Unaccustomed Earth (22 page)

“I can’t believe you were born and I didn’t know it. You’re absolutely perfect,” he said to Neel. He looked at Sudha, then Neel, then back at Sudha. “He’s got your face, totally.”

“You think? I see Roger’s.”

Rahul shook his head. “No way, Didi. This boy is a Mukherjee through and through.”

She gave him a tour of the house: the kitchen and a small toilet in the basement, the parlor above, two bedrooms and a bathroom above that, Roger’s study under the eaves. In spite of all the stories the house was diminutive, and they were constantly going up and down the staircase, which these days Neel was also attempting to climb. The steps were too much for Sudha’s father, who had recently developed bursitis in his knee, and when her parents last visited London they’d stayed with friends in the suburbs. But Roger had agreed to let Rahul sleep on the daybed normally covered with papers in the study.

“Feel free to take a nap,” she told Rahul, but he declined, coaxing Neel into his arms and not letting go as Sudha peeled potatoes and prepared to roast a chicken. He took in the lowceilinged space, with its black-and-white checkerboard floor, a perpetually cluttered dining table, Spode plates and copper molds hung on yellow walls. Roger had painted the walls himself, the final layer applied with a sponge. Rahul stopped in front of some shelves where the cookbooks were, along with photographs in frames. Most of the photos were of Neel: in the hours after his birth, in the arms of Sudha’s parents, sitting in his stroller outside of the house. There were no pictures of Rahul. “When was this taken?” he asked.

“Which?”

“It looks like an annaprasan.”

“Oh that,” she said, pricking a fork into a lemon, thinking back to the day Neel was fed his first meal a few months before, her parents flying to London for the occasion. “It was just a tiny thing at home,” she told him, as if that would explain away Rahul’s absence. It was the maternal uncle who traditionally fed the child. In Neel’s case it had been Sudha’s father.

He crossed the floor to where she stood at the butcher block and removed his wallet from his back pocket. With one hand he shook it so that it displayed a school portait of a smiling young girl with freckles and two long brown ponytails. “This is Crystal,” he said proudly, explaining that he arranged to be home every day when Crystal got home from school, making her a snack and then cooking her dinner before Elena returned and he went off to his shift at the restaurant. He didn’t pull out a picture of Elena but Sudha remembered her clearly from that one time she’d come to lunch. Sudha didn’t ask Rahul if he and Elena had gotten married, if they were going to have a child of their own. Sudha had tried to help her brother but it was Elena who had succeeded. “She’s a great kid,” he said, before putting away Crystal’s picture. “I thought I’d get her a little tea set, you know, something really English? She’d love that.”

He lifted Neel into the air, shaking him playfully, rubbing his face against Neel’s belly, Neel cackling hysterically.

“Careful,” Sudha warned.

Rahul obliged, stopping the game and hugging Neel tightly, then beginning to tickle him so that the cackles started up again. “Relax, Didi. I’m a parent too, now.”

Sudha and Roger had white wine with dinner, but Rahul had asked only for club soda mixed with some orange juice. They ate outside, at a small table on the garden patio, overlooking the rosebushes that thrived in spite of Sudha and Roger’s neglect. She had wondered about the wine, whether or not to drink it in front of Rahul. There were a few bottles of Scotch and vodka in their kitchen cabinets left over from a housewarming party she and Roger had thrown, and she stuffed them into the back of her closet and into the sweater chest at the foot of their bed, telling herself that Roger would never notice. Neel sat in Rahul’s lap, eating small dollops of mashed potato from Roger’s extended finger.

“First time in London, is it?” Roger asked Rahul.

“Apart from sitting in Heathrow dozens of times on the way to Calcutta,” Rahul said, and Sudha was reminded of all those trips they’d taken together in childhood to see their relatives, trips that would never take place again. They had slept beside one another on the same bed, often bathed together, taken everything in with one pair of eyes.

Rahul mentioned things he wanted to see in the course of the week—the British Museum, Freud’s house, the V&A—asking if it was possible to go to Stratford-upon-Avon for the day. He seemed suddenly desperate to interact with the world, after all those years of sitting up in his room. Roger told him when the museums were open, what was currently on exhibit, and it struck Sudha how little her husband and her brother were acquainted, that they remained all but strangers. “Mainly I want to spend time with Neel,” Rahul said. “I can take him out to a park or a zoo, whatever.”

Sudha told Rahul to enjoy himself, that Neel spent the days with a nanny, but that in the evening his nephew would be all his.

“So, when’s the next one?” Rahul asked, draping Neel over his legs, jiggling them up and down.

“Next what?” Roger asked.

“The next kid.”

“Have you been talking to Ma?” Sudha said, beginning to laugh before abruptly stopping herself.

“What do you want, buddy?” Rahul asked, looking down at Neel’s upturned face. “A little brother like me, or a sister?”

Now that the subject of their parents had come up she decided to give Rahul their news, that their father was retiring at the end of the year and that their parents were shopping for a flat in Calcutta. “That’s where they are now,” she said.

“They’re not in Wayland?”

“No.” It was a fact that had made it easier for Sudha to honor Rahul’s request and not tell her parents about his visit.

“Are they moving back for good?”

“Maybe.” She told him about their father’s knee trouble, that he was going to have surgery to have fluid drained. One day, she knew, it would be something more serious, and when it came, as long as Rahul stayed away, she would have to be an only child all over again.

After dinner Roger put away the leftovers while Sudha went upstairs to run Neel’s bath. Rahul came with her, sitting on the toilet and blowing some bubbles he’d brought for Neel as she crouched on the floor and soaped and rinsed him. Neel was ecstatic about the bubbles, waiting wide-eyed for each to emerge from the little plastic wand, reaching out and popping them and calling out for more.

“Okay, little guy, time for bed,” she said after a few minutes, lifting the rubber plug and letting the water drain out out of the claw-foot tub. She reached for Neel’s towel, throwing it over her shoulder and lifting him out. She wrapped him up, scrubbing his head. “Say goodnight to Mamu,” she said.

“What does he call them?” Rahul asked.

“Who?”

“Our parents.”

She hesitated, though the answer was not something she had to search for. “Dadu and Dadi.”

“Just like we did,” he said, his voice softening. “I bet they treat you like a king,” he said to Neel.

“You could say that. We still haven’t unwrapped some of his Christmas presents.”

“What about next Christmas? Do you guys have plans?”

“They’re supposed to come to London,” Sudha began, watching for a reaction. “Of course, you’re welcome,” she continued, knowing the idea was ludicrous. “All of you, Elena and Crystal. You guys could stay in a hotel.”

She stopped then, realizing that she was holding her breath, waiting for him to walk out of her life all over again. Instead he said, “I’ll think about it,” leaving her even more breathless, for she realized that without a formal truce the battle had ended, that he wanted to come back.

Rahul was already awake when she came downstairs the next morning, sitting at the table with Roger, a T-shirt sticking to his thickened body, sweaty hair plastered to his face. He was wearing shorts, the hair on his dark legs curlier than she remembered. Roger was drinking his tea, showing Rahul a Tube map, telling him which trains went where, pointing out parks in which he could run.

“Where did you go?” she asked Rahul. She prepared a pot of coffee, then warmed the milk for Neel’s Weetabix, knowing he would be up soon.

“No idea,” he said. “I just go for an hour. Running’s my new addiction.” It was the first time since he arrived that he’d alluded in any way to his drinking. “That and coffee.”

When it was ready she poured him a cup, watched him add three spoons of sugar, remembered the time he’d visited her in college and she’d handed him his first beer. “What will you do today?”

Rahul shrugged. “Maybe a museum. I just want to walk around.”

“Be ready in twenty minutes and I’ll drop you at the tube,” Roger offered.

While Sudha was at work she wondered what her brother was doing, wondered if one of the hundreds of pubs on the streets of London would tempt him. Part of her worried that something would set him off and that he would disappear again. But when she got back to the house that evening she found Rahul crawling up the staircase after Neel, pretending to be a hungry lion. That night they went out for curry and again he did not drink, covering the paper spread on the table with elaborate drawings. Again he sat with Sudha in the bathroom as she bathed Neel, and the following morning he went for his run. For the rest of the week he worked through his list of activities, always returning with a little gift for Neel. It felt strange to be at work for so much of the time that Rahul was visiting, but Sudha thought it was better, safer, that their time together was limited to mornings and evenings, times when Roger and Neel were around.

Saturday morning Rahul made omelettes, expertly chopping mushrooms and onions the way the chefs did on television, and then at Rahul’s suggestion they went to the London Zoo. Rahul had offered to take Neel himself, and though throughout the week both Sudha and Roger had taken advantage of Rahul’s presence, leaving him in charge for five or ten minutes if they needed to go to the corner for eggs or bread, there was no question of that. And yet, once they were at the zoo, both Roger and Sudha felt obsolete. Rahul carried Neel on his shoulders the whole time, the stroller Sudha pushed containing nothing but her purse. Neel was equally smitten, bursting into tears when Rahul had to use the restroom. Rahul had insisted on paying for everything—buying them their tickets, their sandwiches and sodas, the ice cream for Neel, the lime-green balloon that drifted all afternoon above their heads.

“I was thinking of going to a movie later,” Rahul said when they returned to the house, still carrying Neel. “But I think I’d rather stay home with this guy.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sudha said. “You’ve dealt with him all day. You deserve a break.”

Rahul shook his head. “I’m leaving tomorrow, and we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” And then he said, “You two are the ones who need a break. When was the last time you saw a movie together?”

The idea presented itself, a perfect plan that felt all wrong. She looked over at Roger, and Rahul saw her looking. “What, you guys don’t trust me?”

“Of course,” Roger said. He turned to Sudha. “Shall we, Su?”

She reminded herself that they had a cell phone; the movie theater was a ten-minute drive from the house. If they went to an early show, they’d be back in time for Neel’s bath. “I’ll call to see what’s playing,” she said.

“We’ll be right here,” Rahul promised her, looking up from the sitting room floor where he and Neel were stacking blocks, and she forced herself to believe him. They had not left him a key, there was nowhere he could go. She had left food for Neel, milk in a sippy cup, overcooked macaroni that was impossible to choke on. She had reminded Rahul to be careful with Neel on the stairs. During the movie she kept the volume of her cell phone turned on, not trusting it to vibrate in the pocket of her jeans. After the first hour she got up and called from the lobby.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Rahul told her. “He seemed hungry so I’m giving him something to eat.” In the background she could hear Neel banging something, a cup or a spoon, against the tray of his high chair.

“Great. Thanks. We’ll be back soon,” she said.

“No need to rush,” Rahul said. And so on their way back, at Roger’s suggestion, they stopped at a market, for cheese and jams and a few other things they needed. They bought three nice steaks for dinner, Roger saying he would make a tart.