Monsoon Summer (17 page)

THIRTY-TWO

I tried Calling Steve when Saturday rolled around, but the connection was terrible and we kept getting cut off. I didn't mind, actually. I knew he hadn't received my letters yet; they'd probably arrive by the time we talked the following week. The thought of them on their way made my unreliable stomach start dancing Kathak like a maniac. He did manage to tell me when he'd sent the money, so I knew Danita's revolving loan would be coming soon.

At five-thirty, I went down to the gates of Asha Bari to wait for the familiar white car. The driver looked surprised when I opened the gates myself so that he could pull in and park. Sonia rolled down the back window as he turned the engine off.

“Jazz! You look fabulous!” she squealed. I was glad I'd put on my purple and white
salwar kameez
that morning. “Just like a film star yourself!”

Lila's head popped up next to Sonia's. “Gorgeous!”

Rini's voice came from behind them. “I can't see her, girls! Sit back, will you?”

“Are you volunteering as the gatekeeper now, Jazz?” Sonia asked.

“You're such a do-gooder, Jazz!” Lila added.

“I still can't see you, Jazz!” Rini's voice squealed. “Make some room, will you?”

“The gatekeeper's on a tea break,” I said. “Want to come inside the orphanage and have a look around?”

“No time, Jazz darling,” Sonia said. “Besides, we've already seen the place. Daddy takes the three of us to the benefit show every monsoon season, and one of the nuns gives a tour. It's a bit boring after all these years, to tell you the truth.”

But you haven't seen Maya, I thought as Saleem turned the engine back on. Or visited Mom's clinic. Or heard Danita talk about Nageena Designs.

Rini finally managed to squeeze her head between the other two. “You give the tour this year, Jazz,” she said, grinning at me. “We promise to take it again if you do.” The other two heads nodded along with hers.

“Okay,” I agreed, and climbed in the car.

The driver dropped us off at a samosa joint just outside the movie theater. The small, crispy squares of pastry weren't as good as Danita's, but I ate about six of them anyway. As we laughed and chatted in a corner of the crowded restaurant, I felt relaxed despite the attention we were attracting, mainly from guys our age. I was definitely drawing a lot of the stares, but they were ogling Sonia, too, and even Rini and Lila. I pretended I didn't notice our audience, just as the other three seemed to.

“How were your exams?” I asked them.

Sonia looked gloomy. “Awful.”

Lila groaned. “Horrible.”

“My aunt's going to faint when she sees my marks,” Rini added, frowning.

I decided to change the subject. “How are the boys doing?”

They brightened immediately. “Fantastic!” said Sonia. “We went dancing last night and Mahesh couldn't keep his eyes off Lila.”

“Stop it!” said Lila, flipping a hand at Sonia. “You should have seen Arvind mooning over Rini.”

Rini chimed in, right on cue. “And Lila's cousin's gone mad over Sonia. He keeps riding his motorcycle by her house over and over again. It's just like a film, isn't it? Next thing you know he'll be singing outside her window.”

“Aj tum-hara jon-mo-din . . . ,” they began singing, snapping their fingers. The boys around us grinned, obviously enjoying the free movie preview.

“That reminds me,” I interrupted. “I've been learning to dance.”

“Wonderful!”

“Groovy!”

“Great! You can join us on Fridays, then.”

“I don't think I can do Kathak at a disco,” I informed them, grinning.

“Why in the world are you learning
that
old-fashioned dance?” Lila asked.

“I think it's wonderful,” Rini said. “Remember that film Nacho, Nacho, Nacho?”

I forgot for a moment that she was speaking Hindi and pictured a big plate of cheese-covered tortilla chips.

“Dance, Dance, Dance,” Sonia said, setting me straight with her translation. “How could I forget that poor Kathak dancer! She fell in love with a Mughal prince, didn't she? Got thrown off his horse as they were eloping and lost the use of her legs.”

They were quiet, remembering the dancer's tragedy with a moment of silence. “You'll have to learn to sing, too, Jazz,” Rini said, bringing an end to their wordless tribute. “Then you can audition for a modern version of that film.”

“Why is there always so much singing and dancing in Bollywood movies, anyway?” I asked. “Can't you watch something without any music in it?”

They shook their heads. “No way,” Rini said. “How dull would that be?”

“Every Hollywood film I've seen could use a good song and dance number,” Lila added.

“A romantic scene without a song?” Sonia asked. “Impossible.”

Sure enough, Aj Tumhara Jon-mo-din had eight musical numbers in it. Most of the audience, including Rini, Lila, and Sonia, knew all the words and sang them wholeheartedly. As I tapped my feet to the lively beat and watched the heroine swing her braid in the hero's direction, even I couldn't help humming along.

Danita was punching numbers into a calculator. We'd priced materials at different shops, and now she was trying to figure out how much she could save by buying in bulk.

“Girls, girls, open the door!” came Sister Das's voice from outside. She was breathing heavily, as though she'd sprinted up the stairs.

Danita threw open the door. “What happened, Auntie? What's wrong?”

Sister Das stumbled into the tiny room and sat down, clutching a letter. “Nothing is wrong at all. It's a miracle, in fact. A godsend. Let me catch my breath and tell you about it.”

She wiped her brow with her saree. “From time to time, as you girls know, Asha Bari has received donations from abroad. The Gardner family, for example, has often sent checks in the past. But this morning, I received an anonymous donation that somebody sent express mail from America. The donor wants an interest-free revolving loan fund set up, so that any Asha Bari girl who wants to start her own business can borrow from it. You have your start-up money, Danita, my dear.”

Steve and the bank had come through with perfect timing, and I was now the sole anonymous investor in Nageena Designs.

I threw my arms around Danita, but it was like hugging a post. She was stiff with shock, staring down at the paper Sister Das had given her, too dazed to notice my lack of surprise. Sister Das's expression, however, became increasingly suspicious as she watched us.

“It
is
a miracle,” Danita whispered. “I can really begin now. Oh, the little girls will be so thrilled when I tell them.”

“Will you let Sister Das turn down Ganesh's proposal now?” I asked eagerly.

Danita looked up and met my eyes. “Not yet,” she said. “It's still too soon, Jazz. I must believe that people really want to buy my products. Only then can I refuse this man's offer.”

I almost groaned out loud. I'd thought for sure this loan would make the difference.

“Take your time, Danita,” Sister Das said. “Nobody else knows about Ganesh's proposal, so it will not be difficult to keep him waiting. You need as much confidence in your abilities as Jasmine and I have. Oh, and let's keep the news of this donation a secret also. I want to announce it at the annual show. That way there will be no opportunity for gossip and rumors to spread about how and where you got the money.”

“Yes,” I agreed quickly. “Let's not even tell my parents about it.”

Mom and Dad might guess my secret when they heard the announcement. I wanted to savor it for a while without any reaction, even from them.

“All right, Auntie,” Danita said, giving her a grateful look. “Thank you so much for everything.”

“Since you can't thank the donor directly, Danita, you'll have to trust that she'll sense your gratitude without any words.” Sister Das used the feminine pronoun as if she were sure of the donor's gender and beamed at me so lovingly that I wanted to shout, “You're welcome! It was my pleasure!”

Instead, I grabbed the letter out of Danita's hand, tossed it aside, and led her in a wild monsoon dance around the room.

THIRTY-THREE

“Your mother and I desperately need a date, kids,” Dad announced.

Mom's saree was crumpled and stained from a long morning at the clinic. She had a habit of hoisting half-naked toddlers on her hip as she talked with their mothers. It usually didn't take long before one of the little ones drenched her saree. But Mom didn't care; three more healthy babies had been delivered in the last week. What was a stained saree compared to that?

“Take a shower and get dressed, Sarah,” Dad ordered. “I'm going to splurge and take you to a five-star hotel. Let's get fancy for once. You deserve it.”

Mom pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. “You, too, darling. Sister Das told me that almost all the nuns are computer literate now. They'll have Internet access before you leave. And you've worked a wonder with the accounts. She says spreadsheets make bookkeeping a snap.”

“She's learned faster than most of my lab assistants,” Dad said. “She's even writing programs now. Are you okay holding down the fort, Jazz?”

I surveyed my parents' eager faces. “I guess so,” I said reluctantly. “I was going down to Asha Bari to call Steve, but I suppose I can take Eric with me.”

“Yes!” said Eric. “Finally! I never get to talk to Steve.”

I couldn't wait till Saturday to tell Steve that the donation had arrived. Besides, it had been ten days since I'd mailed those letters. Surely he had received them by now and I could end this agony of endless waiting. Now I'd have to figure out a way to distract my brother and keep the conversation private.

Mom disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed. When she emerged, I watched Dad's jaw drop. She was wearing a brand-new blue silk saree that shimmered like a tropical coral reef. She had her hair twisted into a stylish knot and was wearing dangly earrings.

“You look stunning, Mom,” I told her.

Dad held the door open as they left, and Mom's eyes were sparkling as brightly as her saree.

Nobody was around at the orphanage; the nuns were at a vespers service, and the students were in their rooms studying. Danita helped her sisters with their homework every night; it was their special time together.

I planted Eric on a chair outside Sister Das's cubicle. Then I went inside and dialed the familiar number. Miraculously, Steve answered the phone. I'd been getting lucky the last few times I'd risked an unscheduled call.

“Hi, Steve!” I said. “Did you get anything from me this week?”

“
No,
Jazz. Nothing. Not one letter. Did you finally send me one?”

Where in the world were my letters? Somebody in Kazakhstan was probably reading them right now. I pictured a little old lady furrowing her brow as she tried to decipher my writing.
“Jazz? Who is thees . . . Jazz? And vy
does she luff me so much?”

“You should be getting something soon,” I told him, staring at the photo of the Beatles. “I mailed a big packet over a week ago. I hope it gets there.”

“Great! I'll look forward to it. I love packages.”

This one might be the end of you, I thought. Get ready for the shock of your life. “We got your package,” I told him. “Danita was thrilled.”

“That's awesome, Jazz. Is she going to turn this guy down now?”

“Not yet. It's still a tough decision. She won't do it until she actually sees some money coming in.”

“Doesn't seem like a tough choice to me,” he said. “Marrying an old chicken seller or managing your own business. But I guess the stakes are higher for her business than they were for ours.”

“You're right about that. In three years, she has to leave the orphanage. If she wants to take her sisters with her, the business will have to make enough money to pay for rent, food, clothes, and schooling. Even medicine, although I think the nuns will probably help them out a bit.”

“Do you think she can do it, Jazz?”

“I think she should at least try. But running a business isn't easy. We've made so many mistakes, it's amazing we're still in the black.”

“Maybe she can learn from some of our mistakes. It's good you're there to teach her. I'm sure she's really thankful.”

“She's taught me a lot more than I've taught her, actually.”

“She has? Like what?”

“Oh, like how to cook. And, believe it or not, how to dance, too. She teaches a class, and I've joined it.”

“That's great! What kind of dance? Ballet?”

“No way,” I answered, shuddering at the thought of myself bounding around in tights and a tutu. “Kathak. A traditional Indian dance. I'm going to perform at the orphanage's annual benefit.”

“That's awesome Jazz,” he said. “Are you dancing alone or with somebody else?”

“With a group of other girls.”

“I knew you'd be good at dancing if you tried it.” Was I imagining it, or did his voice sound relieved?

“Kathak's more like playing a sport than dancing. You have to concentrate so hard you forget that everybody's watching you. But it's really graceful, too. You should see Danita do it.”

“What's she look like, anyway?”

“Oh, she's beautiful, Steve. You know. Petite and sort of delicate, like Mom.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Did I hear you right? You think she's beautiful because she's
petite
?”

“Well . . . ,” I said, “being petite is much more attractive than being
big,
that's for sure.”

Great. There I went again—putting myself down. What did I want to do? Convince him to reject me
before
he got those letters? But this time Steve didn't seem to think I'd been insulting myself. “What's wrong with a girl being big?”

I tried to find something cheerful to say. “Nothing, I guess. You need to be big to throw a shot. The bigger the better, they say.”

“They sure do,” he said. “That's why you're so good at it. You
are
a big girl, Jazz. In more ways than one.”

My heart sank like a stone. Could there be anything worse than having the guy you love tell you how enormous you are? And he wasn't finished yet—he was still going on about my size and shape.

“Your body's strong,” he was saying slowly. “What's wrong with that? When a guy hugs you, it doesn't feel like you're going to break. And you've got a big, bright smile. What's the matter with that? And you've got a big, soft heart, too.” He paused, then quickly added in a louder voice: “Eric must be really proud to have a sister like you. I would be if I were him.”

I swallowed. I loved what he'd said about me, and at first, he'd softened his voice the way he always did when he was talking about something he really cared about. If only he hadn't added that brotherly comment at the end, and in that hearty tone of voice, too. Still, I tried to remember everything he said so that I could go over it in my mind later. “Oh! I almost forgot! I promised Eric he could talk to you,” I said.

My brother was slumped in a chair against the wall, his eyes closed, snoring faintly. He almost fell over when I reached out to tug his sleeve. I managed to shake him half awake and pull him inside the cubicle. When I held the phone to his ear, he heard Steve's voice and woke up all the way. Once he got started talking, it was tough to stop him.

“The team's awesome, Steve. They're still working on their offense, and I'm trying to teach them to pass instead of going for a goal every time they get the ball, but we've won three games already. And Dad—you won't believe what's happened to Dad. He spends his time playing computer games with a bunch of nuns . . . What? What's that? . . . Oh, my bugs. Yeah. Lots of them. . . . No. You're right. Maybe I should. I'll think about it. It would be, actually. . . . Yeah. I will. Okay. You too.”

When Eric handed the phone back, I wondered how to reclaim my privacy without hurting my brother's feelings. I was in luck. Eric seemed to be in a daze. He collapsed back into the chair, deep in thought.

“Sounds like the whole family's doing good deeds over there,” Steve said.

“Yeah. We are, actually. We're having fun.”

“I wish—”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I'm looking forward to getting my package.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I'll call you on Saturday, okay? You should have gotten it by then.”

After we said good-bye, I trudged up the hill under the starry Pune sky, pulling Eric along beside me. Steve's words of affirmation echoed in my mind.
A big, bright
smile . . . and a big, soft heart
. So he'd used the word “big” more than I liked. So what? He liked me. He really did. Wasn't that better than love? He
was
a lot like a brother to me—a wonderful, kind, generous brother who loved his sister Jazz. I was glad all over again that I'd sent those letters. A best friend who was like a brother deserved to know the truth, no matter what ended up happening.

In the apartment, I put on one of the CDs Dad had brought along for the summer:
Love Songs by Nat King
Cole
. Eric fell asleep on the couch, as Mr. Cole's rich voice was singing. “Unforgettable, that's what you are. Unforgettable, though near or far,” when Mom and Dad returned from their date.

Mom looked a bit starry-eyed herself. “Dinner was terrific,” she told me. “How was your phone call? Is Steve doing okay?”

“He's fine,” I said, switching on the lights. “Superb. Tremendous. Amazing. You guys stay out here. I'll tuck Eric in.”

Eric was really groggy now, but he followed me down the hall. In the living room, Nat King Cole was crooning away, and Dad dimmed the lights again.

I turned for a minute to watch my parents dancing cheek to cheek. Dad's knees and back were bent at a strange angle, but he swayed blissfully as he held Mom close. But it wasn't Dad who caught my attention; it was Mom. She was gazing up at Dad as if he was her dream-come-true prince. I'd always known that Dad was a one-woman man. To him, Mom was the most incredible woman on the face of the earth. But I'd overlooked the other side of the coin: Mom treated my shy, bulky father as if he was the catch of the century. She'd known how wonderful he was even before he'd realized it himself.

As Mom lifted her face for Dad's kiss, I steered my brother into his room, shutting the door behind us. Some moments weren't designed for more than two people.