Nectar in a Sieve (26 page)

Authors: Kamala Markandaya

BOOK: Nectar in a Sieve

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One man took him by the armpits, another his feet. I came walking behind; with me other women, whispering words of comfort that the rain washed away as soon as they were uttered. Sometimes there was a silence while they waited for my answer, waited while I groped for their words.

"Has he been ill long?"

"Yes; some time."

"Have you no sons to help?

"Yes -- no -- not here."

I licked my wet lips. There was a taste on them of salt and of the fresh sweetness of rainwater. I did not know I had been crying.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE memories of that night are hard and bright within me like a diamond, and the fires that flash from it have strange powers. Some are blue and wrap me gently in their glow; or green and soothing like oxen eyes in the night; but there are others, yellow and red, that sear me with their intensity. When this happens I call to the mists and they come, like clouds that cover the sun. But the fires themselves are always there, they will never be extinguished until my life itself is done.

What do I remember? Every word, every detail. I remember walking along the wet deserted street by the wall of the temple; I remember looking up for the flare that had ever burnt on the top of the temple, and it was quenched; and the black demons of fear came shrieking at my ear and would not be silenced, for all that I repeated like a madwoman, "Fire cannot burn in water." I saw the faces of men who were not there and of children from whom the life had been filched, and yet it was black night, blacker than black since the stars were hidden.

They laid my husband on the paved floor and I sank down beside him. Somebody brought a light, a hurricane lantern that burned steady in the stormy wind; somebody else, water. His body was caked in mud, wet and dirty. I wiped him clean, took his head in my lap. The knot of people who had come so far with me melted away into the darkness, in ones and twos, when they saw how it was.

Nathan's head kept twitching from side to side, he called to our sons and muttered words that I did not understand. The rays from the lantern fell on his wasted face, on the tight yellowed skin, on the lips split with fever, on his limbs which were like a child's. Sometimes his breath came between his chattering teeth in gusts, rising above the rain and the winds that swished down the corridors; at other times I had to bend to listen.

Hour after hour his body suffered; his mind had fled from the tormented flesh. Midnight approached. The time of in-between when it is neither day nor night, when nature seems to pause, to sigh and turn and prepare for another day.

Midnight, and, as always before, his paroxysms eased. The fits of shivering stopped, the stiff limbs fell limp and relaxed. In the calm stillness I saw him open his eyes, his hand came to my face, tender and searching, wiping away the unruly tears.

"You must not cry, dearest. What has to be, has to be."

"Hush," I said. "Rest and grow better."

"I have only to stretch out my hand," he said, "to feel the coldness of death. Would you hold me when my time is come? I am at peace. Do not grieve."

"If I grieve," I said, "it is not for you, but for myself, beloved, for how shall I endure to live without you, who are my love and my life?"

"You are not alone," he said. "I live in my children," and was silent, and then I heard him murmur my name and bent down.

"Have we not been happy together?"

"Always, my dearest, always."

"It is slipping away fast," he said. "Rest with me a little."

And so I laid my face on his and for a while his breath fell soft and light as a rose petal on my cheek, then he sighed as if in weariness and turned his face to me, and so his gentle spirit withdrew and the light went out in his eyes.

CHAPTER XXX

THE days went by, Nathan no longer beside me; no more. Ashes and dust, scattered to the winds, moistened by the rain, unrecognisable. I picked up the fragments of my life and put them together, all but the missing piece; and out of my affliction I called to Puli. I do not know what words I used, when I think of what I may have said I shiver. Rich promise to lure a child, before I knew it could be kept. Priceless treasure of health, not mine to give. And he, compassionate creature, who drew from me the arrows of sorrow one by one, listened, and when I came home I was not alone.

So good to be home at last, at last. The cart jolted to a standstill. I looked about me at the land and it was life to my starving spirit. I felt the earth beneath my feet and wept for happiness. The time of in-between, already a memory, coiled away like a snake within its hole.

From the unfinished, scaffolded building a figure emerged, came running. Selvam, my son.

"Thank God," he said. "Are you all right?" and he held me. My daughter joined us, her haste making her breathless. Puli alone not of the family, standing a little apart awkwardly, clutching in his arms the dum-dum cart. I called to him.

"My son," I said. "We adopted him, your father and I."

"You look tired and hungry," Ira said, taking his arm. "Come with me and rest, I will prepare the rice."

They walked on ahead.

"Do not worry," Selvam said. "We shall manage."

There was a silence, I struggled to say what had to be said.

"Do not talk of it," he said tenderly, "unless you must."

"It was a gentle passing," I said. "I will tell you later."

SOME INDIAN WORDS:

Beedi • • cheroot

Bulbul tara • • stringed musical instrument

Chakkli • • cobbler

Chowkidar • • watchman