Flowers in the Blood (42 page)

“Nobody gets married in the morning,” Zilpah began.

“Well, we can't very well be married Friday evening,” I said smugly.

“Can't you wait a few days longer?” she added weakly.

“No.” I smiled and waited.

“I suppose I have no objection to Friday,” Zilpah began, “so long as we keep the celebration simple.”

“Only the Sassoons and the Salems,” Papa said.

“And Grandmother Helene,” I added.

“Of course,” Zilpah replied, “that goes without saying.”

“Do we have to invite Aunt Bellore?” I asked.

“How could we not?” Zilpah countered severely, then gave a rueful chuckle. “Besides, don't I recall that she was the first one you wanted to ask?”

I backed down.

“When do you want to leave for Cochin?” my father asked Mrs. Salem.

“As soon as possible.”

“Last time we permitted Dinah to leave directly after the wedding, but I now regret that decision,” Zilpah said with a pointed look in her husband's direction.

“Absolutely,” he replied to gain a second to gather his thoughts. “We must have the seven nights for feasting and the sheva berakoth prayers observed here. They may leave anytime after that.”

Esther Salem glanced at her son, but his eyes were locked with mine. “Whatever you wish,” she said in a silky voice. “Perhaps when we return to Cochin, the children will indulge me by having a ceremony at our synagogue according to our customs. They are quite ancient and beautiful.”

“I would marry Edwin a dozen times,” I said to the collective sigh of the three adults in the room.

“I will arrange for a hazzan tomorrow,” Papa offered.

“Could we have a huppah in the rose garden?”

“Yes,” Zilpah cooed. “A lovely idea.”

“And some wine and cake afterward.”

“There isn't time to prepare much more than that,” Zilpah agreed. “Will that satisfy you, Edwin?”

Everyone looked to Edwin. “I believe a marriage is a contract, and as such it should be serious, not frivolous.” He turned to face me on the settee, where we had been sitting side by side holding hands. “Please, could you wear that green suit you had on when I first saw you sitting on the veranda?”

“That is hardly what a bride would wear,” his mother hissed at him.

He squeezed my hand and I knew what he was thinking. Rule number nineteen: all traditions began the day we met.

“There won't be time to have a new dress made,” I answered calmly.

Zilpah smiled tightly. “Dinah, there are several lovely new—”

“I shall wear the green outfit.”

My father stood and stretched. “What else is there to discuss?”'

Edwin rose to his feet, pulling me up beside him. “Only that I will always be grateful to you for giving me your daughter.”

Papa took a step toward us. “If you can say the same ten years from now, I will be content.”

Edwin rearranged his hair. His mother, who had been at Theatre Road since her appointment with me earlier, seemed relieved she could finally retire. The five of us walked to the portico, the parents striding ahead, Edwin and I touching each other in the shadowy background.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he said as he helped his mother into the cab of the carriage.

“No, Edwin, you will see a tailor in the morning,” his mother called over her shoulder.

“Until tiffin, then,” he said, waving as the carriage pulled away.

We followed my father into the house. At the bottom of the staircase he shook his head, and I hastily asked, “You do like him, don't you, Papa?”

“I am not the one who must like him.”

“But you do, I can tell.”

“A
pukka
chap. A very clever boy, I'll tell you that. First class, if he is what he seems,” he said, starting to climb the stairs.

I followed right behind and called up, “You don't trust him, do you?”

“Experience kills trust, Dinah,” he said as he reached the landing. “To be practical, we have little information about the boy or his family. I do not know what he told you about his prospects, but he has no capital. Only the goodwill of some kindly relations has protected him thus far, and the uncle who has introduced him to us does not have the most savory reputation. If there was an honorable way for me to protect your dowry, I would. As it stands now, he will control your fortune after the wedding.”

I gripped the banister. “You think that is why he is in such a hurry.”

“I did not say that, Dinah, but it is a possibility, one of many.”

“You are the one who selected him.”

“I invited him to visit, that is true, but the two of you have usurped my authority on the matter.”

“You are wrong about him, Papa.”

“I have no reason not to trust him and no reason to trust him, but it is to your credit you have embraced this union with such confidence.” My father kissed me on the cheek and retired to his dressing room.

Zilpah, who had been standing behind me the whole time, accompanied me to my room. “Good night, Dinah.”

“Good night, Zilpah, and thank you.”

She shook her head. “No, I did nothing. You did a good day's work. I am proud of you.”

“Do you think she will tell Edwin?”

“No, she could barely look me in the eye throughout the evening. She felt more shame than you did.”

“At least it is over.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “A small price to pay for Edwin.”

“He is a good man. Even your father is convinced.”

“He did not sound convinced to me.”

She patted my shoulder. “If he had grave doubts, he would never have given his permission.”

Yali came up behind us and handed me a package.

“Thank you, Yali,” Zilpah said. “I almost forgot. This came for you this afternoon. It is from Silas.”

I turned it in my hand. “Probably another book.”

“Dinah, don't you think—?”

“I already wrote him last week and told him about Edwin and that I would never write again. He may have sent this before he received my letter, or this could be his response.”

Zilpah sighed. “I should have known you did not require my advice any longer, but sometimes I forget you are not the same person you were when I came to this house.”

After closing the door to my room, I placed the package on the Clive desk. I was so weary I allowed Yali to put me to bed. I closed my eyes, but the moonlight that fell through the shutter bothered me. Groaning, I got up to reposition the slats. As I walked past the desk, the package caught my eye. Curious, I decided to open it. The book had been wrapped in a second binding of silver foil and embossed with an intricate rangoli design. Taking care to keep the exquisite covering intact, I slipped out the volume. Because Silas often tucked his letters inside a book, I held it upside down and shook. Nothing fell out. I opened the flyleaf and, holding it up to the moonlight, looked for an inscription. There was none. I turned to the title page. In the pale shaft of light, the letters of the title glinted like tiny iridescent flies. Silas had sent me his copy of the
Kama Sutra.

28

 

E
veryone could see that Edwin and I were linked in mind and spirit long before the culmination of the marriage ritual. The scene under the huppah hastily draped in jasmine and hibiscus is a blur I can barely recall. Surrounded by family, with my brothers and my sisters by my side, I saw no one else but Edwin. I sipped the wine and repeated the words when required, but any knowledge of those events has been superimposed by one lasting memory: Edwin's eyes riveted to mine.

After the breaking of the cup and the rounds of kilililees, he clasped his arm about my waist and never, never let go. Everybody talked about us. “So happy! Have you ever seen a bride and groom as jubilant?” they murmured as we passed, beaming.

Aunt Bellore pushed forward and gushed her congratulations. “I have never known a bride to appear so content,” she said to us both. “At least not since Luna married Benu,” she added in a tone that would have anyone, even Edwin, believe that she was praising us. Only I knew she meant her words as barbs to break the perfect bubble that until that moment had surrounded us.

Sensing my mood had changed, Edwin steered me away from the guests. “Dinah, my darling, what is wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shuddered. “Just chilly.”

“You must tell me. Rule number fifteen: there will be no secrets between us.”

“I hate her!” I seethed.

“But why?”

“Didn't you hear what she said about my father and mother?”

“I thought she was complimenting us.” His eyelids drooped with concern. “You told me your parents were a love match.”

“Yes, but . . .” I could not go on. Silently I mulled over my turbulent thoughts. My mother had adored my father. Together they had produced three children they both had cherished. What had gone wrong between them? I could not recall any angry words ever expressed. The practical problems inherent in my father's long absences and my mother's overreliance on her friends had brought her into contact with other men. Now I had come to know the enormous power of a physical attraction. With my father away, with the privacy of her own house, with nobody watching over her, she had succumbed to her instincts. The evil force had been Nissim Sadka, not my mother.

And what of my father's love for her? Had it ever diminished? I thought not. Whenever he returned, the relationship had flourished. And what of my father's fury when he came home after her death? What of the burning of her possessions? What of his refusal to mention her again? Were those the actions of a man who did not love his wife? No, they had been the violent responses of a man whose lover had been taken from him cruelly. I gripped Edwin more tightly. What if anything happened to him? How would I go on? Could I take even one more breath without him?

Finally I spoke. “Aunt Bellore thinks happiness is an illusion that cannot last.”

Edwin stared as my aunt's bustle moved across the garden like a load on the back of a bullock-cart. “Vinegar comes from spoilt wine. Unhappy people try to inflict their sorrows on others in the hope they will experience some relief. In fact, all that ever happens is they sour further.”

“Why do you think she is unhappy?”

“From the first time I saw her, I thought her one of the most pathetic women I had ever met.”

“But she has so much.”

“She has nothing compared to us, for she has never in her life felt as you and I do this day.”

A surge of feeling so intense and so physical that I thought I could no longer stand upright coursed from my toes to my neck. I leaned against him. He gathered me around and pressed me to him. In front of everybody he kissed me on the forehead. The assembled guests began to clap and shout and fill the air with kilililees that were carried on the wind halfway across Bengal.

Sabbath prayers were said at the long tables set up in the hall as the Sassoon clan, along with Edwin and Esther Salem, sat down for the meal. After the final blessings, the guests left early. And then, at long last, Grandmother Helene and Zilpah put us to bed in the study downstairs.

When the door closed behind us, Edwin and I stood facing each other, standing farther apart than we had been since before he had slipped the golden ring on my finger. Walking over to an arrangement of blossoms in a Chinese urn, he plucked out a vermilion rose and handed it to me. A few loose petals that had burst open in the heat of the closed room fluttered to the floor. He untied the white velvet ribbon around the urn and pressed the nap to his cheek. “This is you,” he said obliquely. He pointed to a matching vase opposite, filled with white roses and decorated with a red ribbon. “Give me a flower and untie that ribbon for me.”

After finding him a tighter rose, I fumbled with the knot and gave the ribbon over to him as well. He held up both ends in his hands. “Like these ribbons, our lives have been a straight line since birth”—he tied one end of the red to the white—”until now.” He flicked the far ends. “But look, two free ends, each flapping away with the belief they can go their own way.” He handed me the white end and held on to the red himself. Then he gave a tug and my end flew toward him. “See! I caught you unawares, so you yielded to me. Another time I could fall in your direction. However, is this how we wish to live? Will the constant strain on the knot tighten it or break it?”

“Tighten it.”

He gripped the knot. “Indeed, it is firmer for the moment, but perhaps the fabric will weaken, then rip when we least expect it.”

“Edwin!” I laughed at his solemn expression. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Wait. Let me show you something wonderful.” He wrapped the ribbons around his hand. “Watch what happens next. I could take the obvious approach by tying the loose ends together into a circle, a symbol, like the wedding ring, of the symmetry of marriage. But, with a simple twist we become unified within the curve of time.” He rotated the ribbon, then knotted the ends together. “Now find the end.” He placed my fingers on top and showed me that no matter how long I traced the track, it went on and on and on. “Now do you understand?”

“Yes, Edwin.”

“Do you understand that I have suffered during my life and in my previous lives for this moment of perfection? The ends are tied, first by the vows that joined our minds and second by the act that joins our bodies. From this moment on, you and I are united in perpetual rapture.” His mouth pressed mine while his hands moved across my body with an insistence I had never felt before.

“Nobody lives in ecstasy forever.”

“Why not? You know about Buddhism and the Noble Truths,” he said, finding the hooks at my waist. “Suffering may be universal, but it can be prevented and overcome. For as every drop in the ocean has the taste of salt, so does every word carry the flavor of Nirvana.”

My skirt landed among the petals and flowers on the floor. Then Edwin calmly undressed as well. We let our hands drop from each other long enough to facilitate removing our own undergarments. Edwin's muscular body shone in the light from the candles. I felt no shame as he cupped my breasts, then slid his hands across my hips and down my abdomen. I felt sorry for a bride who was fearful at this most exquisite of moments, and had a fleeting thought of gratitude for having been with Silas long enough to know what a man was like.

“Oh, Dinah, my most beautiful Dinah.” He placed the twisted ribbons over our heads. The circle or curve of time—or whatever—bound us at the shoulders. He pressed his loins against me and eased me toward the bed. “Now I will prove to you that we can live in ecstasy forever, or I will die in the attempt.”

 

Salt . . . salt in the sea and in tears and in the taste of Edwin's flesh. Salt . . . as in the waves that crashed over me the second time we coupled, this time with me pressing down on him and Edwin sucking my nipples hungrily while kneading my buttocks and pressing up into me with a thrilling, gentle probing that was quite different from his insistent plunging an hour earlier.

And then again, side by side but still as joined as the endless ribbon, we rocked back and forth and gave each other little nibbles and bites until the flurry of spasmodic bursts surprised us both. Perhaps we slept a few hours or perhaps the next hours only felt like a dream as we touched and licked and kissed and found new ways to elicit the same terrific trick of galloping pleasure.

Sunlight crept under the shutters. Blinking, I opened my eyes to see how we looked with my legs placed over Edwin's shoulders. His eyes were bolted closed. His fine jaw was set as he concentrated on his task. Distracted by how beautiful he looked, I watched with fascination as his hair draped across his face.

He kissed me and murmured, “I am not hurting you, am I?”

“No, no . . .” I lied a little, for I was becoming sore.

He collapsed on me. “Well, then you have outlasted me.”

I stroked his hot, moist back. “I wouldn't mind a rest.”

“We don't have to master every chapter the first day.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the 'twining position,' the 'mare's position,' and what you just attempted, 'the rising position.' “

“Edwin!” I pummeled his buttocks and rolled him off me. “What are you talking about?”

He turned on his side and ran his fingers through my hair, spreading it like a fan on the pillow. “Do you think you are the only one who has ever read the
Kama Sutra?”

I turned away from him.

“How lovely and pink you are!” He traced his finger along the lacy pattern on my chest as I attempted to hide my face under a pillow.

There was a knock on the door. “Yes?” he called gaily.

“Chota hazri, sahib,” Abdul said softly. “I shall leave it outside.”

Edwin pressed his ear to the door, and when he heard the steps retreat, opened it.

“Edwin!” I chided, for he had brazenly stepped out naked.

“Hungry?” He placed the tray on the table.

“Hungrier than I have ever been in my life!”

He poured the tea and smothered marmalade onto my toast. “That's good. You must gather your strength for what I have planned for today.”

 

“Where are we going?” I asked Edwin as we dressed each other before joining my parents and his mother in the dining room.

“I won't tell you even if you torture me.”

“I wouldn't know how to torture you.”

“Oh, yes, you have the ultimate power over me. Even one rejected kiss would be like a whiplash,” he said as he finished buttoning the back of my blouse.

“I could not refuse you even one kiss, so I suppose I shall never know.”

Side by side we ate at one end of the table. Deliberately we ignored the questioning glances of our parents. Benu worked hard to keep Esther Salem's interest in his conversation, while Zilpah concentrated on the other children. Fortunately, Abdul announced that our carriage had arrived before we had to join in any small talk.

“Are you going to the synagogue today?” my father asked.

I looked at Edwin for a response, but he gave an enigmatic smile.

Zilpah shot Benu a withering glance. “I'm sure the children would prefer to be alone,” she said, and told everyone not to bother to see us out.

The high step up to the carriage caused me to wince, but fortunately, Edwin did not notice.

“Where are we going?”

“You will see soon enough.”

“Anything will be better than having the entire community observe us. Besides, I could not bear the thought of you having to sit so far away from me today.”

“I know.” He kissed my neck, and a flash of pleasure shot through me like an arrow.

The day was cool and dry and sunny, the most favorable possibility in Calcutta's stifling repertoire. The mansions that gave the City of Palaces its name gleamed in their fresh white coats of
chunam
, or lime, that erased the creeping green damp deposited after the monsoon. The boulevards were dry and sweet-smelling. The street sellers walked with a bounce in their step. The lawns of the Maidan stretched like an enormous green felt with strollers, sportsmen, and military marchers looking like pieces played out on an enormous game table.