Beyond Molasses Creek (27 page)

“Please, enter.” I set the flowers on a table by the windows and turn around to Mr. Assai. I put my hands up to my face and press my cheeks. Is this really happening? Are we going to speak to my true mother? Mr. Assai pulls his other hand from behind his back and gives me the Book of the Gods along with a newly wrapped package.

“It is the same your mother gave to you. I have rewrapped it. These things belong to you.”

“We should have tea,” I say, and I pour two cups of hot milky chai that was brought up by the hotel. “Yes. We should have tea.”

The two of us sit down gingerly, sipping the tea with shaky hands. I look at him and ask, “What did she sound like, my mother?” My face must be glowing. My ears burn.

“She sounds . . . happy,” he says. “She was very cautious at first, as you must understand. She was expecting only bad news when I told her I was from the embassy in Nepal. It was very sad. Very sad indeed.”

“But then she was happy?”

“Sunila.” Mr. Assai puts his teacup down on the table. He presses his hands together as if he is praying and closes his eyes. “I was not prepared for the depth of her emotion. I have never experienced . . . Are you prepared to speak with her?”

“I . . . I would like to speak with her, but I will not know what to say, I'm afraid.”

“You do not have to say much. She will hear your voice. It will be enough. She will hear it and know that it is you, that you are her daughter. Yet I feel . . .”

Mr. Assai looks off and stands to go open the curtain. He looks outside over the gardens and I ask him, “Please, what is wrong?”

“Nothing. I—I am hopeful that this is true. It is happening, but part of me—”

“Yes, part of me as well,” I say. “Part of me believes nothing this good could ever happen to me. I am happy, Mr. Assai. Truly happy. Yet there is still a part of me that protects the other. I have lived a life of hardship. I know this now after meeting you, after seeing this hotel. I know that I am not one to deserve this happiness and must be borrowing this life for a short time. I am prepared to go back, you know. I am prepared. I want you to know.”

“No, Sunila. Please do not cry. I—I feel responsible. I have grown very fond . . . I simply want things to go as they should for you. You deserve a bit of happiness in this life. I am grateful simply to witness this reunion. I never imagined I could care this way about . . . about a case. I'm sure it's highly improper.”

A case. I am a case to him. I firm myself. “Mr. Assai. If I may, would you please tell me, to which caste do your parents belong?”

“I told you I don't believe in the caste system.”

“Yes. But I imagine your parents do. It is not easy to forget one's place in the world.”

He is quiet and looks pained. Finally he says, “Vaishya.”

“They were business owners?”

“Yes.”

My heart stills. “Thank you. Thank you for your honesty.”

I set my cup down on the table and after a deep breath I say, “All right. I am ready now. Let us call Ms. Green in America and let me hear the sound of her voice. I will know then. I will know if she is my mother.”

FIFTY-FIVE
Great White Bird

Charleston
Sunila
Three weeks later

I
AM IN
A
MERICA
. M
R
. A
SSAI AND I FLEW ON A GREAT
white bird to get here. I watched the tops of the clouds until my eyes closed. I flew up where the gods must live. I have never been so happy. As we sat next to one another, at times Mr. Assai's arm would rub against mine, and when the airplane would shake, he would touch my hand and calm me. I like him very much. I have never had someone treat me so kindly. Except for Amaa. I am a very long way from home.

The houses here are far apart. There is green grass everywhere and no temples or monkeys or cows in the street. There are large cars as we drive down the streets. There are great trees that hang over us and a bright blue sky that welcomes us here.

We arrive at a house and my stomach tightens. I hold my chest and smooth my sari. It is beautiful blue with gold sequins like the Brahmin wear. Mr. Assai bought it for me for this trip and I am grateful. Grateful for everything.

My American mother lives in that house. It is a gray house with trees and grass and stone statues to one side. Statues. Behind the house, a river flows. I am meeting my mother in this house, at this moment, for the first time in my life.

I breathe heavy.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Assai asks me.

“I think I am.” I sit in the car rented by Mr. Assai. He did not have to come all this way for me; he could have stayed in Nepal. I am greatly indebted to him. I turn to Mr. Assai and say, “I am happy you are here. It is right that you are here today. I am . . . grateful for all you have done.”

“I am doing my job,” he says. The words spread between us. “What I meant to say is, it is my honor to bring you here. I am honored, very much so, to be here.”

Ally

I am a mess. I look in the mirror and straighten my pearls, tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I pucker my lips and blot my lipstick, then wipe all of it off. I'll want to kiss her. I hope she lets me kiss her. I don't want to mess up her cheeks.

I am bursting out of my skin right now.

I never imagined that I'd be okay after Vesey was gone, but I am better than okay. I feel him with me like I never felt before. He was always across the river, but now, now he lives on in my heart. He's had something to do with this, pulled some strings, I am sure of it. Because she's coming. My daughter is coming home to me today! Nearly forty years in the desert, wandering alone and lost and parched, and now, now I have entered some promised land. I feel as if I am home for the first time in my life. All the pieces have added up to bring me to this moment, wearing these beautiful shoes and cream-colored dress that Margaret bought for me to wear today. She is here with Graison in the other room. They are drinking iced tea with Ronnie and Marlene. All my dear friends, my whole family is here now. We're just waiting to see her.

God, if I haven't said it today, thank you. Thank you for all of it. The years of wandering. I don't mind them now. I see how they were useful. Look where you have brought me
. How much more grateful am I now that I have lost and found. How grateful I am. How unworthy I am. How unlikely.

I have not felt a stitch of pain in my hip since I heard her voice on the phone. It was as if the sound of her voice had the power to heal me from thousands of miles away. I am living pain-free today. Free from the pain of losing her, of losing Mama and Daddy and Vesey. I am free from the pain of loss for the first time in my life, for I am overflowing with gain, and it is truly a miracle. I never thought I would see this day.

Kat jumps up on the bathroom counter and arches his back. He wants me to pet him. I do and turn on the faucet for him so he can drink a little trickle of water. Wild thing. He loves to do that. Why is it that this tiny trickle thrills him more than the big bowl of water I leave for him by his food? There is something special about water falling from the sky. I realize that now. “Sweet boy. Are you ready? She's coming any minute now.” I turn the water off and rub his head and kiss it. “You're a good kitty cat, you know that? I am so glad you're here. I love you, Kat.”

I enter the living room again and see my closest friends in the world. Ronnie and Marlene are beaming at me, arms around each other, tea glasses in hand. I'm so glad they could make the trip from Atlanta. Ronnie leaves Marlene's side and comes to take my hand. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Better than I've ever seen you.”

“Yes,” I say. “I
feel
beautiful right now. Oh, Ronnie, I'm shaking. I'm—I'm . . .”

He grins. “I'm shaking too, you know. I used to lie there in bed at night and listen to you cry yourself to sleep. I used to pray for you, just for the pain to turn bearable. I never imagined in my wildest dreams a miracle like this could ever happen to a person. What you're going through, Al, it's changed my whole life, I'm telling you. Me and Marlene? We just can't believe we get to share this day with you. Thank you for letting us be here. I've been in such a good mood, I told Marlene I'd buy her that fancy sewing machine she's always wanted.”

“You are a dear sweet man, Ronnie Stits. The best husband I ever had.” I wink. “And I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't married you. You saved me. I was a shell of a woman and a terrible wife, I'm sure. But I probably wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you.”

Ronnie kisses me on the cheek and then looks me hard in the eyes. “I'm happy for you. Really.” He walks back to Marlene and hugs her tight.

Margaret comes up to me now. She is wearing an understated outfit of black pants and a soft yellow blouse. This woman, who has never been understated, is today for me. She wants me to shine. She put me in this outfit from Gwynn's and insisted on buying it for me. She cried when she saw me wearing it in the store. She is a good friend, no matter what she was like when she was younger. We're all different, aren't we? Morphed into something better, I think. I am thankful to have her in my life all these years later. She is officially my oldest friend now, and to me that's something I don't take lightly.

“You're gonna do fine,” she says to me. Dimples line her cheeks. “I promise we'll try hard not to scare her off. We'll stay way in the background, all right?”

I shake my head okay, but words are failing me. This moment feels like destiny.

“They're here!” Graison yells from the front door. She's peeking out the sidelight, bulbous and positively glowing from pregnancy these days. I inhale and the room grows deathly quiet. I smooth my dress and clear my throat and run over to the coffee table, pulling out a handful of tissues. I close my eyes and fold them in my hand. I blot the corners of my eyes.
Oh Vesey, Mama, Daddy, are you seeing this? Are you here? How I wish you could have lived to see the day
.

Sunila

I turn and look out the window of the rented car. “What if my English is not good?”

“You have been working very hard, Sunila. You will do just fine.” Mr. Assai turns the keys and the car goes quiet. My heart beats.

“It is very good to meet you,” I say, practicing my English. “My name is Sunila. I am your daughter.”

“Good, that is very good. Shall we go now?”

Mr. Assai gets out of the car and comes around to my door. He opens it and helps me out by holding my hand. I want to keep holding his hand, but I do not. I walk slowly over brick and moss and climb the stairs, holding my sari. I stand there facing the red door, and I turn to look at Mr. Assai one last time. He is nodding. The door opens and I feel I may fall to the ground. My head is light and my heart is lighter. There is a woman at the door in black and yellow and I see her, though I do not recognize her. I had always imagined that if I met my mother I would know her instantly in my heart and from the pictures she drew. But I do not know this woman. My heart begins to tear.

Ally

Margaret opens the door and stands there waiting. She steps out onto the front porch. I hear her talking, but I cannot move. My legs and feet are positively frozen. My daughter is outside that door. My daughter is outside that door! Something grabs me and I run, arms outstretched, all polite demeanor vanished. I am a ravaged mama tiger and I see my child. There she is! She is a woman now, not a baby, with dark hair pulled back neatly and a beautiful blue sari to match the glory of her big blue eyes. She is nearly glowing, a gold aura around her. Yes, this is my child! I would know her anywhere. She is even more beautiful than I ever could have dreamed of, and I melt, simply holding my arms out to her, shaking. “You are here, aren't you? Is it really you?”

Sunila

The woman in the milky dress with hair to match down to her shoulders is lovely. She is truly lovely. She is my mother; I know it in my heart.

“Hello,” I say in my best English. My voice is shaking. “I am Sunila. I am your daughter.” She says something to me but it is too fast and I cannot understand. She is holding her arms out to me.

Ally

Oh, heaven have mercy, I want to grab her and squeeze her up! I want to erase all the years and miles between us. But I am afraid to scare her off. She doesn't know me. I am just a sixty-year-old American woman, a stranger to her. But my arms will not return to my sides. I have entered some tunnel where all I can see is her. She looks at me with tears in her eyes and her hands go up and press her cheeks. She wipes her tears, sweet thing. Then she looks to the man standing beside her and he nods.

Sunila

Mr. Assai smiles at me encouragingly and motions for me to move forward. So I take a step and take this woman in my arms, a warm, lovely woman who gave birth to me, who suffered all these years for me—and feeling her in my arms, I no longer feel my own sorrow for the past but hers. She is in my own skin now, and we cry and wail to the sky as a flock of geese honks above us and scatters our joy until it rains down upon us and washes us as one to the river. There cannot be more to life than this moment.

Ally

I could die a happy woman right now. I could. All is right with the world because my daughter's in it. She's finally home. And so am I.

My daughter is wrapped around me, squeezing tight. I can barely breathe. I am laughing and crying. We hold each other and rock and wail, and as we stand there on the porch with all my precious people watching, we become one again, flesh to flesh, and I know in my heart, if I ever had any doubts—this is the reason I was put here on this earth, for this moment, for this child. For such an amazing time as this.

FIFTY-SIX
Crossing Over

Mount Pleasant
Sunila