Valmiki's Daughter (18 page)

“Auntie Devika, Uncle Valmiki, this is Anick.” The young woman uttered something Devika imagined was a greeting. The words were not only inaudible, but accented — perhaps not even English. Devika repeated
Anick
a few times, trying to get its pronunciation. Awkwardly she said, “It's French, eh?”

Anick said,
Mais, oui
, with the tone of someone saying,
But obviously, why wouldn't it be
, and Nayan rubbed his wife's back and laughed as if to say,
Isn't she lovely and funny
? Devika flattered back, “Well, I will just have to call you Mrs. Prakash, won't I? I won't get that wrong.”

Valmiki informed the pair that Viveka — their eldest daughter, he enlightened Anick — was still at the university, and Vashti — the younger one — was expected back any minute from an after-school extra-lessons class in preparation for the advanced
level exams the following year. Devika watched the model-like features of the young woman, her long neck, minute waist — stomach flat, flat, flat — and the provocatively protruding pelvic bones. Anick's nose was slim and ran straight down, no bumps or humps — a perfect angle. The skin on her face was flawless. There was not even a blemish from, say, a scratched pimple. Had she never had chicken pox? Her complexion was not fatty or puffy. It was thin, lean skin. Her eyes were brown, and although Devika had seen brown eyes on white women countless times, she noticed that Anick's were unusually alert — a well-mannered and unintimidating alertness. Her eyelashes were long, but they weren't false. They were definitely hers. She didn't seem to be wearing mascara. If she were, it was obviously of a good quality. Her eyebrows arched perfectly, the arch itself in exactly the right place. Hard to do. There had to be help from nature to be able to do that. And they were not too thin or too thick. Her lips were pink, but she didn't seem to be wearing lipstick. A little lipstick might have been a good idea, thought Devika, but she conceded that Anick might not have expected to have been brought to meet anyone on her stroll. They were shaped by the hand of God himself, Devika mused. She watched hard, trying to see if Anick really wore little makeup or if it was of such a quality and so well-applied that it looked natural. She thanked God that Viveka was not home, for next to this beauty Viveka would be rendered even plainer than she already was.

Nayan intoned apologetically that he had been taking Anick for a walk around the nieghbourhood and, spotting Valmiki and Devika through the shrubbery against the fence, had wanted to say a quick hello and introduce his wife. Devika invited them to come right in, come and sit down, have a cup of tea — or, Valmiki interjected, a glass of sparkling wine; there
was a chilled bottle with no other but their names on it. He added that he had heard from Nayan's father that Nayan had become a discerning wine drinker. Nayan raised his eyebrows and, chuckling said, “Discerning? That couldn't be the word Dad used!”

“What would he have said?” Devika provoked.

“He would more likely have said I became a snob, and he might have used a qualifying expletive, too.”

Valmiki sought to quickly throw water on this by saying that Ram, Nayan's father, had told them himself how proud he was of his son going abroad, graduating, and returning to his roots, qualified now to run Rimpty's and Son. No one pointed out that Nayan's marriage was not on that shortlist of accomplishments.

Valmiki insisted again on them coming right in for that drink and a slice of fruit cake. It was a display of hospitality that obviously pleased the young husband. He declined, saying that his mother was expecting them back shortly for dinner. Devika noted that he had grown into a lovely young man — not rough-around-the-edges like his cacao-farmer-father-come-to-town at all — and so gentle.

“Well, you will all have to come over soon and introduce . . . Anick . . .” Devika said to Nayan, a question mark in her voice, “to Viveka and Vashti.”

Then she said to Anick, “My eldest daughter likes your husband, you know. You will have to watch out, he is quite a catch.”

“Yes, I know, everybody tell me this,” Anick managed with a shy smile.

Valmiki slid in, “Well, clearly Nayan is the lucky one. You make a fine couple, Nayan. You did well. You did well.”

It was Nayan's turn to laugh, to be shy and proud at once.

Valmiki inquired after Nayan's parents.

“Mummy is good. Cooking a lot these days. And Dad, well, he is as usual. Everyday he goes to the office or up to Chayu, so we don't see him too much, which is not a bad thing.”

Valmiki asked if Anick had seen the estate as yet. She had been asking to go, Nayan replied, wanting to see the countryside and the rich lands that he had told her so much about, but it was crop season — his father wouldn't let her go when the workers were in the fields. He added, “You know how it is,” implying what didn't need to be said — a pretty white foreign woman among the workers might have incited slackness and bravado. Anick said, in her small voice, “He think I do not know to take care of myself.”

Nayan smiled, but he was unable to properly hide his slight peevishness at her comeback. He asked “Uncle” if he still hunted, and told Valmiki that the other day he had seen an agouti on the estate. He invited Valmiki to hunt there on a weekend when less work was carried on.

When Nayan and Anick left, Devika said, “Hm! Well, he will have good trouble with her. She is one beautiful woman. You don't think so?” Val raised his eyebrows, noncommittally. “He is one lucky man,” Devika persisted, “but he will catch his tail! You know how men are here. And you didn't see the thickness of that gold around her neck, Val? I wonder if he gave it to her, or if it was his parents who gave her that.” When Valmiki still didn't respond, she pushed. “Don't tell me you didn't see it. Everybody is saying how pretty she is, but I never imagined her to be
so
beautiful. I wonder how she will fare in that family. They shouldn't be all living in the same house, at all. That is a recipe for disaster, yes — she is a lot more cultured-looking than they are. You know what I mean?”

Trying unsuccessfully to hide the irritation in his voice, Valmiki retorted, “How can you tell that?”

“I can just tell. I mean, just look at her. Can't
you
tell? She will have him watching his back like crazy. That calypso is right:
Never marry a woman prettier than you
.”

THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN BELOW THE GULF'S HORIZON AND THE SKY
that had been red minutes ago had turned to a sooty black full of diamond-bright twinkling stars. Valmiki removed the bird cages from their hooks. The newest bird was jumpy. As he brought the cage down it slipped off its perch, its wings fluttering wildly behind it. Valmiki lifted the cage to his face. He looked through the wire bars directly into the bird's eyes. It climbed back up and hopped along the perch to the far end. Finally it moved its head, first a little to the left, as if to see better with that eye, and then it spun its head almost 360 degrees to watch Valmiki with the other eye. Valmiki was as still as could be, watching the bird with softened eyes. Through all this he heard Devika. She was goading him, “But then again, you married a woman prettier than you, and I am the one who has been catching hell. So it doesn't always work out as is expected, eh?”

This brought to Valmiki's mind the line,
Marry the one who loves you, not the one you love
. He lowered the cage and asked wearily, “So, what about your party? What date are you thinking of?” He and Devika walked inside, both of them carrying a cage in either hand. Valmiki pulled the door behind them. He latched it tight. Devika went ahead to the entrance of the dining room and switched on the patio lights. They would remain on until after the girls' return. He had long ago installed the plate for the light switch and it was crooked. That was more than fifteen years ago, and Valmiki knew that every time Devika passed it, it bothered her.

Seeing Nayan settled and happy had prompted in Valmiki thoughts of Viveka and how she unnerved him, how, lately, an image of her would come to his mind, but it would be as if she alternated in a constant and rapid tremble between being uniquely herself and adopting the perfect semblance of Anand. He and Devika were losing Viveka. He could feel it. Of course, he wanted her to soar. She, more than anyone else, would know what to do with opportunities that came her way, how to make something grand of life. But he worried there would be significant costs. What if, along the way, she lost herself? What he meant by that he wasn't sure. He had the strongest desire to snatch her up in the palm of his hand as if she were a little gem, close his fist tight around her, and keep her there. On the contrary, however: he would let her be whatever she wanted, everything she wanted. Except this, and this, and this, and that.

HAVING PLAYED VOLLEYBALL THE NIGHT BEFORE, HAVING GOT HER
way, even if it was on the sly, Viveka awoke the next morning feeling generous toward her family. Even if her mother had not got past their altercation, Viveka had. She left her room ready to enter the heart of the house, sprite and congenial. She was ravenous.

As she approached the kitchen she heard her mother on the telephone, devising a menu with the caterer. On the kitchen table she saw a guest list: there were more than twenty couples on it. It took no time at all for a series of gripes to ripple through her gut. These were soon accompanied by a general feeling of weakness and nausea.

Perhaps, she thought, this was the effect of eating doubles purchased the day before from one of the vendors stationed outside the university gates. Elliot had eaten them, too. She should call and see how he was.

In spite of the queasiness in her gut, out of habit she opened the fridge. Numerous plastic containers of this and that sat atop one another. Saucers with slices of chicken, papaya, sardines, plastic wrap stretched tight over each. Paratha wrapped in foil. Cheese. Guava jam, peanut butter, marmite. She stared blankly for a long time, listening to her mother trying to decide between
a North Indian-themed meal and a Chinese one: No, no, definitely no pork or beef, and the Chinese food would have to be done without a hint of pork, as there would be Hindus and Muslims at the party. Fish, chicken, duck — all three. Shrimp is fine, but you know how quickly it can turn in the heat. Nothing but the best, everything done with, with, with a European flair, if you know what I mean. Authentic Indian, authentic Chinese, whichever, but arranged and served with European — well, not just any European — more like
French
class and flair.

Viveka opened the oven door to see if anything left over from breakfast was being kept warm for her. A tea cloth draped a dish in which lay a wedge of coconut bake. There seemed to be no air in her chest. She shut the door and went back to the fridge. Her indecision caught her mother's eye. Devika glanced over at Viveka, and while remaining engaged in her conversation, she snapped her fingers. When she had caught Viveka's attention she pointed sharply to the oven, her forefinger wagging in insistence that Viveka take the bake there. Viveka hid behind the open door of the fridge and poured herself a tumbler of orange juice. Then she sat down at the kitchen table, her back to her mother and both hands wrapped around the cold and sweating glass. She felt badly about how she had left Elliot last night.

After she had refused to accommodate his desires a few weeks ago, he had withdrawn from her and they hadn't seen each other for a while. Then, yesterday, they had seen each other at the doubles stand, and after an awkward few minutes of catching up they were walking hand in hand. She didn't mind. In fact, she realized how much she missed him. They had spent the entire afternoon together at the library, and then Elliot invited himself to Viveka's and Helen's practice game. He kept his eyes on her and on Helen as they pranced about the court like colts.
The coach had left the team to play without instruction, as he sometimes did. They played harder on such days, knowing well that the coach was noting the strong and weak points of each player, making the kinds of decisions that coaches make. One of Viveka's teammates, Franka, of whom Viveka felt somewhat scornful for no reason she could identify, grabbed every opportunity to make contact with her — touching Viveka on her arm, her back, her waist. It was uncomfortable, in particular on an evening when Elliot was watching them play.

After the game Viveka and Helen went with the other players, as usual, to the pub. Helen's boyfriend, Wayne, was meeting them there, and Elliot decided he would tag along. Wayne and Helen had been sweethearts since high school. Wayne was comfortable with the other women, and they with him. Of course, he and Helen sat next to each other. At times he seemed to envelope Helen, and she would disappear into his large warmth willingly. But she would never disappear for long, and when she reappeared, her dominance in that group of fighting players dwarfed him, and he accepted this easily. He and she were like waves and weeds, each taking a turn at nipping and tickling the other.

Viveka had tried to work out in her head the consequences of reconnecting with Elliot, of so quickly getting close again. Should she sit next to him? Or should she make it so that he ended up sitting between others, perhaps across from her but not next to her? Elliot, however, decided the matter. He pushed his way in through the throng of women, ushered Viveka along the bench, and slid in beside her. She angled her body away from him, but made sure to turn back to laugh a comment to him once in a while so as not to be accused of slighting him. But when Franka, on the way to the bar to buy a drink, came around to Viveka and stooped to whisper in her ear, asking if she could
get her something from the bar, Viveka instinctively leaned against Elliot. She turned to face Elliot, and then looked up and smiled her decline to Franka. She made a fist and rested it on Elliot's knee, thumping it occasionally.