If Today Be Sweet (18 page)

The thought of breakfast made him groan even as his stomach growled. Mamma was such a fabulous cook, it was almost illegal. And a month ago she'd gotten it into her head that the cold cereal that he ate for breakfast was simply not enough. So she'd taken to getting up in the morning to fix him a hot breakfast. Each morning as he gobbled down the egg akuri or the omelet that she prepared for
him, he felt caught between Susan's watchful, cautionary glare and his mother's indulgent, pleased gaze.

Maybe she'll decide to go back, after all. Sorab was running a hasty hand through his hair when the treacherous thought hit him. He stared at himself in the mirror, appalled. Is that what you want, you bastard? he asked himself. If that's the case, why are you putting Mamma and Susan and everybody else through all this drama? He looked with distaste at a face that suddenly seemed weak and shifty to him. Who are you? he said to his reflection. What do you want? Who have you become? When there was no answer, he forced himself to imagine the house without his mother in it and was gratified at the pang of loss and loneliness that accompanied that image. But the next second he imagined the relief—the relief of not having to be quiet when he made love to his wife, the relief of not having to entertain his mother when he returned home after a long day at work, the relief of not having to move into a bigger house, of not having to get entangled into more debt, a larger mortgage. But then he thought of his mother alone in that apartment in Bombay, of her sleeping alone in the bed she had shared with her husband for decades, thought of those walls with the peeling paint, imagined her sick and unable to take care of herself, imagined her growing old alone in a distant city, away from her son and grandson, alone, solitary, paying the price for her only son's youthful ambition, for his having abandoned the city of his birth for greener pastures. And now he was in a position to share those pastures with her and why shouldn't he? He thought of the poisonous, polluted air in Bombay that assaulted the eyes and the throat, thought of the bronchitis that she developed with alarming regularity from breathing that air, thought of the cruel, muggy heat of the unforgiving sun, and knew that he could rescue his mother from all that if he kept her here. And yet he knew that this was not a game, that this was deadly serious, and that if he was asking his
mother to change the course of her destiny and move to a strange land, he had better be damn sure of his own motives.

What do you want? he asked himself again. And what are you willing to sacrifice to get what you want?

His only answer was a face in the mirror that looked back at him silently. He noticed that it was the face of a frightened man.

C
hristmas Eve, Tehmina sighed, and she had still not dropped the gifts off for the two boys next door. Each time she passed by the living room, with its pile of gifts so high that it looked like a small store, she felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of so much affluence. And then she felt a twinge of guilt about feeling guilty because after all, most of the gifts were for her darling Cookie and what kind of a grandmother resented the fact that her only grandson was getting showered with toys and books and clothes? In India, she and Rustom had bought Sorab one gift for Christmas—usually a new pair of shoes or a pants-and-shirt set. This was her first Christmas in America, and despite her having seen a hundred movies and picture postcards depicting a white Christmas, nothing had prepared her for this roaring frenzy of consumption that had everyone walking around in a kind of delirium. She had foolishly imagined just the opposite—that a country with such year-round material wealth would shrug its collective shoulders at the thought of buying one more thing.

And that was the other discordant thing—where was the white Christmas Sorab had all but promised her when he'd enticed her to visit in the fall? That Bing Crosby had made her fantasize about most of her life? Here in Rosemont Heights, the grass was still visible, and although a cold, sharp wind blew today, it didn't carry snow with it. The only sign of snow was in the black, slushy mounds that had been shoveled to the side of the driveway a few days ago.

Looking out of her window, she saw the blur of a small animal whiz past at the far end of the backyard. Probably a neighbor's cat. Or maybe some poor stray animal foraging for food. She sighed. Until a few months ago, the squirrels had been out, stealing the seeds that Susan replaced daily in the bird feeder. Susan used to get indignant about the squirrels eating up the birdseed until one day Tehmina had said to her gently, “Beta, what's the use of getting upset about things in the natural world? We may as well be upset that the lion eats the deer. And who's to say the squirrel doesn't need the food more than the birds? At least they can fly from one place to another.”

Susan had chuckled and shaken her head ruefully. “True enough. Sorry. I just so love seeing those beautiful birds in our yard.”

Now Tehmina eyed the empty bird feeder that they'd still not taken down. It was hanging by a tree deep into the backyard and close to the fence that they shared with Antonio's house. Should she brave this wind to go out to put some seeds in it, in case there were poor creatures out there starving to death? She decided she would. And while she was at it, may as well put a saucer of milk out for that cat or whatever animal she had spotted. She'd put it far away from the house and clean it up before the children came home from work.

Imagine working on Christmas Eve, Tehmina thought while she went looking for the birdseed. And then she paused, struck by a sour, suspicious thought: What if the children had lied to her about
being at work and were instead spending the day together, just to get some privacy? Before the sour feeling could settle in her stomach, before she could remember Sorab's plan to move into a bigger house that Percy had blurted out at Homi's party, she forced herself to be indignant at her own pettiness. And so what if they are? she chided herself. Weren't you young once? Or are you so old that you've forgotten what young people need? And anyway, you know how hard both children work. Probably working their hearts out right now while you sit around thinking evil thoughts about them. When has Sorab ever lied to you, you stupid woman? Good thing Rustom isn't here to read your suspicious mind—a good one-two-three dressing-down he'd give you. And despite herself, she smiled at how single-mindedly Rustom used to side with their daughter-in-law. Even though such blind loyalty irritated her at times, she had understood what he was doing—trying to squelch any possible discord in the family before it ever raised its ugly head. And implicit in this was the fact of Rustom and Tehmina's love for each other and the rock-solid sturdiness of their marriage. Rustom was tough on her because he took for granted that she knew of his unquestioned devotion to her. Some women might have resented being taken for granted. But Tehmina saw it for what it was—a declaration of love. And she liked the fact that her husband saw her as this tough old dame, his comrade-in-arms, even if she didn't feel so strong herself. Somehow, Rustom's thinking so made it true.

Grabbing the jar of birdseed, she slid open the patio door to let herself out into the backyard. As soon as she stepped onto the deck, the wind bit into her with such venom, she gasped for breath. Did people ever get used to this cold? she wondered. Would she be able to live here year after year, in this land of pewter skies and naked trees? She made her way down the deck and toward the frozen ground of the yard to where the bird feeder stood. The cold was making her hip ache and her fingers were already icicles. She wished
she had thought of wearing gloves before coming out here, but it was so difficult to do anything with gloves on. Oh, why couldn't Sorab have emigrated to Australia or something? She and Rustom had been so proud when Sorab had gained admission to all three of the American universities he had applied to. But of course, at that time they had fully expected their only son to return home to them after getting his degree. There was little evidence to support that optimistic belief—most of the Parsi children they knew who had left India had never returned. But much as a smoker believes that cancer is something that happens to other people, they had been confident that their family would be the exception to that rule. After all, with Rustom's business contacts, Sorab would have never lacked job opportunities in Bombay.

But then Sorab had met Susan and the course of all their lives altered. Tehmina still remembered the day when Sorab had phoned her to say that he had met the woman he wanted to marry and could she and Daddy please start applying for visas so that they could be with him and his bride on his wedding day? She had gotten off the phone stunned, with tears in her eyes. She had so hoped that Sorab would have settled down with a nice Parsi girl, someone that Tehmina could love unreservedly as her daughter. And what now of her dreams of throwing a lavish Bombay wedding for her only child? For the last several years, every time she attended a Parsi wedding, Tehmina had made a mental note of who the good caterers and florists were, which band she liked, which reception hall she preferred. For years she had thought about which of her grandmother's jewelry she would present to her future daughter-in-law on the engagement day, on the wedding day, on her first wedding anniversary. And now Sorab was getting married to a girl they had never met in a place they had never been. A white American girl named Susan. They knew nothing about her parents, her family, her upbringing, whether her accent was so thick they'd have a hard time understand
ing her, whether she would be respectful of them and their traditions, whether she would turn her nose up at visiting Bombay or whether she would love it, whether she would like the gold and diamond jewelry that had been in the family for at least three generations. On the day of Sorab's unexpected phone call, she had waited for Rustom to get home from work so that she could break the calamitous news to him in person. “Why such a long face, darling?” Rustom had asked as he walked in the door.

“Sorab phoned today,” she had replied. “He—he's getting married. In America. To a white American. Susan is the name. Said he wants us to attend the wedding.” The tears rolled down her cheeks and she had made no attempt to brush them away.

There was a short pause. Then, “Well, we better apply for the visa right away. You know how long that can take.” Taking in her thunderstruck face, Rustom frowned. “I'm assuming that your tears are tears of joy, Tehmi. Because this is a happy occasion. Our Sorab is getting married.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Did you hear what I said? He's getting married in America. He's going to settle in America.”

“I heard what you said. I am also hearing something that you apparently are not—the trumpet calls of Sorab's destiny.” His face softened and he crossed the room to sit beside her. “Tehmina,” he said. “Don't fight destiny, darling. Our son is in love. He is happy. He has found someone to make him happy. That's good news, not bad.”

She was sobbing openly now, her head buried in his chest. “But—he'll be so far away,” she blubbered. “When I agreed to his going to America, I didn't think—didn't think he wouldn't be coming back. At all. Ever.”

Rustom sighed. “Ever is a long time, jannu. Life takes so many turns and detours. One never knows. And anyway, the point is, our son needs us now. Needs our blessings, our approval, our happiness.
And I'll be damned if anybody gets in the way of that—even my own silly wisp of a wife.” He smiled and stroked her hair.

Several months later, after they had seen their son married in a beautiful outdoor ceremony on the banks of Lake Erie, Rustom made a confession: knowing that his mother would react badly to the news, Sorab had phoned his father at his office and broken the news to him first. Learning of her husband's treachery, Tehmina had turned to him in mock anger. “You luchcha. You mean you knew the news when you came home that evening? And still you let me go through that whole scene?”

Rustom grinned. “Oh, a few tears never hurt anyone. It was good for you to shed your crocodile tears. And besides, don't you love our Susan now? Aren't you glad our Sorab found such a beautiful, smart wife, instead of some illiterate Parsi girl from the village that you would've undoubtedly found for our son?”

“Arre wah. How dare you say that? As if I would've let my son marry someone like that. I would've found a doctor or a lawyer girl for my Sorab. So many girls would've stood in line for a chance to marry him.”

Rustom turned a lazy, teasing eye on his wife. “Only a mother would think that. Whereas truth be told, Sorab got the better end of the bargain. That Susan is quite a catch.”

She was about to protest when she caught the gleam in his eye. “Bas, this is what you live for,” she complained. “To tease me every chance you get.”

“My dear, a man must still have a few things to look forward to in his old age.”

Now, as she poured the seeds into the feeder with hands that shook from the cold and from emotion, Tehmina thought that that was what she missed the most—with Rustom gone, there was no one in her life to tease her the way he used to.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud slam of a door. The
next second she heard the familiar voices of the boys next door. “Oh man, I wish there was snow so we could build a snowman,” she heard one of them say.

“I don't care,” the other voice said. “I don't even care how cold it is. I just wanna stay out of the house as long as I can.”

“I know,” said the voice she now recognized as Joshua's. “Boy, Mom's in a baaaad mood today.”

“Today?” The boys were walking toward the fence and now Tehmina could hear the bitterness in Jerome's voice. “Mom's always in a nasty mood.”

Tehmina's heart sank. She longed to reach out to the boys to say something that would calm them down, but she was paralyzed by two forces—Susan's clear wish that she didn't want to associate with Tara's family and her own fear at being caught talking to the boys by Tara. She really didn't like that woman. And if Tara ever said anything mean about her Sorab again, Tehmina didn't know how she would react.

Before she could move, Tehmina heard the kitchen door open again. “Josh. Jerome. You two get in the house right this minute,” she heard Tara yell. “I swear, if I have to stare at those dirty dishes one more second, I'm gonna give you two a whipping you'll never forget.”

On her side of the fence, Tehmina froze. Surely Tara was joking. Go in, she silently willed the boys. Go in and finish your chores, boys, and get your banshee of a mother off your backs.

And so her heart sank when she heard Jerome whisper to his brother, “Get back behind the bushes. She'll never find us there.”

She could hear the rustle of the bushes and was sure Tara had heard it, too. What were they doing? Was this some kind of an elaborate game that they played with their mother? But surely the anger she had heard in Tara's voice was real.

They were so close to her now that if she'd stuck her finger out
from between the boards of the fence that separated the two yards, she could've almost touched them. She heard them shuffling; heard one of them let out a nervous giggle. And unconsciously, she found herself imitating their furtive behavior so that she was half crouching near the fence, afraid that Tara would spot her and realize that she had witnessed the ugly scene. She felt a quick flash of anger but was unsure if she was angry at herself for acting like a fugitive in her own yard or at the woman next door for having put her in this position.

“Listen, you little fuckers,” she heard Tara say, “I'm late already and you're just making me later. You get in the house right now if you know what's good for you.”

“She's real mad, Jerome,” she heard Josh say. “We better go in.”

“Stay right here,” Jerome whispered fiercely. “She'll kill you if she sees you right now. Anyway, she'll be gone in a few minutes.”

What kind of a mother threatened her children like this? What kind of a mother made her children so afraid of her that they hid in the bushes on a cold Christmas Eve? Tehmina's eyes stung with tears which she no longer attributed to the cold. She debated whether to get up from her half crouch and pull herself up to her full height. Surely Tara would stop her yelling if she saw that someone was witnessing her behavior. She had always heard stories about how, in America, people were afraid to discipline their own children for fear that someone might report them to the police. Surely seeing Tehmina standing there would be enough for Tara to come to her senses.