The Temple Dancer (47 page)

"He hates me," Lucinda whispered.

"No," said Maya.

"Why won't he speak to me, or even look at me?"

It took a moment for Maya to reply, while parrots in the neem tree
chattered and the small stream laughed. "He is a man, and helpless. It must
be you who acts, sister."

Lucinda lowered her eyes. "Then it's hopeless."

As they rode east, Geraldo guided his horse closer to Pathan's. "I haven't
been to this part of Hindustan before, Captain," he remarked casually.

"I understood you no longer wished to speak to me, sir."

"Forgive me, Captain. I spoke in haste."

Pathan considered the farang, then turned his face once more to the
road. "I understand." But still they rode in silence for many miles.

At last Pathan turned back to Geraldo. "Desejo. What does it mean?"

Geraldo looked surprised. "It's Portuguese. Where did you hear it?"

"What does it mean?" Pathan insisted.

"It is a woman's word. Men would not use it." Geraldo watched
Pathan's expression carefully before he added, "Hate. Eu desejo to-I hate
you. What a woman might say to a lover before she abandons him forever."

Pathan stared at Geraldo for a moment, his eyes burning. "I understand."

.
"Did Lucy. .

"If you were to forget I ever mentioned it, sir, I would be in your debt."

"Of course, Captain," Geraldo replied with a sweeping gesture. "Even
so, I'd like to know ..."

But Pathan had spurred his horse, and now trotted ahead. He rode
apart from the others for the rest of the day's journey.

As the sun lowered in the west and their shadows lengthened on the road before them, they reached the crest of a gentle rise. Lucinda's fingers tightened around Maya's arm when she saw what lay ahead, and Maya looked up, and
her book fell from her fingers.

In front of them spread a great verdant valley. Aside from tall groves of
ancient trees scattered here and there, every inch of soil burst forth with
grapevines.

Now with the monsoons past, the vines exploded with new life: leaves
of bright, clear green; flowers and tiny fruits of butter yellow; and fresh
tendrils twisting in such profusion that from a distance the plants appeared
like a mist above the ground. The least imaginative palki bearer looked
around and sighed, for in those vines, those leaves, one saw the celebration
of life by life. Silent, enthusiastic and triumphant, from the soil and the sun
the vines made fruit. The valley pulsed; it sang with life.

"Hey, Munna," called the palkiwallah. "We're almost home!"

For the first time that whole trip, Pathan looked back. His face was radiant. Lucinda could not remember the last time he had smiled so. Munna,
she thought. That is how they know him here. This is how he wished for
me to know him. She forced herself to look away, so she would not see his
smile fade if he should glance her way.

"Is your home near here?" Geraldo asked. Pathan nodded. "Da Gama
said your family had a farm."

"This is my farm, sir."

"What part is yours?"

Pathan said nothing, but swept his open hand before him across the
whole wide vista. Geraldo let out a low whistle. "And a cottage, he said."

Again Pathan nodded, and lifted his hand toward a place below them
where a dark row of trees extended from a dogleg in the twisting yellow road.
"My cottage is down there, sir, amongst those trees. We shall be there soon."

The palki bearers walked more briskly now; home was close. As they
trotted down the hill, the palki bounced. Lucinda found it oddly exhilarating.

Here the vines grew up to the very edge of the road: she could look
through the rows of trellises as they passed and see the dark green shadows
cast by the bright leaves. The air held a perfume reminiscent of wine and
honey.

They made good time now, for the way was easier, and their bearers'
hearts were lighter. At the bottom of the hill, in the valley's most fertile
part, the vines were tall and the grapes already prominent. A few hundred yards ahead, Pathan turned down the drive of sweeping neem trees that
sheltered the path to his home.

At the end of a tunnel of overhanging branches, they saw a long colonnade of graceful stone arches. As they came closer Lucinda realized that
the arches were of marble of a pale pink-golden color. It reminded her of
the color of her own flesh, and Maya's.

Pathan dismounted briskly, and came to Geraldo. "See that the women
are comfortable, out of courtesy." His face looked so distraught that even
Geraldo understood-he couldn't bear to face Lucinda. Pathan introduced
him to his housekeeper, Shaheen, just as the palki bearers reached the
clearing.

Shaheen looked as if she ate only bitter food, Lucinda thought, and not
much of that. That would explain Shaheen's prominent collarbone and
sternum, and the ropy veins on her thin arms, and her pursed and frowning
lips. She eyed the visitors suspiciously.

Sour-faced Shaheen led them through the colonnade, which wrapped
around the house. A servant carried the women's simple baggage. She gave
a polite summary of the history of the family, and the house, and the vineyards surrounding. Lucinda got the impression that she did not like being
so polite. She wondered what Pathan had told her.

From time to time they passed vaulted halls that led to an inner courtyard, and caught glimpses of its formal garden and splashing fountains. On
the far side of the house the hill dropped away, and the verandah overlooked the valley rich with grapes.

"With all these vines, you must make wine-and yet the captain does
not drink?" Geraldo said. He smiled to Lucinda and Maya, as if inviting
them to share the humor of his ironic observation.

Shaheen tried to look pleasant, though in truth her face seemed unused
to the expression. "It is the business of this family for many generations,
sir. But Munna is a sheikh, so naturally he does not drink." She opened a
doorway to a spacious, airy room. Through windows on the other side
came the sound of water splashing in the fountains. "This will be your
room, madam," Shaheen said to Lucinda.

"We would stay together, if that would be convenient," Maya said. Shaheen frowned but shrugged acceptance. "I'll show the gentleman his room
and then come to see that you are comfortable." Geraldo gave the women
an amused, ironic look, and followed Shaheen. They heard the fading echo
of his bootheels against the stone tiles of the colonnade.

"His home is so beautiful," Lucinda said when Shaheen had left.
Against the polished plaster walls, the room had two low beds. The floors
were marble tiles set in a Persian star, and a half-dozen lamps with pierced
shades hung from the high beamed ceiling ready for lighting. Lucinda felt
tears welling as she moved to the courtyard window. A hummingbird
whizzed past as she approached, and darted for the safety of a nearby rose
bush. Water cascaded down a stairstep fountain, babbling cheerfully.

There was not much to unpack. Servants brought salvers and basins,
and delicate towels of lawn. As they finished washing their hands, Shaheen
reappeared. "I didn't mean to be abrupt. That man made me uncomfortable."

"He is my cousin, madam," Lucinda said.

Shaheen's face, so sour before, softened as she looked at her guest.
"Munna told me a little."

"Who is Munna?" Maya asked.

"Pathan," Lucinda answered, and then looking at Shaheen, she
blushed.

"The older servants still call him by his boyhood name," Shaheen said
with a glance toward Lucinda. "I took care of him mostly, after his mother
died. He is as a son to me." Shaheen again considered Lucinda. "Would you
like to see his home?"

"Yes, please," Lucinda said. Then she blushed again.

Once alone with other women, Shaheen appeared much more at ease. Still
her gaze kept drifting toward Lucinda. Lucinda supposed that Shaheen had
not had much contact with farangs.

It was unusual, Shaheen reflected, for a woman to steward an estate like
this, but her father had been steward to Munna's father, and the role had
passed to her hands so gradually and completely that no one seemed to notice exactly when the change had happened. Some had voiced their disapproval, but her Munna had soon silenced them.

For Shaheen each tile, each column, each nick and crack in the polished
plaster had a history attached. As they walked, Shaheen gave the house a
voice. Pathan's house, Lucinda soon realized, held much of Pathan's memory, and that of all his family. From time to time Lucinda's fingers strayed
to brush against a wall, as though the impressions lodged there might flow
directly through her hands.

They spent a long time in the garden, where Shaheen named each
flower and shrub, and often recalled whose hands had planted it. The low,
gold light of the sun cast mysterious shadows. Bees and hummingbirds
whirred past, attracted by the perfumed nectar everywhere.

Shaheen halted near some white roses to show them the very tile where
Pathan's elder brother had tripped and broken his skull. "He died a few
days later. My Munna was inconsolable. They had been playing, you see,
running and shouting against their father's rule of quiet. My Munna felt
responsible for Abu's death. It made him serious, and very melancholy."
She glanced again at Lucinda, who grew uncomfortable beneath her gaze
and turned her face.

After seeing the whole house, Shaheen guided them to some outlying
buildings. "Have you a husband, Shaheen?" Maya asked.

"It was not my portion in this life." But she smiled and then said, "But
I have my Munna. That must be enough, yes? I suppose I miss having a
husband"-she gave a sly look to Maya-"but not so much, I think. My
Munna is such a fine young man, I would always be comparing, I think.
And who could compare, I wonder?"

Though she did not look toward Shaheen, Lucinda could feel again the
housekeeper's gaze. She wondered at it, and guessed that Pathan had spoken of her to Shaheen. What had he said?

Shaheen showed the two the winepress, configured so an ox could
power the squeezing of the grapes, and the storehouse-a long man-made
cavern where by the flickering light of butter lamps they saw row upon
row of red clay jars. "Here the wine is made. These jars will be sold soon."
She glided past many racks of jars. "It's always cool here. Munna would
come here and sit for hours in the summer. He said it reminded him of a
tomb. But I think he simply wanted to avoid the heat."