Flowers in the Blood (61 page)

“Twins,” he announced.

Edwin was ecstatic. I was frightened. Immediately we returned to Theatre Road. Saleh Arakie, who had assisted in Aaron's birth, was hired to attend me day and night. The doctors considered surgery. They checked my babies' heartbeats several times a day. They insisted I eat special foods. My task was to remain calm and to do as I was told until the babies could be born safely.

Edwin and I spent long hours contemplating the names of the twins, trying to make selections for every combination. He did not approve of the Middle Eastern custom of adding the child's name to that of its father and grandfather, with the last name in the series being dropped when the train of names became too cumbersome. Trying to keep track of relatives named David Joseph David and Moses David Joseph David and David Moses David (who were grandfather, father, and son, respectively) convinced us to search for less common names.

By the time I went into a long, drawn-out labor, we had not come to a final decision. The pains were intermittent and not especially acute, but they went on for days and days. I became irritable as fingers and hands and instruments prodded and poked incessantly. Trying to distract me, Edwin brought out our name list.

“Pick anything you want,” I said irritably at high noon in the hottest, dampest season of the year. All at once my water broke with an explosive splash, soaking the midwife. A curl of pain seemed to split my spine. The midwife banished Edwin from the room. Within minutes the first child tumbled from my loins.

“A boy,” the doctor told me.

“Is he all right?” I gasped.

“Listen to him crying. What a fighter!”

Ten minutes later another slid down, leaving a tremor in his wake.

“Another boy . . . smaller than the first,” the doctor said so softly I became frightened.

“He isn't crying.”

“Don't worry, he's breathing.”

“Yes,” the midwife added. “He's nice and pink. And delicate. More like a girl, but he's a boy . . . most definitely a boy!”

I squeezed the attendant's hand and closed my eyes as the prodding and wiping continued below my waist. The doctor gave me an injection and I fell into a rolling sea of sleep. When I awoke, I thought I was in the midst of a dream. Aaron sat at the foot of the bed. Two baby boys were wrapped in muslin, with only their hands and faces exposed. Aaron held the plumper one's fingers in one hand.

“That's Jeremiah,” Edwin said softly, glancing at me for confirmation, since that had been my preference for a boy's name. I nodded my approval. As Aaron bent over and touched the smaller one's cheeks, a long lock of black hair covered his right eye. In the last, complicated weeks of my confinement, I had neglected to have his thick hair trimmed.

“That’s Zachariah,” Edwin said as he selected the name that had been his favorite.

Aaron stumbled as he tried to pronounce the names. “Jeremeeah . . . Zachameeah . . .”

I laughed. “That's good enough.”

Aaron beamed up at me, and as he lifted his head, he used his fingers to comb back the errant hair in a gesture that perfectly mimicked his father's.

 

Other milestones marked the passage of those busy years. In 1894, when Ruby was fourteen, she married twenty-year-old Ariel Bassous, a true Talmudic scholar—in fact he was ill-suited to anything but a life of study. While my brother Jonah was trained in the opium business, Asher and Zilpah's two sons were sent away to school. Seti thrived in the Jewish Girls' School and enjoyed being the center of attention at Theatre Road.

These relatively pleasant years were marred by two deaths. Edwin went to Cochin twice to see his ailing mother. I admit I thought she was once again using her health as an excuse to bring him home, but two weeks after he came back from the second visit, she died. I refused to return to Cochin or the Malabar Coast, and after his mother's death, neither did Edwin. A short while later, Aunt Sumra passed away in her sleep. I felt as though she had been released from a living hell, and did not grieve for long, Even Yedid, who had just completed his bar mitzvah the month before, showed more relief than despair.

By the time he was sixteen, Yedid was almost ready to leave us. His eldest brother, who ran the godown inventory desk at the Sassoon company, offered to take him on as an apprentice. Yedid, who was impatient to leave a household where one child was always screaming in the night, welcomed the move to his elder brother's house.

Reminiscing on that period, I realize that I was too exhausted by the demands of the children to be aware of what was happening with the Sassoons. I had not seen a balance sheet in many years. The older sons of the brothers now formed a second tier of managers who competed for favors. There were rumors of Gabriel Judah's discontent, of Samuel Lanyado's clashes with my father, but Edwin assured me these were minor struggles. Indeed, the family seemed harmonious, at least on the occasions when I saw everyone: at synagogue, for parties, and at holidays. Edwin's responsibilities, which were limited to his supervision and reporting on the Patna fields, kept him out of the fray, or so I was led to believe. Later I would, berate myself for being too absorbed, by my growing family to notice the signs of dissatisfaction, but as long as my father was at the helm, nothing seemed amiss. However, his specialty was the Chinese trade, and it was during the last of his journeys—the first time Jonah accompanied him—that the equanimity in the Clive Street offices of Sassoon and Company was shattered forever.

42

 

T
oo many Sassoon children,” Edwin explained in an exasperated voice. “That's actually what Samuel said!” He strutted about our cramped sitting room clenching his fists. Rarely had I ever seen my husband so perturbed. “The words sounded as though that wife of his was putting them into his mouth.”

“After living for so long with Aunt Bellore, her nasty ways were bound to wear off on him.” I patted the double settee for him to sit beside me. “What was my uncle's point?”

Edwin plopped down for a second, but bounced up again. “The problem is who shall control the company. When Moses Sassoon began the trade, he held the reins. The business was rich enough to include generous shares for his five sons and to provide lucrative employment for his one son-in-law. What Moses did not anticipate was that his daughter's husband would come to resent his position.”

I caught Hanif's eye as he passed by the half-closed door. “A brandy and soda for Mr. Salem,” I called. “Now, Edwin, we have less than an hour before we have to go to Theatre Road for dinner, and I still don't know what you are getting at.”

“Who is coming?”

“With Papa away, I expect it will be a quiet evening. Just Zilpah, Seti, Grandmother Helene, Ruby, and Ariel.”

“I hope they won't bring the baby.”

“Edwin, you are upset. It's not like you not to want; to see Sharon.”

Hanif presented Edwin's drink on a silver tray. “I can't help thinking that because she looks like her father, she must have the brains of her mother.” Edwin stared morosely into the glass of the amber liquid.

“Now, exactly which children are upsetting Samuel and Bellore?” I asked to bring him back to the point.

“All
the offspring of the Sassoon dynasty. Ever since Saul and Jacob died, the balance has been distorted. As I understand it, when Saul was alive, he would render a final decision, and if that was unpopular, its effect could be leavened by Jacob.”

“What about Uncle Reuben and Uncle Ezra?” I asked for the sake of form, although I knew that both had weaknesses: Reuben was slow and obese, Ezra fancied himself above any sort of labor.

As Edwin sipped his drink, I noticed that the skin under his eyes was dark and his chin sagged. “Reuben spends his days translating to and from Chinese,” he replied glumly. “I can see why your father replaced him in China. Anyway, he seems happy enough to leave decisions to the others and take his considerable share.” He finished the brandy and looked desolately at the empty glass. “And Ezra is an odd one. He almost never comes into town, except when he is invited to visit Government House or to have lunch at the Great Eastern Hotel.”

“Or to see his tailor at Ranken's.”

“Exactly.”

“My father saw value in his social interests. 'Somebody's got to kiss the viceroy's boots and fortunately Ezra has volunteered' was how he put it.”

Edwin laughed for the first time that evening. “He didn't really say that, did he?”

“Absolutely. My uncle is not the first Sassoon to be seduced by the glitter of royalty and privilege. Before his death, Great-Uncle Abdullah—excuse me, Sir Albert Sassoon, the first Baronet of Kensington Gore—was happily ensconced at his 'ancestral' home halfway around the world from steamy India.”

“Nobody realizes the advantages—as well as the dangers—of having friends in high places better than I do,” Edwin said with a self-deprecating laugh. “The point is: where does that leave matters at Sassoon and Company? In a muddle, there's where. When your father is here, he runs the show, but he spends half his time in China. For a few months after his departure, everyone stays in his proper channel, until slowly they begin to alter his orders, confusing the staff. You can't imagine what it is like to have three or four people giving me conflicting assignments. Then, when everything is murky, your Uncle Samuel leaps in and supposedly sorts matters out.”

“At least somebody takes the helm,” I said in a conciliatory voice, even though I was reluctant to commend Bellore's officious husband.

“It is not his place to do that, and everyone knows it!” Edwin's face turned dusky with rage. “Some comply; others rebel. That is how the problem of too many children comes in. Thus far, none of our generation has any power. As you know, each of the sons of the brothers takes his compensation from his father's shares. The sons-in-law have salaries that cannot compare With what the other men get, even divided four or five ways. I am not complaining, but Gabriel makes his displeasure obvious. And I admit he has a point, since he does ten times the work of someone like Reuben's son, Nathaniel, who rarely shows his face except at auction time. And Samuel, who has devoted his whole life to the company, makes less than Yedid will when he starts.”

While he was talking, I counted up the male Sassoons who divided the spoils. Saul had two sons, Adam and Nathan, who were in the company. Reuben had Nathaniel and Noah. Ezra had only Sayeed, who was more interested in horse racing than business, but took his share anyway. That was five. Of Jacob's ten children, only his eldest son, Mir, was a part of the company, but counting Yedid—who soon would be—that made seven. Bellore had only girls, and for some unexplained reason twenty-one-year-old Lulu had refused every suitor and was unmarried. The prettiest, Abigail, had wedded a distant cousin of the Rothschilds' and moved to France. And Sultana's Gabriel was part of the problem. My father had already added Jonah to his side of the firm, and Asher would certainly follow. Zilpah's sons were being groomed for the law, since Benu could never give them a share and Zilpah did not want them to be in an inferior position to any Sassoon. That left at least nine young Sassoon men pushing into the fray. Samuel had every reason to feel threatened.

Before I could formulate a solution, Yali appeared at the door. Aaron wore a sailor shirt and short pants. The twins, who were learning to walk, held on to her sari. Zachariah fell down. Jeremiah ran to Edwin.

“Time to go,” I said. “Let’s talk about this later. There must be a way to settle it.”

“That I doubt,” Edwin replied. He sounded grim, but his face had already puckered into a funny expression that made Jeremiah giggle with glee.

 

Even though Edwin's days may have been unpleasant, he withstood the tensions stoically. Many evenings when he returned from Clive Street, he went to the small bedroom on the top floor that had become his study. After a quiet hour to himself, he would join the family, mellowed from the time alone. I suspected he chafed at working under Samuel Lanyado and Gabriel Judah, but his resentment was muffled because of his chagrin at having lost the fifty thousand rupees. I tried to let him know there were other options, even if he felt he had none.

“Opium is not the only business in the world,” I began one evening when he seemed especially relaxed. “When you traded with your uncle, you exported gunny and rope, coriander and beeswax to Singapore. What's more, the Sassoons of Bombay deal almost exclusively in products manufactured in their own mills, and they have prospered.”

Edwin squinted at me. “What is this about?”

“I can see you are miserable.”

“Who says I am?”

“Edwin . . .” I sighed in frustration.

He was quiet for a time before he spoke again. “Do you know what your trouble is? You are not content unless you have something to worry about. You must not let your mind wander into dark corners that you easily could avoid.”

“Now, darling,” I replied smoothly, “some housekeepers may be able to ignore the corners, but a good one makes certain to dust them before the spiders and their nasty webs take over.”

“What do you expect me to do?” he snapped. “Shall I say to your father, 'Thank you very much, but I have decided to seek my fortune elsewhere'?”

“Why not? With your experience you could get a position with any number of Jewish firms.”

“That's true, but then we could not continue to stay in this house. In fact, we shouldn't be here now that poor Sumra is gone, since it rightfully belongs to her son, Mir. With what I could earn we could find some place on Harrison Road or Bow Bazaar, but never anything nearly as large as we have and certainly never anything south of Park Street.”

“I don't care where we live, darling.”

“That is not true,” he said, restraining his ire.

“We are not exactly paupers living on Sassoon crumbs. I have my small legacy from Grandmother Flora, and your mother's estate has provided a cushion. Anyway, that is not what I had in mind to discuss.”

“Well?” he asked wearily.

“I know you pretend to be content for my sake, but the time is coming when you will have to go on your own before my brothers and cousins push you aside.”

“That won't happen. They may receive more money, but my place is secure.”

“Is it? Look at the Lanyados. Aunt Bellore might not have become such a monster if she had had more prestige.”

“You are being melodramatic, Dinah. Their lofty perch in Kyd Street is hardly a stinking
bustee.
If anything, Samuel has become the biggest fish of them all. With his wheedling and conniving, everyone defers to him. Besides, when your father returns, he will sort everything out.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“Dinah, the company has been going strong since before you were born. A few conflicts between brothers and sisters will hardly sink the ship.” He gulped at the unfortunate choice of words, giving me a chance to make my final point.

“Nothing lasts forever,” I said firmly. “The Chinese used to think they had a monopoly on tea until Robert Fortune and his friends brought the plants to India. Now that the Chinese are growing their own opium, we have seen a decline in the price. One of these days that market may dwindle as well.”

“The whole world buys opium.”

“They do this year, but what if the laws change? Many people of high moral character want to outlaw it entirely.”

“That will never occur. Too many people would revolt if denied their daily pipe. India supplies more than two million Chinese smokers, and even the most exaggerated estimates say that native opium supplies less than four percent of them. Anyway, too many people of power have a vested interest.”

“People have a way of losing power.” I groaned in frustration. “Edwin, couldn't you consider expanding your horizons? If the opium market changes, you would be ahead of the others in finding a new situation.” I winced as Edwin closed his eyes. Perhaps I had pushed him too far after a tiring day.

“Theories are entertaining, but there is no practical way to implement them. If we had any capital left, I could open a trading company of my own. Nothing could stop us from bidding on anything from tea to opium if we had the wherewithal to cover the auction prices.”

“We might be able to borrow the money.”

“No! I'll be damned if I'll ever ask anyone in your family for a single anna.”

“What about your friends?” I suggested hesitantly.

“It is difficult enough being in business with one's family,” he said obliquely.

“What do you mean?”

“That's enough for now,” he said with a firmness that silenced me. “When your father returns, things will right themselves.”

I let the matter drop for a while. At least Edwin enjoyed the trips to Patna. In fact, the less he was around the Sassoons, the happier he seemed to be. When he was in Calcutta he joined friends for a game of billiards and conversation over cheroots and port. I was pleased he had renewed friendships with boys he had known during his brief stay at St. Xavier's: Howard Farrell, Abdul Moquith, and Ahmed Majid, men of different faiths whom we never entertained at home. There was also a group of Bengali friends including Shyamdas. Chauduri and Krishna Mukerji. Perhaps one of these contacts might be his avenue out of the opium business, I decided, and reminded myself to keep encouraging

Edwin in that direction. In any case, since I was exhausted by my domestic routines, Edwin's absences were sometimes a relief. Time for myself was precious: to read, to keep my journal, to sleep an extra hour. I knew that a household filled with demanding babies was no place to unwind after a day with formidable in-laws. Unlike many a wife, I never worried that other women might tempt Edwin. When we were alone together, the magic embraced us like an impervious veil. No husband had ever been as ardent, as attentive, as superb a lover as Edwin. Maybe he was right. Maybe this simple life was what happiness was about.