A Good Indian Wife: A Novel (30 page)

AFTER CAROLINE’S CALL
, Neel had phoned. There was a crisis in the hospital…Leila barely listened to the hurried, lying words, but she understood that he would stay the night, returning the next morning or afternoon.

Any hope, any happiness she had given birth to in that short space between Oona’s calling the hospital and Neel’s getting here were gone. She had thought that Neel had put her first. But he had only made an inconvenient stop before rushing back to be with Caroline.

At first she was relieved not to have to see him, to have time to think. But all she did was go over that phone call, Reno, the scarf—each memory leaving her more and more humiliated.

She still didn’t know what to do. After crying in bed all night she had come to stand by the window, the rush-hour activity below giving her something to look at.

Leila gazed down on the street and remembered that night so long ago when she had wondered why Neel was leaving her alone in the condo to go shopping. She leaned against the window, the wood pressed hard into her cheek. She was tired, so tired, unable to sleep since that blond voice had broken into her quiet evening, the fake accent confirming everything she had long suspected.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines
. No, she rewrote Neruda,
Today I can write the freest lines
. She was free from suspicion, free in the sense that the worst had happened. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t sad, alone, unable to appreciate anything. Even the baby.

Last night’s rain had brightened everything and the slants of sunshine on the wood floor contained no dancing motes of dust. Alcatraz was framed by the window, the island so close it must have frustrated prisoners. To the left was the Golden Gate Bridge.

The orange columns hung above the white-topped waters as if dangled by the hands of an aesthetic God. Beyond was India, a daikon root jutting into the sea. An ancient country with ancient traditions, it had given her this marriage but neglected to offer a solution should that marriage fail. She had been provided a husband and an airline ticket; though no one had said, “You must make this work,” that order had been implicit. There was no place for her back home. Kila now slept in her bed, and her job was already taken by another spinster, teaching, until she too married and left.

Leila felt as ancient as the mariner, except there was no one in whom she could confide. She had tried to talk to Rekha, but something—Amma’s voice, perhaps—had stopped her from making a complete confession.

There were two phones in the house, a luxury by Indian standards. She could pick up the extension in the kitchen and dial home, easily traversing the thousands of miles in a minute. Another luxury. But there the luxuries stopped. Amma would be pleased and surprised to hear her voice and Kila would clamor to get on the phone, if only to talk to America. She could not say, “Amma, I’ve suspected for a while that Neel is having an affair. But now I know for sure. His lover told me everything yesterday.” Amma knew Neel as Suneel, and the terms “affair” and “lover” were not in her vocabulary. Once she was made to understand them, Leila knew what her mother’s response would be. She would tell Leila to stay with Neel and forgive him. Amma had been raised on stories of mythical women who forgave their husbands everything. According to Amma, Rama and Sita lived happily ever after in the
Ramayana
.

Amma would expect Leila to be so good to Neel that he would forget Caroline. It was her responsibility to see that it never happened again. The surest way to do that was to have children. Amma would convince Leila her pregnancy had come at the right time. It was only in America that people warned couples a baby didn’t solve marital problems.

And how could she burden poor Indy, just on the brink of marriage herself? Indy would insist that Leila leave him. That would ruin the family, but Indy would not care. Indy was not the oldest, trained to look out for the others, hammered into docility by Amma’s words. Leila Begood. Leila was perfectly aware that her failure doomed her sisters’ futures. Besides, she didn’t want Indy to imagine all men were like Neel.

And if she did find the courage to phone Rekha? The other girl’s perspective was tainted by her own experience with Tim, and by America. These days she was advocating the role of the vengeful suffragette, as if that solved the problem. “Kill Neel,” she’d blithely say. And then she’d want to use Leila in her thesis.

Leila found herself in standing water between Amma’s wishes and her own desire not to be with a man who kept a lover. Yet both choices, stay or go, were mad. Was she going to be like Asha, her old friend in India?

Poor Asha was married to an unemployed schoolteacher who still lived with his parents. Two days before the wedding, Leila had stood beside Asha on the rooftop terrace, looking out at the people hurrying home from work. “I will stay with him until my sisters marry,” Asha said, her voice beaten down, so different from the shrill shouting and begging that had gone on for weeks as she pleaded with her parents to cancel the marriage. The man was bald, with pronounced buck teeth, and he spoke no English. Asha knew that everyone was tittering about the match. “Don’t think like that,” Leila consoled her. “It may all work out. At least he really wants to marry you.” Asha’s mother had bragged that the boy had gone straight from their house to the Temple to pray for the marriage. This was unusual because mostly it was the girl who prayed to be accepted. “I wish he didn’t want to marry me,” Asha said. “Anyway, by the time my sisters marry, I will be used to him and maybe I’ll just stay.” Amma had recently written that Asha was pregnant for the third time.

Leila couldn’t bear to think about her own baby. For so many years she had performed the penance of fasting once a week to have a husband and children. Be careful what you wish for, she remembered the old Gypsy saying. Perhaps the Gypsies had learned that in India before taking it west.

She was still at her vigil by the window when Neel came in.

Neel had taken advantage of a brief lull in the early morning to catch up on sleep, and it had left him refreshed in spite of a hectic night.

“Is everything all right?” He wondered if she had received bad news from India. She looked so pensive and defeated. Like a beautiful Madonna, hair floating around her face. The silk caftan outlined her breasts, and the tiny concave waist curved out into her hips. What would she do if he went to her now, in full view of anyone looking in? This openness was an unexpected bonus of marriage. No assignations or appointments. No fear of being caught; everything was legal. Perhaps that old rogue Picasso was right after all. “You are wrong not to be married,” were his last words to his doctor. “It’s useful.”

“Yes, everything is okay,” Leila answered automatically. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” He glanced at the coffee table. A blue aerogram. “Is that from your mother?”

“No, it’s from your family.”

“Is Grandfather all right?” he asked quickly.

“I didn’t read this one. But last week your mother said he was the same.” Neel didn’t really care about his sweet old grandfather. He wanted the old man to die so he could marry his lover.

“Oh, good. I worry about him.” Neel was so surprised to be sharing his feelings he didn’t notice the look on her face. “You know how they never take care of themselves in India. Grandfather has this ridiculous village mentality that when his time has come, he will just give up the fight.” It was a relief to speak with someone who really understood. Americans would put this down to Indian spirituality, conjuring an old man who looked and acted like a brown Jesus Christ. But Tattappa, born in a village without a hospital, had never learned to trust the medical profession. He was proud of Neel’s accomplishments, but didn’t think
he
needed a doctor.

They were in the kitchen when Leila blurted out, “There is something I have to tell you.”

“Is it about Tattappa?” Neel looked at the phone. “Mummy called?”

“Your grandfather is fine,” Leila repeated. “But I did get a phone call. From Caroline.”

“Caroline?” Neel’s relief was short-lived. “Did she want me to call her back?” He kept his voice casual, but he was thinking ahead to when he would tell Caroline never to call the house again. This was reason enough to end their relationship. End what? There had been nothing between them for a while.

“No. She called to speak to me.”

“What about?” But even as he asked the question, Neel knew the answer. Caroline had threatened him in Reno, but he never thought she would follow through and contact Leila.

“She said the two of you are having an affair. That you never wanted to marry me. You did it to please Tattappa. That you are going to divorce me as soon as Tattappa dies.” The words kept tumbling out. Leila couldn’t bear to look at his face and stared at the telephone.

“She said all that?” Neel asked incredulously.

“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate. It was up to Neel. I have dared to disturb his universe and now he has to account for it, she thought.

Neel stood still, staring at the floor, before abruptly looking up. Their eyes met and held. Leila didn’t blink and it was Neel who closed his, turned his face toward the ceiling, and sighed.

“I had no idea it had gone this far.” He shook his head and felt the pieces come together, like the colored glass pattern in a kaleidoscope. He knew what to tell Leila. Tomorrow he would deal with Caroline. Once and for all.

“I never told you this, but oh, about three years ago I went out with her. Just for a little while. When I realized it wasn’t going anywhere, I broke it off. Apparently she still hasn’t got over it. I’m really sorry she called you. I’ll have to talk to her, tell her never to do it again.” He paused. When Leila didn’t respond, he continued, “I could take action against her because this constitutes sexual harassment—and I will if you want me to, but it may create a number of problems. An immigrant man’s word against an American woman. It’s also hard to prove and might end up ruining my medical career. But I’ll do it if you insist.” He talked quickly, his voice growing louder with each word.

Leila considered them, and him. She didn’t speak for a few moments, just thought about his logical, reasonable answer. He didn’t have to tell her that he had once gone out with Caroline. He had been honest about that. But the serpentine French accent, and Neel’s odd behavior in the past months, had stirred up many suspicions and questions.

“She said you went to see her the night we arrived.” Leila remembered the long wait and how she had shivered in the cold apartment while searching through his files, Caroline’s picture falling to the floor.

“What?” Neel wondered what else Caroline had divulged. “I went shopping. I knew the fridge was empty and it took me a while to find a place that was open. I wanted to get you some fruit. Remember the mangoes?”

“You were gone so long I got scared and looked through your desk. I found her picture there.”

So the quiet mouse had squeaked as early as day one. He wasn’t sure whether to be furious or intrigued by her chutzpah. Leila must have known about Savannah, too, all these months. He had thrown away her letters just last week. “Her picture? Maybe she gave it to me years ago. She could have put it there herself. I really don’t know.”

“Why did she come to see you in Reno?”

“I told you. I’d left some slides behind and she brought them for me. Don’t you believe me?”

“She said you had quarreled.”

“We did. In Reno. I told her she should not have come up. It didn’t look right. You and I were—are—newly married, and people might think it strange to see her with me. I didn’t bring her over to meet you because I don’t like to mix my professional and personal life. I was going to tell you all this, but I had no idea how you would take it.”

“Who sent you those flowers that first night?” Everything had to be explained if she was going to stay with him and hope again.

Neel hesitated. “Caroline did. I think it was her way of trying to get back with me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But looking back, I don’t think I could have done anything different. You had just arrived. How could I possibly expect you to understand?”

“But how did she get inside?”

“Leila, this feels like the Inquisition. How did she get in? Very simple. There’s a duplicate key in the office. For emergencies, if I lose my set. Most people leave it with a friend or a neighbor. Since I’m at the hospital so much, mine is there.”

“I called the hospital that night you wanted me to postpone our dinner reservations because you were working late. This woman said you had left at your usual time.”

“She must be the new girl they’ve just hired. Why would I lie about something you can check up on? As you did.”

“The scarf in the plane. Who does it belong to?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“It’s not Caroline’s?”

“Only if she left it there years ago.”

“Is there any other woman I should know about?” Leila thought of Savannah’s letters.

“No one who is important now. I’m married to you, and that’s what is important.” He didn’t know he felt like this until the words came out. He was comfortable with Leila in a way he had never been with Savannah. Oh, he had admired and loved Savannah, but always felt he was trying to live up to her. Leila and he were more evenly matched. And Leila’s parents loved him for the same reason that Savannah’s had hated him. That he was Indian. Sanjay was right about the comfort of shared experiences. Sanjay was already worried that when he grew older he might be repelled by the very differences that attracted him to Oona now; that they might make him long for the Bangla girl he had always expected to marry.