Nothing Like Love (46 page)

“What happen? You blind? You ain’t see how Chalisa skinning she teeth all over the place? Is she self who give that boy the deed.”

“What the ass is this?” Someone sucked their teeth. “Big man and woman shitting up the children wedding for greediness!”

Nanny hunched and placed her wrinkled hand over her heart. “Baba,” she said to Pundit Anand, “you expect a old and elder lady like me to keep track of every piece of land, orange and deed I own? It must be slip my mind.” She held her head with her arthritic fingers.

Pundit Anand darkened. “I find thing slipping your mind steady these days. You also forget to tell we Chalisa was performing on
Mastana Bahar
.” He whipped the deed from Maya’s fingers, dropped it back into the basket like a piece of debris and wiped his hands on his dhoti.

Maya nodded. Her fly-aways framed her face like smoke.

The people gasped.

Chandani sprang to her feet. “It good for you, Anand! Allyuh is like family already—crooked same way!” She pointed at him and he recoiled.

Startled, Krishna attempted to drag his hand through his hair and knocked his turban off his head and into his lap.

The vein at Pundit Anand’s temple leaped beneath his skin and fell into a steady throb. Maya placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder as he spoke. “Chandani, sit down. This matter does not concern you.”

Vimla felt embarrassment prickle under her skin but she made no attempt to stop her mother.

In his excitement, Faizal Mohammed leaned forward and draped his arms over the chairs in front of him. The fingers of his left hand grazed Vimla’s shoulder, the fingers of his right, Minty’s.

“Does not concern me?” Chandani stomped her foot in the grass. “Mr. Pundit Man, it look like thing slipping
your
mind and all!” She stalked to the mandap and wrestled Pundit Panday’s microphone from its stand. “Let me tell all allyuh how this matter concerns me, too. My daughter there”—Chandani pointed to Vimla, who sank low in her chair—“supposed to marry Krishna today.”

The crowd exclaimed.

Amusement softened Krishna’s stoic stare. Vimla’s heart turned over in her chest. There was no place safe to rest her gaze.

“Pundit self invite my family to he house just yesterday to ask we for Vimla to marry Krishna because he, and the rest of allyuh, see Chalisa wine she waist on
Mastana Bahar
like she playing Carnival.” Chandani swept her arm in Chalisa’s direction, and as if on cue, Chalisa rotated her slender hips as best she could sitting on the peerha in her lavish sari. The crowd tittered. Nanny blanched. Whistles flew up from the back of the tent.

Chandani thundered on. “But then, Miss Nanny come to Pundit Anand’s house same day, and wave up she orange estate deed under he nose. Allyuh done know how Pundit greedy already.” Chandani paused for the rumbling of agreement that followed. “Well, he get stupid when he see that deed and now for now he fling my daughter away and tell Nanny he go marry Krishna to she granddaughter, Chalisa, just to get he hands on that orange estate money. And then allyuh know what he do?”

“What he do, Chand?” Pudding shouted from somewhere in the back.

“He leave we standing by he gap like three stupidies. He didn’t even watch we self!”

The crowd hurled a volley of insults and questions at the mandap.

“Pundit Anand get so take up by the money he ain’t even check to see what it is he really getting, and now, after he shit we up, look Nanny shitting he up same way. Pundit Anand does steady be preaching about
karma
and
dharma
and thing. Well, watch karma take he in he ass now!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Vimla saw Om, Rajesh and Puncheon powering up the centre aisle. Om attempted to peel Chandani’s fingers from the microphone, firm yet gentle, but she had come too far and she would not be stopped now.

“One more thing!” Chandani declared.

Om shrugged an apology as Chandani pulled the microphone to her face again. “My daughter ain’t no duncy-head girl,” she said. “In case allyuh ain’t hear, Vimla Narine going over to study!” She nearly hopped she was so excited.

Sangita’s mouth fell open. Puncheon hooted. He threw
himself into the air and landed in a pile in the grass. Rajesh pulled him to his feet and pushed him into a chair.

The tent erupted in applause.

Chandani glared at Pundit Anand and Maya. “I done with all allyuh! Bhagwan go fix you to suit. Allyuh real sorry, yes. And I sorry for allyuh.” Chandani dropped the microphone and allowed Om to take her hand and lead her back to her seat. She sat with her chin held so high she was nearly the full height of an average woman.

Vimla stole a glance at Krishna. Last night, she had not mentioned her plan to leave Trinidad.

For a moment he blinked at her, once, twice, three times, but then his face crumpled and he did the unthinkable: he tucked his bejewelled turban under his arm and strode across the mandap, down the stairs and along the centre aisle. Pundit Anand called his name, but this only quickened Krishna’s steps.

My heartfelt thanks to:

The University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies Creative Writing program, from which the early pages of this story first emerged.

My agent, Martha Magor Webb, who fell instantly in love with this book.

The kind folks at Doubleday Canada; and especially my editor Lynn Henry, who said yes to this book before it had an ending, and who, in her kind, gentle way, has guided me through the publishing process.

My teachers: Elaine Anderson, who saw the makings of a writer in a twelve-year-old girl; Lawrence Hill, who read my first short story and liked it; Rabindranath Maharaj, for seeing potential early on; Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, mentor, believer, spirit bolsterer.

Shasta Townsend and the lovely yoginis at Balanced Life Yoga for helping me find stillness, peace and courage.

My friends at Woburn Jr. P.S. for helping me balance my passions of writing and teaching in equal measures.

Sharon Overend for commiserating, encouraging and drinking tea with me.

Nithya Addageethala, who has been reading alongside me for a lifetime.

Shane Ramnanan for his encouragement and for giving Chandani just the right words in the end.

Neil Kowlessar, my husband and best friend, for his support, his belief in this dream, and for the endless snacks.

Molly Ramnanan, sweetest, most loving mom in the whole world.

Ram Ramnanan, best dad, best storyteller, best hugger, best everything.

My families in Trinidad, for welcoming me into their homes over the years.

Trinidad, for being delicious and magical and infinitely beautiful.

Chance Kowlessar, for arriving in all his perfection.