As Sweet as Honey (14 page)

“But with Archer?”

“You sound like a boy, now. I’m about to be a mother. There’s Oscar to think about.”

“He will need a father.”

“Imagine him at school, getting teased. His mother marries his father’s cousin, like … almost like
Hamlet
.”

“I don’t understand this.”

“I can’t, Simon, I mustn’t marry you.”

She was crying now.

Rasi and I discussed her decision with frustration. Although we were banned from seeing it, even if it was an old film, we knew that in
Silsila
Amitabh Bachchan marries Jaya Bhaduri (who is his real wife, anyway) because her fiancé dies in a plane crash. She is carrying the fiancé’s baby, and asks Amitabh to marry her, even though, unbeknownst to her, he loves Rekha (who in real life was his mistress, according to the gossip magazines we weren’t allowed to read).

“But by marrying Jaya Bhaduri, he makes a big mistake, ruining their lives, and the baby dies anyway. Then after he runs away with Rekha, Jaya Bhaduri becomes pregnant with his kid.”

“How is that possible, if he doesn’t love her? Did she have an affair, too, out of revenge?”

“I don’t know. I think husbands can have sex with their wives even if they love someone else. Anyway, he’s her husband; he can do what he wants. That’s the rule.”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“I know. And poor Rekha, she doesn’t love her husband, either.”

“Rekha is married in the film?”

“Of course. How could she run off to Paris with Amitabh if she weren’t?”

“Do you think Simon has a secret love in England?”

“Maybe that’s what Grandmother is afraid of. After all, she saw
Silsila
, and
Kabhi Kabhie
, in which, you know—”

“I
don’t
know—you give away all the stories!”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy them anyway.”

“What happens in
Kabhi Kabhie
?”

“Well, there is a girl whose mother also had a fiancé who she isn’t married to—”

“Enough,” I said, covering my ears with my hands.

“Anyway, it’s not like we’ll be allowed to go see these movies anyway.”

“I want to see
Cinderella
.”

“You know what happens to the mother there? She—”

“Rasi!”

But what if Simon did have a secret love in London? Someone who looked like Sally Potter, one of the English college students who lived in town to study at the ashram. When she first arrived, she wore vintage go-go boots and a short skirt and a see-through top. Now she wears brightly colored kurtas and long skirts, her hair scraggly and short. I think she looked better when she first arrived, so exotic and foreign, with long, straight brown hair that was probably ironed, Mary Angel told me, who’d heard it from her mother. Ironed or not, it fell like silk.

What would Simon’s secret girlfriend’s name be? Something English, like Lizzy or Pats? We had Pinkys and Dimples.

“Maybe her name is complicated, like Constance Adelaide Adele.”

“Do you thinks he loves her?”

“He might have gotten her pregnant, just like Uncle Archer got Auntie pregnant. Maybe she is really poor—or maybe, he’s already married to her!”

“He can’t have two wives!”

“Of course he can. Or maybe he really loves Aunt Meterling, but his other wife won’t let him get divorced, and maybe they already have kids, but there’s nothing to feed them, because the cupboard is always bare—like Mother Hubbard!—and maybe she has to work in a factory, and her chief officer is really mean, and threatens to take away their home, only Simon-Archer refuses to listen, because—because he wants to marry Aunt Meterling for her money!”

“No! She doesn’t have money.”

“She has three fields and a house. That’s more than Adelaide and her children have.”

“But he wouldn’t just leave her like that.”

“Maybe she threatens to kill herself if Simon doesn’t leave Aunt Meterling.”

“She wouldn’t know about Auntie.”

“Well, maybe she threatens to kill herself if Simon-Archer doesn’t return to England and make it right—or maybe, she will go to the police!”

“Why would she go to the police?”

“Maybe Uncle Simon poisoned Uncle Archer!”

“He died of an
aneurysm
. And anyway, none of this is true. Uncle Simon loves Aunt Meterling, and there is no secret love in England.”

“Probably. Look, there’s Sanjay—I think he has my transistor again.”

25

W
eek thirty-eight arrived. All morning Wednesday, Grandmother kept dropping things. She liked to grind the coffee beans herself when the tin ran empty. This morning, as she opened a fresh package from Kaladi, a few beans scattered to the floor. I helped her pick them up from under the stove. Then, after the grinding, as she transferred the powder into the tin, her hands slipped and powder spilled. For some reason she began to smile.

Shanti-Mami arrived to begin the day’s cooking, and Anitha for the day’s washing-up. Anitha was just a few months younger than Nalani, with a broad smile, even as she squatted among the vessels to wash in the alcove off the kitchen. Her husband drank too much, and Sanjay said he beat her, too. That’s why some mornings she arrived late, no smile. Those days she would have long talks with Grandmother after the dishes were done. There was a litany of life in her words, involving a sister-in-law, a brother-in-law, a sick mother. Usually, Grandmother gave her extra money, while Aunt Pa railed against the system of police who turned their eyes away. This morning, Anitha was fine, as she had been for several weeks, her husband working in another town. Grandmother discussed the day’s menu with Shanti-Mami, deciding on idlis for tiffin. This was no big surprise, as we usually got idlis for tiffin, though we would have been happy with just a sweet and milk.

“The baby’s coming.”

Nalani had run into the room with this announcement.
Startled, we rushed out of the kitchen. Meterling was ready, and Grandmother agreed. Meterling smiled wanly at us, and asked Sanjay to fetch Simon. Chitu-Mami, the midwife, and Dr. Kamalam had already been sent for. Soon, she lay on her side as the doula, who was already there, massaged her lower back. Grandmother said a quick prayer. Our aunt would smile, then pain would cross her face, and then she’d let a breath out. The doula counted the time between the groans. She cheered our aunt along, as if we were at a cricket match. How in the world would a baby be able to be born out of her body? I imagined Aunt Meterling stretching a hole as large as a small head, but that was like magic, a universe’s expansion. A bicycle jingle let us know Sanjay had arrived with Simon.

We didn’t see the actual birth, although we wanted to, sort of. Men and children still were not allowed. We heard words like “dilation” and “centimeters.” We hung out at the doorway, with Simon. He looked so worried.

“It won’t hurt for too long,” he said, wiping his forehead.

“How long does it take?”

“I’m not sure. My aunt Patricia delivered very quickly, but she’s very athletic. Rode horses and that sort of thing.”

“How quick is quick?”

“Half-hour?”

“How long will Auntie take?”

Simon shook his head.

It took five hours. Later the doula said that was because it was the first time. We heard Meterling shout with pain, which Simon kept repeating was perfectly normal, keeping us from running inside, although it looked like he wanted to do the same. After a while, we heard a baby cry. Finally, Aunt Pa let
us go in. There, in her arms, was a tiny baby. It was very red, but had soft black hair. The eyes, when open, looked very big. I was surprised to see its skin was brown. Somehow I imagined the baby would be white with blue eyes, blond hair. I wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing.

“Meet your cousin,” said Aunt Meterling.

Simon hung back until Meterling smiled at him, and said, “You, too.”

Grandmother nodded at him.

He entered bashfully.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Tired.”

“Eight pounds, three ounces,” said Dr. Kamalam.

“Ten little fingers, ten little toes,” said the doula, also smiling.

Both Aunt Pa’s and Grandmother’s faces were streaked with tears, and Grandmother looked radiant, the happiest I’d seen her in so long.

We cooed at the baby, who was very red and distraught.

“He’s feeling the air—it’s all new to him,” said Nalani.

“He looks just like Tharak,” said Grandmother, breaking into a wide-toothed smile. I hugged her, my grandmother. I looked at Simon, who was crying as well.

Maybe it was at this moment she decided Simon could marry Meterling, if she still wanted him.

Now we all had to troop out to let her—
them
—rest.

Eleven days later came the naming ceremony. We all crowded around the crib where the baby slept. Aunt Pa whispered the baby’s name in his ear. “Oscar” was official.

Later, someone wrote his name out on a layer of unhusked rice that had been spread out just for this occasion, and the aunties put anklets and bracelets on him.

“Won’t it hurt?” asked Simon, to which everyone laughed. What do men know about babies? Or new mothers, either? It was the aunts who bathed the baby. They stepped in and did nearly everything. Meterling fed him and rested, fed him again and rested, and we hung around her bed. They both slept a great deal.

Would he have a Sanskrit name as well? He would. Ramana. Oscar Ramana Tharak Forster. That too was written on the grain.

The anklets and bracelets were unhooked and slipped off after the ceremony. Around his waist, he wore a simple black cord, tied with turmeric root. He constantly ate from my aunt’s breast, and then slept, contented.

“I think Archer must be watching him, too,” she told us.

I wasn’t sure, because perhaps he was playing carom, or was a baby in a new life. Once my grandmother told me my grandfather became a fly after his death, so he would always be in our presence. My mother says I got the word wrong, that my grandmother meant gecko. But I think she believed my grandfather went straight to Vishnu, and I think Aunt Meterling thought the same of Uncle Archer.

And just like that, she agreed again to marry Simon.

26

W
e were right. Simon was going to take Meterling and Oscar away. They had already decided to move to London, after Meterling assured him she would not pine for our family on Pi. Simon wanted to get back to work.

“I’d like to return to editing, Meterling. There’s a job at one of the smaller houses, and they’ve been wanting me to join.”

“But won’t you miss writing? The fast-paced traveling?”

“Covering garden shows isn’t exactly fast-paced, and travel pieces are not as much fun as it might seem. I wanted to try my hand in it, that’s all. I want a change.”

“I want
you
to be happy, Simon. And you have been through an awful lot of
change
.”

“I
am
happy—probably happier than I’ve ever been.”

“When do we leave?”

“Why don’t you stay here for a while, while I get us settled? You could spend a little more time with the family, and you could use the help with the baby. The kids will be upset at your going at all.”

“In the villages, the brides spend more time with their parents sometimes than with their husband the first year,” said Meterling.

“Ah, but not us,” said Simon, hugging her.

It was decided. Simon would go on ahead in a couple of weeks, begin his new job, and return for Nalani’s wedding. Meterling and Oscar could have more time with us.

•   •   •

“Why is it that when we add to the family, the family goes away?” asked Grandmother.

“The world just becomes bigger,” said Meterling. “Imagine how it just used to be villages, then cities and kingdoms, everybody contained.”

I wished they were moving to the USA, but Simon had his family in London, and Oscar had his roots there, too.

“But it’s not impossible. And there are planes,” said Meterling.

“We can visit you in London, and go to the U.S.” added Nalani cheerfully, though she would miss Meterling terribly and everyone knew it.

“There’s your wedding to plan,” said Meterling. “It may be months before I leave, and there will be no question of not attending your wedding, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“You’ll help choose the saris and jewelry?”

“Would I really miss any of it?”

“But Meterling, what of
your
wedding, what will you do?”

“We’ll just get a registered wedding. Simple and quiet.”

Six weeks after Oscar’s birth, Aunt Meterling and Simon went to the high court building to marry. Mrs. Gupta, in black robes and a wig, was the presiding judge. Rasi could not stop staring at her, and the degrees framed behind her in the office. A black fan was motionless above our heads. We were back in the rainy season, having survived the heat of spring and the lesser heat of summer. As a family, we were all there, and brought garlands for them to wear, and threw rose petals when the marriage was formalized. We ate at a hotel, which was nice, because if I looked down the long table, I could see most of my family. Simon’s parents had come over, too. They stayed at the Tanjore, and seemed a bit overwhelmed. Simon’s mother probably
imagined an English bride in a beautiful lace gown with a veil for her only son, not Aunt Meterling, who wore a dark-red sari, not nine yards, just six, but a sari nevertheless. At the table, Aunt Meterling sat with Simon’s mother, and slowly, softly, began to talk with her, but it looked difficult.