Flowers in the Blood (23 page)

On that Sunday, we arrived in a downpour.

“How can it continue to rain every day?” she sniffed.

“Everybody thought the rains would have been over by now,” I replied, glancing out the window in the hope that a miracle might occur even as we spoke.

She ran her hands through the knot of gray curls that capped her wide head. “I am sorry to say that Bellore Sassoon may have been right.”

“If so, then it is for the first time.” I laughed gaily to let her know the weather was neither a concern of mine nor a responsibility of hers.

A servant took my cape and then bent to assist Ruby. Grandmother Helene tweaked one of her long sausage curls. “Just like mine when I was your age. Your Auntie Badra has a surprise for you,” she said, turning Ruby over to her eldest daughter. “Dinah, come up to my sitting room and I will show you what I am planning to wear to your wedding.”

Once there, she lay down on a loosely stuffed chaise covered in a flowery fabric and organized the pillows under her back and arms until I thought she would never be satisfied. There was no mention of dresses. I took the wing chair and waited for her to settle herself. At last she was comfortable, but her fingers continued to fondle the lacy trim on the pillow she clasped in her lap. “Are you going to leave for the train right after the reception?”

“That is what Silas wants.”

Her eyes sparkled merrily. “So, you will cheat the mashti out of her job.”

I turned my head so she would not see me coloring.

As she clasped her hands together and cracked her fingers, the sound jolted me to attention. “Good for you. The night I was married, my young husband—Bension was only fourteen—was not quite certain what to put where.” She threw her head back and laughed. Ripples of flesh wiggled on her arms and legs. “The mashti knocked on the door and asked what was taking so long. Without even waiting for us to reply, she burst in and”—she pressed the pillow to her abdomen to control her amusement—”and assisted Bension, if you follow my meaning.” She watched me closely. When I did not blink, she asked, “Has Zilpah spoken to you?”

“What about?”

“About the marriage bed.”

I shook my head.

“As I expected.” She flexed her neck from left to right, trying to shake out a kink. “The task is left to me.” She seemed more pleased than annoyed.

She thought I knew nothing of what went on between men and women, but hadn't I found my father in bed with a woman in Patna? Hadn't I seen Indian women massaging their infants' genitals to stimulate them? And hadn't I lived my life in India, where holy cows and bulls and stray dogs mated in the streets, where every aspect of life from birth to death could be viewed from a carriage seat?

Actually, the Indians themselves were modest in conduct. I had never seen a Calcutta boy and girl openly walking hand in hand or even married people kissing, yet Yali—without shame—had taken me to a shrine where young girls worshiped a phallus in order to get a good husband, thinking it would help my predicament. I had visited Hindu temples, which contained huge representations of the female pudenda with a penis penetrating the center. Even so, I was more interested in—and furtive about—studying the temple friezes that depicted the union of those mortal lovers made divine: Krishna and Radha. In fact, any image of a couple in close embrace, even a man's hand touching a lady's cheek, caused queer sensations to shoot down my spine and created more of a longing for something I could not fulfill than any explicit view of disembodied genitalia.

As I matured, I compared my body to the physical ideal of the Hindu deities, who had thick thighs, broad hips, tiny waists, and large melon-shaped breasts. After I had grown taller than any other woman in my family, remaining slender with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and disappointingly small, pointed breasts, I knew I was never going to look like a goddess. I only hoped that Silas would find me to his taste.

Waiting for my reply, Grandmother Helene twisted the lace so forcefully that it ripped. “I know a little about it,” I answered to cover the gap.

She ran her tongue along her lower lip as she fashioned her words. When she was ready, she spoke in the most ordinary of tones. “I do not know exactly what you have discovered on your own, so let me just say that most women do their daughters a disservice—as my own mother did to me—by moaning that the union between a husband and wife is unpleasant. On the contrary, the whole process is meant to be pleasurable, but like most worthwhile activities, practice and patience must be brought to the task before the rewards may be reaped. Otherwise, why would anyone bother?” She chortled.

I leaned forward, anxious for more.

She grinned at my eagerness. “May I offer some practical advice?”

“Yes.” I nodded and gripped the arm of the chair and listened, entranced, as she made certain I understood the Jewish laws regarding clean and unclean days.

“. . . So this not only fulfills the sacred obligations but also separates the man and the woman so each will have increased hungers for the other. During the days when you must be apart, you may continue to enjoy each other's company. Look to those times to share your worries. More troubles come from hiding feelings than releasing them. And never, never go to sleep angry with one another.” She stared with softhearted, benevolent eyes. “Any questions?”

“How soon might I expect a baby?” I dared.

She shrugged. “Most girls who have attentive husbands receive one within the year.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, especially the first birth, but when the pain ends, there is joy.”

I blanched. “I meant the other—what comes first.”

“From what I have seen, I believe Mr. Luddy will be a gentle, considerate man. You are well-mated physically and he should not overwhelm you. If anything displeases you, tell him and I am certain he will do his utmost to keep your comfort in mind.”

With a creak and a groan, she stood up and made her way to her dressing table. From a bottom drawer she removed a small brass chest. “A gift for you.” She opened the lid and showed me the three glass jars fitted inside. “To prevent babies, if that is your choice at first, use this one before and this one afterward”—she held up the last jar— “and this one for any soreness.” She unscrewed each top, took a dab, and wiped it on the back of my hand as she described the salves in more detail.

“What if . . . ?”

Patiently she waited for me to gather my thoughts.

“What if the man does not appeal to you?”

Her moon face glowed. “Dinah, my child, don't rush ahead with all sorts of assumptions. The attractions you are anticipating do exist between some, but hardly most men and some women when they first meet. Already you may have experienced that sensation with an acquaintance . . .” The words hung for a long moment. “Those are transitory glimpses into the powerful feelings that will be unleashed by a marriage. Today these sensations lie dormant, like sparks waiting to be ignited when touched to straw. Unless your partner is cruel, unpleasant, or unusually distasteful—and your Mr. Luddy is none of these—time together will stoke those fires.” She sniffed and straightened her skirts. “Now, is there anything further we should discuss?”

“There is another matter, not on the same subject, but . . .”

She came up behind me and rubbed my neck and shoulders. “Come, now, there are no secrets between us today.”

“For my wedding day, I have been wanting to wear my mother's jewelry. It cannot be found.”

“Have you spoken to Zilpah?”

“Yes, she says nothing was ever given to her.”

“And you don't believe her.”

“Well . . .”

“The fire . . .” Grandmother Helene prompted softly.

“No, I don't think so. The furniture and clothing were burnt, but I was in Mama's dressing room when everything was being removed. I saw Yali take the jewel boxes away for safekeeping.”

“Have you asked Yali what she did with them?”

“Yes.”

“And . . . ?”

“Because she did not want to anger my father or upset my grandmother, she—” I stumbled.

Grandmother Helene leapt to the wrong conclusion. “She sold them!”

“No! Yali would never—” I protested. “She gave them to Aunt Bellore.”

“What is missing?”

“I do not know exactly what my mother owned, but I remember a long necklace with pearls as big as marbles, and a matching bracelet with two strands, Grandmother Flora's ring with one huge pearl in the center surrounded by smaller ones, a gold tiger brooch—it had emeralds for eyes—and I might recognize some other pieces if I saw them.” I ground my teeth in frustration, then shouted, “Cousin Sultana was wearing the same bracelet on her wedding day. I am certain she was!”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Grandmother Helene began rearranging the pillows on her chaise.

“Can't you do something about this?” I wailed.

“I can't speak against anyone in your family when my half-witted granddaughter requires their protection.”

Her strong characterization of Ruby shocked me, and I almost rose to my sister's defense before I was hushed.

“Let's not deceive ourselves. Ruby will never be as clever as you or Seti. At least she's a pretty girl who can be trained to run a home.”

I swallowed past the rising lump in my throat. “What about Aunt Bellore?”

Grandmother Helene paced the room, now and then tugging the draperies to make them hang more evenly. “Everyone thinks your aunt is a pious woman.” She picked up a cloth and began to polish a silver candy dish vigorously, while I mulled over her reply.

“She was my mother's closest friend . . .” I offered in a voice that trailed off as I recalled a much earlier discussion with Nani. “No. She was not her friend. No friend is jealous of another's happiness.” I flushed with the fury that boiled up under the surface. “She hated Luna and she hates me!”

I must have looked as though I would explode, for Grandmother Helene held the silver dish against her chest like a shield. Trembling with rage, I realized the evidence surrounded me. From the hour of my mother's death, Aunt Bellore had led the group that treated me as an outsider. She refused to accept her role as the most appropriate maternal substitute. She made me feel unwelcome in her home. She protected her daughters from my company. She might even have been behind my father's initial distrust of Grandmother Flora, and she certainly had instigated Grandmother Helene's departure after Mozelle's death, leaving her brother's children adrift again. Her vehement prejudice against Zilpah had fueled the other women of the community. Worst of all, she had matched her daughter to the only boy in whom I had shown any interest. Why? I did not know enough of men and women, of passions and jealousies, to sort this out then, but the door to this sordid labyrinth had flung wide open.

And what of Zilpah, the woman I most resented? What proof did I have that she had ever tried to harm me? None! Since the first days, she had struggled to manage our untidy household. With firmness she had reined in my two unruly brothers and had achieved peace among the four disparate male siblings. She had coached the backward Ruby and had, as a parent should, adored her own Seti, but she had never neglected me. I had met each of Zilpah's attempts to win me with petulance at best, disobedience at worst. As though a curtain had opened, I saw that I had been covetous of my father's love in the same way as his sister, Bellore, had been envious of her brother's love for Luna. Zilpah's desire to find me a husband when I was younger derived from a fear—a very realistic one, as it turned out—that the task would not be easy. She must have sanctioned the lavishness of my dowry even though she knew it meant less for Ruby, less for her own Seti, and diminished her own fortune considerably. Yet when every man in Calcutta turned his back on me, she was the one who had found Mr. Luddy.

Shaking with the terrible truths that coursed through my mind, I held Grandmother Helene's firm hands until I could speak again. “I have been wrong about so much,” I gushed. “I should never have trusted Aunt Bellore. I was so awful to Zilpah.”

Grandmother Helene frowned. “This is supposed to be a happy time for you and the family, Dinah.”

I fought back a new volley of tears. “Bellore is a thief, isn't she?”

She pointed to my brooch, bracelet, and ring. “I realize you feel as though you have been cheated, but why not look at how much you already have? You are marrying into a fine family. You will have the dowry of a princess. You do not need your mother's unlucky baubles to weigh you down. I know a girl is sentimental at a time like this, but if you or I raise this question now, a tumult will break out and everyone will take sides.”

“But they are mine!”

“I am not certain about that. From what I understand, your mother did not have the most methodical of minds. She made decisions on the spur of the moment. Her necklaces and bracelets belong to whomever your mother promised them to. And she may very well have decided to give them to her 'best' friend.”

“Aunt Bellore did not really like my mother, not after she married her brother. I think she was jealous that Luna's match was better than hers.”

“So now she has the jewels and the last laugh.”

“Yes, and it is not fair.”

“Do you want to know what
my
mother would have said?”

I waited with fists clenched.

“Khallil kaskeen yikser kirrabetu.”
Grandmother Helene wrapped her arms around me. “That means 'strong vinegar will break in its jar,' or in other words, your Aunt Bellore will do the greatest harm to herself in the end.”

“B-but—”

She squeezed me harder. “You must put this out of your mind for the present. Maybe later, after you are settled, your husband could make a request through legal channels to acquire what rightly belongs to you—and to him.”

“I see.” I felt as though a mist was lifting. “Aunt Bellore would have to fight the Luddys then.”

Grandmother Helene nodded sagely. “In this world a woman lets a man fight her wars—at least on the front lines.” She winked. “You and I know women organize the battle plans.”

I hugged her back, hoping she could read my gratitude in the wordless salute.