Sassoons, yet respectable. Zilpah and my father could hardly object.

An ayah was at the door. Farha Hyam waved her in and lifted her sleeping baby boy into her lap. As she stared at her infant with undisguised admiration, I thought about my grandmother's discussion, imagining myself in Mrs. Hyam's place. She was nineteen, just five years older than I was. Short, heavyset, Mordecai Hyam wore glasses and was already balding, even though he was only in his thirties. He had been too busy—first with his studies, later with my grandfather's practice—to marry sooner. I stared at Dr. Hyam, who always had been so concerned about me, and wondered what it might be like to be married to him. With some astonishment, I decided the idea did not repel me.

Soon the bearer announced the gharry had come to collect me. I stood to say good-bye to the Hyams. On my way past, I patted the baby's bald head.

Grandmother Flora struggled to her feet and followed me to the door. “Try to avoid upsetting Zilpah as her time nears. After the child arrives, I will speak to your father on your behalf, asking him to put off making a match until after you have completed your schooling.”

Gratitude bubbled in my voice. “Oh, would you, Nani?”

Her voice lowered. “Remember, a betrothal might be arranged sooner. Only the wedding date would be delayed.”

Feeling as though I had been rescued from an abyss, I kissed her forehead.

“Go, go home. This new baby will absorb them for at least half a year. Finding a partner will take twice that, the negotiations another six to nine months. There's plenty of time,” she muttered as she pushed me out the door.

 

Seti Sassoon was born while I was at school. The morning I left, there was no indication that Zilpah was feeling unwell. When I returned, Yali showed me to the nursery, where the honey-skinned infant rested peacefully. That a child could arrive with so little commotion was a revelation that perplexed me.

As Grandmother Flora had predicted, the baby turned Zilpah's attentions elsewhere. My father went to China for more than six months and I enjoyed whatever freedoms I was allowed, but since the disastrous tiffin note incident, I was circumspect, especially around young men.

For the next several years I immersed myself in my studies to the exclusion of everything else. When I wanted unconditional love, I visited Grandmother Flora. When I wanted a house filled with people and confusion, I went to Grandmother Helene. I kept my part of the bargain by behaving myself, so Zilpah had few complaints. Fortunately, there were no further mentions of marriage prospects, so I was content.

One afternoon shortly after my seventeenth birthday, Zilpah made an unusual request. “Dinah, would you accompany me on a walk in the Maidan?” She looked at me with her candid black eyes that offered me no chance of refusal.

I kept up with her fast pace down Theatre Road, along Queens Way, to the edge of the racecourse. When we arrived at the broad gravel lane—for some reason called Secretary's Walk—she slowed. Perspiration had formed a glassy patina on her face.

“Shall we sit?” I offered.

“No, no.” She kept walking with a determined stride. “I did not want you to hear this news from somebody at school,” she said without missing a step. I was curious, but not alarmed. “Your Aunt Bellore has kept me apprised of the negotiations. I promised not to say anything until they were final; she agreed not to make an announcement until you had. been informed.” She halted so quickly, the stones crunched under her heels. She spun to face me. With a sudden tender gesture she touched my shoulder. “Your Cousin Sultana is betrothed to Gabriel Judah.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled loudly. Gabriel? No! How could he? And to scrawny little Sultana, who, even though she was nine months younger than I was, had hardly developed. He, by contrast, had become more attractive than ever. The sun had tinged his hair with bronze streaks, his brows and lashes had darkened, and his face had taken on a handsome definition. Even though I was almost his height, my figure was slim, and I thought that most boys would have agreed I was more alluring—and unquestionably brighter—than Sultana. How could Gabriel accept this situation? He abhorred girls as illogical and shallow as my cousin. In the years since our flirtatious correspondence, our friendship had deepened. I had always been led to expect we would be considered for each other, and now he was snapped up before I was ready, by my greedy aunt for her puny, mediocre daughter.

“But how—I thought—” I sputtered.

“Don't you think your father made inquiries there first?”

“Weren't they interested?”

Zilpah shook her head sadly.

“Why?” I watched her mouth twitch as she deliberated her reply.

“What did they say?” I begged.

“Mrs. Judah said, 'We would not consider Dinah if she were the last Jewish girl in Calcutta.' “

“The dowry, wasn't it sufficient?”

“Sufficient for a maharajah's daughter, I would think.” She took my arm and led me along much more slowly than before.

“You are thinking how stupid I was to object to an early marriage, aren't you?” I choked.

“No, in this case it would not have made a difference.”

“Aunt Bellore would never have considered Gabriel Judah—his family is far beneath hers—if it hadn't been for the rumors about us. It is only because she thinks she is taking something from me that she has agreed.”

“Dinah, Gabriel Judah is not the last fish in the sea.”

“When will the wedding be?”

“In three months. Your aunt wants a very big show for her first daughter.” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she turned for home. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”