Flowers in the Blood (43 page)

The carriage turned to follow the banks of the Hooghly. Just past the walls of Fort William, a forest of masts came into sight. The flags of many countries rippled in the breeze like a flock of mismatched butterflies. There were Chinese ships with an eye painted on either side, clumsy country boats heaped with jute bales, and huge ironclad freighters with gaping holds devouring lines of freight-carrying coolies.

“Here we are,” Edwin said mischievously as we drew up to a budgerow wharf, where several barges were tied in a row. “Four o'clock,” he said to the syce, then took my hand.

We stepped over two barges to the one farthest from land. A turbaned man stripped to the waist bowed to us with his hands pressed together. “I bid you welcome, sahib, memsahib.”

I stood on the creaking deck, looking around with astonishment as two sailors cast off their lines and, wielding their huge oars, pushed us out into the current.

“Come see.” Edwin motioned toward the cabin that covered the back third of the boat. He pushed aside a curtain to reveal a large room surrounded by Venetian windows. Inside, silk carpets covered with huge pillows lined the room's perimeter. Bowls of fruit and flowers filled small tables nailed fast to the floor. Several large tiffin-carriers were set on hot braziers. Aromatic scents of cardamom and turmeric and clove mingled with the ripeness of the muddy ghat.

I reopened the curtain that served as the door and watched as the oarsmen's movements in unison with the flow of the river propelled us swiftly downstream. “Where are we going?”

Edwin gathered me to him. “To the end of the world.”

I looked at the curtain flapping in the breeze. “But the men—”

“Don't worry about them. They face backward, and I warned them that if they turned around, even for a second, I would not pay them. Besides, lying down, nobody can see in.”

In the wake of a steamer, the barge lurched, causing me to fall back onto a mound of cushions. In a split second Edwin was attempting to unfasten the tight buttons at my collar. “Bloody hell,” he growled when he could not undo even one.

“Your fingers are too thick.”

“Your clothes are impossible. I shall force you to wear saris from now on.”

“The Indians are much smarter than we are about many things,” I said as I hurriedly removed the blouse.

“Like the
Kama Sutra
perhaps?” He winked. “Now, where did we leave off?”

How swiftly he found his mark and how easily I found the rhythm! Now I understood everything: why men and women were kept separated, why young girls were married off, why parents did not trust their children, why chaperones were necessary. I marveled that a few vows had released me from the shackles that bound an unmarried girl and permitted me to embrace a sparkling world of pleasure. Was there ever anything so arousing as flesh pressing flesh? Dry flesh, moist flesh . . . my soft inner thighs next to his downy flank, his taut belly grinding against my softer one, his rippling shoulders and the long cords of his neck arching above me, his dazzling high brow, his warm mouth smiling, kissing, probing me in places I had never imagined I would find stimulating, let alone rapturous.

Later, we remained joined, with legs entwined like Hindu icons, and fed each other cool slices of fruit. We might have paused, but then a huge hull passed by. As the barge rocked in its turbulent wake, our satisfaction intensified and we made love once again.

At last we uncoupled. Edwin propped himself up on his elbow and peered out the window. “We are heading back to the dock.”

“Already?”

“It must be close to four. Anyway, it is not too soon for me.”

“Are you tired of me already?”

“I would need medical attention if we went on for another hour.”

“Me too,” I admitted shyly.

“Do you want to come back here tomorrow?”

“Can we?”

“I have hired the boat for the week.”

“Maybe we should rest at home for a day,” I said seriously.

As Edwin frowned, I suddenly had a flash. Before my marriage to Silas, Grandmother Helene had given me some salves that might help us in our current predicament.

“No, let us return tomorrow. And this time I will have a surprise for you.”

P A R T  I I I

 

 

The Sowing

 

In the beginning the Lord of Beings (Brahma) created men and women, and in the form of commandments in one hundred thousand chapters laid down rules for regulating their existence . . .

—
The Kama Sutra
of Vatsyayana

29

 

Cochin and Travancore, 1891-1892

 

A
t every platform, from Calcutta to Cochin, the dramas of farewells were reenacted for the audience of passengers inside the steamy train, who had taken part in a similar tableau and now watched with wearisome detachment as others took leave of their loved ones.

“You can tell a person's caste and religion from the manner in which he says good-bye,” Edwin told me in Kharagpur, the first stop en route to Madras.

We were looking down from our private salon, a luxurious and unexpected gift from my father. Usually leased to foreign potentates or to carry the wives of maharajahs, our private car had a large sitting and dining room, two bedrooms, a bath with a gilded tub; and at either end of the car, berths for servants.

“What do you mean?” I asked Edwin, wondering if he was like Silas in his desire to fill me with the knowledge he had accumulated about where we were and where we were going.

“Europeans pump hands, like those chaps over there.” He came over from his armchair to the sofa where I was sitting and pointed to an army officer and a gentleman in a white suit. A steam valve hissed and a momentary fog blanketed them. “Those must be Muslims, for they always embrace bosom to bosom,” he said, indicating an animated group at the far end of the platform.

“What about those two kissing?” I tapped the glass so he could see two women, probably mother and daughter.

“Hindus would never kiss in public, so they must be Anglo-Indians.” His last words were muffled by a whistle. The farewells, called out in a plaintive gabble of Hindustani, Tamil, and Telugu, became more frantic.

“What do the Hindus do?”

Edwin pressed his hands together perpendicular to his chest and bowed. “The
namaste
, what else?”

“Who cries?” I asked, recalling the many tears my six brothers and sisters, Zilpah, Grandmother Helene, and my father had shed at Howrah Station.

“Everyone cries the world over. No matter what caste, color, or race, humanity is the same at the core.”

Until that moment I myself had remained dry-eyed. Did that mean I was less humane than most, or did Edwin offer insulation from loss? Was I so content to be in his arms that I could shed my attachments like a snake slithering from its skin without looking backward? I clasped Edwin's hand and massaged his fine hairs with a deep circular movement. Next to his pink skin my hand seemed dark. I marveled at our differences, loving each one of his.

Bowlegged Hanif came into the room carrying a basket of fruit he had purchased on the platform. Esther Salem lifted a piece, sniffed it warily. “I suppose it will do.”

After he took them to the pantry, Edwin grinned. “What do think the chances are of Hanif getting together with Yali?”

Since Edwin had no servants of his own, my father had arranged for Abdul's son to accompany us to Cochin. And Papa had asked Yali to remain with me. “Last time I sent you off to Darjeeling without anyone to look after you. I will not make the same mistake twice,” he had said crisply. Even though I knew Yali could not have helped my problems with Silas, I was comforted to have her by my side.

I understood what Edwin meant. He wanted the romance that bound us to infect the whole world. He had decided that Yali and Hanif could do nothing else but fall in love because they spent so much time in our proximity.

“Be sensible, Edwin. Yali is Hindu, Hanif is Muslim.”

“I will be pleased if they don't squabble all the time,” his mother interjected.

Edwin ignored her. “I refuse to be sensible, at least not until our honeymoon is over.”

“When does a honeymoon end?”

“When the children start arriving,” Esther Salem replied.

Edwin and I chuckled together. His mother had said: “Pretend I am not here,” but she was always interjecting comments into our conversations. Sometimes I felt she was waiting for me to loosen my guard and reveal something that would prove my perfidy. Remnants of suspicion, like sinews caught between the teeth, remained to be probed, but I determined to foil her at every turn. As the train lurched forward, we could see the outstretched arms and the yawning O's of the final cries of a few miserable wretches for whom the farewells had not been sufficient.

“How are you feeling?” Edwin whispered.

“Better,” I said with alacrity. The grind of metal on metal of the accelerating train made it harder for his mother to overhear us. “I hope I can tolerate it.”

“What? The train trip?”

“No, following Dr. Hyam's prescription.”

“Me too. All I have to do is look at you and—”

I hushed him with my hand when I saw his mother turn in our direction. As he kissed my palm, I wriggled away from him and crossed my legs primly.

“You winced.”

“Did not.”

He patted my thigh. “Maybe we should hold off altogether for a few days.”

“Are you looking for an excuse?”

“Remember what the doctor said.”

I blushed at the thought. Dr. Hyam and his wife had been invited to one of the last sheva berakoth dinners. When I greeted him on the terrace, he said, “Your grandparents would have been pleased with your young man.”

I beamed at this pronouncement. Then, because nobody else was nearby and there was no one else I could confide in, I asked, “Is it usual for a girl to have some difficulties?” His kind hooded eyes closed momentarily. I realized he must have been thinking that another problem, perhaps one similar to what had occurred with Silas, was distressing me.

“I would rather discuss this in my consulting room tomorrow,” he said, relieving me of an explanation when so many ears were nearby.

He was surprised when Edwin and I both arrived, and even more astonished that Edwin followed me into the consultation room.

“Now, Dinah, you had something you wished to ask me about—in private.”

As he waited for Edwin to excuse himself, Edwin cleared his throat. “Dinah and I are worried,” he began shakily, before his voice firmed. “You see, by the third time, we find it difficult to ignore the pain.” He bowed his head.

“The third time since the wedding?” Dr. Hyam asked.

“No, the third time each morning,” Edwin replied, smoothing his hair.

“Each morning?” Dr. Hyam echoed. “And what do you do when the pain persists?”

“Sometimes we cannot begin again until the evening,” I filled in with a whisper.

“You do not have to force a lifetime of love into the first week.”

“I suppose we will need to build up stamina,” Edwin replied stiffly.

“Any difficulty urinating?” Dr. Hyam asked him.

“Some burning, actually.”

“And you?” Dr. Hyam looked at me. I nodded. “Any embarrassment when you cough or sneeze?” I nodded again. The doctor stroked his beard. “I really should examine each of you, but: your symptoms are typical. All I can say is I am glad you came to me now, or you would have had a most unpleasant journey.” Shaking his head, he went to the next room, where he kept his medicines.

A few minutes later he handed me a tin of powder and instructed me how to mix the solution. “Dinah, you are to take this three times a day; Edwin, you are to take it morning and evening. Continue until the symptoms have been absent for three days in a row. At the first sign of recurrence, begin taking it again.” Then he gave us several salves. “Avoid spicy foods, peppers, curries, and the like. Have fruit as often as possible, and juice with meals. At least ten glasses of liquid a day.” He grinned at us both before pursing his lips and adopting a serious tone. “Most important is to give those delicate tissues a rest before you do permanent injury.”

Edwin blanched. “I did not know . . .” His chin dropped and he looked at me apologetically.

“Now, then, don't worry. You have not harmed each other yet, but from now on”—Dr. Hyam waved his arms as if he were conducting a symphony—
”andante sostenuto
, slowly, yet sustained.”

Edwin shrugged in my direction.

Dr. Hyam explained, “Once a day, until you are both completely healed. And . . .” He hesitated, then decided to speak forthrightly. “For the duration, remain in positions in which the husband and wife face each other. Do you understand me?” He looked at Edwin, who nodded that he did. “The female bladder is under too much strain if the man approaches the woman from behind. If either one worsens—and you must be honest with each other in the matter—you must refrain for at least three days. After that . . .” He threw up his hands. Seeing Edwin's rapt expression, he realized he had to be specific. “Twice a day—and by that” I mean once in the morning and once in the evening—is the pace I recommend. Many happily married men and women find satisfaction with only a few such occasions each week.”

When we were alone in the carriage, Edwin asked me if I believed the doctor.

“I suppose we should follow his advice.”

“About everything?”

“Until we are healed.”

“But not that nonsense about once or twice a week.”

“Of course not!” I protested, unable to imagine such a drought.

A few miles out of the station, Hanif served the slices of melon the doctor had ordered. Side by side on the sofa, we sucked on the sweet fruit, sipped several cups of tea, and watched the world drift by in a verdant blur. The train sped through a land that seemed to stretch to eternity. Now and then the window became a canvas for a sudden stand of trees silhouetted against the beige earth.

As the world darkened, the window mirrored the interior of the railway car more and showed less and less of the outside world. Still I was mesmerized.

“What is so interesting?” Edwin asked when I seemed intent on a monotonous landscape glowing under the light of an almost full moon.

“I see us,” I said, pressing my head next to his and admiring our double portrait. Just then a group of regular shapes emerged, as though they had been dropped by a child playing blocks behind the clouds. “What are they?” I pointed to the pyramids.

“The old Dutch tombs.”

“Where are we?”

“Balasore,” Edwin replied with a chuckle. “That makes three of us. You're sore, I'm sore, and Balasore!”

We both doubled up with uncontrollable spasms of laughter.

“What is so amusing?” Esther asked as she peered around from her seat.

“N-nothing, Mother,” Edwin sputtered, and fell into my lap with a contorted clutch of his sides.

 

Two days later we arrived at Shoranur, terminus of the rail line. The platform seemed to be nothing more than an island in a leafy sea. Buffalo-carts were hired for the grueling journey to Trichur. After that, there was an easier road to Ernakulam, across the water from Cochin.

While we waited on the ghat at dawn for Hanif to unload my trunks and cases, Esther Salem rubbed her back and groaned, “Isn't it time they extended the railway to the sea?”

“I didn't mind any part of the trip,” I said to Edwin.

“Nor I,” Edwin replied, kissing my cheek.

“What do you young lovebirds know of pain?” she asked crossly.

Edwin stifled a burst of laughter and went to arrange for the boats. When he returned, the sun had brightened to reveal the harbor. “That's Cochin.” He pointed across a wide canal. A few minutes later, the punt carrying the three of us pulled away from the loading wharf, and Edwin said, “Now you will see why they call Cochin India's tropical

Venice.” As we moved out into open water, he continued, “It's no wonder my family are traders. For thousands of years, this port has welcomed vessels from all over the globe. Traders following the monsoon winds across to India came from Rome and Greece, from Egypt and Arabia, and landed in Cochin, which was the hub of the spice trade and the easterly routes to China. Eventually it became the first Portuguese establishment in India.”

As the boat glided on the placid bay, I watched the gulls careen in the pink sky. “You do like boats, don't you?” I asked with a private wink.

“Some boat trips are more pleasurable than others,” he mumbled into the wind.

“What?” his mother called.

“Dinah was just wondering where we lived,” he replied.

“Our house is on Mattancheri, a district on the southern peninsula,” my mother-in-law explained. “It is faster to travel by water than to go around by land.”

“Are there ferries?” I asked to be polite.

“No, but there has been talk of establishing a regular service,” Edwin replied.

“Yes, and there has been talk of putting down a railway to the sea too,” said his mother sarcastically.

Turning down a less-populated canal, where the backwater banks were a thick tangle draping the water's edge, I felt as if I had entered a strange new land. Screw pines bordered the water. Rich green foliage formed a dense backdrop, and a belt of pendulous coconut palms fanned the sky. Here and there whitewashed houses dotted the shoreline. Fruit trees offered shade at many of the doorsteps. Gardens were demarcated in tidy squares. A strong breeze whipped kites and clotheslines. I knew the Salems were not wealthy, but I supposed they owned one of these pleasant dwellings beside the sea.