The Blue Notebook (7 page)

Hours passed and I started playing “bouncy-bouncy” on the bed. It was the springiest bed I had ever come across and I leaped up and down repeatedly. Sometimes I would leap up high, touch the ceiling, and flop down on my belly and then spin onto my back. It seemed forever before the old woman unlocked the door and came in with a man who carried a small, light brown case shaped like a thumb.

“Dr. Dasdaheer is here to visit you,” said the woman without a morning greeting. The doctor was a thin graying man who was not as old as the old woman. He wore a crumpled shirt, brown trousers, and a fraying black leather belt. His shoes
were filthy with dust. He spoke quietly. He was someone who said whatever he needed to say to get his bill paid. “Hello, little girl,” he said, “I am Dr. Dasdaheer and I am here to check you because your uncle wants you to be well.” I was standing naked on the bed, flushed from the jumping. The doctor sat me on the bed. He asked all sorts of questions I had no idea how to answer. He did not seem concerned or angry with my lack of knowledge as to whether I had survived this illness or experienced that ailment. I told him that my birthday had been three weeks earlier. He proceeded to touch me carefully, prod me here and there, and listen to my chest briefly through his ear tubes. I think he was a little disappointed with how well I was.

I was fed more sweet-cakes—two plates full—and warm milk with honey. I was led back to the bathtub, where the old woman left me to soak in more hot water, but this time she did not scrub me.

That afternoon the old woman brought me crayons and paper. I was drawing a house and a cat when I said to her, “Can I please go home now?” She was sitting asleep in one of the wooden chairs and half opened her heavy eyes, looked at me, and said, “No. That will not be possible.” I drew for a while longer and then asked, “Can I see my father?” She said, “No.” Just like that. I wanted to ask when he would come to visit, but I did not. Lunch was dahl and sweet-cakes but now I was losing the taste for sweet-cakes and time was starting to hang. The old woman fell back asleep.

An eternity later the old woman woke up and left. After a short while she returned carrying a pile of folded clothes. I had been naked all day. When I wanted to pee, the old woman told me to squat over a white porcelain bowl, which she then carried
out and brought back empty. I imagined her tripping and spilling the pee all over herself. I had not needed to do brown but assumed that the process would be the same if I did.

The old woman then dressed me. I put on small undergarments that were so white they must have been painted because I never got anything nearly as white when I used to wash clothes in the river. She sat me down in front of a wooden table with a mirror on it and seated herself next to me. She first applied makeup to my eyes and red to my lips. She rubbed dye on my cheeks and painted henna on my palms like a bride. Her frail, bony hands were incredible to watch; they never wavered or trembled. When she painted a swirl, it was perfect the first time. Her fingers moved with beautiful efficiency. The feeling of the wet paintbrush on my skin was exquisite. When she was done, I stared in the mirror and barely recognized myself under the facade. My cheekbones were as defined as mountain ridges, my eyes shone from black frames, and my lips were full. I gasped at my own vision. I was as beautiful as a human could be.

Brushing out and oiling my hair, the old woman looked at me with a proud emptiness, as if she were finishing the decoration of an ornate piece of pottery. When my eyes caught hers she did not look away; instead her eyes invited me to probe deep within her. Deep, deep inside her all I could see was rubble.

After she finished my hair, for the first time in my life, I was wrapped in a sari. It was orange and red with white and silver threads sewn into it, was as light as a feather, and smelled the same as the oil in the bathwater the night before. I was complete; I felt wrapped like a precious gift. The old woman left me and locked the door behind her. I stared at myself in the
mirror. It took a moment to realize that it was me. I tilted my head, raised my wrist, and fanned my fingers; I placed a subtle smile on my face. The image before me changed. I spoke out loud and heard a voice I was familiar with emanating from a face that was foreign. I started to perform animal faces in front of the mirror; the lipstick gave them added comedy. I was halfway through my repertoire when the old goat returned. She only half opened the door, leaned through it, and said, “Come.” Her tone was different from her previous orders. It was as if she were offering me an invitation rather than commanding me. I got up, said goodbye to the frog in the mirror, and left the room with her.

The old woman led me through several corridors before arriving at a large pair of dark wooden doors. She did not knock but turned the door handle and pushed the right-side door open. She indicated with her hooded eyes and a nod of her head that I should walk in.

The first thing I noticed when I entered the room was its smell. It stank of incense and made me feel sick. The room was enormous and dark. In its center sat five men spaced around a rectangular table covered in a white cloth. The table was loaded with silver trays of food, glasses, silver cutlery, and white plates with painted gold rims. Smoke was rising from the table like steam off the river. The men were engaged in loud conversation but as soon as they noticed me they instantly hushed. I only recognized one, Master Gahil, who sat puffing on a cigarette. He
spoke loudly from across the room, “May the heavens be praised, you are truly a divine princess … my sweet.” He smiled at me, beckoning with his jewelry-weighted arm. “Come in, come in. Divine princess, why don’t you show us a little dance?”

I was stunned. I had not prepared anything and did not know any dances. A couple of the men shuffled their chairs around so that they all were facing me. My heart was racing and bumping against my chest. Since no one spoke and they were all watching me, I started to hop from foot to foot, jingling as I did so. The old woman shuffled toward the back of the room. After I stopped my little performance, the men broke out in hysterics and clapped vigorously. I smiled shyly. One of the men said, “Gahil, at least you did not claim she was a dancer; I hope you are not going to make her sing …” I think the fright coupled with the affront got the better of me—after all, I am a performer—and I said in the voice of a cricket, “I can sing, sir.” The man who had just spoken looked at me. “You sweet little thing,” he said, “go on then, sing us a song.” After a short pause, I started to sing in a voice that was so quiet it was almost smothered by the street noise from the open window. I sang the little bedtime song my grandmother used to sing to us:

Mother river, carry me to the spring of your eternity
My little tail tires but I know the sea bids

I see the worm wiggle on the hook but I must not be tempted
Your wind blows against me but I know I must swim harder

My little body fails, my tail flips and flops
And all I want is to see the ocean before I die.

When I finished, the men applauded enthusiastically with colossal smiles on their faces. I clearly was a success. Master Gahil bellowed, “Little princess, that was wonderful. Little puppy, come here and give each of your uncles a hug. They love you.”

I smiled a little girl’s smile and went to hug my newfound uncles. The first uncle was the one who had requested that I sing. He got up from his chair and I saw he was extremely tall. He bent down and opened his arms, then closed them tightly around me like a fish’s mouth snapping shut. He smelled of cigarettes. My face was squished against his tummy. He rubbed my back, then kissed my head and muttered something I could not hear while he stroked my hair.

“Come here,” said the second uncle. This uncle was fat and smelled dirty. He did not get up from his chair but pulled me to him and hugged me briefly. He then loosened his grip, took one hand off my back, and started to rub my chest with quick circular motions. His head remained on my shoulder and his breath in my ear; he was puffing hard. As his hand started to rub my tummy Master Gahil coughed loudly and the uncle released me.

The third uncle was short and thin. He walked toward me from around the other side of the table. Although he was ugly, he had a nice smile. He said gently, “Little princess, that song was lovely. I would love to hear you sing for me later; would you do that?” I hesitated, looked around the table, and nodded. “Come here … to Uncle Nir,” he said. I inched toward him and as I did so he smiled sweetly. I came to his arms and he held me close. I turned my head against his belly and felt his tummy rising up and down quite fast. He was wearing a light brown
suit and a white shirt. He was clean and his shoes were shiny. Uncle Smiley-Nir then released me and said, “Go say hello to your next uncle.”

The previous uncles had been quite old (about the age of Master Gahil or Father) but this uncle was young. As he walked toward me I could see that his face was sweating. He was a small man, thin, and in a gray suit. He did not hug me at all but extended his hand toward me. I was not sure what to do until Master Gahil said, “Take his hand in yours, princess.” I extended my two hands to his one. It was funny in a way because my hands were shaking and his hand was shaking and we both had to concentrate hard for them to meet. I took his trembling outstretched hand in my two hands. My little hands were small against his and I thought he had big hands for a little man. His hand was moist between mine. The uncle said in a quiet voice that trembled like his hand, “I too enjoyed your singing … can you give Uncle a little kiss just here?” He pointed to his cheek as he leaned down toward me. I gave him a little kiss on his cheek and felt his wet lips on mine.

Master Gahil’s booming voice interrupted, “All right, gentlemen, let’s take our seats,” and the sweaty little uncle stepped away from me and sat down. The master ordered, “Princess, come here, darling, and stand next to me.” I obeyed; there was something about him that made you obey. As I stood next to him, he put his hand around my waist and continued, “Gentlemen, I think it obvious that this is a jewel. I have not in many, many years seen such a lovely little fledgling.” The fat smelly uncle interrupted him and addressed a question to the old woman. “Is she clean … has the doctor checked her?” The old woman answered from the shadows at the back of the room,
“Dr. Dasdaheer gave her a thorough examination earlier today. I have his report here. He says that she is in perfect health and,” she coughed, “pure.” Fat Uncle and Young Big-handed Uncle both grunted together like hungry hogs.

Master Gahil, with his arm still around my waist, continued. “Gentlemen, it is time for business. Who is going to enjoy our little princess fresh from the country?” He looked around, eyeing each uncle before continuing. “Let’s start, say, at fifty thousand rupees.” The cushion of silence was brief as Fat Uncle and Young Big-handed Uncle both spoke together. “I’ll go there” and “Sure,” they said simultaneously. Master Gahil said, “Seventy-five thousand?” looking around the table; Tall Uncle, Uncle Smiley-Nir, and Fat Uncle all assented with nodding grunts. The master continued, “A hundred thousand, one lakh.” I had been to livestock auctions with Father and my brothers and realized that I now was attending the same. There were more grunts of agreement and then Uncle Smiley-Nir interrupted and asked me, “Darling, did any of your brothers or cousins or uncles ever touch you between the legs or put any toy or perhaps themselves between your legs?” I had no idea what he was talking about and shook my head. Uncle Smiley-Nir then looked at Master Gahil and said quietly, with the same smile on his face, “Gahil, let me make this quick, as our little princess is tiring fast. Will anyone here go over five lakh … cash?” There was not even the sound of breathing. I heard the old woman’s clothes rustle in the hush.

Master Gahil said, “Gentlemen? Do I hear any advance?” He waited, but the hogs’ grunting had ceased. Master Gahil exclaimed flamboyantly, “Going, going, going … gone.” He was
grinning so excessively from ear to ear that I thought the top of his head would flop off. Then he spoke. “Nir, she is yours.”

Uncle Smiley-Nir then turned to me and said, “Darling, I so look forward to hearing more of your singing. I will be with you in just a minute.” The old woman drifted toward me from the dark, took my still-trembling hand, and led me from the room. As I left, I turned to see Uncle Smiley-Nir dealing bank notes to Master Gahil.