Secret Keeper (17 page)

“It will be a good chance for our brilliant niece,” Auntie was saying. “She was born to be a teacher.”

Their guest was a meek- looking plump man. “Why not let her study, then?” he asked curiously. “Our city has several wonderful teachers’ colleges for young women.”

Auntie and Uncle exchanged careful glances. “She … er … isn’t quite ready to study so soon after her father’s death.”

Tuition at the colleges was steep; Asha had no hope of ever attending. Besides, she wanted to be a psychologist, not a teacher. Anybody could be a teacher, but as far as she knew, there wasn’t another Bengali woman psychologist around and there definitely needed to be. How she was going to make her dream come true, she had no idea, but earning some money was definitely the first step. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room.

“Ah, here’s my niece,” Uncle said, gathering himself up to make the necessary introductions.

Suddenly someone pushed past Asha like a whirlwind. It was Grandmother. “What’s this? What’s this? The little girls told me somebody was trying to hire our Tuni to do some work in their house for them. Is this true?”

Their guest rose courteously. “Yes, madam, I am. I’ve heard she’s making real strides with your granddaughters’ studies. My daughter needs a tutor, and-”

Grandmother drew herself up to her full height, which was about as high as Asha’s shoulder. She held up one palm in front of the gentleman’s face. “You will find your tutor somewhere else, sir. My husband was a highly educated man, and my own father was a landowner. Any grandchildren living under
my
roof will earn salaries as professionals, not an hourly wage as hired help.”

The guest backed toward the door, stuttering and stumbling as he went. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Pardon me, I was misinformed. Thank you, I’m sorry.” He was gone, and with him Asha’s chances of earning a single rupee.

“Grandmother! What’s so degrading about earning money?” she demanded, ignoring the warning look Reet flashed her way.

“Being a teacher is a fine job,” Auntie added. “And we could have used the extra money.”

I wasn't going to give it to YOU,
Asha thought angrily, but she didn’t say it aloud. What was the point of arguing over hypothetical earnings? Nobody could use them now.

“Becoming a schoolteacher would be fine,” Grand mother said sternly. “But sending an unmarried girl of our
class and caste to work in someone else’s home is another. What were you thinking, Bontu? Your brother would never have allowed this.”

Ma came in. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“They
almost agreed to hire your daughter out as a tutor,” Grandmother answered, tilting her head toward Auntie and Uncle. “Thankfully, I stopped them.”

Ma looked at Asha, who was still glowering, fists clenched by her sides. “Why can’t she take the job? She’s quite good at helping others with their studies.”

“I’m not having the neighbors accuse us of taking advantage of my son’s family,” Grandmother said haughtily. “What would they think if I sent Tuni out to work so soon after his death?”

“That we need money!” Asha said, trying not to shout. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You are not bringing any more shame into this house, young lady,” Grandmother said, wagging a finger in Asha’s face. “If your father had known about your cutting of hair and playing that game in public with a bunch of boys, he would have had a heart attack.”

“No, Baba would have laughed,” she retorted. “Baba would have asked me what shots I used to clinch the match.”

“That’s enough, Tuni,” Uncle said sternly.

Reet flashed her sister a frightened look, but Asha couldn’t stop herself. She was too frustrated at losing the job. “Are you going to pull
my
ear now, Uncle? Well, go ahead, but no matter how hard you try, you are
not
my
father and you never will be!” She spun around and ran upstairs, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Up, up, and up to the roof she raced, where Jay would be, waiting to listen, comfort, sympathize, talk. Sure enough, he leaned out the window. “What happened? Got the job that fast?”

“No, Jay. Grandmother won’t let me work outside the home.”

“Why not?”

“Something about ‘our class’ and ‘our caste’ and earning money as hired help. I don’t know! It’s so maddening. What am I going to do?”

“If I had my way, Osh, I’d help you get enrolled in the best psychology program in the world. I’d take care of your mother and sister. And you.”

Asha caught her breath. His voice was so tender. “Thank you, Jay,” she managed. “But it’s hard to get your way in this world.”

“But we can try, can’t we?”

She had to smile at that. “We can always try,” she said.

TWENTY-FIVE

T
HAT NIGHT, WITH THE TWO OF THEM LOCKED INSIDE THE
bathroom while they brushed their teeth, Reet filled Asha in on what had happened in the living room after her exit. “They blamed Ma, of course,” Reet said. “Pass the toothpaste.”

“Oh no! What did Ma say?” Asha handed her sister the tube of Colgate.

Reet brushed her teeth, rinsed, and spit before answering. “Nothing. All three of them scolded her about what a terrible job she’d done raising you, and she just sat there and took it.”

Asha’s jubilation over Jay dissipated; she felt crushed. “I made things worse for her, Reet,” she said, putting toothpaste on her own brush. “I never should have spoken to Uncle like that. Or to Grandmother. What should I do?”

“Swallow your pride and ask for forgiveness. From Uncle
and
Grandmother. For Ma’s sake.”

“But that job! I almost had it, Reet.” Asha started brushing her teeth. Hard.

“Ma doesn’t need us to make things worse for her in this house, Osh. We have to be the two best- behaved, most well-bred girls in Calcutta. Which reminds me, be careful up on the roof. I caught Suma and Sita in the nick of time this afternoon. They were skipping up there because they heard you. Getting caught would be the end of your reputation, Osh. Not to mention Ma’s.”

Asha shuddered as she rinsed and spit. How terrible if she and Jay were discovered! That could never happen. They’d have to be even more careful than they already were, meeting once a week, maybe, instead of three or four times. But being with him had become an addiction; she wasn’t sure she could cut back.

She did take her sister’s advice about the apologies, though. Using her best flowery, formal language, she petitioned her uncle and grandmother for forgiveness and understanding because obviously grief had deranged her. And she knew how badly their mother felt over her rudeness, she told everybody. Ma would never permit such behavior from one of her daughters.

Ma sat quietly in the corner and didn’t say anything, but Grandmother dropped a kiss on her granddaughter’s forehead. “We’re all mixed up after losing your father, Tuni,” she said. “Especially me.”

Uncle sounded weary when he spoke. “I know I can’t
take his place, Tuni, but I have to take care of you girls. I’m trying as hard as I can.”

Now she felt genuinely sorry. “I know, Uncle.”

He smiled and turned to Reet. “We’ve begun asking for proposals, Shona. Hopefully they’ll start coming in soon. We have to wait a few more months for a wedding, but I’m glad you are entrusting me and your grandmother with this decision. I’ll find you a good match, don’t worry.”

“It’s getting harder these days to find a decent husband for girls who don’t go to college,” Auntie added. “But we’ll do our best. It’s too bad you’ve lost your figure, Shona. Try to eat something.”

It was true. Reet was now skinnier than Asha had ever been. Her cheekbones and jawline were as sharp as the edges of the faces in Howrah station. There was no longer a group of idiots gathering on the corner to try and glimpse Reet’s figure; there was hardly anything left to ogle. She’d not had her period again, and Asha was getting more and more concerned. The list of worries she couldn’t do a thing about was growing.

Ma came up to their room that night for the first time in months, carrying a steaming bowl of rice and lentils. “Shona, I’ve made you some fresh supper,” she said, using her sweet-sounding village Bangla again. To Asha’s ears, it sounded like a flute in perfect tune. “Sometimes it’s easier to eat without the family around shouting and gossiping. Tuni, tell a story to your sister while she eats. Like your baba used to.”

Asha remembered with a jolt that when they were little girls, Reet would negotiate a story from Baba in exchange for a plate- cleaning finish to a meal.

The twins were already tucked into bed, but they were still awake. “Yes! Yes!” they shouted. “A story! We want a Tuntuni story!” Asha still read fairy tales to the family, but she hadn’t told a Tuntuni story since the telegram.

Asha turned to her sister, who had been combing out her tangles. “Will you eat if I tell it?” she asked.

“I’ll try,” Reet said.

“I’ve made the dal just like my mother used to,” Ma said, and Asha noted the rare reference to one of the Strangers.

Ma kissed her older daughter on the cheek. It was the first time she’d done that to either girl since they’d arrived in Calcutta, and Asha felt a pang as she watched. “Your uncle will take care of you, Shona,” Ma said. “May he find a husband for you as good as your baba.”

Then she leaned down and kissed Asha, too. After she left, the girls smiled at each other through their tears.

“Start eating, Reet,” Asha commanded, and she began a Tuntuni story that she stretched out, just as Baba used to, until her sister finished every bite.

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE LATE- NIGHT SUPPER, HANDMADE AND HAND- DELIVERED,
turned into a ritual, as did the good- night kisses from Ma and a story from Asha. After a few weeks of this special treatment, Reet looked healthier, and soon her rags were drying beside her sister’s in the side garden. The side that was farthest from Jay’s house, for which Asha was grateful.

“It’s strange how girls start to bleed together,” Asha said as they pegged their washed cloths to the line. “At Bishop, a lot of us got our period at the same time, remember?”

“So that’s why the bathroom got jammed three days a month!”

The girls laughed and picked up their empty buckets. They stopped by the pump, and Reet was about to start rinsing out her bucket.

“Shhh,” Asha warned suddenly.

Voices were arguing in the kitchen-Auntie’s and Grandmother’s. And Ma’s. Hardly believing that their mother could be participating so vigorously in a discussion, the girls listened through the open door.

“We simply cannot accept that one,” Ma said.

“There is no other proposal, Sumitra. She used to have her looks, at least, but now those are gone.” That was Auntie, of course.

“But this widower in Madras,” Grandmother said. “How old is he?”

“Not much over twenty- seven or - eight, I’m sure,” Auntie answered. “And he’s a chemistry professor, like Bontu’s father used to be.”

“Oh, lovely,” said Grandmother.

“And his family?” Ma asked.

“His mother’s a widow, like you. She has an older son who’s already married, and they have one boy, but the other daughter- in- law is sickly. They want the unmarried son to find a wife who is ‘young and healthy,’ the ad said, so I’m assuming they need help managing the nephew.”

“So my Shona would have to work hard,” Ma said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Nothing wrong with hard work,” Auntie said.

Easy for you to say,
Asha thought.
Ma and Reet do most of it around here.

“And what do the stars say?” Grandmother asked.

“Good news. The astrologer predicts a harmonious match. Their family is of good caste and education, Ma. He’s perfect for Shona.”

“Don’t you read the newspapers?” Ma’s voice sounded like her old self, sharp and strong. “ High- caste, educated husbands do terrible things to their brides, too. That’s why we should find boys in Calcutta, so we can ask ques tions here and there and find out what we need to know.”

“It’s not as if she has other choices,” Auntie said. “It’s already been two months since we started asking around, and this is her only proposal, Sumitra.”