THE IMMIGRANT (29 page)

Next morning she woke with a headache. Ananda, with his usual consideration, quietly made his own breakfast and left, pecking her on the cheek.

‘How are you doing with
The Second Sex?
’ asked Beth.

‘Good.’

‘What are things like in your country? You have arranged marriages, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jeez, fancy marrying somebody you don’t even know.’

‘Many people prefer it actually. It has the advantage of social and family sanction, you are not alone to deal with your problems, it is more convenient to fall in love after you marry than before. And certainly it frees you of some of the sexual burden Beauvoir mentions.’

Nina could defend arranged marriages in her sleep, she had been asked about them so often. To her horror, she had even begun to sound like her mother.

‘But to decide to spend your whole life with someone you don’t even know,’ Beth protested. ‘It’s so weird.’

‘If you are used to the idea, it is not strange,’ continued Mr Batra. ‘The parents, the main arrangers, look at the whole thing dispassionately, taking into account family background, likes, dislikes, income, everything. Often these marriages are greater successes than ones made on the basis of emotion.’

‘Yes, but what about chemistry?’

Chemistry was a powerful but impermanent thing. Suppose you were attracted to someone besides your husband, then? A broken marriage and sorrowful children was the result.

But, argued Beth, at least the marriage was built on a strong foundation. Of course everybody had to work at their relationships, but that didn’t negate her argument.

That was just her point, said Nina. In the East, there was a basis for marriage that went beyond chemistry. Couldn’t she see that?

Beth looked doubtful.

‘In traditional societies things work differently. And if you are pretty sure you are going to get married, no matter what, the compulsion to attract male attention is not there. For example, at home nobody talks of being too fat, or thin. And then because it is arranged, the whole extended family has an interest in keeping the marriage going. India doesn’t have a large divorce rate, for example.’

This was irrefutable, and Nina retired to the stacks feeling vindicated.

Two weeks later, at the co-op house on Quinpool Road.

They sat around and the sharing began.

Nina said she loved
The Second Sex,
but couldn’t identify with much of it. It was too—too—
Western.
All that stuff about being objectified, the emphasis on the body, grooming, beauty, sexual attractiveness, she couldn’t connect to this kind of consumerism. It’s not that women back home were not subjugated, but class and privilege overrode gender issues. Indian society was in some ways, quite feudal. Look at the power vested in the Nehru family. And she herself. Her education and background had privileged her. Even though she was poor, she had the status bequeathed to her by her dead father.

But that was the point, said Go-Go. That status was male derived.

‘Underneath the emancipation,’ said Lore, ‘the Western woman may not be better off than her sisters elsewhere. We have privileges that make it harder to uncover our inner servitude. Without awareness, we can be both manipulated, and manipulative, exploited as well as exploitative.’

They broke for refreshment, congregating in the large colourful kitchen, placing tea bags and instant coffee into mugs, helping themselves to milk and sugar, dipping hands into a packet of cookies that Beth had brought.

As Nina and Beth drove back, Beth said ruminatively, ‘I like what you said about Indian women. We do tend to think of women as a universal category, but there are many differences. For example, all that stuff you mentioned about arranged marriages in the library the other day. Made me think.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Nina gloomily. In fact she wished she hadn’t done such a good job defending arranged marriages. It put her in a false position—she hadn’t wanted an arranged marriage, had only entered into one when she had no other choice, and after a long courtship. Her marriage—arranged by herself? Fate? Circumstances? Alka? Her mother? Her age? She looked at
The Female Eunuch,
lying on her lap.

‘This book was just the greatest,’ said Beth, ‘My husband loved it too.’

‘Your husband reads these books?’ Nina asked, as she ignored the rope of envy that pulled against her heart.

‘Yes, he does. I said to him, “Honey, you have to keep up with me, I don’t want to be going through this stuff on my own.” We both lived with step-parents, and know how easy it is to drift apart. What about your husband? What is he by the way?’

‘A dentist.’

‘Some of these med school guys can be pretty reactionary. Of course not your husband, I don’t mean him.’

They were nearing the apartment building. ‘I wonder what Ananda has cooked for me,’ said Nina. ‘Last time he had made steak for himself and rice and spicy yoghurt for me.’

‘Wow! Don’t you eat the same food?’

‘I’m vegetarian.’

‘Gosh I don’t know where we’d be without our burgers. We can’t afford steak, lucky you. See you next week,’ said Beth, letting go of the clutch and driving off to her hamburger dinner.

Nina nodded, and walked slowly up the six flights to her waiting meal.

‘Hi,’ said the husband, bustling about the table now that she was here.

There was her rice and dal, there was her husband, who was interested in where she had been, who was pleased when he saw her, who she knew was committed to her.

She just had to separate her reading from the life she led. What could she do with those ideas churning in her head; could she refuse to be her mother’s daughter, refuse to make the best of what she had?

After dinner Ananda put an envelope in her hands.

‘What’s this?’

‘A surprise.’

‘Oh really? What?’

‘Open it and see.’

Quantity: 2.0 ml

Reaction:Alkaline

Liquifaction: Liquified in 20 minutes

Total count: 70 million Motility:

Active: 85%

Sluggish: 5%

Dead: 10%

Grade of Motility: ++++

Morphology: 90% normal

10%abnormal

Occasional pus cells seen

No parasites seen.

‘What is it?’

‘My sperm test.’

‘Sperm?’

‘That’s right.’

Needing to absorb this, she sat down. ‘How come you did this?’

‘It was on the cards, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, I suppose. But you know, you never said anything.’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

Him and his surprises. A little fewer in her life would do very well.

He read her thoughts. ‘Now you aren’t going to object, are you? I knew it was the next step, and you must admit it was something I had to do alone, anyway.’

‘By yourself, yes. Alone, no.’

‘You are always finding fault. I thought you would be pleased.’

She scrutinized the swimsuit shaped breasts and pelvis hanging from a rod, which illustrated the cover of
The Female Eunuch.
What would Germaine Greer have done in her situation?

‘It was not easy to do, in case you’re interested.’

With an effort she said, ‘Really? Why not?’

‘If you noticed, we didn’t have sex for two days. Then I had to masturbate at the testing centre. They had porn there.’

‘Porn?’

‘Playboy. Penthouse.
’

His enjoyment seeped into his voice. She glanced at him. ‘I guess it’s hard to feel erotic in a doctor’s office,’ she said to keep the words going.

He felt erotic enough in his own, but this the innocent need not know.

‘I had to be careful not to spill a single drop. They wanted the whole thing.’

‘So, when did you go?’

‘Oh, last week.’

And he had just told her.

He looked at her face. He still wasn’t getting the reaction he had expected. ‘Don’t you want a baby anymore?’

‘Of course I do. You know that.’

‘Well, this is the first step. Or the second, if we count your trip to the gynaecologist.’

‘Why shouldn’t we count it?’

‘We should count it, that’s what I said.’

‘No, you said
if
we count it.’

He looked at her and saw a mad woman.

She said no more. It was clear the nuance she was pointing to had escaped him. This was going to be another sleepless night. Well, her reading matter was ready.

‘So, everything normal with the sperm.’

‘Yes, everything normal with the sperm.’

Late that night, Nina shifted to the living room sofa and started perusing
The Female Eunuch.
As with
The Second Sex
much of it didn’t sound as though it reflected her situation or those of the women she had known in India. And yet, and yet, it talked of freedom, rebellion, courage and integrity, it talked of joy in the struggle. It suggested that security was not happiness, and that neither depended on fertility or a husband’s sexuality.

Late, late, she retired to bed, alone with herself, her future still as unclear as on the day she had wed.

Ananda’s sperm was normal. But was it wise to lose yourself in a child, just because you had nothing to do, and these were the expectations with which you had been brought up?

How gently the group would make her examine her feelings, how much less harsh they would be towards her as she decided she was a fool.

The elation Ananda felt at the result of his sperm test lasted many days. All he wanted was to be normal, and at this late age his ambition was being realised. His body was behaving the way it should, his bodily fluids had the required composition, his erections the required duration. If now they didn’t conceive he could hold his head high and say it was not because of him. Maybe not because of Nina either, but somehow that didn’t seem so crucial.

‘My, you look happy these days, Dr Sharma,’ said Mrs Hill.

‘Indeed Mrs H, life is good.’

Marriage obviously suits him, thought Mrs Hill, he should have gotten hitched long ago. His wife is adapting well from what I saw.

ii

After a month, the group decided they were ready for individual counselling sessions. Each had to chose a partner. When Gayatri chose Nina, Nina found her good manners did not allow her to say, I want Beth. That would hurt Gayatri’s feelings and to console herself she reasoned, perhaps it is just as well, Gayatri is Indian, Gayatri will understand. Maybe Beth will always see me in terms of my arranged marriage.

Gayatri’s part of town was at a height, curving above the Northwest Arm, gardens with fences, low slung houses, with clumps of now bare bushes softening their corners. Every brick indicated gracious contented living. The struggles of life over, one arrived at the view of the Northwest Arm, and with the spectacle of the sun gilding the water, spent one’s happy days.

So Gayatri was rich. Living in a white painted house, green shuttered, with a green front door and a brass letter slat glinting neat and gold in the middle. Behind the fence she could see a black Labrador wearing a red coat. Gayatri had a dog. Gayatri lived in a house on a winding road. Gayatri from India was really from Mars because she had all this.

She climbed the three steps and rang the bell.

Inside everything was plush. A big TV, wall to wall carpeting, with a few richly hued oriental rugs scattered here and there, brass figurines, Indian paintings.

‘What a lovely house, such a lovely neighbourhood,’ breathed Nina. ‘You should see my little apartment, it’s so bare.’

Gayatri beamed. ‘It is rather nice,’ she said. ‘But then we have been living here for many years. It’s all because of Mummy-Daddy. Don’t worry, your time will come. Indians generally do well.’

Still living with her parents, a girl who studied in order to lay claim to a separate identity, who traded in carpets as a pleasant variation. Whose father went to Kashmir several times a year, a girl who spoke in terms of our dealers, our shops, our retail business, our export rejects, whose speech reflected no dissatisfaction with her family or herself. What did she want out of co-counselling?

Then she felt ashamed of her small-mindedness. What did material plenitude have to do with inner freedom? Gayatri was a sister in more ways than one, she needed her support as sisters did in a male world. Thus ennobled, she accepted tea, loose Darjeeling tea, along with mathri and pickle. The flavour of home imbibed, they held hands and looked into each other’s eyes, because that was part of co-counselling. Only Nina remained silent.

‘Say anything. Anything that comes to mind,’ encouraged the co-counsellor.

The loneliness, Ananda’s therapy, her sense of betrayal, her mother and Zenobia, the thought of her whole life ahead of her—how, how could she bear it? Obediently she started to describe all this when the tears came, thousands for each of the above. She cried, till her eyes burned, her nose was raw from wiping, the tissue box next to her empty and her lap full of soggy balls.

Co-counsellors are not supposed to advise or probe, they are only supposed to encourage, facilitate and understand, but half an hour later, Gayatri asked gently whether she would like to say anything.

No, nothing.

One hour later, a shaken and limp Nina made her way to the bus stop. Crying was therapeutic, but so long that poor Gayatri could not even have her half hour session? The scale of her tears had been contrary to co-counselling ethics. She thought of Germaine Greer. Did male eunuchs also cry?

‘Well, how was it?’ asked Ananda in the evening.

A second passed before she answered, ‘Do you know where they live? On Myrtle Avenue. Overlooking the Arm. Such beautiful houses.’

‘Myrtle Avenue, huh? Hundred thousand dollar properties there.’

‘Really?’

‘What does she do, this woman?’

‘Lives with her parents. They import carpets from India.’

‘Why is she in a group like yours? I thought you said it was mostly university people?’

‘She’s doing her PhD, along with business on the side. Strange combination.’