Gods Without Men (51 page)

She felt as if she’d turned a corner. Every day her life seemed to get a little better. When Raj started to talk, she told her colleagues it was an affirmation, proof that they were all protected by a higher power. At the book group she and Esther and the others said prayers of thanks. She began to allow her imagination to range further. Raj was—it didn’t seem too much to use the word—a miracle. Every day he seemed to achieve something new. With a learning curve (even the doctors said this) so much steeper than normal, anything was possible. He might even turn out to be a genius, an extraordinary mind that had started life locked away from the rest of the world. She wrote off for school prospectuses, scrutinized entry requirements for gifted and talented programs. Only Jaz seemed untouched by the new possibilities. He winced
when she voiced her (perfectly reasonable) wish that he be tested by an educational psychologist, to prepare him for entry to one of the elite elementary schools in the city. That (of course) provoked another fight. Why couldn’t he give thanks, like she did? Where was his joy? He told her he didn’t give a damn about being “out of touch with his light” and stormed out of the house. He didn’t come back until late that evening. He smelled sour, like stale red wine. She assumed he’d been sulking in some bar.

At other times they were united. Their friends came back. A few, at least. There were some she couldn’t forgive, others who still seemed alienated by the drama of the previous year. But there were the beginnings of a social life. They found a babysitter in the neighborhood and experimentally went out to dinner, leaving Raj in her care. It was a success. They began to buy listings magazines, looking at what was on in the city. Amy came to stay, with her new boyfriend, a very nice Nigerian doctor. Lisa cooked a dinner party, invited Esther and Ralph and another couple. Before they sat down to eat, she asked everyone to join her in a short prayer. Jaz looked stricken. The others understood. At the end, Adé boomed out a loud amen.

Afterward, as they ferried dirty plates and glasses into the kitchen, Jaz hissed at her.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

“Why? Why would you be embarrassed?”

“You’re forcing it on people. Rubbing it in their faces.”

“Rubbing it in your face, you mean.”

“Try to understand, Lisa.”

It turned into an argument about Raj. What was possible. What the future looked like. She accused him of being willfully blind to the good things that were happening. Sometimes, she told him, she felt he didn’t believe in his own son. He said he didn’t even know how to answer such a charge.

She was triumphant. “Because you know it’s true.”

“No, because your accusation makes no sense.”

“You really ought to get your head out of the sand.”

“God, Lisa. You think I’m the one with my head in the sand? Yours
is buried so far—look, I’m trying hard to be positive here. In fact I’d say I was optimistic. Cautiously optimistic. Raj seems to be doing well. But think of what actually happened. Anything could come up for him. Repressed memories, trauma. Until we know who had him, what he went through, we won’t be able to say for sure.”

That night, she lay awake in bed, listening to sirens dopplering in the distance. Barricaded by pillows, Jaz had wrapped himself in the quilt, hunched up into a rigid, accusatory ball. She’d tried to dismiss his point about trauma, telling him he had only to look at how well Raj was doing to know it wasn’t an issue. But in truth it did worry her. She had to admit she wasn’t as certain as she wanted to be. About damage to Raj, about a lot of things. For a long time she’d been obsessing—not, like Jaz, about the day of Raj’s disappearance, but the night before, her drunken odyssey into town. She’d been out of control that night. She was never out of control. Perhaps someone had put something in her drink. It was a sleazy bar, the kind of place where that sort of thing probably happened. She had only the vaguest memory of being in the woman’s car, the headlights lighting up the dirt road, the house they drove to, with its odd bulbous roof, its triangular windows, the animal-skin rugs lying on its polished wooden floors. The alcohol swimming in her head had dissolved everything into shadows. Only the stone hearth and the woman in the rocking chair had substance. She remembered collapsing onto a bed that smelled of dust and cigarette smoke, feeling a rough Indian blanket under her cheek. The two women were standing over her, talking.

“What about her?”

“Leave her, she’ll be OK.”

“What if she wakes up?”

“She’s got so much booze inside her, she ain’t going to move a muscle until morning.”

Why had that stuck in her memory? Had they left her? Where had they gone? How long had she been unconscious in that strange house? The trapdoor was open, the questions hatching and swarming, like maggots turning into flies. Raj had been spirited away into that teeming darkness. They’d said something about her, about Raj. What had
they been saying about Raj? Shut the trapdoor. Draw the heavy bolt across it. There were places into which one shouldn’t trespass.

The call from Raj’s speech therapist came completely out of the blue. She’d met the woman, of course. She was expensive. The best. They’d been very happy with her work.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Matharu.”

“That’s quite all right. What can I do for you?”

“I’d really prefer to have this conversation face-to-face, but—well, it’s a difficult matter. I wanted to speak to you as soon as I could. Your husband came to see me.”

“Alone?”

“No. He brought Raj in for his appointment earlier today. But he asked if he could see me without Raj. Without Raj being in the room.”

“Why ever would he do that?”

“I don’t know why he chose me. Maybe because I’m—well, he may have thought I’d understand. This isn’t my area, of course. But I found what he told me—alarming. He has ideations. He seems very scared.”

“Ideations?”

“He’s got the notion that Raj isn’t your son. It’s unusual, but not totally without precedent. He told me he believes Raj—the real Raj—has been swapped for an identical double. A twin. I don’t know why he chose me to confess to, but I believe this thought has been in his mind for some time. He knows it’s not normal. He knows there’s no logical explanation. He’s very troubled by it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I asked him how he knew about the substitution. How he’d noticed. What had changed. He told me absolutely everything was just like Raj, except it was clear to him that it wasn’t the same boy. This Raj is identical in every respect to your son, but in some essential respect he’s not the same boy.”

“But that’s crazy. It doesn’t make any sense. He really thinks this? That someone’s swapped Raj for a double?”

“Maybe, with the kidnap, the trauma …”

“You’re telling me he’s gone insane. That’s basically what you’re telling me.”

“I certainly think there are grounds for seeing a psychiatrist. Strong grounds. You’ve both—your family has undergone a great deal of stress. It’s possible that this is merely a reaction. Perhaps with rest, maybe some kind of medication, it will all be resolved. This is very tricky, Mrs. Matharu, and, as I say, I’m not qualified to make a diagnosis. You really need to see a specialist. Your husband has assured me he doesn’t want to harm Raj. He’s not hearing voices, or experiencing compulsions. He says he’s no danger to the boy.”

“Oh God! He’s out with him now. What should I do? Should I call the police?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. As I say, he claims he’s not going to harm him. Why don’t you wait and talk to him yourself? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. This must be very distressing. If you need a recommendation, maybe I can call around and get you a name.…”

Lisa sat at the kitchen counter, twisting from side to side on a high stool. She felt stalled, short-circuited. She poured out the contents of the bowl into which they habitually threw spare change. She lined up coins to make patterns and moved them about with her forefinger, a game with no clear rules. Finally, she heard Jaz opening the front door and the sound of coats and boots being removed in the hall. Raj came barreling in. She scooped him up, held him tight.

She didn’t know how to start. Jaz started chatting, asking about her day. They’d booked the sitter. They had plans to go out to the cinema. What did she want to see? He seemed completely normal. She watched him. Did he seem more tense than usual? Did he seem frightened?

“I had a call from Dr. Siddiqi.”

“Oh yes?”

“Jaz, I don’t understand. She said you’d told her Raj wasn’t our son.”

Suddenly his face collapsed. He looked hollow. She knew then that it was true. Involuntarily she put her hand up to her mouth. He was shaking his head, holding out his open palms in a gesture of pacification.

“Look,” he said. And again. “Look.”

“What’s going on?”

“I know it’s not logical. But surely you of all people should understand.”

“I should understand? Why?”

“You believe in—all this stuff.”

“All what stuff?”

“You told me you thought it was a miracle.”

“A miracle that he came back. I don’t think he’s being—what? Impersonated? I don’t even know what you think is happening. What did you tell that woman?”

“I can’t—not while he’s here. Raj, go play in the other room.”

Raj looked from one to the other, confusion flickering on his face.

“Go on, darling. Go play. Why not find your dinosaurs? You can take them to the living room.”

Raj obeyed. Jaz sank down onto a chair, put his head in his hands.

“Lisa, I know how weird this sounds.”

“You have no idea. What exactly did you say to her? She told me you need to see a psychiatrist. She told me she didn’t think you intended to harm our son. She had to say that—she didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure.”

“I’d never do anything to him. I swear.”

“So what’s going on? It’s Raj. Can’t you see that? There’s nothing wrong with him. Nothing’s changed.”

“I can’t put a finger on it.
It’s as if—as if something’s wearing his skin.”

“You’re terrifying. I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this.”

“I know how it sounds. I’m scared too, Lisa. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“A shrink?”

“Yes, a shrink. God, you’ve been with him all this time, wheeling him around the city. Wherever it is you go. Anything could have happened.”

“I swear I’d never hurt him.”

“But you don’t even think it’s him. You think it’s something wearing his skin.”

“Lisa, I’ll see a shrink. Whatever you want. If it’s me, my mind or whatever, I’ll get it sorted out. But don’t you ever think it’s strange, the way he’s changing? He’s completely different.”

“Yes, he is. He’s better. I don’t understand why you find that so hard to accept. It’s what we’ve been praying for, and now you won’t even believe it.”

“I need to know what happened to him. I can’t stand not knowing. There’s something different about him. And yes, I don’t feel like it’s him. I can’t tell you why. Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at you?”

“Looks at me?”

“At both of us. Like he’s ancient. Like he knows all our secrets.”

“He’s a little boy, Jaz. He’s just a little boy. I want you to sleep downstairs tonight. I don’t want you near us.”

“That’s ridiculous, Lisa.”

“Ridiculous. Really?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Stay away, Jaz. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. This is too weird. You have to give me space.”

“Look at him, Lisa. That’s all I ask of you. Really look at him.”

She took Raj upstairs. As she got him ready for bed, brushing his teeth and helping him into his pajamas, she could hear Jaz roaming about downstairs, slamming doors, angrily rattling about in the kitchen. After a while the sound of the TV came filtering through the floor, some cop show, the volume turned up high.

Before she went to sleep, she wedged a chair under the door.

The next morning Jaz hung around in the kitchen doorway as she phoned Karl and told him she couldn’t make it in to work.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jaz said. “I’m not some kind of maniac.”

“I’m not leaving him with you.”

“I promise, Lisa. I’ll go to a shrink. Find one. Make an appointment. I’ll go.”

That day she didn’t let Raj out of her sight. She sat at the kitchen table with her MacBook, looking up psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, therapists of various kinds. Dr. Siddiqi had e-mailed a couple of names, and in the end it was one of them she phoned. She prayed silently for guidance before she went into the study, where Jaz was lying on the floor, doing stretches.

“That couch has destroyed my back.”

“I’m sorry you had an uncomfortable night.”

“OK.”

“I need to know you’re not a danger.”

“I see.”

“I can’t take the risk.”

“I’m not—”

“I know, you’re not a danger. I found you a psychiatrist. Here’s his name, and his number. You can see him Thursday afternoon. I thought you’d prefer a guy.”

“You did? OK.”

“You want to see a woman?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see this”—he looked at the paper—“Dr. Zuckerman.”

She was relieved. That night, she and Jaz slept in the same bed, though she pulled the dresser partway across the door, so if he got up and moved it, he’d make a noise. He looked angry.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

She shrugged. “Then you’ll wake me up.”

“OK, whatever you want.”

In the morning she phoned Karl, trying to let him know something serious was happening, without divulging details. She’d tell him. She’d already decided that. But she wanted to speak to him face-to-face, preferably over lunch. He’d be sympathetic. He might even be able to help.

“I can’t come in. It’s—a personal situation. I’m so sorry. Yes, I know about that. I’ll call him and reschedule. He can’t? I see. That’s tricky.”

Jaz was standing behind her, so close that when he spoke it made her jump.

“Come on, Lisa. You can’t do this forever. I haven’t hurt him. I won’t hurt him. I never would.”