If Today Be Sweet (10 page)

“Well,” Susan began, and Tehmina could see that she was readying for an argument, wanting to assure Tehmina that she hadn't
done anything wrong. But as much as she appreciated Susan coming to her defense, she knew she didn't need defending against her own son.

“We all need to go back to bed,” she interrupted, walking toward her own room. At the doorway, she glanced back. “I love you both. Good night,” she said with a smile, hoping that Sorab would see that there was nothing to forgive.

She headed for the bathroom. May as well use the bathroom while everybody was still up. This winter cold made her pee so often, it was a running joke in the family. Sorab had taken to calling her B.B. for baby bladder.

Back in her room she climbed into bed. She could hear the children murmuring to each other in the other room and she wished she could urge Susan to stop chastising Sorab and let the poor boy go back to sleep. But in the solitude of her room, her instinctive resolution to forgive her son for his harsh words, to ignore the shocked hurt he had caused her, receded a bit. In its place, she felt a certain coldness, an icy feeling of disappointment and grief. Sorab had never spoken to her in this tone before. It was a measure of how much pressure he was under, how many burdens she had put on her son's head. And now a flood of emotions assailed her—guilt at adding to Sorab's problems, sadness at his impatient words that now stung at her like mosquitoes, shock at having her house violated by a drunken thief, revulsion at Sharukh dirtifying the clean sheets on her bed.

Her bed. The bed that she had shared with Rustom for most of their marriage. Closing her eyes, Tehmina remembered the beautiful, dark polish of the teakwood, the intricate carvings on the headboard. They had had so little money in the early years of their marriage when Rustom had made this extravagant purchase. How she had yelled at him then. And he had stood, grinning at her impudently, waiting for a break in the tongue-lashing she was giving him, to put his arms around her. “It's fine, it's okay, my darling,” he had
murmured. “The business is beginning to pick up, God willing. And I want the bed where all my children are going to be born to be grand as a king's throne.”

“But, Rustom,” she protested, worried about the money they had already borrowed from his parents.

“But, fut, nothing,” he said firmly, holding his finger to her mouth. “Now come on, woman. Don't you want to try out this wonderful bed I've spent my hard-earned money on?”

Tehmina smiled at the memory, but her smile was tinged with something bitter. Rustom had always declared that he wanted at least five children. He himself had been an only child and he had sworn that he would never settle for just one child, that it was an unfair thing for parents to do, that children needed siblings. She, too, had been happy to oblige. But fate had decreed otherwise. What was that Omar Khayyám line? She thought for a moment and then it unfolded in her head. But instead of hearing it in her own voice, she heard it in Rustom's.

She still didn't know what had gone wrong, why Rustom and she had been unable to have more children after Sorab was born. Even that birth had been a miracle, coming three years into their marriage. Every doctor they went to said there was nothing wrong with either one of them. For a while, Rustom's mother, Bikhumai, made Tehmina swallow a series of foul-tasting tonics and powders. Bikhumai took their inability to conceive more children as a personal insult, as a sign of God's displeasure with her. For a year, the woman gave up eating chocolate, as an offering to appease Ahura Mazda. Then she
swore off ice cream, which everyone knew that she loved. But when she announced that she was renouncing bread until God saw fit to bless her son with another child, Rustom put his foot down. “All this nonsensical faras must stop immediately, Mamma,” he roared one day when they were having Sunday dinner at his parents' home. “Bas, if we are meant to have more children, we will. In the meantime, just enjoy your grandson. What is it, is my Sorab not enough for you that you keep doing all this nataak-nakhra?”

Despite Rustom's severe tone, despite the fact that he had banged his fist on the dining table, something in his tone told Tehmina that this was mock anger, that her husband was playing out a role in a time-honored ritual.

And since she understood her exact role in that ritual, Bikhumai pretended to tremble under the fury of her son's anger and swore that she would resume eating all her favorite things, if only he would stop being angry with her. And then, continuing to play her part, she grew indignant and chided Rustom for accusing her of not loving her only grandson enough and swore that if even a hair on her beloved Sorab's head were to get bent, why, she would be beside herself with grief. After fifteen minutes of such protestations and declarations of undying love for Sorab, Bikhumai was finally exhausted into silence. Glancing her way, Rustom gave Tehmina a quick wink. The rest of the dinner proceeded happily and Tehmina never again had to endure her mother-in-law's home remedies.

Tehmina turned in her bed, which suddenly seemed narrow and bleak compared to that generous teak bed in which she and Rustom had slept every day of their married life. She remembered the feel of Rustom's strong arm around her as he cradled her every night, her back against his hard chest, his brown hairy leg wrapped around hers. Just like early tonight, when he had visited her in this bedroom. No matter how tired or restless she had been, leaning against Rustom's body never failed to bring her comfort, a feeling of homecoming,
like a train entering a station. And that was what she missed most, she now realized, that feeling of protection. As long as Rustom was alive, he had stood like a wall between her and the world, protecting her from its demands and barbs and hurts. Even after Rustom had neutralized his mother's interference into the child-bearing problem, he had further insulated Tehmina from all gossip and conjecture. Ever so subtly Rustom would drop hints that made it sound as if the lack of another child stemmed from his inability to impregnate his wife. Just some whispered hints about how the doctor wanted to run more tests on him but he had refused. And if that wasn't enough to convince his listener, he would add that the whole thing had been so hard on poor Tehmina, but she had learned to hide her disappointment, God bless her. No other Parsi male whom Tehmina knew would've done that. No other. Tehmina knew of several men, who, despite a low sperm count, automatically blamed their wife's barren womb and with a straight face lapped up all the sympathy and pity that inevitably came their way.

He had been this protective of her from the day she'd met him at a party at Nilu Sukharwala's home. Tehmina had grown up in Calcutta, the only child of a doctor, but through a program at her school, she had started corresponding with Nilu, who lived in Bombay, since both girls were fifth graders. Now, for her twenty-fifth birthday, she had begged her father, Hoshang, to let her travel to Bombay to meet Nilu. Her pen pal had already visited her in Calcutta the previous year and had spun Tehmina's head with stories of Bandra, where the movie stars lived, and Juhu Beach, where Bollywood movies were shot on location, and Colaba, where one could shop for just about anything. What sealed the deal was a letter from Nilu's mother, promising Hoshang that they would take care of his daughter as if she were a member of the family. And Hoshang had finally given his consent, but even at the train station he looked nervous until he finally got hold of an elderly Gujarati couple traveling in the same
compartment as Tehmina and made them promise to watch out for his daughter. Tehmina was embarrassed, but as soon as the train took off, the unexpected pleasure of freedom, of being away from home for the first time, overrode all other feelings.

It seemed to Tehmina that Nilu had invited all of Bombay to her party. It turned out that Nilu's parents were a lot more relaxed than Mrs. Sukharwala's note had indicated. They were attending a dinner party themselves, leaving the two girls at home with Nilu's older brother, whom everybody called Smits, and Geeta, the servant girl who helped them set out the food.

The noise, the heat, the music, the loud laughter and conversation, the gaiety of the crowd, the easy, casual way in which the boys and girls spoke to one another, were all intoxicating to Tehmina. I'm in Bombay, she kept saying to herself. These are all Bombayites. Everything she'd ever heard about Bombayites seemed true—these people were more mature, more sophisticated, more urbane than her crowd in Calcutta. Her birth city suddenly seemed drab and mellow to her, compared with the pungent, thrilling sharpness with which these people spoke and acted. Although she knew this was far-fetched, she kept glancing at the front door, expecting a film star to walk in at any minute.

So that she was the first to notice Rustom when he walked into the room a little after eight. She spotted a thin, tall man in a blue, half-sleeved shirt, his eyes darting around the room, searching for his host. She saw him run his hand through his thick, dark hair in a gesture she recognized as nervous uncertainty. She saw him smile apologetically at the woman he had bumped into as he made his way into the crowded room. She could tell that like her, he had not expected to find so many people at the party, that he was a little out of his element. Now he was turning his head, trying to locate either Nilu or Smits. He must've felt her eyes on him because he looked at her, raised his eyebrows a bit in greeting, and then quickly looked
away. But the next second he was looking at her again, this time holding her glance, so that she felt compelled to walk over to where he was standing.

“Hi,” she said, annoyed to hear the breathlessness in her voice. “I'm Tehmina. Are you looking for Smits or Nilu?”

“Aha. Tehmina. So you're the famous friend from Calcutta?”

She blushed. “Not so famous.” Her voice trailed away as she found herself focusing on the small pimple at the left corner of his lips. It was the cutest pimple she'd ever seen.

The man cleared his throat. “Ahem. So, Tehmina. Tell me. How do you find Bombay?” Up close, he didn't seem as uncomfortable as he'd looked a moment ago.

“You take the train from Calcutta and get off at VT station.”

He started. “Oh, no, what I meant was—” He caught the twinkle in her eye and broke into a wide grin. “I see. Well, I fell for that.”

Tehmina suddenly felt like life would only be sweet and worth living if she could make this man smile again. “Sorry. I'm just being silly.”

This time, the smile was slower, more calculating, and there was a gleam in his eye. “Well, hello, silly. Nice to meet you. I'm Rustom Sethna.”

“And I'm—but I already told you. You know who I am.” Get hold of yourself, Tehmina said to herself. You're acting like a fool.

Rakesh, one of Smits's friends, staggered up to her. “Ae, Tehmi, sure I still can't get you something to drink? Not even a Coke?” The boy had been making a pest of himself all evening long and she had tolerated him, but now Tehmina hated his intrusive, drunken presence. She wanted to shut her eyes and have Rakesh gone when she opened them again. Actually, she wanted every person in the room to have vanished when she opened her eyes. Everyone except this handsome, smiling man standing next to her.

She threw Rustom a glance that was equal parts apology and dis
tress. And as if he had read her mind, Rustom took her by the elbow and led her away. “Hey, thanks for offering, yaar,” he tossed back at Rakesh. “But I've already gotten my cousin's drink order.”

“Your cousin? Oh, okay. Sorry, boss.” Rakesh looked so despondent and confused that Tehmina had to bite down on her lip to stop from laughing out loud.

“Well, now that we're relatives, I may as well know your taste in drink.” Rustom smiled as they walked a few feet away.

“I'll have whatever you're drinking,” she said impulsively.

“Okay, good. Listen, I have to go find Smits for a minute to say hello. And then I'll be straight back with your glass. Where will you be?”

“I'll wait right here,” Tehmina said. “Just like the Boy Who Stood on the Burning Deck.” She knew she was being reckless, flirting so shamelessly with a stranger. But she didn't care. She would be back in Calcutta in a fortnight and she would never see this beautiful young man again. Her heart contracted at the thought.

“You know that story? My mom used to read it to me at least once a week when I was a boy. I loved that story.”

“Me, too. Though I cried every time I read it.”

There was something in Rustom's eyes that she couldn't quite figure out. “So you believe in that kind of loyalty and faithfulness?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“My friends used to think that boy was foolish.” He was looking at her so hard, it made her feel translucent.

She shrugged, partly to hide her embarrassment. “I believe in keeping my word.”

He smiled again, as if they had settled something. “Good. So stay here, okay? I'll be back in a jiffy.”

Her knees were so weak she couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. She watched as Rustom found Smits and both men
hugged each other and Smits thumped Rustom on the back. She watched as Smits went off to find Nilu and noticed the look of deep pleasure with which Nilu greeted Rustom. Instinctively, Rustom turned around to find her and threw her a wink. She blushed and looked away. And then there he was a few minutes later, holding two beer glasses and making his way toward her.

“The food smells heavenly,” he said.

“Hope so. Nilu and I were in the kitchen all day today.”

“And what dishes did you make? I want to taste them all.”