Flowers in the Blood (39 page)

He glanced away. “When I was given the choice between two girls.”

“I did not know about that until afterward.”

“It came as a jolt to me too.”

“My sister is much younger than I.”

“I came across India to meet you. How could I have selected her?”

“If you do not prefer me, then you should not be forced to accept me.

“Nobody forces me to do anything against my will. They never have and they never shall!” he shouted. When he lowered his voice, he did so without apology. “My mother has had a hard life and has sacrificed much, especially for me. I cannot blame her for wanting me to be happy. She should give you a chance. Just because she has heard rumors and just because you have an unusual past does not mean you are not the right wife for me. You have traveled to places like Darjeeling. You have been to a good school. To me you are much more interesting than the young women I have met around Cochin.”

“What rumors are you talking about?” I gave him what I hoped was a steady gaze.

“About your first marriage and your mother's death.” There was no hesitation in his voice as he spoke. “My mother, like so many of her age, is superstitious. She knows you descend from the Cohen who founded the Jewish community here, and she reminded me of an old saying . . .”

“Yes?” I asked, wondering what he meant.

“ 'The tears of a Cohena—the daughter of a Cohen—bring bad luck,' she warned me.” He shrugged. “I pointed out to her that we had known those facts before we ever left the Malabar Coast and that we had made a promise.”

“Only a promise to consider me,” I added, not thinking I could be hurting my chances. Any concern that this young man did not like me or that I might not feel the same way after we had met had been dissipated in the first seconds of our encounter.

“Well, then, I will consider you if you will consider me.”

“Consider me considering.” I laughed.

“All right, then, consider me considering you giving me your consideration.”

“My considerable consideration.”

“You win that round!”

A small breakfast had been placed on the table beside us, but neither of us showed any interest in the food. Nor did I offer to pour the tea. Suddenly I realized that my arm lay on the edge of the chair and his rested on the same place on his chair. If the gap had been an inch narrower, we would have touched.

I leaned closer to him. He bent toward me. I spoke softly. “Is this a match with winners and losers?”

“No, this is the one game in which there are only winners.”

“Does the game have rules?”

“Oh, yes, thousands.”

“How do I learn them?”

“We invent them as we go along.”

“Fine. Rule number one: the game begins when one team member shows up by surprise and declares the play is on.”

“Rule number two: the game may be played by only two. No more, no less.”

For a long while we stared at each other, completely absorbed and not requiring speech to be comfortable together until “Well . . .” was spoken in unison and accompanied by mutual laughter. The next moment his hand folded across mine. I felt as if a bolt etched a jagged line in my heart. Only his pressure on my wrist kept me from surging toward him.

“Dinah . . .” How euphonious my name sounded when he said it!

“Edwin,” I attempted, entirely forgetting
Edwin Drood
or any other association except that of the moment, when his light brown eyes with flecks of gold bore into mine.

There was nothing more to say and everything more to say. Staring at him as if I had just been granted the gift of sight, I knew that everything was going to be all right.

“There they are,” Zilpah said loudly as a warning.

We slipped our hands into our respective laps and struggled to our feet. Zilpah noticed that we had not eaten. “You weren't hungry?” she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she went on, “Did you sit here the whole time? I would have thought they would have wanted to go for a walk, wouldn't you, Mrs. Salem?”

“Yes, especially since there is a breeze on this side of the house.”

“November is one of Calcutta's better months.”

“You were so right in suggesting it,” Mrs. Salem replied smoothly.

“Well, then”—Zilpah looked at me for some sense of where she should go—”I certainly hope this pleasant morning visit does not preclude your return this evening. My husband is looking forward to having you join us.”

“We would not miss it, Mrs. Sassoon.” Edwin spoke for his mother.

Somewhat flustered, Mrs. Salem nodded. “Yes, eight in the evening is the, time I believe you mentioned.”

“Why don't you come at seven?” I added to show that I was keeping up my part of that particular round. “Papa is usually home by then, and that would give us more time for you to meet my brothers.”

“Very well,” Zilpah said as she brilliantly masked her shock. “Seven would be excellent.”

 

That evening Edwin got on splendidly with Pinhas and Jonah. During dinner they discussed teachers they knew in common at St. Xavier's, and from time to time Jonah beamed at me to let me know he approved. When Asher and Simon were invited in, Edwin turned his attention to the younger boys, effortlessly changing the topic to cricket and tennis and whatever else interested them. The whole while I worried how he would react when he saw Ruby, and I was even more apprehensive to see how she would behave.

Just before their bedtime, Selima ushered the two girls into the hall. Ruby wore a cream-colored frock with a rose sash. A large lace bib covered her chest. Her long raven curls fell around her shoulders. She had a matching bow in her hair. Seti wore an identical dress, but with yellow and green ribbons.

“How many more brothers and sisters do you have?” Edwin asked me.

“That's all, we're all here!” Seti blurted.

Edwin bent close to her. “Are you certain? Every hour or so, two more come out of a secret door. Maybe there are dozens more waiting their turn.”

“No, there aren't!” she giggled.

“Oh, dear.” He made a sad face. “I did so hope there were a few more beautiful sisters. Are you the last of your line, then?”

“Yes.”

“You could not find one more?”

She shook her head.

“Not even one?”

She had caught on to his joke and teased him back: “Well, maybe one.”

“How could you?” Ruby asked in alarm. “There aren't any more of us. You know that, Seti.”

Edwin studied Ruby to see what new twist she had added to his game. When he saw the earnestness in her expression, his mouth twisted for a second; then he recovered and spoke with an exaggerated sigh. “Then, if there are no more Sassoon girls, I shall have to wait and hope that someday I have a daughter that is an equal to any of you three.” He turned to me and winked.

From the rustle of activity on the parental side of the room, we sensed the evening was about to end. Edwin drew me aside and whispered, “I do not want to go.”

“I don't want you to leave either.”

“I must see you soon.”

“Tomorrow. I will ask my father.”

“I don't care what your father says.”

“Edwin!” I admonished.

“Rule number twelve: your father shall not rule my life.”

“Rule number thirteen: your mother shall not rule mine.”

“Touché.” He looked at the gilded clock on the mantel. “It is half-past ten. I cannot wait any more than twelve hours. No, even that is far too long.”

“You will be sleeping most of that time.”

“Perhaps you shall sleep. I shall lie awake talking to you.”

“And I shall respond, but in my dreams.” I pretended to yawn, even though I had never been less tired in my life.

“I will come tomorrow, as early as I dare.”

As soon as he left, I felt a dreadful pulling in my chest. I wanted to be beside him, close to him, touching him, and any separation was almost more than I could bear.

“He is coming back tomorrow morning,” I told Zilpah after they had departed. “Do you think Papa will mind?”

“No. Your father and Mrs. Salem have agreed you both should have a week to become acquainted with each other.”

I beamed, but did not mention that we were already acquainted.

“We are pleased you both seem to be taking our match with remarkable amiability,” she said with a conspiratorial grin.

26

 

T
he following morning Edwin arrived at nine o'clock without his mother, who would be “coming later.” He and I assumed our position on the terrace and talked for several hours without stopping.

He asked me about my schooling, the courses I had preferred, the authors I had read. Anything I replied was met by a welcoming nod, as though I had expressed his exact preference, or if I had not, that he understood why I felt as I did. With Silas, I had always been on guard, concerned that any moment I might seem puerile or my reasoning faulty. With Edwin, I believed I had just made the most marvelously brilliant point and he was waiting expectantly for the next.

“I heard you went to many schools,” I said, curious as to why someone like him would have had any difficulties learning.

“Yes, they kept sending me away.”

“What did you do wrong?”

“Wrong? I did everything right.” Seeing that he had perplexed me enough, he explained, “Schoolwork is simplicity itself if you have a tidy mind. Thousands of compartments fill my brain. I merely open a door, pick a subject, then shovel in the information. When it is full, I close it. Whenever recall is required, I only must remember which drawer to open. It is both a gift and a curse.”

His singular description of learning left me speechless. At last I managed, “You never have to study?”

“Oh, I have to study—that is the shoveling part, and shoveling is hard labor—but after that I rarely forget anything.”

“That is impossible.”

“Try me.”

“The date of Clive's victory at Plassey.”

“Seventeen-fifty-seven, but that's too simple.”

“When did Marco Polo visit India?”

“In 1295.”

“Caput mundi.”

“The Romans thought of Rome as
caput mundi
, literally the head—or the capital—of the world.”

“Who wrote 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'?”

“Robert Herrick. '. . . Old Time is still a-flying . . .' “ His expression taunted me to give up.

I worked hard at thinking up a more challenging question. Finally I had it. “The rules of the game. Our game. Recite them.”

“Rule number one: the game begins when one team member shows up by surprise and declares the play is on. Rule number two: the game may be played by only two. No more, no less. Rule number three: speaking the same word at the same time entitles me to a kiss— someday.” He went on right down the list to the most current ones. “Rule number twelve: your father shall not rule my life.”

I had forgotten most of them, except the third, which had thrilled me the moment he invented it. He probably knew exactly how many kisses I owed him. “I give up. You know everything!”

He shook his head. “I don't know everything. I only know what is in the compartments. That is why I went to so many schools. Once they had nothing more to offer, I moved on. It is true I did not complete the program, which really means going for so many years and taking so many courses and meeting the requirements to pass each of them. I had more than enough to my credit by the time I was sixteen, so there was no point in wasting my mother's money to have me warm a seat for several more years. That is why she sent me to Singapore. And just because I did not sit in a dusty classroom doesn't mean I did not continue my education. Whenever I want to learn something new, I open up a fresh compartment and get to work.”

“Am I in one?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“No.”

I flushed.

“You are in every one,” he said in a voice that sounded like water rushing over stones.

In a few moments we were called into the house because his mother had joined us for tiffin.

After the meal, Zilpah spoke tensely. “Mrs. Salem, I thought we might show you some of our fine city.” She went on to describe an excursion she had organized.

In the landau the two women faced forward, while Edwin and I sat on the same seat and faced backward. Neither of us cared much for where we were going. Since Edwin had attended school in Calcutta, he had no interest in sightseeing. However, with both mothers watching our every twitch and straining to overhear our every whisper, we dutifully pretended to be watching the promenades of the Maidan as we made our way up the Red Road and back down to the racecourse, where little men curried horses that glistened in the sun.

On several occasions, Zilpah asked the driver to stop. Edwin and I would wait until the ladies were out, then alight from the opposite side of the carriage and stroll away from them so we could finally say all the ideas that had welled up in the interval.

I had never before heard anyone who could talk as fast as Edwin. In less than a minute he expressed more than the average person did in an hour. I already knew he had an extraordinary memory, yet he did not flaunt his education, not even the way Silas might have. Everything about Edwin was a fusion of mind, of body, of spirit, of knowledge. Best of all, he could communicate without words, a skill that was essential as Zilpah and his mother chatted stiffly in the background.

“Where shall we go next?” Zilpah asked gaily as we headed out of the Maidan at last.

“The river,” I suggested. “It is always lovely just before nightfall.”

“Perfect,” Edwin murmured into my ear.

“What is perfect? The river?”

“You . . . you . . .”

After several hours, we returned to Theatre Road. “Please join us for a light supper this evening. Nothing formal, just the family,” Zilpah offered graciously.

“No, you have gone to far too much trouble for us today.” Mrs. Salem looked over at her son and gave him a warning glance. “Don't forget, you have been entertaining Edwin since dawn.”

“I know you both must be tired, so I will not insist—at least not tonight, but you must allow our driver to see you to your lodgings.”

“That is most kind, Mrs. Sassoon,” Mrs. Salem said.

The moment they had left, I was miserable. “Couldn't you have made them stay?”

Zilpah looked at me with deep concern. “Dinah, this is only their second day in Calcutta. We cannot rush things.”

“Why?”

“It would be unseemly,” she replied testily.

I burst into tears.

“I thought you two were having a wonderful time. What happened? Did he say something unkind to you?”

“No, no, it's not him, it's you.” I gulped. “Not you, I mean it is you and his mother. We need time to be alone, to talk together.”

Zilpah's shoulders sagged with relief. “You do still like him.”

“I have never liked anyone better in my whole life.”

“Your father and I want you to be happy with him, but we cannot let you spend time together unchaperoned.”

“I know, but couldn't we go out with someone else?”

“Who?”

“Yali?”

Zilpah gave the matter some thought, then shook her head. “Ayahs have a reputation for letting girls twist them. I don't think that would satisfy Mrs. Salem.”

“I am not her daughter. Why should she care?”

“Propriety concerns her. Believe me, she has not forgotten about the problems you present. This match has not been finalized. You must see the sense in not doing anything that would cause her to question your worthiness.”

“I suppose you are right, but couldn't you get rid of Mrs. Salem for a day and supervise us yourself?”

“She is alone here. How can I do that?”

“What about Grandmother Helene?”

Zilpah's lips pursed a few times before she replied. “I don't see any objections to having a woman her age attend to you. Besides, it would do her good to get out, since she does not have her own carriage. Perhaps you two could even assist her with some errands.”

I threw my arms around Zilpah and gave her a loud smack on the cheek.

The next morning she convinced Mrs. Salem to permit us to go off with Grandmother Helene. As soon as we were out of sight of Theatre Road, I shifted in my seat so Edwin and I touched at several points. Wordlessly I tried to convey that he could relax, but he misinterpreted my expression and stiffened.

“Now, children, why don't you pretend I am not here?” said Grandmother Helene blithely, aware of every nuance.

Our first stop was a fruit market in the Tiretta Bazaar, where Grandmother Helene strolled more as an amusement than a purchasing expedition. She sniffed the figs, tasted the pistachios, poked at the apricots, before selecting a large quantity of almonds. “Look at those grapes! Like black pearls! The first of the season. I must have some of those.” She bargained without enthusiasm, for she had to have them at any price, and placed her treasure in the basket a market boy carried on his head.

Edwin and I followed several paces behind. “What a wonderful grandmother,” he said as he admired the heavyset woman's bouncy step.

“She's not really my grandmother. Both of mine are dead. She is Ruby's.”

“Oh, my mother doesn't realize that.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“It should not, but she walks a narrow path between what she thinks is right and wrong. The problem is that she lets others determine her path, not her own judgment. If she would only do what she thinks is right, if she could be more flexible . . .” His voice faded off as Grandmother Helene waved us to follow her into an alleyway.

Just when it seemed that she must go down every row and check out the delicacies offered at every stall, she stopped abruptly. “Enough. Let us go back to my house and eat almonds and grapes and maybe some tiffin besides.”

After a light luncheon in the dining room, she served coffee in the parlor. Only two cups arrived. I began to pour and handed her one made with extra milk and sugar, the way I knew she liked it. “No, I won't have any. You two have exhausted me. I hope you will forgive an old woman, but I must go upstairs for my rest.” She looked around the room. “Oh, it is far too bright in here. The sunlight bleaches my upholstery.” She went to each window and closed the draperies. “That is better. It will stay nice and cool in here this afternoon.” She made her way to the vestibule doorway. “Now, Dinah, as you know, my servants take a good long rest themselves in the afternoons. If you require anything else, you shall have to find it yourself. Nobody will be available for several hours.” Without another word, she closed the door.

Edwin spun on his heels and stared at me for confirmation of what had occurred. I was grinning. He held out his arms. I leapt up and managed to fly across the room and into his enfolding embrace without my feet touching the floor.

“Oh, Dinah! At last! My darling.”

I craned my head back and looked up at him as his warm hands cupped my face. “How many?”

He blinked. “What?”

“How many kisses are we owed?”

“Ten thousand and one.”

I pushed him back firmly. “No, how many?” I demanded.

“Thirty-two.”

Sensation left my legs, but his arms were so strong that I lost my fear of falling and let the tide sweep me toward him. I reached up and placed my hands at the back of his neck, caressing his hair, which felt like thick bands of silk. He placed one leg between mine and twisted me around so he could bend over and reach my mouth. His forelock brushed my cheek. “One,” he said as he touched his lips to mine so lightly I felt as though he had blessed me. “Two,” he said as he pressed harder. “Three.” His mouth opened. “Four,” he said without moving his lips away from mine. Five and six I counted to myself, and after that, silence gripped us. There was nothing but the tender and the hard, the tasting and probing, touching and pressing, as we thoroughly investigated the sublime nature of the kiss.

 

We spent the next day, and the next after that, and even one more after that, in Grandmother Helene's parlor. There was no more talk of bazaars or shopping chores. Grandmother Helene merely came for us at ten each morning and delivered us back at Theatre Road every evening at six.

We never expressed our gratitude, but she knew that nothing she could have done for us would have pleased us more. As soon as we were alone, Edwin and I would fall upon each other like starving animals and devour each other with kisses. After an hour—maybe longer—we would be satiated enough to speak. Our words would tumble in an avalanche. We had to share every detail of our lives since we were last together. A broken perfume bottle, a funny story of a servant, a sight on the street, an unhappy thought alone in the night bubbled out until the well of individual experience was drained and our memories blended with the moment. Only then did we dare take refreshment, move about the room, and speak of more abstract ideas.

There were no secrets between us. One day I told him he must not touch me, and he was infuriated, thinking my feelings for him had altered. When I tried to explain about the time of the month, he grabbed me, plunged his tongue into my mouth, then said, “Now I have sinned. So what?”

“You don't mind?”

“Mind! Do you expect me to remain apart from you for half my life?”

“I thought you liked rules.”

“Only the ones I invent.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “You probably have never done anything naughty in your life.”