French Lover (13 page)

‘What’s so terrible about it?’

‘You’re lucky to have come back alive.’

Nila was dumbfounded. Danielle continued, ‘These are racist Lippens. They want to banish all non-whites from this country and Joan d’Arc is their idol. You went and rubbed shoulders with these extremists?’

Nila had walked alongside people at that march and no one had hurt her. She’d placed flowers at their idol’s feet and no one had thrown dirty looks at her.

Nila justified their logic thus: if any country was thronged by foreigners and they threatened to take away the economic rights of the countrymen, then it was natural for the people to take up arms against these intruders. Imperialism was not the only big enemy of a nation. There was other kinds of coercion also.

Danielle said, ‘I’m sure you can defend Hitler as well.’

Nila said her uncle Siddhartha could and many people in India believed it was difficult not to be impressed by the indomitable power of that man. Nila’s father Anirban had a different logic. He believed the enemy of an enemy is your friend. Hitler had aided Subhash Bose in the freedom movement of India. Subhash Bose was
a national celebrity who had laid down his life for the country. He didn’t believe in compromises and he was against Gandhi’s non-cooperation movement. He felt one had to fight fire with fire. Anirban found the West’s adulation of Gandhi quite amusing. It wasn’t his non-violence policy that drove the British from India. They’d become economically crippled after the Second World War and that’s why they left.

Danielle bit her tongue in disapproval, ‘The Bengalis are proud of the man who joined hands with Hitler?’

Nila laughed and said, ‘Gunter Grass had a similar reaction when he saw the people of Calcutta honouring Subhash Bose’s statue.’

One evening, feeling aimless and lost, Nila set off. She walked around randomly and rang the bell of Catherine’s house. She thought she’d have a cup of tea with Catherine, chat with her about bauls and if she insisted, Nila would sing a few baul songs for her.

Catherine came out and looked startled to see Nila, ‘Yes?’

Nila smiled sheepishly, ‘I was feeling lonesome and thought I’d drop in on you.’

Catherine stood at the door looking thoroughly taken aback and said, ‘But you weren’t supposed to come?’

‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘Do you have any urgent work with me?’

‘No, not really.’

‘So then?’

Nila looked down, embarrassed, ‘Actually I wanted to look at the graves and . . .’

Catherine looked irritated, ‘Oh. That’s quite close by. You make a left from the door and then a right. The huge entrance will be right in front of you.’ Nila moved away as fast as she could from Catherine with the irritated look and surprised eyes. She heard the door slam shut behind her. Nila had never experienced anything like this. In Calcutta she often dropped in on friends, not for any urgent work or with prior appointment, but just like that. Most of them dropped in on Nila the same way. She’d often had to deal with an unwelcome guest. But she’d invite them in, offer them tea and talk to them for a
while. Nila had been taught that even a foe was never turned away from your door. Molina always used the proverb, offer your foe the best seat in the house.

Nila took long steps down the stairs. The sound of the door slamming shut followed her all the way to Gare d’Austerlitz.

The next day at work, Nila was surprised to see Catherine greet her with a grin and ask if she found the place.

Nila said, ‘I did.’

‘Which ones did you see—Jim Morrison’s? Oscar Wilde, Balzac, Chopin, Edith Piaf? There’s a very sad looking grave that’s Paul Eluard’s.’

Catherine didn’t look as if she had any inkling that her behaviour had been unpleasant in any way. She didn’t say a word about it, not even an apology that she was busy, or she was just going out. It was very natural: you weren’t supposed to come to my house and you shouldn’t have; wait till I invite you.

Nila was more embarrassed by Catherine’s behaviour than she herself. So much so that Nila couldn’t meet her eye.

‘Is Baudelaire’s grave also over there?’ Nila’s voice strove for normalcy.

Catherine’s tone matched hers, ‘You’d have to go to the Montparnasse cemetery for that.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ Nila didn’t forget to thank her. She knew that the people in the factory talked about her, that she had no manners, she didn’t say thank you and never looked at the person while they talked, her eyes wandered here and there and she didn’t think much of anyone. So when she said ‘thanks’, Catherine’s face lit up with a smile. Just such a smile had been there the day Catherine took Nila to the Bistro Romain. They sat face to face and ate entrecôtes and drank red wine. At the end of it the bill came to one hundred and ninety-two francs. Catherine kept ninety-five francs on the table and said, ‘My share, for the food and coffee.’

‘What do you mean, your share?’

‘That’s what I had. You’ll have to give ninety-seven for the food and tea.’

Nila had pushed Catherine’s money towards her, taken out a
two hundred franc note and handed it to the waiter.

Catherine’s brows trembled with distrust, ‘Why are you paying for me too?’

Her ashen face made Nila feel like a criminal, as if she’d committed a grave sin and she had an ulterior motive for it. She had to explain, ‘In my country we don’t pay like this. When we go out, one person pays, either I or you.’

When she saw Catherine’s brows still creased in a frown, Nila touched her shoulder and said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Catherine’s voice shook, ‘But you paid for me; how do I pay you back?’

‘You don’t. Why do you always think of paying back?’

Catherine’s brows cleared and the same brilliant smile lit her face, ‘Thanks, thank you very much.’

Nila had thought Catherine’s relief at not having to pay her back was behind the brilliance of the smile.

Just now the same bright smile was on her lips. Nila didn’t know how to smile so brightly; if she smiled, her broken tooth showed. She broke it as a child when she slipped and fell in the bathroom.

Sunil hadn’t been able to get the address of Nila’s factory from Kishan. He got hold of it from Mojammel and called twice; but he didn’t find her. So finally he wrote, ‘Your mother is seriously ill. Go back to Calcutta immediately.’

Nila laughed. She laughed because she simply couldn’t believe that Molina was ill. If she was, it couldn’t be anything more serious than a common cold. Sunil was advising her to go back home because of Nila’s nerve, for having the nerve to leave Kishan, for putting Sunil in an awkward spot, for all the accusations that Kishan must be heaping on Sunil; because Nila must have become a juicy topic of discussion among the Indians in Paris: Kishan’s wife has run away, ha ha ha. Also because Sunil probably felt Nila should go back to her father’s house if she didn’t feel like staying with her husband.

Nila shared the news with Danielle who said, ‘It’s a plot. You’ll see, Kishan is involved in this too. Besides, if your mother is really ill, what will you do over there? Aren’t there any doctors in your country?’

‘Exactly!’ Nila said.

‘Exactly.’

The two of them finished a bottle of white wine. White because Danielle had just polished off a plate of escargot and mussels—it was her dinner. And white was the only wine to drink with it. Nila didn’t like snails and shells. So she had rice. She was used to eating vegetables and going without meat these days.

Before they went to bed, Danielle gave her two pieces of good news. The first—Rita Cixous was making a film on foreign women living in Paris. She wanted to interview Nila and she’d give five hundred francs for it. The second—Danielle had asked three of her friends to look for a job for Nila. She hugged Danielle and waltzed
around the room.

‘There, you danced.’

Only if she’d had a few drinks and then only the random shaking around, not Bharatnatyam.

‘Do you see how important it is to make contacts. See how handy that dinner party at Nicole’s came in?’

Nila couldn’t deny that.

She didn’t sleep well that night. She got up many times to urinate. The urine was collected in a bucket and in the morning the full bucket had to be emptied in the common bathroom along the corridor. Nila always had to pinch her nose, hold her breath and perform this task. In the beginning Danielle used to do it. But eventually one day she got fed up and said to the pampered missy, ‘You there, do you think I am your slave?’

No, that’s not what Nila thought and to prove it to Danielle, she began to clean out the bucket five days a week.

At the first light of dawn Nila was ready.

Danielle asked her where she was off. Nila said she wanted to walk, have tea and croissants at a café and watch the city wake up.

Nila walked alone in the misty city streets. A few drunks lay around here and there, wrapped in blankets and empty bottles by their hand. Some people were out walking their dogs. Dog piss didn’t bother anyone; it was dog shit that was a problem. There’d have been mountains of dog shit in the city if there hadn’t been a green patrol to clear it up. The job of the green patrol was to go about on motorcycles, pick up the dog shit, dump it in boxes and carry it away.

A white beggar sat on the street even at that early hour, holding a placard that said We Are Hungry. Beside him sat a dog that was twice the man’s size. If Danielle saw this sight, Nila knew she’d feel sorry for the dog and drop ten francs into the hat in front of the man. Not just Danielle, nearly everyone who gave money to this beggar would do so out of pity for the dog and not for the man. She’d seen many white girls in the metro station, with dogs. Danielle said they were from Kosovo and other poor countries in Europe.

So the people of the poor European countries came here to beg.
What was the use of communism’s breakdown then?

Danielle said, ‘Under communism they had no freedom.’

‘Freedom to do what?’

‘To go out of the country.’

Nila laughed, ‘To go out and beg?’

Not just begging, many educated women of those countries lost their jobs when communism failed. They were rushing further west and taking up prostitution. Danielle didn’t want to address these issues.

Nila walked all the way to the Louvre and behind it to Rue de Rivoli where Sunil lived.

He was surprised to see her, ‘So early in the morning—where are you living, what do you do, you must keep us posted. Did you get my letter? Do you know how worried we all are!’

So many questions all at once. Nila didn’t answer any of them. She just asked, ‘What has happened to Ma?’

‘I don’t know that. Narayan, the man who went with the Chanel, has come back from Calcutta and said aunty is ill. Nikhil called twice and asked you to go to Calcutta, if possible immediately.’

After some social chit chat Nila came to the real point, her gold jewellery.

Sunil was out of touch with Kishan for a long time. The last time they spoke on the phone was when Sunil called to ask about Nila. Kishan said, ‘Don’t ask me. You must know her whereabouts better than me.’

Sunil was surprised, ‘How would I know?’

Kishan replied, ‘You’ve helped my wife run away; so you must know.’

Kishan believed Sunil had supported Nila in all this and she had taken his advice to leave the house.

‘Don’t mention that whore to me again.’ Kishan had slammed the phone down.

Sunil hadn’t called him after that and neither had Kishan. So it wasn’t possible for Sunil to ask about her jewellery. But he could ask some of Kishan’s friends about it. Sunil believed Kishan wouldn’t
give it back.

Nila wanted to blame Sunil for all this, for getting her married to Kishan. But then she thought, would it have been any different if in Kishan’s place another Indian man had been her husband? Perhaps not. Even as she sat there, she noticed Chaitali made the breakfast and Sunil sat down to eat it. After Sunil left for the clinic, Chaitali would drop Tumpa at her school and then go to her own office She would pick Tumpa up on her way back from work. Chaitali would have to bathe and feed the child and put her to sleep. She would have to cook dinner and clean the house. Since she needed to give more time at home, Chaitali worked part-time.

In Nila’s and Danielle’s home there was no inequality. If Nila cooked, Danielle washed up. If Nila did the shopping, Danielle cooked. They paid the rent by turns. If Nila was short of money, Danielle paid and Nila repaid her later.

Nila finished her tea and rose to leave.

‘Where will you go?’

‘To work and from there, home.’

‘And where is this home?’

‘A friend’s place.’

‘How long will you stay with this friend?’

‘As long as I wish.’

‘This won’t work, Nila. You have to take a decision.’

‘What decision?’

‘Either you go back to Kishan or return to Calcutta.’

Nila knew Sunil would say something like this. He continued without pausing for breath, ‘You are doing just whatever you feel like. This doesn’t work in life. There are bound to be some misunderstandings between husband and wife. Time heals everything. I feel Kishan is still waiting for you to come back. And if you try and it still doesn’t work out, you should talk it out with Kishan and do something permanent. Then you can marry someone else and live your own life. What did Kishan do—did he beat you?’

‘No.’

‘Did he have an affair?’

‘No.’

‘Was it the Immanuelle issue?’

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

Nila gave a wan smile and set off into the misty morning.

She pondered over how to get her jewellery back from Kishan as she walked on the foggy streets. She didn’t take the metro. Instead of going to work, she went into Café Rivoli and drank two cups of tea. Then she took the bus, like all those times earlier, and set off for nowhere in particular.

That day Nila saw something that she had never seen in a bus before. Two inspectors boarded the bus to check tickets. Nila sat right at the back of the bus. The white man came straight to her and asked for the ticket. She couldn’t remember if she’d kept it in her trouser pockets or jacket pockets. She dug into all her pockets and many tickets came out. The inspector took each of them and discarded them as old ones. She would have to show him a valid one. Nila hunted in her pockets and purse and began to sweat as she realized a busload of people were staring at her. She was the only non-white in the whole bus, a strange being who didn’t look anything like the other passengers. If she stood up, she was sure people would check for a tail. The inspector’s lips were twisted in a ‘See, I’m never wrong. I can make out from the colour who has bought a ticket and who hasn’t’ kind of smile.

The new ticket was tucked in behind some papers in her purse. She found it eventually. When she handed it to the inspector, he verified the time stamped on it and then let her off. She felt he was quite disappointed. He didn’t ask the others in the bus for their tickets.

When the bus stopped in front of Hôtel de Ville, Nila got down. She adored this terrace; she could sit in front of it for hours and never tire of watching its architecture, its beauty. She called Danielle from there and told her that she hadn’t gone to work that day because she didn’t feel like it. She didn’t know why she didn’t feel like it. What was she doing? Nothing. Where was she? In front of Hôtel de Ville. Why was she there? She didn’t know. When would she return? She didn’t know.

Danielle said, ‘Stay there. I’m coming.’

Nila hadn’t wanted Danielle to come. She’d wanted to be alone. She wanted to make another call, but changed her mind. Nila didn’t want to answer his questions about where she was, with whom and why she even left his home. She was afraid to hear him call her a whore.

Danielle came and took Nila into a café nearby, ‘What’s the matter?’

Nila laughed, ‘Nothing.’

‘You are upset Nila, tell me why?’

‘Nothing has happened.’

‘What did you do all day?’

‘I’d gone to Sunil’s house and asked about my jewellery. It doesn’t look like I will get it back.’

‘Is that why you look so heartbroken?’

Nila laughed, ‘Is that how I look?’

No, Nila didn’t look like that. In fact, her face didn’t give anything away.

Danielle pleaded, ‘Nila, I love you. Please share your feelings with me.’

Nila had heard the word ‘love’ from Danielle earlier, in their room. It had never made her uncomfortable. Now it did. She was afraid that if anyone heard Danielle they’d know that she was homosexual and her companion must, naturally, be one too. Nila still didn’t understand how two women could be in love with one another and how there could be real sex between them, although on many nights she had lain beside Danielle and experienced an orgasm. But then, she could have given herself that pleasure quite easily and she didn’t need Danielle for it. Nila had never played with herself and she didn’t know it was possible. Danielle had told her that when she didn’t have a lover, she brought herself to an orgasm. Nila was amazed. There were so many astonishing things in the world. Nila had been very shy about sexuality. In fact, all Indian women felt that was one topic which was taboo, secret and private. In her two years with Sushanta, they’d probably kissed about half a dozen times. And for those six kisses there was so much waiting, so many arrangements
to be made. Over here, girls and boys kissed anywhere in public and this angered Nila as much as it delighted her. She was happy that they didn’t hide their love and demonstrated it openly. She was angry thinking how much she had lost by growing up in such a restrictive society. For the longest time, Nila never could do as she pleased. Now, after leaving Kishan’s home, she was doing as she pleased. Or at least, she guessed that’s what living with Danielle and sleeping with her would be counted as, though Nila didn’t think so because that sexual relationship was entirely for Danielle’s benefit and not hers. Danielle had just assumed that Nila also loved her, although she noticed how on the streets or at a café Nila often gazed longingly at the handsome Frenchmen. Even now, as Danielle went on about her doctor’s appointment with Nicole in an hour’s time, Nila’s eyes were elsewhere.

‘What’s wrong? Why aren’t you listening to me?’

‘I am listening.’

‘No, you are not.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then why are you looking somewhere else?’

‘That’s where you go wrong. When I listen intently, I don’t look at the face. It spoils my concentration.’

‘So where do you look?’

‘At the walls, tables, chairs, things which don’t distract.’

‘Tell me what I said.’

‘You said you have to take Nicole to the doctor.’

Was Nicole sick? No, no, it was for Pipi. Who was Pipi? Nicole’s cat.

Danielle said, ‘Pipi isn’t peeing.’

So why does Nicole have to go to the doctor?

‘Nicole is very sad and she has to see her psychiatrist.’

Nila was startled. She wanted to laugh out loud, but didn’t. Ever since she’d learnt to kick, Nila had always aimed a kick at cats and dogs. It was a routine for cats to steal into the kitchen, go for the bowls of food and stick their tongue into it. So it became a habit to kick a cat whenever she saw one. If a mangy, stray dog wanted to steal into the house, they always had to kick it out. In this land of civilized
cat and dog lovers, Nila rebuked her itching foot and tried to make it charitable.

Danielle’s gaze followed Nila’s and landed on a curly-haired youth. ‘What are you staring at?’

Nila owned up she was taken by his looks.

‘Yuk!’ Danielle burst out, ‘Do you want to go back to your old life? You’ve seen how life is with a man. Hasn’t it taught you a lesson?’

‘Not every man is Kishan.’

‘If not Kishan, then Sushanta. All men are the same. They all exploit women.’

‘Not all men are the same, Danielle. Some of them know how to love.’

‘Love?’ Danielle stirred some sugar into her espresso and said, ‘It’s a web. Men trap women in it. Women think they can’t live without men. That’s not true. Look at me. I don’t need a man.’

Nila’s tea grew cold as she looked into Danielle’s eyes and listened.

Danielle could do without men, but Nila wanted to ask, if everyone became homosexual like her, how would the race continue? Nila sited the example of the animal world; almost all animals felt attracted to the opposite sex, mate with them and that’s how the species continued. Otherwise all would be over, finito.