Valmiki's Daughter (24 page)

When the very top of the road was finally etched out, well before
electricity and water were put in, and the land was advertised for sale in parcels
rather than lots — larger, that is, than anything below — there was in San
Fernando a rush for this
land, as if for the last pound of rice or
flour on the grocery shelves. Bidding was fierce, and some people waited to make their
offers only when the bidding was so high that their offers revealed much about them. It
is here that the bigger business-people live, like the jewellery store owner, and those
who are in the oil or transport business. Several doctors and lawyers are here too. The
access road runs at the backs of the houses, rather than at the front as they do below.
These houses face the sprawl of the island northward, their view enviable, magnificent,
and unobstructed. The residents here have the privilege of knowing what the top of a
samaan tree looks like. From their property fronts they can see the yacht club and the
moored boats, they can survey the entire refinery, the oil tanks and the flaming stacks
at Pointe-à-Pierre, without using their star-gazing telescopes. They can see Point
Lisas. With their star-gazing telescopes they can look downwards, unseen, into the
windows of their neighbours lower down. They can see the small, traditional, rectangular
swimming pools down there.

The neighbours below crane upwards, or take drives to that highest road
and lurk outside of the houses there. They will their vision to bend around to the
fronts of the houses, but instead they receive only furiously tantalizing glimpses of
landscaped gardens, light fixtures like statues that dot the lawns, and swimming pools
in innovative shapes, some taking advantage of the slope downwards, one pool emptying
into another.

It is in this mix that Valmiki and Devika have their house, the least
ostentatious of the lot. The Prakashes are just down and around the corner, not even
five minutes away.

Eyebrows would be raised and heads would nod in understanding, if you were
to say you lived in Luminada Heights.

FOR THE PARTY, VIVEKA WORE A KNEE-LENGTH, LONG-SLEEVED
kurta. It was dull blue, printed with darker stripes, and in the stripes a grey-and-red paisley design. It had been a present to Valmiki from one of his patients who had visited India. The first time Valmiki had tried it on, Vashti and Viveka thought it made him look like a movie star. He quite liked it, too. But Devika had pursed her lips and showed no interest in it. He knew she thought it looked like a dress on him. Later he took it to Viveka and asked if she wanted to have it, explaining that as much as he liked it, he knew that he would never actually wear it. It had to be altered to fit her, but it became her favourite outfit immediately.

On seeing Viveka dressed like this, Vashti rolled her eyes. Devika said, “
That
is what you're wearing?”

“I don't have anything else. What is wrong with it?” Viveka couldn't hide her defensiveness. “It's what I feel most comfortable in.” The kurta reached her knees, and under it she wore narrow blue slacks and Indian leather slippers.

“Don't make it sound like you are deprived, child. It is dowdy. You look like you are going to the mall, not to a party. I could lend you something. Go look in my cupboard.”

Devika's offer did not soften the criticism in Viveka's estimation. “Well, you all are always saying how muscular my arms are and that sort of thing. It hides my arms.”

“She'd be more comfortable in one of Dad's old shirts!”

“Oh, shut up, Vashti.”

“Shut up? Mom, why does she speak like that to me. As if I am a child.”

Viveka curled her lips as she levelled, “You are.”

Valmiki, tucking his crisp white shirt into his black trousers, came out to look at Vashti. He put a finger to his lips and whispered in a good-natured voice, “You keep out of this, honey.”

He smiled at Viveka and said, “First of all, you have lovely arms. Everyone's jealous because you're strong for a girl. Do you want one of my shirts, Vik?”

Devika exhaled hard at him. “Rather than help me, why are you cajoling them like this? Look, they are your children, too.”

Back at Viveka she snapped, “I don't care what you wear, but you will come down and say hello. If you want to look like that in front of people, that is your business.” And so the banter went. Soon everyone except Viveka headed down to the front of the house to meet the guests.

To the accompaniment of instrumental music from the party, Viveka, shelving and unshelving books in the study, heard the chatter and laughter grow as each new couple arrived. Before going out to mingle with her parents' guests, she had informed her mother, she wanted to check something on the computer. She turned on the computer and engrossed herself in a chat-room debate with other students regarding the university administration's implementation of heightened security measures on the campus.

Her mother didn't hide her irritation when she came into the study for the second time to call Viveka out. “I don't care how
important it is,” Devika declared. “If you were watching an advertisement on
TV
now you would say that
that
was of some great importance. You think you know how to get what you want, but I want you to get yourself out there right away. I am not coming in here to call you again. You are behaving like a real coonoomoonoo. You
will
come and meet people, and you
will
stay out and chat with your sister, and with Anick and Nayan when they arrive, and everyone else. Why can't you be more like your sister, eh?”

Viveka glanced away from the computer. “Aren't Anick and Nayan here yet?”

“No, but everyone else is.”

“Steve Samlal is here, too?”

“No. His parents are here, but he didn't come.”

This both pleased Viveka and made her feel peeved.

“It is really looking as if you are being very rude. Why do I have to keep making excuses for you?” continued Devika.

“All right, all right. I am coming, but I have to shut the computer down. I will come in a few minutes.”

“Vashti has already come out. She is just sitting there by herself. Turn off that computer and come outside right now.”

“But I just said I was turning it off, Mom. You don't have to tell me to turn it off again.”

“Look, I don't want to go outside with a sour face because of you, yes. If it's not your father, it is you. I don't know what is wrong with you all. Look, you just do what you want. As usual.”

“Why are you bringing up Dad? Did something happen?”

Her mother, realizing that she might have provoked Viveka's old anxieties with her dig at Valmiki, backtracked quickly. “Just stop worrying yourself. He is behaving perfectly. Stop all this worrying-worrying and come out, for God's sake.”

Another ten minutes passed, and Viveka's father came into the study. He stood behind her. “You're chatting?”

“Yeah, I'm finishing up now, though.”

“I know you don't like these kinds of parties, pet.”

Viveka interrupted him. “It just all feels so hypocritical. I always feel as if I don't know what's actually going on. How come your hunting friends aren't invited to these kinds of parties, Dad? I mean, you see them more than you see anyone who will be here tonight.”

“Well, precisely. I see them enough as it is. Besides, you know they won't feel comfortable with this crowd.”

“You mean this crowd won't feel comfortable with them.”

“Both.”

Viveka could hear her father's irritation and defensiveness in that one word, and changed her direction with him fast. “I just don't like these kinds of parties, Dad.”

“I know that, and I know that I am to blame. I know your mother doesn't think I have changed or grown up at all, but surely you can see I have. Just come out and say hello. Everyone is asking for you. Come, make your mother happy, please, for my sake. You can come back here after you say hello.”

“Have the Prakashs arrived yet?”

“Not yet. Uncle Ram said they had another party to go to first. But they should be here any time now.”

“I hope they bring chocolates,” Viveka said in a conciliatory tone.

Valmiki quickly jumped on the moment. “Come on out now, my pet, for a few minutes, please.”

Outside, Viveka remained distracted, one eye on the entrance looking out for Nayan and his wife, and one foot ever ready to rush back inside of the house to the study. Vashti, wearing green
high heels and a short spaghetti-strap cotton dress with an abstract print that flashed every colour bled from the rainbow, came and stood next to her. Their father slid himself between them, and put an arm around each girl. He could be so flamboyant when he was ready, observed Viveka. And he was certainly ever ready to party. He was indeed a good host. She looked around and didn't mind admitting that so was her mother.

Viveka fielded small talk about the university from some of the guests while one man asked Valmiki if he had sons-in-law lined up yet. Viveka good-naturedly interjected, “Marriage? I don't even have my degree yet.”

Vashti rolled her eyes, “What she doesn't have yet is a boyfriend.”

“But who say you have to wait until you get degree?” the man answered, thickening and flaunting the popular version of the Trinidadian accent. “Pretty girls like you, and you keeping the boys waiting? Valmiki, is Devika who make these children by herself, or what? How they pretty so, boy?”

Valmiki said, “You're right about where they got their looks. I have taste, you know that. Anyhow, listen, I am not paying any dowry, you hear? I will have to be paid for these girls, and whoever wants the privilege of marrying either of my daughters will have to come damn good, for either of my girls! They will have to make sure I can retire in the style to which I have accustomed my wife.”

He said this as Devika passed by, and without stopping her march toward a group of women gathered on the lawn, she said over her shoulder, “It was I who taught you, boy. When you met me I was already accustomed to that style. Everything you know
I
taught
you
.”

Valmiki kissed Viveka on her cheek, whispering in her ear, “Your mother is in fine form tonight.” He offered his daughters
a drink, which they both declined. Then he left in the direction of the bar. Viveka felt rather awkward, standing there with Vashti, fumbling to carry on with friends of her parents the kind of conversation that bored her. In minutes a server arrived in front of the two girls with a glass of white wine and a sweating glass of Coke, the napkin around it already damp, both set in the centre of a doily-clad silver serving tray. Vashti playfully reached for the wine. Viveka slapped her sister's hand lightly, then looked over at her father, who winked at her. She shook her head at him, but took the glass of wine and remained chatting with these friends of her parents — it was a “then and now” conversation about the quality and quantity of available street food, the vendors outside the gates of Vashti's school, and the roti shops near the university gates — until she had finished half. Then Viveka excused herself with some mumblings about research and course work. Vashti reluctantly followed her into the house but went to her own room, where she turned on the air-conditioning and made a phone call to one of her friends.

BUT IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE VIVEKA HEARD VOICES, HER FATHER'S
included. He and another man, gentler sounding, were talking. She recognized Nayan's voice and panicked. She straightened herself, pushed her chair back from the computer, and slowly spun the swivel chair around to face her guests as they arrived in the study. She stood.

Her father was holding the hand of a young woman, encouraging her onward.

Viveka felt something she had never experienced before. It was as if she had been swiftly pushed high up on a swing and was coming back down ultra fast. Her body was suddenly light. She
felt giddy. Anick was even more beautiful than anyone had said she was. Viveka found she couldn't look her in the eyes.

Nayan embraced Viveka warmly. They hadn't seen each other in three years. “You're keeping fit? Well?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she managed. “You look good too. Nice to see you.” She was aware that Anick was watching her intently, smiling all the while, but Viveka still could not return the gaze.

After an awkward introduction and some chit chat, Nayan invited Viveka to have dinner with him and Anick in a few days.

“Why not?” Anick urged. “I doing nothing but to stay by myself all day. I cook good. I admit I say myself, but is true. I cook you something from France. French food, you know, very mmm food. I good for something. Not everything, but something.” At this last, she winked. She had laughed nervously throughout her little speech, a self-conscious outpouring. An awkwardness fell over the group, but the moment was quickly saved when Nayan said, “She is good for at least a couple of things, and she is a very, very good cook.” He tapped the front of his shirt in the area of a slight paunch, unabashedly pushing out his belly for emphasis. “See what has happened since I married her?”

Nayan made it clear that he was inviting Viveka alone. He really wanted Viveka and Anick to get to know each other, he said, with affection that pleased Viveka even as it made her uncomfortable. His parents would go abroad in the next couple of days and would be gone for a few weeks, his father on business. She should come when Ram and Minty were away so that his father wouldn't put a strain on everyone with his demands and controlling manner.

At this, Valmiki interrupted, “Oh, your dad doesn't mean anything by all of that. He looks well. So does your mom. We'd
better go on out, otherwise they will think the party has moved in here.”

Viveka refused her father's request that she rejoin the party, insisting she had too much work to do. Taking his cue, Nayan quickly finished his invitation, saying he would send his father's driver to pick Viveka up and bring her to their house, a distance not three minutes by car but too unsafe to walk by one's self once the sun had gone down. Alone again, Viveka felt unsettled. Neither Anick nor Nayan was any taller than she, but still she felt short and unrealized, almost childlike, in front of them. She had the near-paralyzing sense that her slippers were insubstantial, that the kurta she wore, and that not an hour before had made her feel different, exotic even, had suddenly become baggy on her. Its style, fabric, colours — in a flash, as if midnight in a fairy tale had arrived — had all turned dowdy. She felt that she did indeed look just so, as her mother had said.