The Vine of Desire (48 page)

Please tell Gouri Ma and my mother. I will write to you again from Jalpaiguri.

With love and pranams,
Sudha     

Berkeley

October 1994

Sunil

I write this letter the way one performs an exorcism, so that I can start on my new life. I do not ask to forget you. There is a fear of repeating that which is forgotten, and I pray that neither of us repeats the mistakes we made, the words we left unspoken until too late, the things we should have held inside that exploded out of us.

We were both to blame—but blame isn’t the right word. We both wanted too much, wanted the things life had decided we shouldn’t have. You longed for the perfect romance, and looked to me to fulfill that longing. And I—I came to America in search of freedom but was swept away by the longing to be desired. How mistaken we were to think that such things could make us happy.

I will not think of you in anger—if you will not think of me with hate.

Sudha

Calcutta

October
1994

Dearest Sudha

I am so thankful finally to receive a letter from you. The scenes one creates inside one’s head, worrying, are usually worse than what is real.

No, my child. I don’t think you are making a mistake by returning. It is a fine thing for a woman to have her own, self-earned bank balance! If the times had allowed me, I would have liked to have one, too! How things will turn out no one can guess. Your motives are good—as they were when you left Anju’s home. God and the world will decide the rest.

It is a pity that your American plans did not work out. You went there with such high hopes of being reunited with your sister, of making a fortune—or, if not a fortune, at least a decent living. We Chatterjee women are not lucky that way, I guess. But we always pick ourselves up and go on.

Sunil came to see us before he returned to America. That was a brave and decent thing for him to do—it must have been difficult for him to face us. He was very quiet. I think his father’s death has changed him in ways that have surprised him. He spoke alone with Gouri for a while. She says he intends to meet with Anju when he returns, if she will agree to it. He wants there to be no ill feeling between them. But whether that is possible, I cannot guess.

Gouri Ma sends you love and blessings, as do I. Your mother, as you might imagine, is quite distraught, going on and on over thrown-away chances, impractical foolishness, and “that nice surgeon boy.” She imagines the worst of old Mr. Sen. But as always, she will get over it.

Don’t worry about Anju’s anger. Whether she wants to or not, she can’t hate you. You are too much a part of each other. Can the left hand hate the right?

Yours
     
Pishi

Palo Alto

October
1994

Notice is served herewith to all concerned that Sudha Chatterjee is to be whisked away at 5:00
P.M.
this coming Friday for several hours of dangerous fun.

Lalit

Santa Clara

October 1994

Sudha
,

If you really want to see me before you go, take the 4:00
P.M.
BART train to Daly City this Saturday. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot. Come alone.

Anju

Berkeley

October 1994

Dear Sara
,

I’ve written many letters to you, over and over, in my mind, though this is the first actual one. Yesterday I called Lupe to tell her I was leaving America, and she gave me this post box number. But she warned me that it’s an old one, and that she hasn’t heard from you in quite a while.

I feel a great need to connect with you before I leave, to close the loop that began with my seeing you in the park, high up in the swing, the way I never would have dared to, because in my world a grown woman didn’t do such things. You made me realize that even when everyone around you is saying no, you can say yes.

Not that I think you’ll get this letter. Or that you’ll reply. Sometimes I dream that you’ve returned to your family. Or that you’re dead.

Still, writing it is enough, like releasing seeds into the wind.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the last year, Sara, and might be leaping into another. I’m returning to the country I’d been in such a desperate hurry to quit. I’m leaving behind in America a charming man, one who is determined to make me happy in spite of myself. (Only, no one can do that for another person, can they?) So many people are convinced I’m doing the wrong thing, tying my life to the caring of an old man. But Mr. Sen’s son would never have allowed him to go on his own. So perhaps finally I’m being of use to someone. It won’t make up for destroying my cousin’s marriage, but it is a small reparation.

And my one chance to be free.

Wish me well, Sara. Tomorrow I must meet Anju. For the first time since I made love to her husband. I’m so afraid.

Sudha

Sixteen

L
alit

what I said

Did you change your mind yet about going to India?

what you said

Where are you taking me?

what I said

Depends on whether you’ve changed your mind or not.

what you said

Are you going to act like this all evening? On our last date?

what I said

Our last date? Excuse me?

what you said

Well, unless you plan on coming out to Jalpaiguri—

what I said

I just might do that. (And was surprised to find that I was actually considering the possibility.)

what you said

Come to think of it, even that wouldn’t work. Dating isn’t allowed over there.

what I said

Another reason for you to not go.

what you said

So how come you didn’t call me all these days? How come you wouldn’t even return my calls?

what you didn’t say

Was it what you heard me tell Ashok? Did it shock you?

what I didn’t say

Yes, partly it was that. I was shocked at how shocked I was. I hadn’t realized I’d been nursing one of those purer-than-pure-Indian-woman fantasies about you. That one of the reasons I was attracted to you was that you seemed so different from the desi girls brought up here, with their free-and-easy ways. And I was jealous. I was burning up with jealousy just thinking of—

what I said

I was playing hard to get. Learned it from you.

what you said

Hmmm.
So what’s this dangerous fun you promised me?

what I said

What, being with me isn’t fun enough? And dangerous enough? In that case—(And I swung the car south and headed toward Great America. And after we’d strapped ourselves in and shot up to the highest height and been plunged down deeper than despair and you’d screamed louder than you thought you could ever scream and I’d held you longer than I’d ever held you and you’d slapped away my hands and said, Quit, and I’d said, Why d’you think they designed these scary rides—and all the while I was thinking of you going so far away, all the things that might happen, what if the old man didn’t treat you right once he was on home turf …)

I said

I’m serious about it, you know. Coming to India. To see you and Dayita. (You went very silent.)

so I added

Did you think you’d get rid of me so easily? I’m planning on corrupting your daughter with Hershey’s Kisses and the latest Barney videos, and then there’ll be two of us working on you to come back here. (You leaned your head lightly against mine.)

I said to myself

Careful! Don’t read too much into it. Maybe she’s just dizzy from the ride.

and you gave an enigmatic smile and said

You can go ahead and try.

Seventeen

She turns the key but the car will not start, not even when she pumps the accelerator, not even when she pounds the dashboard. She leans her forehead on the steering wheel and tries to remember what the man who used to be her husband did on such occasions. She checks her watch. Her hands are trembling. She feels the prickle of sweat in her underarms.
Mustn’t panic. Mustn’t.
She’d given herself a bit of extra time to reach Daly City because she’s a nervous driver, and the Bay Area traffic is so bad, even on the roundabout scenic highway she plans on taking. She can feel the minutes falling through the gaps between her fingers.
As though time were water in a cupped palm in a desert.
She whispers the words, feels the vowels begin to calm her. To distance her from crisis. Language does this for her, even now. She removes the key, rubs it on her jeans, tries again. The engine gives a reluctant cough and turns over, and Anju is on her way to meet her cousin.

Sudha stands on a platform of the North Berkeley station, shivering a little—more from nervousness than from the cold. She looks up at the sky, which is the color of faded jeans today. There’s a hint of mist in the air, and through it the softest of lights brushes the tops of the yellow poplars. Sudha, chewing on her lip, sees and doesn’t see. She had to leave Dayita with the old man because there was no one else. “Are you sure you can manage?” she’d asked over and over. He had nodded, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, waving his hands in dismissal. “Go on, go!” He had even demonstrated his ability to change a diaper. “Now are you satisfied?”

The platform vibrates ever so slightly under her feet, the earth getting ready for upheaval. No. It’s merely the train approaching. She counts on her fingers. She has kept their lunches ready on the kitchen table. The diapers and wipes are by his bed. Dayita’s blanket. She’s made a little bed for her on the floor of his room in case he can persuade her to nap, and lifted her out of her walker because the old man won’t be able to do it by himself. She has kissed Dayita on her forehead and told her, in a fierce whisper, to be good. She has left Lalit’s cell phone number in case of emergency.

The train’s automatic doors swoosh shut behind her. A scattering of leisurely midmorning people on the benches. She finds a seat by the window, across from an oldish woman wearing several sweaters, an enormous, scruffy backpack and a gap-toothed smile. Is she homeless? Sudha smiles back warily. When she was a child, her mother used to tell her, “Stay away from bad-luck people. Misfortune is contagious.” Outside, patches of yerba buena, a clump of waving Queen Anne’s lace blurring into seashell silver. Once she said to the old man, “No matter
where fate saw fit to throw me down, it always gave me someone from whom to learn the names of plants.” He nodded. “When you know the names of the green things around you, you’re no longer a stranger.” Already he has begun telling her of the trees she will find in his garden in Jalpaiguri: mango, jackfruit, shiuli, the champak with its gold and velvet fragrance.