The Gurkha's Daughter (23 page)

We argued, too. She wanted the books out of the bathroom. I didn't. She said I could take whatever book I was reading and bring it back with me. That way, my magazines and newspapers wouldn't clutter the floor. I told her I'd try, and she looked victorious.

“Finally, you take maid's advice,” she said.

“You don't have to refer to yourself as that. You're a friend.”

“No, no, I am maid—once maid, always maid,” she sang in an off-key voice.

“You're not a maid. You're friend.” These days, I sometimes ignored my articles, too.

“No, maid,” she argued.

“Stop it, stop it, goddamnit,” I screamed. The intensity astonished me.

Her eyes grew bigger, and I could see the fear in them. I had never seen that look before.

I couldn't sleep very well that night. I knew she wasn't doing so well either. Should I have apologized? But it was she who kept ranting about being a maid. She was a maid, sure, but she was so much more than that. And what was she if not a maid? My head was heavy with thoughts, and when four Tylenols and every possible sleeping position didn't help, I staggered to the bathroom with a random book, hoping it'd distract me.

The light was already on, and crouched on the commode, reading a book, was Sabitri.

“Sorry.” I closed the door and went back out into the narrow hallway. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I didn't want to disturb you by put the light in living room on. I will be right out.”

She came into the living room wiping her hands on her shirt. “So you're reading in the bathroom now?” I tried smiling.

“I do that from long time back.”

“But you made fun of me.”

“And you yell at me,” she retorted.

“It's your fault.”

“No.”

“You are not a maid.”

“You are IT professional; I am maid. It's simple.”

“I am sorry I screamed at you.”

“It's fine. It's okay. Don't do again.”

“I won't.” My voice was soft.

“Thanks. Screaming is scary.”

“I know. I am sorry. Are we fine now?”

“I don't know.”

“You read in the bathroom?” I chuckled.

“You teach—taught me.”

“I am a great teacher.”

“A good teacher never yell at his student.”

“See, you are not my maid. You are my student.”

“Okay, I agree. I am student.”

Once we had established what she was in relation to me, Sabitri brightened up and told me about her early-morning phone call with her parents. She seldom spoke to them, and her conversations always involved money. Sometimes the parents were happy, and often they were dissatisfied. They had begun building a house—a cement house, she said—and depended on her to finance it. She wasn't bitter about it, but she wasn't too happy either. She said she made all that money—more money than her father could ever dream of—so she should help them out, especially because she lived in a gorgeous apartment and had
such an easy life. When the demands for money kept increasing, she told her mother she'd send them a fixed amount of $500 every month. They'd have to budget accordingly. I seethed at their selfishness but stayed silent, which was strange because I didn't keep a whole lot to myself these days. When Columbia rejected me a few weeks later, for instance, I didn't hesitate to tell her about it.

“I am not depressed, because I knew I wasn't good enough,” I said, switching on the TV.

“Promise me you will not be angry,” she interrupted.

“No, I won't.” I turned the TV off. “I promise.”

“I am still afraid you will be getting angry.”

“I promise I won't.”

“First, I think I will take GED.”

I was amazed. I couldn't have been prouder. She was taking the American high school equivalency exam. That she even knew about it astounded me.

“Wow, you will do very well. I am so happy.”

“But that's not the main issue.”

She was about ready for the GED. With her diligence, she could prepare for anything. “What's it?” I asked.

“You didn't get Columbia.”

“No, I didn't get into it.”

“So what? Will you go home?”

“I guess. Let me hear back from NYU, although I don't know if I will be accepted. It's almost as tough as Columbia.”

“I talked to a lawyer about this,” she said.

Wow, she had a lawyer, I thought, and repeated it aloud.

“Yes, Anne's son is a lawyer. His friend is an immigration lawyer.”

The articles in her speech sounded beautiful.

“What did he say?”

“You promise you won't be getting angry?”

“No.”

“Okay, first listen to what I am going to say.”

“All right.”

“Do not interrupt me.” Another commendable word. I was a good teacher.

“Shoot,” I said.

She cleared her throat. “I know I am only servant.” She raised her hand when she saw I was about to say something. “I don't even belong same kind of family as you do. And I am your servant only. No one will have to know. I am citizen of America. You need to stay in country legally. You can marry me. It won't be real. No one has to know.” She was nervous now and didn't look at me. “And after marry, you can continue your job. We can get divorce in no time. Please don't be getting angry at me.”

“You're not a servant,” I said. “You've never been a servant. You're not even my student. You and I—what we have is different. You're the only reason I am here today. I'd probably have given up a long time ago and returned to Darjeeling had it not been for you. You will never, never, never call yourself a servant, promise me that.”

She sat there, unmoving.

“I would be lying to you if I said how many times the thought didn't occur to me,” I said. “It came to me every day and every night, but I have too much respect for you to broach it. I thought it would anger you, that you'd think I took this relationship for granted, so I didn't bring it up.”

“You should have brought it up.”

“And spoil this great thing I have with you?”

“And what thing do we have, Amit?” It was the first time she had used my name.

“We know it's special, it's different, so why mess it up?” This sucked the life out of me. We aren't a very vocal race, and I've never been comfortable with talking about feelings.

“You're angry, are you?”

“I'm not. I just think I shouldn't marry you just so I can stay in the country. We will get married when I get a green card on my own account. I'll marry you because you're the one person I want to get married to.”

“It's because I am servant, I know. You don't have to be married to me in real.”

She began to cry. I let her.

G
LOSSARY
OF
F
OREIGN
W
ORDS

Words may have alternative meanings. Each word has been translated in the context used in the book.

THE CLEFT

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

A FATHER'S JOURNEY

MISSED BLESSING

NO LAND IS HER LAND

THE GURKHA'S DAUGHTER

PASSING FANCY

THE IMMIGRANTS