THE IMMIGRANT (27 page)

The wind whistled past her ears and tore at her bent head. Her hair whipped across her eyes. How much colder would it get, she wondered. When would it snow?

The whole country is air conditioned Ananda had said. What would he say in winter? The whole country is a refrigerator? Let’s sell ours and put the food in the snow; we can save so much money.

On the last day of Ananda’s absence, Nina got a job. It was perhaps inevitable that her trips to the library would coincide, sooner or later, with a notice announcing the need for part-time help. She gazed at this notice lovingly—an answer to a prayer, another gift from the library—knowing in her heart that this job was meant for her. She was directed downstairs to the head librarian.

Here she put on her charm, ‘I come almost every day, this is my home away from home. I used to teach literature in India, now I am getting to know Canadian authors. I am working my way through the stacks, and I would love to unite my knowledge of books with more practical experience.’

This kind of job usually went to graduate students, was Nina sure she would be happy with something so temporary?

Nina was absolutely sure, couldn’t be surer.

A few more questions, and the job was hers. It would eat into her time with Ananda at home, but maybe in the new dispensation that would not matter so much. She wondered how he would take the news.

In the meantime Ananda was flying back. It was Saturday, his head was full of his treatment. In the past two weeks, he had experienced more sexual fulfilment than in his whole lifetime. His suitcase was crammed with books Max and Carla had recommended. Perhaps Nina would be interested in reading them. She was a reader after all, and it would allay her fears. In the last week she had been suspicious, demanding to know his phone number, asking him whether he was having an affair, what was the matter, why was he sounding strange?

Nina was waiting for him impatiently. As soon as he entered, she threw her arms around him—where were you really? Why did you sound so peculiar, now tell me the truth.

His own grip tightened, he murmured, I love you, don’t get hassled, and carried her to bed. They pulled each other’s clothes off. He introduced his penis to her, her old friend and betrayer. Look, this is how you have to hold it.

Why, she demanded.

He told her in the briefest possible manner. I went for sex therapy, I didn’t tell you, I felt embarrassed, also I wasn’t sure how humiliating it might be for you, but see, see, it’s working, it’s working. Already I’ve been three minutes inside.

The sudden information, the realisation that her suspicions were partially justified, the penetration that lasted longer than it ever had, the squeezing of the penis that she now had to do; all this was too much for Nina to absorb.

I am not going to touch it. Why didn’t you tell me? You were lying.

Though she tried to break away from him, he held her tightly. She was naked, and he caressed her over and over—sorry, sorry, I had to do it by myself, don’t you see, I was so scared I wouldn’t succeed. It’s been like this for so long.

He put her hand back where it belonged. Tell me, he said, if the end does not justify the means.

She gave a reluctant giggle.

They had sex all weekend.

Ananda kept an eye on the clock next to the bed informing her each time of the minutes he had lasted. Nina was so relieved, pleased and startled by his performance that she was initially quite enthusiastic about his sense of achievement.

Monday morning came. Ananda departed for his clinic, leaving Nina with the whole day to go over what had happened to him, to her, to their marriage. He had staying power, demonstrated twice on Saturday, then twice more on Sunday.

How often had she longed for this? Her body felt sated, its agitation calmed. She moved around the apartment, tidying, putting things away, thinking of dinner, of how she had even forgotten to tell Ananda about her job.

She opened his suitcase to make sure it was empty before putting it away, and there, lying in it, were several books. Slowly she picked up the fattest,
Male Sexuality,
by one of America’s leading sex therapists said the blurb.

There were many sections. Male arousal, female arousal, myths about the rock hard penis, better communication = better sex, what to keep away from the bedroom, doing what she wants, doing what you want, breathing exercises, relaxation techniques, masturbation, assertive sex, premature ejaculation, getting what you want out of sex. Scattered through the book were examples of men with problems, and how the sex therapist had helped them.

Nina closed the book and stared at the cloud serrated sky for a long time. Like fertility, sex was another country.

The book certainly gave her more insight into Ananda’s problem than Ananda himself had been able to do. Curiously she picked up the next one,
Together Always.
This one, concerned with dysfunctional sexuality, exuded firm and resolute hope. Dr Epstein maintained it was possible to have a good sex life even with premature ejaculation, even with infertility, even if one was non-orgasmic, even through vaginal dryness and pain, even if arousal stages were vastly different. Human beings were not like animals, they came with their own histories and traumas. And the first place any trauma exhibited itself, in its full glory, was sex.

The first place.

The last book, a thinner, more lightweight volume,
Couples in Bed,
had a cover illustration of a beaming man and woman lying under a sheet, bodies entwined, emanating satisfaction and happiness. She opened it. Anal sex, erogenous zones, oral sex, communicating about sex, stroking, massaging, this is ok, that is ok, everything is ok if both of you want it.

As with the other book there was an emphasis on communication along with a great many examples. Good sex meant a good life. She couldn’t bear it.

He had gone about the whole thing in such a secretive manner, with his talk of conferences and root canals. That did not seem like very good communication to her.

The books talked about sex and sex therapy with partners. What had it been like with a surrogate, she wondered. He had been gone for two weeks, had he had sex every day with someone else? That was more than they had ever managed to do.

So it was more unusual alone. What did this say about him that he had preferred it this way? The depth of his insecurity, or the depth of his desire to shield her from the prying eyes of doctors? He must have known she was willing to do whatever it took to have satisfying sex. After all, she had suggested couple therapy, but instead of seeing Masters and Johnson together in St Louis, he had preferred to go alone to Max and Carla in California. Ananda’s rationalization, that he did not want to expose her to humiliation, made no sense. That decision should have been hers. On the other hand, he did have more staying power, so why was she looking a gift horse in the mouth? Surely it was wise to quietly accept this improved situation, rather than spoil it with questions.

Ananda came home beaming. He threw off his coat and came to embrace her. He had missed her all day, he said nuzzling her neck. Her smell lingered on him, he hadn’t showered that morning because of its fragrance.

Nina was not capable of holding onto grievances in these circumstances. He was so much more open and genial, it was amazing. Seeing the change in him made her realise how heavy his burden must have been. They cooked together, they laughed. She told him about her job, he was delighted. He wanted to hear all about the interview, he was sure she had made a good impression. It was gratifying to know that all her reading had come in useful.

After dinner they made love. She felt close to him, lying in his arms, marvelling once more at the change in his performance.

Again her thoughts went to the surrogate. What had she done? Maybe if she knew, she would be able to do the same for him, so that he would not have to lie so much. It was her wifely duty, and now was the time to bring up this issue, before time had dulled its lustre and forgetfulness set in.

His face was pressed against her shoulder, his hand was slack over her breast.

‘What was the surrogate like?’

The hand tightened a bit. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Was she good in bed?’

‘Sexual acrobatics was not the point.’

‘Did you feel attracted to her?’

‘No.’

‘Then?’

‘It was a professional relationship. Attraction did not enter the picture.’

‘But surely it’s necessary.’

‘You don’t have to like the face of your doctor.’

‘Still you were able to have sex with her? What exactly did you do?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘So we can do the same things here and you never have this problem again.’

‘She wanted to know how I felt.’

‘Well, so do I,’ said Nina, sounding a little offended.

‘It was different.’

‘How? You’re not telling me how.’

He lost his temper. ‘It’s obvious how. Sex with your wife can’t be the same as sex with a total stranger in a medical situation.’

Vague terms. She withdrew a little from him, his hands on her body heavy blocks of stone.

‘You read so much, why don’t you read about the role of surrogates in sexual therapy?’

‘Right. All the books you have brought home talk of the importance of couples in this kind of therapy, the importance of trust and understanding.’

Ananda crossed his arms on his chest and stared at the ceiling. Nina felt annoyed. Here she was, trying to be understanding, and he refused to reciprocate. ‘Isn’t a prostitute also a sexual professional?’ she asked.

He had not expected his wife to be so narrow-minded, she was the one who had nagged him to seek help, and now she quarrelled with the form it had taken. It looked to him as though she had some kind of ego problem.

Sadly, it seemed to her that even good sex did not ensure a happiness beyond the act. She should not have said anything, confining communication to the non-verbal was perhaps the best thing at this stage. Maybe he hadn’t had time to read his books yet.

They did go to sleep, with a rift between them they felt uncomfortable about, but did not know how to remove.

After that night husband and wife observed a truce. Nina did employ the techniques that Ananda had demonstrated on the day of his arrival, he did show her the books he had brought back. Read them if you like.

Meanwhile he timed himself. As a confidence building measure it was essential, he told her.

When it came to counting his thrusts inside her, she rebelled. Ananda, it is about love, it’s not only about performance. Even those books say so. She quoted chapter and verse. ‘See?’ she said, flipping the pages and finding the section, ‘see what it says.’

‘And see,’ he said pointing to another section, ‘where it says how to put your partner off. Criticise his needs. Undermine his self-esteem.’

‘I don’t do that.’

‘You do. Don’t you see, it’s one thing getting over the problem, it’s another keeping up with the improvement. I don’t want to backslide to the pre-therapy stage. That’s a lot of money wasted for one thing.’

He realised his mistake as soon as she asked, ‘How much?’

‘Oh, with this and that it came to quite a bit.’

‘How much?’

‘I kept paying in stages, I haven’t yet calculated the whole.’

She didn’t believe him. He who knew where every cent went.

Quickly he said, ‘If it bothers you I won’t do it.’

‘What?’

‘You know, the counting bit.’

A bit warily she smiled at him. ‘Thanks darling.

He kissed her. ‘Anything for you.’

She leaned against his arm. ‘Above all I want us to have a solid relationship, with us sharing everything. You are all I have in this country, you are the reason I am here.’

He tried to reassure her. ‘Things are much better now, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, they are.’

‘It’s because of you I went for therapy.’ He hugged her again.

Left to himself, Ananda whipped out his little notebook, and noted the date, the thrusts, the length of time inside. Nina need not know about these notations, but they really were necessary for his confidence. The longer he could stay in her, the more triumphant he felt, the better pleased with life, the more loving towards his wife. As yet, she was unable to properly appreciate this.

He hid the notebook in his toilet case and zipped it up. Just looking at the figures made him glow with pride. They could go to the gynaecologist now. There would be no awkward questions, no embarrassment. He was ready for anything. The first thing that needed to be done was a sperm test. Maybe he would start with that.

It was good, thought Nina, that in the middle of all these changes she had a new job, a place with purpose, co-workers, timings and salary attached to it. True those timings were in the evenings and weekends, when Ananda was free, but it was only ten hours and he didn’t seem to mind. ‘Once you have this experience, maybe you can apply for something full time,’ he remarked.

The important thing was to get an entry into the system. From small things big things come, but from nothing comes only nothing.

Outside it was very cold, and Ananda sometimes urged her to take the bus to work, but she preferred to walk. It was fun for her to imagine herself an Arctic explorer, braving the elements. By now she had all the clothes required, and the attitude too, as she walked head down, in pants and closed shoes, woollen socks, thick scarf around her nose and ears, camel hair coat with the lining attached.

All around Nina were signs of Christmas. Up went a tree in the foyer of the library, up went imitation snow and Christmas decorations in shop windows. Santas sat enthroned in malls, against huge ceiling-high trees and scenes of the nativity outlined in winking lights. When she and Ananda went shopping she could see boxes of Christmas decorations on sale everywhere. She stared at these shiny things in Lawton’s Drugs and Dominion. She wanted them, her fingers itched to beautify a tree, it hardly mattered if such was not their custom. She asked Ananda whether he had ever had one, but no, his uncle’s was enough for him.