Secret Keeper (15 page)

“Your sister’s right, Shona,” Ma said, steering Reet slowly toward the house. “They don’t know your father; we do. He would never have left us like this. Never.”

Conviction rang in her voice, and Reet’s sobs slowed. “I knew they were wrong, but when the cook told me what she’d overheard, I couldn’t help being afraid. I’m sorry, Ma. Osh. You’re right. We
know
Baba.”

Head high, Asha strode down the path behind her sister and mother as the neighbors watched them go.

Inside the house, Ma fell silent again, but Asha clung to the memory of her brief reappearance at the gate when they’d needed her most.

The age- old ritual at the Ganges had helped Reet to start grieving, and her tears flowed freely now. Asha was beyond
grateful, because seeing Reet in a stupor had terrified her; she’d felt as though her sister, too, had left her.

Weeping reminded them that they, at least, were still alive, and the sisters began to do a lot of it. They locked themselves in the bathroom, or stayed hidden under the mosquito net, talking, reminiscing, and crying until they fell asleep, curled up so closely it felt as if Reet’s heart were beating inside Asha’s body.

“Why don’t you eat, Reet?” Asha asked one night. She tapped on each rib through the skin on her sister’s back.

“I can’t. I try, but I feel like vomiting with every bite. I’ll have to get some new clothes. Nothing fits anymore.”

“Your bra hangs on you like a boy’s kurta.”

“And I’ve stopped bleeding.”

“What?”

“My period hasn’t come in two months, Osh.”

“So that’s why I haven’t seen any rags but mine and Ma’s hanging on the line. The twins haven’t started yet; lucky them, and I think Auntie’s done.”

“That’s been the only good part-not having to wash out those disgusting rags.”

“Tell Ma; maybe you need to see a doctor.”

“What good will that do? It will just worry her even more, and she doesn’t have money for a doctor-she used the last bit Baba left her for those sarees. And I hate to ask Uncle.”

“I know. We’re totally dependent on him now. Oh, how I hate it.”

“Maybe Baba left some money behind for us, but how do we find out?”

“I have no idea,” Asha said. “We can’t ask Ma. The Jailor loves it when someone brings up money in front of her.”

But Uncle brought up the subject himself one afternoon over tea, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath as though he needed extra courage for what he was about to say. “Bintu didn’t leave much behind,” he told Ma. “The last bit in his bank account paid for the memorial.”

“So we have nothing left?” Ma asked, eyes wide.

“You have the girls’ dowries,” Uncle said gruffly. “We would never touch those. And you have us. This house is your house as long as I’m alive. And then my son will provide for you.”

Raj chimed in: “I will, I promise. And the girls, too.”

Auntie was frowning down at her cup of tea but didn’t say anything.

Grandmother shook her head. “How we’ll manage, I don’t know,” she said, wiping her eyes on a corner of her sa-ree again. “We’ve barely kept this house running after Bintu stopped sending money from Delhi; our own savings have gotten quite low.”

Auntie’s head flew up. “My husband makes enough to support his family,” she said sharply.

Nobody spoke.

“We’ll have to get rid of a couple of the servants,” Uncle said finally. “We can’t do without the sweeper or the washerwoman, so Babu and the cook will have to go.”

“And who will do
their
work?” Auntie asked.

“We all will,” Grandmother answered.

“I can cook,” Ma said quickly.

“And Asha and I can take over most of Babu’s work,” Reet added. “We can make the beds and burn the garbage.”

“No!” Grandmother said sharply. “I won’t have any member of our family doing such a low job as garbage burning. We can afford to hire a boy who lives by the river to do it. And Sumitra, we’ll all cook together. I won’t have the neighbors accusing me of exploiting you.”

“I’ve never cooked in my life,” Auntie said. “
My
father employed a dozen servants and two cooks.”

“Well, you’ll learn now,” Uncle said dryly. “It’s never too late.”

Raj made a restless sound. “I’d better go study,” he said, and left the room.

Asha guessed he was weighing the new load of providing for six women instead of three.

TWENTY-TWO

I
T HELPED TO WORK AROUND THE HOUSE, SO WORK THEY DID.
Reet made the beds so perfectly you could bounce a spoon on them; Sita and Suma tried it and actually caught a spoon in the air. And once the cook had left, Ma spent long hours in the kitchen, grinding spices, chopping onions, kneading luchi dough, and stirring up curries that were more savory than anything the cook had ever produced.

“This eggplant dish is delicious,” Uncle said over dinner, ignoring his wife’s sour expression.

“I suppose you cooked in your village,” Auntie said.

“Every day,” Ma answered. “My mother taught me how.”

“Oh.”

The word was innocent but the two- syllable tone dripped with meaning, and Asha was peeved on behalf of one of the Strangers.

Ma’s face didn’t change. She answered when spoken to, was polite, and still made sure her daughters were properly dressed and groomed. But there was no anger in her expression, or sadness, or laughter. Her face was like a mask that robbers put on to disguise their true identities. She never argued, or scolded the girls, or offered an opinion. The only signs of grief were the dark half- moons under her eyes and the deepening lines on her forehead, which had never been there before. She was wearing one of Grandmother’s old white sarees; Asha knew their mother would never ask Uncle to buy her a new one, and he didn’t offer. But the sa-ree wouldn’t last forever, unlike Ma’s time to mourn.

Asha couldn’t figure out how she could help earn her keep around the house. “I’ve got to find a way to make myself valuable,” she told Jay one afternoon.

“You’re extremely valuable,” he said.

“No, I mean under this roof,” she said, stomping her foot on the cement for emphasis. “If all I’m doing is consuming and not contributing anything, I’ll have no power at all. At least Ma’s cooking for them now, even though Auntie’s ordering her around just like she used to boss Babu and the cook. Uncle absolutely loves Ma’s cooking, which drives Auntie crazy but gives Ma something, at least.”

“And your sister?”

“She makes the beds, entertains the twins, and sings when they ask her to. Plus she’s good at managing the sweeper and washerwoman. The servants are starting to come to her with questions now instead of Auntie; they’re scared to death of Grandmother.”

“You read to the cousins and tell stories,” Jay said. “I can
hear your voice when we’re at tea. I can’t quite make out the words, but because the girls don’t interrupt I’m sure they’re listening.”

“They do like that, but I want to do something for this family that makes me
indispensable.
I can’t stand feeling like I’m the recipient of charity-like one of those beggars at the marketplace.”

Jay shook his head. “I tried to paint a beggar once, but it was too painful when I got to the eyes. I had to stop.”

“Then you see why I want to find something to do around here that they value.”

“I’ll try to think of something, Osh.”

For days, Asha wandered aimlessly, straightening the shoes on the veranda, dusting windowsills that were already clean, getting underfoot in the kitchen with her efforts to help until Ma and Grandmother scolded her out. She was useless at housework, she realized. But what could she do instead?

Her chance came when her cousin was studying in his room late one night. She heard him groan through the closed door as she walked by, and she hesitated, then knocked. “Raj? What’s wrong?”

“It’s this disgusting proof. I can’t understand one word of it.”

She walked in. “Let me see.”

He brought another chair into his room, and Asha sat down beside him at his desk. She explained the proof step by step until Raj’s eyes lit up. “I see it!” he crowed. “You’re good, Osh. Our professor never made it this clear. I actually understand it.”

“I can go over geometry with you anytime, Raj,” she said eagerly. “When’s your next exam?”

“Two weeks. If you help me, Osh, maybe I won’t fail this time.”

“Fail? You’re going to get top marks, cousin of mine.”

When the results came in, her prediction was proved right. Raj’s parents beamed as they perused the exam list, spotting their son’s name fifth from the top instead of smack at the bottom. “How can this be?” his mother asked in wonder.

“It was Osh,” Raj said immediately. “She studied with me. She’s a great teacher, Ma.”

Auntie’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed her niece, who was reading to Sita and Suma. “Really? Well, maybe she’d like to tutor my girls, too. What do you say, Tuni?”

“I’d love to, Auntie,” Asha answered. It was the first time in weeks that her aunt had asked her for something instead of commanding it.

Later, she overheard her grandmother talking in a low voice. “You would have had to pay for a tutor for that boy.”

“And for the girls, too,” Auntie answered. “That daughter of Bintu’s is a smart one.”

Asha smiled. It was a first step in her Baba- promise-keeping strategy-not a huge one, maybe, but it felt better than losing ground.

The twins, of course, were thrilled. They craved time with either of their cousins like extra sugar in their daily glass of milk. Now every afternoon they sat with Asha while she reviewed their schoolwork with them. And she made it
fun, inventing games and coming up with small prizes to spur them on-ten more minutes to play hide- and- seek before bedtime, two of Reet’s uneaten biscuits from tea, an extra Grimms’ story, the chance to try any hairstyle they wanted on Reet’s head.

Sita was a bit better at math, while Suma seemed to have more skill with language, but both girls learned slowly, Asha realized. It took creativity and patience to help them grasp a concept, and when she couldn’t fall asleep at night, she found herself coming up with new ways to teach.

What with tutoring the twins and helping Raj study, she didn’t have as much time to go up to the roof. She’d seen Jay only briefly, bringing him up to date on her efforts to restore the balance of power under their roof.

One afternoon he had some news of his own. “I got a letter today, Osh,” he told her. “From a university in America. In New York, to be exact.”

Asha winced at the mention of the city she had almost called home. Her father’s death place. “What did it say?”

“Apparently one of the professors there saw my paintings in Delhi, and he’s offered me a full scholarship to study in their fine arts program. I could become a teacher and keep painting. They’ve offered me a studio, housing, transportation, everything.”

Her stomach turned over. Would he be leaving? “That’s wonderful, Jay!” Somehow, she managed to sound delighted. “When will you go?”

“I’m not going,” he said. “I haven’t even told my parents about it.”

“Why in the world not?”

“I’m an Indian, Osh. If I move to America, I’ll lose … all this.” He gestured across the coconut trees, the pond gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, the vendors setting out their wares, homes where people were beginning to stir after their afternoon rest, the span of sapphire sky overhead. “I put Calcutta into my paintings, and I don’t want to replace it with New York.”

“Oh. I see. A move like that would change you as a painter.”

“It would change me as a person. And I don’t want that. Besides, now that you’re not going anywhere, painting at home is much more bearable than it used to be.”

“I make your life more
bearable?”
she asked, so relieved that he was staying that she couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Is that the best word you can come up with?”

He smiled back. “Interesting, then. You make my life more interesting. Better?”

“A bit.”

They talked about the new painting he was working on, a landscape of their neighborhood. Soon, too soon, Reet called from below, and Asha floated down the stairs.

Her sister met her at the landing. “Him again?” Reet asked.

Asha nodded, and couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

“Lucky you,” her sister said. “Lucky him.”

Asha’s smile faded as she registered her sister’s narrow silhouette in the hall. “Reet, have you eaten anything today?”

“I had some tea and a couple of biscuits. Don’t scold me
all the time, okay? It was hard enough to eat those, and I’m trying my best.”

“No rags on the line again this month.”

“No washing them, either. Now, hurry; Raj is waiting for you.”

TWENTY-THREE