Flowers in the Blood (21 page)

“You think you have no choices. You think you must accept this offer because it is the only one you have had. Well, a few weeks ago there was no Mr. Luddy, and look what happened! Who knows what lies around the next bend?”

“Nothing, probably.”

“And if you never marry? Would that be so tragic?”

She and I both knew that was not a realistic option, so her question required no direct reply. I changed the subject. “I don't want to be so far away from you, Nani.”

“Pooh! If s foolish to pretend I will be around long enough to matter.”

“Nani!” My tears welled up again.

“Besides, you won't miss the old gossips of Calcutta, will you?”

“No, I won't. Every time I go to the synagogue I feel they are watching me, thinking that somehow I am paying for my mother's sins. Any mistake I make, anything I say, every trifle, has been exaggerated. If I lived here, they would be waiting anxiously to see if I turn out like her. Why should it be any different after I am married?”

Grandmother gave a long exhalation. “Some water . . .” After a few swallows, she continued in a husky whisper that indicated she was having trouble breathing. “Who can read the future? Who would want to? Today I look back and remember when your mother came to us begging, ‘If you let me marry Benu Sassoon, I will be the happiest girl in India!' and wonder what would have happened if we had forbidden it. Now I berate myself for letting her have her way, but at the time we could offer no objections. Benu was a fine young man from a good family. We wanted our daughter to be happy; every parent wants that.” She noticed my pouting expression. “Yes, even Zilpah wants that for you.”

“But—” I stopped when Nani's shoulders sagged and her eyes half-closed.

She struggled to continue. “We gave in to Luna. Who could have predicted how tragically it would turn out? Look what happened to me. When I met your grandfather, I was a woman almost thirty, with no dowry, one dead husband, and nothing to offer.”

“Nana said you were the most beautiful girl in Calcutta.”

She beamed, and for a moment the strain of her illness passed from her face. In the twilight I could almost imagine how she might have looked to a man who had become transfixed with the sapphire cast to her lively eyes. “My point has been proved. Anyone would have thought a girl like me would have had no opportunities, and yet I had many wonderful years with your grandfather. Anyone would have predicted that Benu and Luna would have lived as happily ever after as any storybook prince and princess . . .”

“Do you think I will live as happily with Mr. Luddy?”

She shrugged. “Part of it is what you each bring to the marriage, and part of it is luck. Let me finish by saying what I have said before: no marriage is better than a bad marriage.”

Together we watched as the western sky took on an opalescence with streaks of flaming orange. “I wonder what the sun looks like as it sets over the Himalayas,” I said, my voice more pliant than before.

Nani squeezed my hand. “Go to your father, Dinah. Set his heart at rest. Tell him you have agreed.”

14

 

T
he next morning, after taking chota hazri in my room, I came down to find Zilpah in an ebullient mood. As soon as she saw me, she swooped up from the dining table and rushed to my side. “Come, sit beside your father.” She led me to a place and removed the plates and silver herself. Clapping her hands, she called, “Bearer!”

Sedately Abdul marched in, carrying a silver tray so heavy the strain in his face was evident. As he set it before me, I stared at the silk cloth woven with golden strands that covered its mysterious contents. “What is this?”

“Your special gift from Maurice Luddy, in honor of his son,” my father said, his fingers reaching for the tray. “Lift the cover.”

I obliged at once.

“Oh, I have never seen anything like it!” Zilpah swooned. “Look, Benu! Can you believe it?”

The arrangement on the tray was so astonishingly lovely I did not want to touch it. Flower petals glued to a lacy cloth, like mosaics on a. temple wall, were fashioned to create a scene of a peacock courting a peahen. Translucent sweets cut into jewellike facets lined the border of the tray. In the center, a brooch pinned to a blue velvet pad was surrounded by a garland of miniature white rosebuds. Its design was a peacock feather composed of sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. As Zilpah's hand hovered above it covetously, I lifted the brooch, turning it in the stream of sunlight that poured into the room. After allowing me a few seconds, Zilpah swept it from me and brought it closer to her face. I could tell she was counting the stones.

“Very generous,” she said as she passed it to my father. He did not examine it, but merely undid the clasp and pinned it to my blouse. “So, do you think your papa found you a good match?” He kissed my forehead.

The brooch was so heavy it pulled the thin batiste fabric down, and I checked to see if a rip was likely to occur. “Yes, Papa.”

“Saturday evening we will host an official celebration. We must select a wedding date—not too soon, for we don't wish to seem hasty, and not too far in the distance, since we want to keep you the center of attention for a while. Your cousin Sultana's festivities will seem a pauper's compared with what we have planned.” He pointed to the jewels above my bosom. “Nobody will ever forget the wedding of Dinah Sassoon.”

Bypassing his wife, for perhaps the first time, my father enlisted the help of his sister and Grandmother Helene to plan my wedding. “Who knows more about a party than Helene? Who knows Calcutta society better than Bellore?” There were no arguments from Zilpah, who seemed so content to be rid of me she was willing to remain in the background until the deed was done.

My official
mileek
party was held in the hall, our largest drawing room. Fifty of the most important families arrived with only a few days' notice. Aunt Helene's dressmaker worked for two nights straight to fashion me a pale yellow dress with silk ruffles that gathered together at the scoop of my neckline, a design that was nothing more than a backdrop for the brooch.

Silas and his father joined our family for an early supper before the guests arrived. Even though they came together, I noticed that as soon as they were offered refreshment they moved to opposite sides of the room. I approached Maurice Luddy to thank him for his lavish gift. Then I crossed the hall and said the same words to Silas. For the first time I saw some animation in his eyes as he admired the brooch on my chest.

After the meal, we moved back into the hall. The furnishings had been rearranged into a semicircle, where the immediate family would sit to greet our guests. Silas and I were given seats side by side. His father started to take a seat in the audience, but Zilpah insisted he sit next to his son. My father was given the chair next to me. Grandmother Flora took the place that would have been reserved for Zilpah, who mingled with the guests. Given our choice of beverages, Silas selected the wine and I tentatively accepted a glass of cherry cordial. Grandmother Flora nodded that I might drink it. The cool, sweet liquid burned the delicate tissues in my throat.

As soon as the guests greeted us, a
dakaka
, a woman entertainer, entered the room shaking a
daff
, a tambourine, and carrying a
tabla
drum. Singing and playing her instruments, she created a pulse in the room. When she had everyone swaying and thumping to the familiar melodies, she. stood in front of Silas and me and began her balancing tricks, first with a candy tray upon her head. Then she deftly maneuvered a filled wineglass from her crown, to her forehead, to her chin, to her chest, without spilling a drop. The assemblage, which finally had suspended its cacophony of chatter, broke into applause.

With a clap of her hands, the dakaka silenced the room. From her bosom she slowly withdrew a long silk scarf. Ruby and Seti were giggling. Next the entertainer seemed to pluck a gold coin from midair.

“How did she do that?” Ruby gasped.

The dakaka placed the coin in the scarf and folded it securely. Signaling for Silas and me to stand, she handed each of us one corner of the fabric and coaxed us to hold it aloft so everyone could see this symbol of our engagement.

“Kilililee!”
the women screeched in spontaneous approval.

The Luddys' bearer came forward and held out a shiny black box. Maurice stood and accepted it.

Grandmother Flora had explained this part to me. “Silas may not place your engagement ring on your finger, for some believe this constitutes
kiddushin
, or betrothal. If either of you decided to terminate the engagement, you would have to get a bill of divorce once he had given you the ring.”

Maurice Luddy managed to remove the box's contents without anyone seeing the gift. Solemnly he stepped in front of my chair. He smiled sideways at his son and took my hand. “Dinah, daughter of Benjamin, son of Moses, you would honor our family if you would accept this ring as a token of your promise to my son Silas.” The ring slipped easily in place. He removed his broad hand to reveal a three-tiered setting: the first was a circle of diamonds, the second of emeralds, the third a sparkling sapphire crown a half-inch in diameter. I held my hand beside the brooch, thrilling at the even louder ululations of kilililees that echoed through the crowded hall.

Cousin Sultana was one of the first to push her way through the throng to admire my gifts. As she fingered my brooch, I noticed the pearl bracelet she wore, remembering I had last seen it at her wedding. My earlier suspicions were confirmed. A wave of fury enveloped me, canceling the elation I had felt seconds earlier. I was about to say something when her chattering sisters, who followed in her wake, pushed her aside. Sultana backed away to allow them and my other Sassoon aunts and cousins to have a closer look. In a fog, I grinned and nodded as everyone had his turn admiring my gifts. A few minutes later, when I realized it was Gabriel Judah's parents who were congratulating me, I forced myself to appear joyful. After they moved on, I spent a few seconds scanning the room, trying to decide how many of the guests also were parents of young men who had spurned me.

“Who was the matchmaker?” I overheard the mother of a girl two years behind me in school ask Aunt Bellore.

“One was hardly necessary,” Bellore replied haughtily. What a change from my earlier position, when no matchmaker would stake her reputation on having to find me a partner! What I—and I suppose everyone else—had first thought was my “settlement” with the son of a convert from far off in the hills had instantly turned into my “catch.” Swept away with my newfound status, I nevertheless was mindful that the glitter on my finger and bosom did not alter how I felt about Silas Luddy, nor would it mean much when we were alone together, alone for eternity.

Still, I was giddy with triumph. The people who had supposed I had no future were not laughing now. Many a myopic Calcutta mother was wondering why she had not thought to look for a husband at a higher altitude. All would have been perfect if I had not had the misfortune to overhear two snippets of conversation, each of which left a painful residue of doubt.

I had floated around that evening avoiding Cousin Sultana and happily accepting the well-wishes of people who once shunned me socially. Then Masuda grabbed my arm.

“He is very handsome.”

I almost asked her if she really thought so, then stopped myself. “Yes, isn't he?”

“I love a mustache on a man, especially a thin one.” She poked me and tittered.

“His hands, that's what I like most,” I said, surprising myself. Nevertheless, it was true. Even from across the room I could see that when he spoke, his fingers moved more expressively than his face. I leaned against a post, trying surreptitiously to see how others were reacting to him, when another conversation, though hushed, could be understood.

A woman whose voice I did not recognize was chiding Grandmother Helene. “Bad luck to have done it that way,” she clucked in mock sympathy.

“What do you mean?” Grandmother Helene asked.

“The ring, having the father place the ring on Dinah's finger.”

“What are you talking about? You know the fiancé may not do it himself.”

“Have you forgotten that if the father is a widower, someone else is to be given the honor—a brother, an uncle, even a near female relative on the man's side of the family—anyone who has not lost a spouse to death,” came the smug response.

“I would not have thought someone as modern as you would be so superstitious. Besides, who else was there? The sisters are coming for the wedding, but not for this. There was no time to summon them.”

The woman made an offended sound. “This child can afford not even the smallest amount of ill-luck. At least I hope the wedding will take place on a Tuesday.”

“What's the big
tamasha
about a Tuesday?”

“I was married on a Tuesday because on the third day of creation, the Bible repeats twice, 'and God saw how good this was.' “

Grandmother Helene drew a long inward breath. “Of course she shall be married on a Tuesday. Most people must plan for a Sunday so everyone will come, but nobody will want to miss this party!” I smiled, knowing that she now would have to influence Zilpah to set that day of the week. Furious at the interferer who had found whatever fault she could with my happy occasion, I determined to support my grandmother's plea.

When I turned back to Masuda, her mother was leading her away. At sixteen, Masuda was the prime age to be paraded around. I was certain she would be married within the year. As it was, I would be wedded at eighteen, already ancient by the standards of the Baghdadis.

I took the opportunity to find a bathroom. Two women already occupied it. They had not closed the door tightly so I could hear their words echoing in the marble chamber. “Such a gaudy ring! Weren't you shocked by it?”

“Why? Sooner or later it will come out of Benu's pocket.”

“You don't think the Sassoons paid for it?”

“No, no. Not the maharajah of Theatre Road!” Her laugh was harsh, metallic.

“The maharajah! Wonderful!”

“That's what he must think of himself to offer a dowry like that.”

“The Luddys don't require the money.”

“The old man may have debts, or he may want to acquire more land. Or pay his jewelry bills! Anyway, who knows? They keep to themselves up there. Had to, after Maurice married that woman who supposedly converted.”

“I know for a fact she did. My aunt was at the
mikvah.
But I see what you mean. I wouldn't want a Luddy for my daughter.”

“And I wouldn't want a Sassoon for my son. In fact, we turned her down for our Daniel.”

“But that was when the dowry was half of what Luddy is getting.” The woman chuckled. “Might you have reconsidered when you heard her price had doubled?”

“Absolutely not!”

“What about your Josiah? Could he have turned his back on fifty thousand rupees?” she teased.

“Fifty thousand! I thought it was twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five, fifty, what is the difference? A scandal, if you ask me.”

“What else is new in that family?”

“Ten years of it, and no end in sight. Trust my words. Bad luck comes in threes: Luna Raymond, Mozelle Arakie, and that black bitch he parades around as though she was one of us. I tell you this: they have never banished the evil eye from this household.”

“Did you notice she has her mother's huge eyes?”

“Yes, the same queer color of tea.”

“If she's anything like her mother, this blushing bride is going to be a handful. Good thing they are shipping her to the hills so we won't have to hear about her so often.” As the door moved in my direction, I ducked into the pantry until the two horrid women were gone.

Fifty thousand rupees! I had never been told the exact amount, but now I was appalled. Even though Silas denied he required my money, by the terms of our marriage settlement he could make use of it without my permission. Could I trust him? I sat down on a stool, shuddering at what else had been said about me. Only a few moments earlier I thought I had silenced the wagging tongues. Would there never be an end? Could I never conquer the rumors that I had not engendered? I halted that line of thinking when I recalled my own stupidity with Gabriel. Twisting the ring on my hand, I decided it was not unlucky that Maurice Luddy had placed it on my finger. “Superstitious witches!” I muttered. I would not let them plant seeds of doubt. Of course I could rely on Silas. He had promised me in writing and I was certain my father would never have concluded the negotiations without the proper documents, so I would have the last laugh as I determined where and how I would spend my fifty thousand. Comforted, I stood and smoothed my dress. I was about to become a wealthy woman in my own right. The crones of Calcutta might not know this now, but they would eventually. I would see to that.

At the end of the evening, when most of the guests had departed, I noticed Silas and his father together for the first time. Maurice Luddy's expression was tense. Silas seemed to be only half-listening to his words of counsel. Then I noticed an odd occurrence. When Maurice reached out to mollify his son by touching his shoulder lightly, Silas rebuffed his father with a sharp swipe of his hand. Maurice's expression soured and he turned away. For a moment I worried about what was the matter between father and son, but as Silas made his way toward me, I dismissed the exchange as a typical misunderstanding, not unlike those I had had with Zilpah in the past.