THE IMMIGRANT (35 page)

Down with all taboos.

She looked at the pyrex lid, steamed over, heard the fragrant sauce bubbling around the lone trout. ‘Looks good too.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Want some? I can thaw another.’

‘I don’t want a whole one. I will have a little of yours.’

He understood the gravity of what she was doing. ‘You won’t regret this. It will make your life easier.’

The first forkful was for her. ‘Bite?’

She opens her mouth, he puts the piece in. She holds her breath and cautiously chews. Underneath the lemon, the butter and the parsley is a faint fishy tang. She washes it down with some water.

‘Not so difficult after all. Another bite?’

‘That’s all for now.’

That weekend was spareribs, the real test. Red meat. Flesh. Mammals. Cow. Cows that looked into your eyes—cows that her mother worshipped on fixed days of the Hindu calendar. She could have graduated to chicken from fish, but Nina did not want the dishonesty involved in these slow, cautious steps.

She chewed the leathery mass lurking beneath the rich tomato sauce.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Um.’

‘Eventually if one lives here one has to eat meat. I started when I moved out of Uncle’s house. Here I cook for you so it is not so complicated.’

‘In Rome, do as the Romans do.’

Ananda beamed and helped her to another small piece of spare rib. He watched as she cut it into still smaller pieces, watched as she carefully covered each morsel with sauce, chewed and gulped. It was hard at first, but in a few months he would have her eating sirloin steak and loving it. From now on, there wouldn’t be the trouble of always cooking dal for her, of making sure there was enough salad and veggies when they went anywhere. Also, he would have the pleasure of sharing responses to food.

‘What are you looking at?’

‘You. You’ll find life easier from now on.’

This grated on her nerves. Her meat eating was the result of fragmentation and distress, not a desire for convenience.

‘Just think how much more pleasant it will make dining out,’ he continued.

‘We don’t go out that much.’

‘Well, now we can.’

‘My poor mother. She would not like seeing this.’ ‘We can always turn veg when she comes to visit.’ She kept quiet. He was so determined to see the bright side of things, that at times she shrunk beneath the glare of those spotlights as they searched harshly for her shadows, those shadows that made her what she was.

That Monday Nina walked to the library, fish and beef indelibly part of her being. Feeling less Indian had its advantages. There were more possibilities in the world she could be open to. Her body was her own—and that included her digestive system and her vagina.

March and still the snow, still the biting wind. From time to time she felt a deceptive thawing in the air; but the snow softened only to freeze into ice again. At home the sun would be beginning to burn, in a few weeks there would be no stopping its onslaught on the north Indian plains, whereas here the snow still had to melt, buds still had to appear, spring was still far away.

In the midst of this everlasting cold, one sunlit day, Anton approached her after class at twelve thirty.

‘Want to come to my place for a bite?’

‘I was going to go to Fader’s.’

‘I’ll make you a sandwich. We have three hours.’

As before his message was clear. But why had he said nothing all this time?

‘Let’s walk outside while you decide.’

She picked up her books. She already knew she was going to go. Tension and excitement gathered in her, but shyness and fear too; she didn’t dare catch anybody’s eye as they waited for the elevator.

It was so pretty outside. Blue sky, stinging air, everything crisp and sunny.

‘Nice day, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. So different from home. There when the sun shines, it means warm in winters and bloody hot in summers. Here, alas, it means no such thing.’

‘You must miss your home.’

‘I do. My husband says I must think of this as our home, otherwise I’ll never get used to it.’

By this time they had reached the corner of the football field. They skirted the stands and cut across the snow-filled ground.

‘How far is it?’ she asked after another five minutes.

‘Oh, not far. Murray Place. Soon they are going to tear the house down, so the room’s pretty cheap.’

‘I live close to Dal too.’

‘Really? You must show me.’

‘I’d love to,’ rose automatically to her lips, even while she resolved to never let him near her home.

Two hours later, Nina walked down the same sidewalk with a spring in her step. She felt buoyant, one with the day, the cold sun, the buildings, the city, the Killam Library, one with Information Sources, one with its teacher Dr Mannheim, one with all her fellow students.

She had forgotten how liberating sex could be. It was the force of life, she thought, remembering her Lawrence. Anton and she were not into having a relationship; it was purely a meeting of bodies, a healthy give and take. He had explained everything. He hadn’t wanted this to develop into anything serious, that is why he had not approached her. Their Ottawa encounter had made a deeper impression on him than he had expected, and he needed to be careful. She may not have known, but he had even made an extra trip to New York in the interim to strengthen his resolve. After two months of self-control, he had thought what was the harm? Why not just one more time?

The words one more time are a fatal drug and, despite the long ago experience with Rahul, Nina was not wary of them. I am not taking anything away from my husband, I am not, she rationalized, as it became clear that her trysts with Anton were not going to stop. All around her she heard of open marriages, of no bonds but the voluntary, of no living according to the rules of others. Her life was her own; she didn’t owe anybody any explanations. If Anton gave her pleasure, if his easy acceptance of her gilded her studies, didn’t she owe it to herself to sleep with him? Besides they had all of Library Science to discuss, their colleagues, their assignments, their deadlines, shared concerns, which increased the satisfaction that lay in shared bodies.

It was just as well she had no children, how would she have managed then?

Ananda was still seeing Mandy—this kept him tolerant and loving at home. Because Nina was so busy he didn’t realise how demanding his lover was getting. After his Ottawa visit, she had forced him to make it up to her with time, money and attention. Sometimes he thought his liaison was getting out of hand, but each time he came away from Mandy he left a piece of himself behind—retrieving it with difficulty. It was amazing how she got under his skin. Sometimes, in the day, overcome with longing, he would write her a little note, showing it to her when they met, then carefully taking it back to tear it up.

‘You think I’m going to blackmail you, huh?’

He was indeed protecting himself, but it was better not to admit to such things.

‘I wish I didn’t love you so much,’ was all he said, a little miserably.

‘Hey, it’s ok.’

‘I’m being unfair to my wife.’

‘And I thought I was the one you were being unfair to.’

He turned to her, a blind look in his eyes. ‘I could never be that, it’s not in me.’

Nina didn’t really notice what Ananda was being to her. Instead she was relieved that he expected so little.

‘I know what a graduate student’s life is like,’ reassured Ananda. ‘Why, for days I got by on four hours sleep.’

‘But you were not married.’

‘It’s just till you finish.’

‘Still, not every husband would put up with being neglected so much. I don’t know how I would have done this course without you. In India I certainly couldn’t have spent so much time in studies.’

‘Baby, things are really different here,’ he replied. ‘Besides you forget, I have looked after myself for years.’

Indeed, Ananda cooked, shopped and vacuumed the house. She only had to do the washing. After dinner she attended to the dishes in a dreamy manner, her hands encased in rubber gloves, enjoying the easy way in which the soapy water got the dirt off, enjoying wiping around the tiny stove and counter. As for the clothes, she took them to the basement laundromat every Sunday, often sitting there with a book till they were done, breathing the warm steamy air that smelt of many different detergents.

Nina’s balancing of the different spheres of her life broke down when it came to her group. Its whole raison d’être was honesty. Secrets were considered debilitating. There was no way in hell she could hold Gayatri’s hands, look into her eyes and lie, even by omission.

On the other hand, telling was inconceivable. She had to protect her marriage, the bedrock of her life in Canada. It felt safer to abandon the group even though it was strictly non-judgemental and confidentiality was absolute, even though she herself had heard many stories of affairs, joyous flings and sorrowful betrayals. Now when it was her turn to reveal one such story, she chose the easy way out and prevaricated.

‘I’m so busy, I’ll have to leave the group for a while.’

Gayatri was the most upset. ‘I’ll miss you—why can’t you manage? I manage with my PhD.’

A PhD was different. If she didn’t master the technical details of Library Science, she would not be able to maintain her A average, and she would lose her funding. She had already been given a warning, she added in a lie so inspirational she impressed herself.

Who could argue with this? All right Nina, go into the world with what we have taught you. Remember your lessons, and come back if you need to.

Bye, bye, bye.

Spring came and with it daylight saving time. She could now see purple and yellow crocuses, peeping out besides clumps of melting snow and green shoots of grass. There were snowdrops, nestling near the steps of some of the houses, on the roads she walked along. Tiny nodules began to appear on the bare branches of trees. The moist, cold air ceased to have so much bite. The loo would be blowing at home, hot dusty winds, while here, the air was fresh and damp. The season made her glad she was here, glad. Anton’s bed had the same effect.

‘I think we are totally compatible,’ she said one afternoon.

‘It is good, which is why it has continued.’

‘What is it like with your wife?’ Nina asked, beginning to transgress.

‘What’s it like with your husband?’ responded the lover, dealing with her transgression without a moment’s pause.

‘Oh, ok.’

‘Same here.’

There was a gym attached to her building. She joined it, devoting even more time to her body. There she worked up a sweat that was innocent, there in the ladies shower she strutted her stuff, and the fact that no one cared gave her confidence.

Her attitude to Western clothes changed. All that walking had made her leaner. Clothes were no longer something to be invisible in. At home she had made her best shopping decisions by herself, undisturbed by another’s opinion. Now with the image of an elegant, well-dressed Nina, she headed on her own towards Mills Brothers on Spring Garden Road.

The salesgirl understood her requirements. Effortlessly, clothes were selected. Black pants, grey pants, a white cotton blouse, a black sweater. The bill was for three hundred dollars, and cheap at the price, said the sales girl. Normally those cashmere sweaters go for a hundred and ninety nine dollars. Nina stroked the soft wool, admiring the deep, dark inky black. She would cherish it forever. That sweater is a beauty, said the cashier, as she wrapped it in tissue paper before sliding it reverently into a bag. It was Mills Brothers’ policy to make their customers feel special.

The special feeling lasted when Ananda complimented her on how she looked, lasted when she put on her new clothes and looked in the mirror, lasted till the American Express bill came.

‘Three hundred dollars! You spent three hundred dollars on your clothes? Why, my most expensive suit is a hundred and fifty.’

‘The cashmere sweater will last a lifetime. And it was on sale,’ defended Nina.

‘You could have bought an ordinary sweater. Why do you have to dress in cashmere?’

Wasn’t the beauty of cashmere enough justification? And the way the wool responded to her stroking hand?

‘I should have come with you. You go alone, you lose your head.’

‘I haven’t spent much on clothes in the two years I’ve been here. You keep saying you want me to dress like the natives.’

‘That was two years ago. Even you saw the sense.’ Ananda continued to stare at the bill, evidence of wilful, selfish, thoughtless extravagance.

‘Well, you tell me how much can I spend,’ demanded Nina resentfully.

‘A reasonable amount like any normal woman.’

‘I am a normal woman,’ she retorted. ‘It is you who are not normal. Who knows what you earn, you never tell me, never share, how am I supposed to know?’

‘I’m self-employed,’ he shouted. ‘I don’t earn one fixed amount, is that so difficult for you to understand?’

‘You never even give me a basic idea.’

‘Ok, you want to know what I earn, then know my debts as well. Know what I have to pay each and every month along with these bills.’ He slapped his hand on the American Express total of Nina’s sins.

She had heard the list of his debts so often, she blanked it out. The whole thing took five minutes, starting with the first one to his Uncle and ending with the annual insurance rates. By the time he had finished, the pleasure in the black sweater had gone.

‘From now on, I will only buy clothes when I have money of my own.’

‘It’s not as though I don’t buy you things,’ responded Ananda bitterly. ‘I don’t think you can accuse me of stinginess. But at this moment I’m not in a position to spend so much.’

That night Ananda lay with his back to his wife, clutching the offending bill in his troubled thoughts. He didn’t like denying Nina clothes, but he was still paying for his therapy in California.

He thought of his mistress and her needs. Mandy was tied to the uncertainties of temping; whenever he urged a permanent job, she said she refused to be stuck in one place, with one set of people. She wanted to be free.