Secret Keeper (5 page)

“Another one, another one!” the twins clamored when Asha was finished.

“Asha needs to drink her tea,” Reet told them. “Another one tomorrow.”

Asha took the steaming cup from her sister. “Uncle, who lives in the house next door?” she asked.

“Man named Sen bought the place. Family used to own a big jute farm in the village. Sold it for a fortune. Hear he and his wife like to play cards; we’ve been meaning to ask them to dinner. One son, but we don’t see much of him.”

“It’s a sad story,” Auntie said, with the relish of someone in the know. “Apparently the son’s quite odd. Shone at university but refused to practice medicine or study engineering. Spent a year in Europe doing who knows what. Now he stays in his room day and night and hardly mixes with anybody. Of course he doesn’t need a job because their
family’s so rich.” She reached over to ruffle Raj’s hair fondly. “Not like my boy, who has to support all of us someday.”

Raj pulled away from her touch, slumping even lower in his chair.

“Such a waste,” Grandmother added, sighing. “A lovely inheritance and an only son. But he’s mad, that one.”

Asha noticed that Ma, who was staring out the window into the garden, wasn’t participating in the family gossip session.

“Here comes the Jailor,” Reet muttered to Asha as the family’s conversation shifted. “She hates being here so much. And she misses Baba.”

Uncle turned up the radio to catch Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s speech defending herself against accusations of corruption. He was a big supporter of Gandhi, the daughter of Jawaharlal Nehru, who had helped lead India to independence during Uncle’s boyhood.

As Mrs. Gandhi promoted her “Abolish Poverty” program in a loud, forceful voice, Asha wanted to cheer. “We’ve got a woman in charge of our country,” she said to her sister. “Why can’t she share some power with the rest of us?”

Reet sighed. “It’s women who make it harder on other women. Haven’t you noticed? Grandmother’s always criticizing Ma, and Auntie makes snide comments about ‘rustic traditions’ passed down from the other side of our family.”

“I wish Ma would stand up for the Strangers,” Asha said. “I would do it myself but I don’t know anything about them.”

“We know they didn’t have much money.”

“Money,” Asha said, her tone of disgust making the word sound like a curse. “It’s the real head of this home, isn’t it?”

They couldn’t help seeing Uncle frowning over the bills, which must be higher than ever with three extra mouths to feed. And now that Baba wasn’t sending anything Grand mother’s way, the family’s only savings had dwindled to what was in the four girls’ dowries. What would happen in case of an emergency?

Grandmother’s answer was to chant loud prayers for Baba’s job in front of the household idols. When that happened, Ma quickly picked up her knitting. Baba’s third sweater was almost finished; the first two had already been packaged and shipped to New York.

“When will Baba send for us, Osh?” Reet asked wistfully.

“Soon, I’m sure. He won’t let us down. Has Raj said more than three words to you yet?” Asha asked, watching their cousin gulp his hot tea as quickly as he could.

“No,” Reet answered. “He’s gone totally mute.”

As though he knew he was the subject of his cousins’ whispered conversation, Raj put his empty cup down, grabbed his cricket bat, and left the house. Uncle switched off the radio and followed, heading out to the market hand in hand with his two daughters to buy food for the next day. Grandmother, Auntie, and Ma shifted to the kitchen to supervise the cook’s preparation of dinner.

Reet and Asha stayed in the living room, alone for a change. “What’s Raj’s problem, anyway?” Asha asked her
sister, using her normal speaking voice now that the coast was clear.

“Hees bod- ee eez chang- ink,” Reet said, sounding like the Russian science teacher in Delhi who introduced every student to the mysteries of human development. Thanks to stronger- than- ever ties to the Soviet Union, Indian schools were constantly receiving outdated Russian textbooks, clunky typewriters, and even ancient teachers from Moscow. Bishop Academy girls liked to mimic Mrs. Roubichev’s accent when they chatted about “forbidden topics.”

“He hasn’t changed that much,” Asha said. “He’s just taller and skinnier. And he has four mustache hairs now.”

“He was only thirteen the last time we visited, Osh.
Our
bodies have changed since then. I think we make him uncomfortable now.”

Asha stood and began pacing the room. “Mine hasn’t changed that much,” she said. “I’m taller and skinnier, too.”

“You are a voo- man now, darlink,” Reet told her sister. “Vether you like it or not.”

“Don’t remind me. I wish
I
could go out and play cricket. My arms and legs are turning into Chinese noodles.”

During their time in Calcutta, neither sister had stepped outside the house once. They were learning fast that their family’s social circle and neighborhood were even more conservative than they had been in Delhi. Girls their age didn’t walk down the street unless they were with their elders or heading to school in a crowd of classmates. Reet didn’t seem to mind, but Asha did.

“We’re still on our own, at least for a while,” Reet said
sympathetically. “Why don’t you climb the stairs a few times? I’ll keep count.”

Asha managed to dash up and down the stairs ten times before Grandmother came bustling in to locate the source of “all that noise.”

SIX

While the house was still quiet, Asha went downstairs to talk to Reet, who was stretched out on the bed reading a magazine beside the sleeping twins.

“Do you think I could head outside and take a walk?” Asha asked. “Nobody’s actually told us we can’t. Not in Calcutta, anyway.”

“You may as well try,” Reet said, yawning. “I’d go with you, but it’s too hot. Besides, there may be lunatics out there who can’t take their eyes off
these.”
She scowled down at her breasts as though they were her enemies.

“They’re like a bunch of hungry calves who see an udder,” Asha said. “Wonder what would happen if I put on one of your bras and stuffed a couple of mangoes inside? Would they ogle me, too?”

“Of course. They don’t care if these are real or not-at least not till their wedding night.”

“Disgusting,” said Asha.

She was tempted to play the prank, but maybe another day. Staying inside her own shape for now would provide the freedom from attention she needed to get to the market and back before tea. She’d promised Baba to buy some sweets for Ma, and she had to keep her word, didn’t she?

She found the small purse of money Baba had given her, crept downstairs and through the living room, and made her way into the veranda, where she slipped on her sandals.
Then she hurried down the path and out the gate. Inadvertently, she glanced up at the house next door, but there was no sign of her prying neighbor. You couldn’t see his window from anywhere except their roof and the side garden, she realized; the coconut trees almost completely blocked the view.

Striding down the lane, Asha let herself enjoy the feel of sunshine on her skin, the caress of the breeze in her hair, and the sound of her own heart beating faster than normal. A few men walked toward her, but none paid her any attention.
No mangoes in sight,
she thought.

Vendors at the corner market were starting to set out wares for the afternoon shoppers. Beggars gathered there, too, and a small girl held out her palm, making the whimpering, wheedling sounds she’d probably been taught by the person who sent her into the streets. Asha opened the purse, shook out the loose poisha inside, and gave it all to the girl, figuring that Baba wouldn’t mind if she used only the rupee notes.

Keeping her money hidden, she bargained expertly with the sweetshop owner, just as Ma did in a saree shop, and returned at a fast clip carrying a dozen freshly made, top- quality panthuas in a covered clay bowl. Just before entering the gate, she turned to glower at the four or five young men gathered across the way. Had she imagined the pair of binoculars one of them was whisking out of sight?

Ma met Asha on the veranda, and the scolding started there. “You went out alone,” she admonished, pulling Asha
inside the house. “A girl of your age! What kind of a mother will they think I am? I hope nobody saw you. Eesh!”

If Asha had to choose one word in the Bangla language to abolish, it would be “eesh.” That single syllable, pronounced with just the right intonation, brought with it a twist of shame and loss and disappointment that Asha could never fully fend off. Ma, Grandmother, and Auntie wielded it like a knife.

Asha thought defiantly, battling the power of the “eesh.”

Inside the living room, the small cousins were hosting Reet at an otherwise all- doll tea party. Nobody else had gathered for real tea yet.

Asha handed the bowl of panthuas to Ma.

“What’s this?” Ma asked.

“They’re for you,” Asha said. “From Baba.”

The anger drained out of Ma’s body. But Asha felt a twinge of guilt as she watched the veil drop across her mother’s face again. Why had she reminded Ma of Baba’s absence? Worst of all, the cousins gobbled up the round, juicy balls of sweet brown dough before Ma even had a chance to taste them. Now Asha was out of money
and
the regulation was explicit: A girl of Asha’s age didn’t venture out alone on the streets of Calcutta. Ever.

“Ma, come and see,” Reet said quickly, getting up to crack the curtain. “They’re out there again. Can you believe it? There’s six of them now.”

Ma hurried over. “There are?” She looked alert again, patting her hair into place distractedly. “Didi!” she called
toward the kitchen. It was how she always addressed Auntie, even though the two of them weren’t sisters. “Come quickly! You’ll never believe what’s happening outside.”

As Auntie and the twins flanked Ma at the window, Reet backed away. “She asked where you were as soon as you left,” Reet informed her sister. “I’m sorry, Osh. I had to tell her you went out.”

“Oh well,” Asha whispered back. “It was worth a try, anyway. I’ll have to find a way to get some exercise inside the house.”

“What about playing with them?” Reet asked, tilting her head toward the two little girls, who had lost interest in the scene outside the window. They were chattering and arranging their dolls in a congenial circle. “They’re kind of overlooked sometimes, aren’t they?”

We all are, when you're around,
Asha thought.
At least by those idiots out there. Thank goodness.

Ma widened the curtains a bit more. The onlookers outside were jostling each other for a better view of Reet drinking tea. Auntie and Ma giggled and whispered as they watched the watchers, but Asha blocked Reet as best as she could, standing with her back to the window.

“Tell us a Tuntuni story!” Sita commanded.

“Come beside me here,” Asha said. “Reet’s going to sing us a song while we do some yoga.”