Valmiki's Daughter (15 page)

Travelling on dry roads much farther inland now, the taxi was to arrive at Viveka's stop in front of the university library in less than five minutes. The sky had already set up. It wouldn't be long before the rain began again. She would meet Helen there, and she and Helen would study for part of the day. She would meet Elliot, too. He would, no doubt, want to go to his apartment with her, and once there he would, again no doubt, want to lie on his bed with her. Today she was determined not to go near his apartment. She would, rather, suggest seeing an exhibition of paintings at the Cipriani-Butler Gallery on campus, and in the evening, if the rain had stopped early enough and the courts were dry, she and Helen would play volleyball in the park at the foot of Harris Promenade, exactly as she had done the previous week. And she would hope again that her parents did not find out about either Elliot or the volleyball.

THAT EVENING, DEVIKA AND VALMIKI SAT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE
patio, facing each other. The newspaper Valmiki was reading shielded him. As she fingered the ruby and diamond pendant Valmiki had arrived home with, Devika reflected: Whatever he had done to warrant buying these presents was Valmiki's business; half of her good-sized collection of jewellery, selected from the best available on the island, had been given to her by him for no reason she knew of. What she did know was that he gave his gifts sheepishly, the red glow on his face suggesting some sort of guilt; if she were to try to sort
him
out as well as Viveka, she would go crazy.

It was time for her to do what she excelled at. She hadn't thrown a party in almost a year. She was willing to bet that people had noticed and were wondering if something untoward had happened in her family — if finances were down, or an embarrassing and hush-hush illness was keeping them low key, or if Valmiki and herself were fighting, if he was running around again, or if something unseemly had happened to her daughters. For some time now she had wanted to send a flare up into the sky that all was well. And now that she and her daughters had been presented with this unexpected jewellery, she had better do
something fast. She would host a party, tell the world that the Krishnu family was just fine.

In the past she had been able to handle throwing big parties — not just handle them: she excelled at them. But in the last year or so, she had felt an exhaustion that made no sense to her. After all, she did nothing that required great physical energy. What she wanted was not so much to throw a
big
party as to host a small one that would bring her the same kind of glory and admiration as the big ones did. She reasoned that basically the same work was required for any number of guests from twelve to forty. It was marginally more work to adjust from forty to sixty-five or so. It was only when you started hitting seventy and above that you required the kind of stamina that at her age — no, not at her age, just these last few months — she no longer had. She had been told enough times that she looked a good decade younger than she was. She simply wasn't feeling happy-happy. A party would brighten her up, unite them all in a common purpose. Well, maybe not Viveka; Viveka always found a way to sabotage their happiness. A party was a good medium. But she wouldn't let Viveka run their lives or ruin hers. So, how many people should she have?

She looked around. The rain served the garden well. It was lush. The ferns and philodendrons had firmed up. They looked ripe. Bougainvillea didn't flower in the rain, but its foliage, which formed a backdrop to the swimming pool, was at least rampant. She'd get Sheriff the gardener to snip off the old dry leaves, the gold filigreed skeletons interrupting running clumps of bright light green. She had the good taste, he the green thumb — although their friends always complimented her on having the green thumb. Sheriff would freshen up everything. If anyone could, it was Sheriff. The Antigua Heat spread like a red rash
along one section of the fence. The flowers of the halyconia in a corner hung like the characters of a foreign language, and the baliser punctuated it like eternal flambeaux. Most of the work of the garden was done by nature itself. The lawn, as green as if it had been fertilized, was all that would really need looking after. It grew overnight in weather like this. Devika could imagine people standing on the thick carpet of grass. It was not necessary for them to actually notice every detail of the garden, but her tending to these details, or rather having Sheriff tend to them, would aid in relaxing her guests, give them the sensation of being in a paradise without knowing why. She liked that. Indeed, she preferred that her guests not know what it was, exactly, that made
her
parties what they were. She imagined the guests. Heard the sounds of their glasses tinkling with ice, felt their fingertips wet and cold from the glasses they held, the beading from the cold wine inside meeting the warmth of the Gulf air. Oh yes, cocktail napkins. Well, that would fall under the list of things she'd have to get. She wouldn't have them monogrammed. Everyone was doing it, and it had become quite tasteless. The gullies that divided lawn from beds would have to be lined with fresh manure. She'd order that right away. And the food. It would be out of this world. Appetizers, a full meal, courses served one at a time. Or perhaps a buffet, with several choices of meat. Followed by desserts.

Then there was the choosing and renting of cutlery, and chairs, tables, ashtrays, vases for every table, napkins and tablecloths. The ordering of flowers and candleholders. Hiring a deejay, or a solo musician for the entire evening, or perhaps a lone pan player or a classical guitarist for the cocktails, and a small band for the rest of the evening. After-dinner drinks. Well, she'd leave the drinks to Val. All of this made her feel tender toward him.

Valmiki turned into a different creature when there were parties at their house. She felt unusually close to him then, more so than at any other time. She enjoyed his surprise and delight when, not having paid attention to the goings-on around him, on the afternoon of the party he would arrive home earlier than usual and see that she had pulled so much together seamlessly. This never failed to have the same effect. When he had seen how much she had done, how marvellous the house looked, the lighting and decorations just right, the tables set and only the candles left to be lit and the food served, he would invariably put an arm around her shoulders and say, “When did you arrange for all of this?” And she would suck her teeth, smile with triumph, and say, “All of this has been happening right here in front of you for the last several days, but you, you never notice anything.” He would ignore her comments because he would be thinking of how awed their guests would be, of how good she makes him look. He would take her hand in his and lead her to the bedroom. She would ask, laughing, “What are you doing? I've got things to do.” But she would follow him.

He would shut the bedroom door and she will face him, grinning yet protesting in a whisper, “But what are you doing? I am needed out there.” He will close his eyes, lick her lips, the inside of his mouth tasting sourly of instant coffee, and her words will rise hesitant, and hoarse, and muffled in her throat, “Valmiki, Valmiki, don't. I'll have to shower all over again. We can't be long, Valmiki.” He will hold her tight to him, and with his body pressed against hers he will guide her backwards into the bathroom and he will shut that door behind them, too. She will lean her back against the door as she mumbles, “People will be here in a couple of hours, Valmiki,” and holding the collar of his shirt she will draw his face to her, but he will push her back, pull his
face away from her, and staring intensely into her eyes, he will grab the cloth of her dress about her thighs and slide it up against her legs until his hands are at her panties.

She will feel triumphant, for in that moment he would be — he is — a man, taking her like that. That other thing that happened on weekends, that odd friendship with Saul, whatever it was, that nameless thing, was an aberration that she could not understand, especially in someone who took her like that. Aberrations were not to be encouraged, but very smart, busy people with heavy responsibilities should be allowed an aberration once in a while, and all that should be asked of them is that they do not flaunt it. In any case, perhaps she had incorrectly imagined what Valmiki and Saul got up to.

Valmiki would lean into her and position his hardened penis at her crotch. He would close his eyes, and with hers open she would see the red thickness of his stiffened tongue come toward her mouth. She would open her mouth for it, while in her mind a pleasing image flashed of the tables in the garden covered in white cloths, aglow with silverware, water glasses, silverplate bud vases that each held one red carnation and a sprig of baby's breath, and candles that were waiting to be lit.

With one hand pulling the band of her panties down, and the other unzipping his pants, Valmiki would reach into his under-pants and retrieve his penis. His tongue would seem even fuller and harder in her mouth now, and he would already be panting into her mouth. She would push his tongue back out, pull her face away, and bend sideways to pull her panties down the rest of the way. She would unhook one foot, but leave the panties caught around the other. That act in itself, being free of the garment yet having a part of it touching one ankle, would be enough to cause
her to forget about her party, to wish that it was not scheduled for that evening. Valmiki would brace himself with one hand, palm firm against the door, the other cupping the glistening head of his dark penis, while his knuckles, rubbing against her thick hard hair would open a slippery path into which he would guide it. She would move her pelvis in the circular motion he likes, and grip the band of his trousers, shove them down enough to allow her hands in so that she could caress his ass, and hold him against her. She would arch herself, try to brace herself against the door, and he would attempt to pull her legs up by her thighs. She would make small hopping-up motions as she tried to help him, but they would both realize they can no longer do this as easily as in their younger days.

She would think again of time, hoping the bartenders would show the precision she hired this lot for, and not have drinks ready so soon that they were served watery from long-melted ice cubes or so late that people would mill about with empty hands. She would push Valmiki back and, grabbing hold of his once hard and thick legs — how flabby he has grown, she would think with heightened affection — would slide herself down to her knees. Valmiki would arch his back and hold his penis, pulling and pushing at the skin of it until she had fixed herself on her knees and was ready for him. She would look at its weeping eye, wrap both hands around its length. She would look up at him to find him looking down at her, biting his lower lip, and she would open her mouth. He would throw his head back and mutter something, but she would hear only the word
head
and just then he would come in one small but forceful shudder. She would think of the white napkins again, folded in triangles, pinned to the table by an upturned shiny fork.

It will all go well, Devika felt — more confident now than even in her most confident moments before. It would be a party like none before. The best she ever gave.

Valmiki would slump back and lean against the adjacent wall and Devika would slowly get up, her mouth filling with the constant release of her saliva. Her face would be tense. She would turn on the tap at full strength and spit, again and again, rapidly into the sink, saying between her spits, “Oh my God! Look at the time. We have to hurry now.” She would rush over to the shower and turn it on full, then rush back to the sink and put toothpaste on her toothbrush and take it into the shower as she said, “I've got to shower right now. I can't let my hair get wet. I am going to shower right away, what are you going to do?”

All of this Devika thought while watching the newspaper that hid Valmiki's face. They had been married twenty — or was it one? — twenty-something years now and had held, say, six parties per year. That would be about one hundred and twenty-six parties. Perhaps more. The incident she had just now remembered so well had happened when Anand was a baby. Just that once. But she remembered it, and she still held the feeling in her body. What were the chances that he would ever do that with her, to her, again? In the past fourteen years she and Valmiki had had sex once, and that once was seven years ago. Perhaps every seven they would have sex and a round, or a bout, of it was pending. Perhaps it would happen just before the new party she wanted to host.

What did Saul and his wife do? she wondered. His wife, what did
she
do? Women from those classes had more resources. They could fight in public, they could let it all out, they could leave or throw their husbands out on the street for several days or for good, but women like Devika had to behave themselves, take it
all and smile in public and defend their husbands even if they were tyrants or bastards or useless in the privacy of their homes. Well, it wasn't exactly so anymore. Times had changed. Younger women from her class weren't putting up with what their mothers did. But she was too old now, and even if it was imaginable that she could leave the man hiding behind his newspaper she wouldn't know how to begin life afresh. She didn't have those kinds of skills. Leaving one's husband was done when the children were small; that is when she should or might have done it. But time was not on her side then. Or now. She wouldn't have left the children, and she wouldn't have been able to take them with her. Do what with them? She had done the right thing. And look at her now: sitting on a reclining chair on a patio surrounded by a garden that looked like it came right out of a home and garden magazine. And soon she will go into her house and sit down to a dinner prepared by her cook (whom she
did
have to teach everything, but the cook learned well and fast) and eat off china that was bought on holiday in Italy, and she wouldn't have to wash a dish herself afterwards. The pendant around her neck was the least of her gifts.