Flowers in the Blood (58 page)

By the time I caught up with Edwin, he was on his knees on the floor, staring at a document and shaking his head.

“Edwin! What's the matter? What's wrong?”

“Gone! All gone!”

“What is gone?” More news about a plague? “Who has died this time?”

“No . . .” His arms covered his head. When I bent beside him, though, his flailing hands pushed me off.

“Is someone ill? Did someone die? Your mother? Edwin!” I screamed for his attention, but his misery had made him oblivious.

Hanif reached down, picked up the paper, and handed it to me. I read the news: the
Luna Sassoon
had been lost at sea.

“Who wrote this? Where did it come from?”

“How should I know?” Edwin said in the most pathetic voice I had ever heard.

I waved for Hanif to assist me, and in a few minutes we had Edwin lying on a low sofa. I offered him a brandy, and he took a few gulps. Hanif wiped his brow with a moistened towel. Two small punkah-wallahs fanned him. I read the report, which had been sent by the harbormaster of Goa, more carefully.

To the owner of the vessel
Luna. Sassoon:

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you the steamship
Luna Sassoon
foundered approximately 150 miles due west of Goa on the twenty-fifth of August 1892. Three members of the crew survived and were rescued by the sailing ship
Anglia Castle,
which brought them to this port. The ship's master was not among them and the first mate perished from his burns the day after his arrival.

The paper went on to give latitude and longitude and other navigational aspects of the disaster, then concluded:

An initial inquiry was made as to the cause. Weather conditions were fair and seas were mild. Winds were twelve knots WSW. The crew reports an explosion belowdecks in the vicinity of the boiler room at 0400. Fire spread rapidly throughout the ship and all hands were ordered to abandon at once. Only two lifeboats were lowered in time. The one on the starboard side was engulfed in flames from flying debris. By the time the other boat was able to make it around the sinking ship, no other survivors could be located. A copy of this report is being forwarded, to the attention of the Lloyd's agent in our port . . .

“The professor . . .” I gasped. “They don't mention him. He must have died as well.”

“Yes . . . yes . . . all my fault . . .”

“How could it be your fault?”

“I should have gone to Bombay. I should have inspected the boilers. I told you they required repairs. Somebody may have installed inferior valves . . .”

“But the ship made it to Europe and almost the whole way back. She was ahead of schedule . . . she . . .” I faltered as I remembered the captain's incentive to bring the ship in early. Had he pushed the machinery beyond its limits?

I glanced back at the report. “Lloyd's,” I read aloud again. “That's the insurance company. How much was she insured for? How much was the cargo insured for?”

Edwin did not respond. His eyes were empty. All substance had been sucked from his strong frame. If he had not been leaning against the wall, he might have crumpled. At last he spoke in a hoarse, shaking voice. “Uncle Elisha was supposed to see to it when he was in Bombay. There were some problems in arranging a survey. He made the usual inquiries and discovered something I had overlooked. In
Lloyd's Register
, the book I had studied before making an offer on the ship, there were many kinds of symbols and markings to certify ships. I missed one detail. Under the date of the last survey, a small red line had been drawn. The other information was in order; therefore, I did not realize the red line meant that—as of that date—the vessel had been withdrawn for noncompliance with the Society's rules.”

“I don't understand.”

His voice became louder and shakier. “That means the goddamned ship had serious structural or engine problems that had to be conformed to before they would recertify it.”

“But you did have the ship worked on,” I reminded him calmly.

Edwin took a long inhalation, blew it out tight lips, and continued haltingly. “My alterations were to prepare the holds for the furniture . . . and to tune up the engine. I did not know . . . about the certification problem at the time . . . and no special work was ordered to bring the boat into compliance.”

“But why didn't your uncle—?”

He jumped up. “Why didn't he indeed!” He spun around with clenched fists shaking. “He said that he thought the work the previous owner had done on the boilers would suffice, and when he found it wouldn't, he said there was no time . . . he said I didn't authorize it . . . he said the ship looked fine to him and there would be plenty of time to do the work later. 'Why spend money until you've made some money?' It made sense to me.” His face began to redden alarmingly. “The ship seemed in fine shape. There wouldn't have been a problem if that wretched bribe hadn't tempted that covetous captain. What did he care if he burned out the engine, as long as he made it in ahead of time? Foolish man! It cost him his life and it cost us . . .”

Everything. I realized we had lost my entire dowry. Nevertheless, the maharajah had lost far more. The value of the cargo was greater than the worth of the ship.

“Does Amar know?”

“He must. The news came from the palace.”

“We must go there at once.”

“No,” Edwin said slowly. “No, he will be too furious. We must give him time to think sensibly.”

“Isn't it better to face it at once?”

“You know how impetuous Amar can be. Give him time to gather his thoughts. He may have lost a great deal, but the cost will hardly put a dent in his treasury, and . . .” His reddened face became covered with pale blotches. “My God! Did you hear what I just said? Dent! The professor! He loved the man like a father.”

“We must go to Amar, if only because of the professor. We shall talk of that loss, not the other.”

Edwin bowed his head. “Yes, you are right. We must go.” He rushed toward me when I stretched out my arms. Trembling, we clasped each other while our child kicked and squirmed between us.

40

 

A
mar was calm, too calm. On the turquoise bed, under the sky-blue canopy, in the blue-and-white-tiled room, he leaned against the satin bolster. His hands were folded serenely across his diamond-studded belt buckle. He took slow puffs from the large silver hookah.

At last he spoke. “We were the only family the professor had. Travancore was his home. He leaves no wife, no children . . . I carry his legacy: not here”—he pointed to his scrotum—”as a son carries for his father, but here”—he pointed to his head.

“He was a brilliant teacher . . .” Edwin mumbled.

Amar did not reply. The lone sound was the ominous gurgling of the pipe.

“He was very kind to me,” I began hesitatingly. “He introduced me to marvelous books, he taught me about . . .” I was about to say “French furniture,” but caught myself in time and slipped in “chess.”

The maharajah's eyes glimmered. “Like me, he thought you showed promise,” he said mushily. “Come now, Sassy . . .” The maharajah pushed his bulk away from the cushions and stretched out to me. “Don't back away from me, not now, not when I need you most. We still have each other, don't we? What are friends for?” He came toward me and touched my shoulder. My swimming eyes refracted the turban's dazzling jewel as it approached me. Where was Edwin? What was he doing? I craned my neck around. Yes, Edwin was nearby. I extended my hand to my husband, but he was out of reach. The maharajah continued to speak in his sloppiest manner. “Yes, what are friends for? Friends help each other in their hour of need.” He licked his lips. “I will not say I am not disappointed to lose the furniture. Each piece was priceless . . .” His hand stroked my upper arm carelessly. “Did you know that the French did not want to let some of the finest ones go?'“ He gave a rueful, laugh. “Or was that their way of inflating the price?” He threw up his hands.

I was enormously relieved to have his touch released. I eased myself nearer to Edwin. His arms clasped me from the back and held my waist tightly. Could Amar tell he was bracing me? Probably, because Amar did not advance. The maharajah's eyes circled the room, where a few retainers watched for any sign of an order. Amar waved them away. We three were alone.

Amar adjusted his long tunic. His stubby fingers wrapped around the thick pearl rope that looped past his waist. “No . . . nothing that is lost can ever be replaced—nothing made of iron, nothing made of wood and silk, nothing made of flesh and bones—and yet the world goes on.” He gestured to my belly. “In the midst of everything that is lost, a new life comes forth. Think of the child that carries your seed, Winner. What a mind it will have! And you shall have the duty to fill it with many of the treasures the professor taught us. In that way he shall live again.” Amar's face hardened. His dark eyes were suffused with a disoriented glaze.

The atmosphere in the room had changed. Tears fell from my eyes. This time they were not as much for the professor as for our predicament. I watched the maharajah's face for clues.

“You are a noble man with noble ideals.”

I wanted to kick Edwin for trying flattery, which was obviously the wrong tack. The moment he saw Amar's face twist, he realized this too.

“How generous of you, my old friend,” Amar said silkily. “Even noblemen must be treated fairly. When something is taken from them, they should be given something in return. Don't you agree?” His tone softened further. “Now, I know you could never repay me for what I have lost with silver, even if you pledged a lifetime of earnings to the cause. Therefore, I would never consider having you undertake that sort of debt. Yet if I forgave the matter entirely, I would not be doing you a favor either. For the remainder of your days you would carry the burden of your responsibility. Just as a child welcomes a swift, fair judgment when he has made a mistake—to turn his little wronged world right—so you must be yearning to balance this obligation.”

As Edwin's grip tightened around my waist, I had a crazy hallucination of the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin. Imagining Amar as the ugly gnome who would demand my firstborn child as payment, I crossed my hands protectively on my abdomen.

“What do you have in mind?” Edwin's words rang out sharp and clear against the tile walls.

Amar stood in front of us, massaging his pearls. “You know what I want.” He paused and grinned maddeningly. “I want Dinah.”

Curiously, that statement, which should have been shattering, came as a relief—at least to me. What I had always suspected had been true! It was as if I had become a coin that had been flipped in the air between the men. For the briefest second I felt infused with the flattery inherent in the toss. Then the reverse emotion of extreme loathing welled up. Caught midway, I was like a wild animal stunned by a bright light.

Edwin, however, was able to react. Letting go of me, he approached the maharajah with a crooked smile. “Amar, come now, this is no time for one of your jokes.”

“Why don't you call me Lover-boy? You were the one who gave me that name. Is it any wonder I have tried to live up to it ever since?” Amar's thick lips twisted evilly, annihilating any hope that he had been jesting.

Edwin moved quickly to stand between the maharajah and me. “My wife is expecting our child. Why would you want to shock her after what she has been through already? You know she lost many loved ones to the plague a few months ago, and now she feels this loss as deeply as we do.” His tone was firm, yet conciliatory. I admired my husband's control under the circumstances. If I had had the strength, I would have pummeled the bastard.

“We both have appreciated your hospitality,” he continued. “We both have admired you. Amar, after everything we have been through, don't kill that now.”

“My dear Winner, why won't you admit when you have lost? I cannot take your prize away forever, but she could be shared. Now might be the most propitious time. Her mind is as exquisite as ever. Even her shape—like a perfectly ripe pear—appeals to me. A few nights are all I ask. I would be gentle. And then she would have the child. After that she could spare me a few hours every month. Is that so much? I realize I cannot dissolve your union—unless that should be her choice someday. In Travancore the rules permit the wife to make the decision.”

As his hideous demands escalated, the more rational he tried to sound. “Winner, don't look so shocked. Sassy is a worldly lady—she has been married two times already, and who knows what occurred before that? Come now! Didn't she tell you about what happened during the elephant hunt? She didn't? Dinah, why weren't you truthful with your husband? Why didn't you tell him about that time I came to your tent? What are you ashamed of?” He lunged forward and patted my belly. “Now you can understand why I am so anxious to see that child. There are some things that cannot remain hidden.”

“You are insane!” I screamed as I shrank from him. “Nothing happened, Edwin! Nothing! He visited my tent. Yes, he did! But I would not let him inside. I stood outside and tried to get him to leave, until his mother came along and ended it.”

“Dinah, who would believe you?” Amar continued in his exasperatingly level voice. “That is not the story my mother tells. Who else could speak for you? Your servant, who has been paid to protect your honor since the day you were born? I know everything about you, everything about your high-and-mighty family, and the mother they say you take after.” He took a long breath and gave a slippery grin. “Nobody's perfect, my dear Sassy. Even your husband can be corrupted if the pipe is filled with something sweet to smoke and the woman who wants him is persistent enough.” He turned his outrageous accusations on Edwin. “In the past, my friend partook quite freely of the delicacies offered at the palace, and this visit was no different. Didn't he tell you of our escapade last night with hot opium and cool women? Can you imagine the pleasure when one's brain is fired with Patna's finest and one's throbbing organ thrust into a fleshy tunnel filled with icy flakes? Ah!” The maharajah closed his eyes and rolled his head back. “Men and women are not very different. You and Edwin can both enjoy the pleasures of this life. I will find him some suitable companion, and when you have delivered your burden, we shall taste some of these more exotic delights together, Sassy, and then you will see why it is better to yield to life's glories than to refuse.”

I fought to prevent this perverted image from searing into my consciousness. I preferred Edwin's innocent explanation of the previous night’s revelries. What Amar said could not have happened! And yet hadn't Mother Esther warned me that Amar would corrupt Edwin? Why had I ignored the warnings? I glanced at Edwin. His eyes were bright and steady as he met my gaze. I heard his thoughts as though he had been screaming: Don't believe him! He has lied to me about you and now he's lying to you about me. Don't you see what he is trying to do? If we allow him to divide us, we will be lost. With all my will, I tried to convey the same message to my husband. We never turned from the other as Amar poured out more of his venom.

“My uncle had a Swedish woman, a British countess, and a Portuguese maiden. However, he never had a Jewish woman from Calcutta. How I yearn to taste that forbidden flesh for myself! And now I shall have my chance, won't I, Winner?”

A crazy thing happened next. Edwin did not protest. I watched my husband's face set into a stony mask. Did he believe the maharajah's disgusting lies? How was I going to prove myself? After the baby was born, he would see it would not look anything like Amar, but even so, would Edwin ever trust me implicitly again?

He spoke, sounding as though he was a long way off. “Sir, we are both upset and tired. My wife is in no condition to be reasonable. I know you mean her—and me—no harm. Let me talk to her. Let me prepare her. I will return in the morning and we will review an arrangement that will be fair to everyone.”

The world turned on its head. What was going on? There was no up or down, no left or right. I had nowhere to turn. I dimly heard the maharajah say elatedly, “I knew you would want to save your honor. Women need coaxing, but I am not worried about Dinah. She is a very bright, a very sensible woman. Besides, she has always liked me. Sometimes I think the biggest mistake I ever made was not introducing myself to her a few minutes
before
, instead of a few minutes
after
, your wedding. Things have a marvelous way of sorting themselves out in the end, don't they?”

“Yes, sir, they do,” Edwin muttered. “Now I will take her home to rest.”

“Don't wait until tomorrow,” the maharajah demanded. “I want you here tonight. Let us talk about it then, shall we?”

“All right. I will not bring Dinah.”

“No, no, of course not. Give her time to recuperate and to think. There is no rush. Tonight we will share another pipe . . . and whatever suits your fancy. We both need to blot our sorrows. Until then I, for one, plan to get some sleep.” He gave a wide yawn and clapped his hands. Guards bounded inside each of the six doorways. Three rushed to attend the maharajah. Two others were directed to escort us home. I felt myself half-carried, half-pushed from the room by Edwin, and somehow, without any will of my own, I found myself back out in the festering midday heat of the hideous Travancore summer.

 

The next hours were a blur. Edwin would not speak until we locked ourselves in the bath at the Orchid House. He sketched his plan slowly, to be certain I understood each aspect. “I will go to the maharajah. tonight. I will tell him we have spoken and will make him a counteroffer. You will come to him once a week for a month. You will satisfy him in any manner which will not require penetration, as even we are having difficulties in that area.”

“But . . .” I sputtered. “That is not true!”

“Hush, darling, listen to me. Nothing will ever happen. We will leave Trivandrum tonight. I am only trying to explain how I will pacify him. I will tell him we will go to Cochin for the birth, returning here to live. Once we are back, I will offer to share you for a year. With that we will agree the debt has been repaid, and you will determine what happens after that.”

“He'll never believe you.”

“Yes, Amar will be fooled because I have asked for conciliations and you will be given the final decision at the end. He will suppose you would have demanded that. Then, after we have made our bargain, I will sit with him while he has a few pipes.”

“Is anything he said true?” I gasped, wondering if Edwin had partaken of the opium or the women.

“Did he tell the truth about you?”

I shook my head. “All lies.”

“Then I won't believe him if you won't.”

“Of course I won't,” I cried fervently. “But can we get away?”

“Listen, I know how Amar reacts. By midnight, when he dozes off, I will slip away.”

“Amar will have us followed.”

“Not quite that soon. I know the way he thinks. He has the curious capacity to reduce everything to the lowest common denominator. He truly believes that his loss can be repaid by having you. In his convoluted mind, if this simple solution can meet his need for retribution, he does not see why we would object.”