Flowers in the Blood (46 page)

“Travancore is a nineteen-gun state,” Prince Amar added.

I glanced over at Edwin to see if this was of importance. “Cochin is entitled to only seventeen guns,” he filled in.

Listening to this interchange, I felt a pang that the descendants of the great dynasties had been reduced to petty bickering for favor in an empire where foreign rulers handed out titles like so many pieces of confetti.

The two men continued bantering as if there was no raucous party or patient bride nearby. Despite the prince's apparent concentration on the discussion with Edwin, he managed to fix his gaze in my direction. Edwin did not sense the distraction. The other guests hovered a safe distance away, not daring to interfere with the prince's right to occupy the attention of the wedding couple. I longed to join the others, if only to remove myself from the odd man's scrutiny.

The sun went down behind the high facades on the street of the Jews, and purple shadows soon bathed the pavement. A chain of women dancers came for me. I clasped the hand of Julien's wife, Gladys, and danced for a few minutes until I reached the Salem house. There I broke off and took a much needed break in the bathroom.

“Dinah?” I heard Edwin's voice on the stairs. He knocked at the door. “Will you be long?”

“No.”

“I have something to show you. I had hoped to do it while it was light, but Prince Amar's visit changed my plans.”

“Will he leave now?”

“No, he will come with us.”

“Come with us where?”

“I cannot say.” He led me back outside into a glittering world of flickering torches and brilliant stars. The guests, many of whom had drifted back to their homes, formed a pathway down the street. Additional torchbearers from the prince's retinue lit the way to the plaza, where the elephants waited. Edwin and I were assisted up into the howdah on the elephant just behind the prince. In the darkness, the torches below formed an eddying current of light, which we followed like ships adrift on a rolling sea. I recalled the first time I had been on an elephant, with my father in Patna, and wondered what he would think if he could see me now wrapped in Edwin's arms atop a royal elephant, breathing the moist, thick air of this tropical night in this faraway coastal town on the other side of India.

I was uncertain which direction we were taking, but the pungent smell of low-tide muck suggested we were approaching the waterfront.

“Stop here,” Edwin called to the prince.

The mahouts poked and shouted at their lumbering charges. I was lifted down with the assistance of the prickly musculature of the elephant's trunk. After Edwin gave some instructions in Malayalam, torchbearers ran forward and made a ring of fire around a small house with a Dutch tile roof.

“What is this?”

Edwin bowed. “Your new home, my darling Dinah.”

The door opened. His sister, Hanna, was silhouetted in the glow of candles. I walked forward, knowing, from the telltale odor of sandalwood, that the prince was directly behind me. A flickering glow on the whitewashed exterior made the walls seem higher than they were. One square room was furnished with heavy carved pieces of furniture similar to those I had seen in Jew Town. Windows on the far wall reflected the light of the many glass lamps that hung from the ceiling on long chains. Three large silver candelabra glowed in the center of a round table, where platters of delicacies were laid out. A cut-glass decanter was filled with wine and two large glasses rimmed in gold were nearby.

“Where are we?”

“A mile south of Jew Town. From the garden you can see across to Ernakulam.”

“There is a garden?” My voice rose with excitement.

“A small one with coconut palms bending to the sea.”

Hanna pointed to a doorway on the left. I followed her to a small bedroom, where there was a bed even larger than the one we had borrowed from Mother Esther. A cool buff stone covered the floor. A tile shelf contained a simple copper basin.

“There are only three rooms,” Edwin said apologetically, “but on the other side are a kitchen and an exterior entrance to godowns for Yali and Hanif.”

Hanna crossed her hands high on her pregnant abdomen. “Do you like it?”

Before I could respond, Prince Amar spoke in his sloppy manner. “A charming place to spend a few nights, I agree, yet hardly a place for a woman of this fine lady's background.”

“Everyone cannot live in a palace, Lover,” Edwin said without rancor.

“Ah, my dear friend, forgive me,” he continued in that honey-coated tone that was beginning to irk me, “but from what you said, your bride is accustomed to luxury.”

“I think it is wonderful.” I was so happy to have a place of our own that my voice reflected my honest pleasure.

“It is exactly the sort of house I wished for when I first saw the island.” I beamed at Edwin, and his evident pride prompted me to muddle on, as if a quantity of compliments could override the prince's insult. “Besides, as I told my husband, any room where he and I are together is heaven to me.” I had spoken without realizing how appalled Hanna and the others who had accompanied us would be at the intimacy of my statement. At their startled expressions, I flushed. Suddenly I felt as foolish in my wedding garb as a child caught playacting. After all, I was no more a bride than Hanna!

There were awkward attempts to cover the uneasy silence. Hanna passed a platter of food. Julien began to pour brandies. Then the prince's voice boomed out over the babble. “Mrs. Salem, my dear friend Edwin Salem, once again I say your names aloud in the presence of these witnesses.” He patted his chest. The diamond buttons twinkled in the lamplight. “Having no more coins in my pockets, I hope you will permit me to defer my fines and accept my word as my credit.”

Edwin tried to gesture this was unnecessary as a crooked smile crept across the prince's pasty face. His mustache wobbled. “My dear friends, on this joyous and most auspicious occasion you must grant me the opportunity to tell you and everyone present that it would give me the greatest honor if you would accept as my gift to you both the residence that we call 'The Orchid House' to be your home in Travancore, now or later, tomorrow or the day after, from this day forward, as long as the world and moon exist.”

31

 

I
n the morning Edwin and I sat up in bed and stared out on a silvery channel at crossing boats. A long-legged bird walked on the grassy” bank, trying to swallow a fish too large for his gullet. We sipped tea from the tray Hanif had delivered and crunched the toast Yali had prepared. For a long while I tried to sort out the sensation that coursed through my veins. My bones felt so light that if I had not been holding on to Edwin, I might have floated. Then the word came to me, the meaning of which I had never before known: contentment.

“What did you think of Prince Amar?” Edwin asked lazily.

The mention of the name dissolved the perfection of the moment. “He surprised me. Why didn't you ever tell me about him?”

“There has not been time to tell you about every one of my friends,” he said, kissing me hard on the mouth. “You keep my lips so busy,” he mumbled between light pecks on my cheeks.

With a friendly shove I pushed him away. “I would have thought the son of a maharajah might have been at the top of your list.”

“He's not the maharajah's son, he's his nephew. And besides, one never brags about one's friends.”

I searched Edwin's face for his usual grin, but he had spoken the words with utter seriousness. “So, you met him at Lucknow and have been pals ever since.”

“He was one of the few boys from this region, and we traveled together. Amar is one of the most brilliant men I've ever met, a true genius with figures. He was to continue his studies in England.”

“Why didn't he go?”

“Amar was the third in line to the throne of Travancore. 'The prime position in the world,' he claimed, 'for I have every privilege and no responsibility.' Then both his brothers died and everything changed. As heir, he must be available to his uncle and the court.”

“His uncle is the maharajah?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn't his uncle have any sons?”

“Yes, I believe he does.”

“Then why won't one of them become maharajah?”

“Travancore is one of the few places in the world where inheritance is passed through the maternal line. That means the eldest son of the current maharajah's eldest sister or aunt succeeds, not the son of the ruler. Amar's mother is the maharajah's eldest sister, so Amar will become the maharajah someday.”

“How lucky for him.”

“Not really,” Edwin said sadly. “He is a simple fellow who prefers the world of ideas to the machinations of ruling.”

To me, Amar's display of elephants and troops, the immodest way he had tossed coins about, and his grandiose offer of a house—which I saw as nothing more than a way to belittle Edwin's gift to me—belied my husband's explanation. However, I decided this was not the time to contradict Edwin, who then would feel pressed to defend his friend.

“What is this business about the Orchid House?”

“You heard him as well as I did. He gave us the house.”

“We aren't going to live there, are we?”

“It is ours to do as we wish.”

“I want to stay here.”

Edwin patted my hand. “I am pleased you like this modest dwelling, but I never intended it to be our final home. I could see it was impossible for us to be ourselves under my mother's roof, and that is why I brought you here.”

“What would we do in Travancore? Isn't your business in Cochin?”

“The time has come for me to reevaluate my position. As you know, I have been working with my uncle. Although he has been kind to me, there have been some difficulties . . .” He pushed himself around until his feet were dangling off the edge of the bed. “Anyway, this is a good time to consider other options.” He went to the washbasin and splashed water on his scratchy face.

Fascinated, I watched the tightening and relaxing of his naked buttocks as he lathered his shaving brush and wielded his razor. The composure I had felt moments before dissolved as my mounting desire mingled with new apprehension.

Edwin buttoned his shirt. “Aren't you getting up?”

“Why should I? Don't you think it would be simpler if I spent the day in bed to be ready for you whenever you wished me?”

“I wanted a wife, not a courtesan,” he said without smiling.

“What’s the difference?” I asked lightly.

He shifted his feet impatiently. “A wife helps make decisions; she gives as much as she takes. A courtesan is a mere receptacle. After the man has filled her, she is worthless.”

I regretted the tense turn of the conversation. These sudden shifts in Edwin's mood were never nasty, but they often caught me unaware. When his face darkened or brightened, when he turned a serious discussion into a joke or vice versa, my flesh tingled, my brain reeled, as I fought to keep up with him. My new husband was like a weather system, bringing stormy winds or gentle breezes without warning. I felt like the captain of a ship who had to be alert to maneuver his craft under variable conditions.

“Tell me more,” I asked evenly as he fastened the tiny buttons at the back of my frock.

“About what?”

“The Orchid House. Have you ever seen it?”

“Yes. It is the house where Amar's mother lived when he was young.”

“Where does she live now?”

“As the first princess, she has a wing of the palace. She will be the next maharani.”

“Do you mean that Amar's wife will not become queen?”

“Yes. The mother takes that role.”

“Why?”

“It's part of the wisdom of the, ancients. Consider the Jews. A child is not born Jewish unless his mother is Jewish, because while a father's identity may be shrouded in mystery, the mother's is always known. Thrones that rely on paternal inheritance can be questioned. Those through the mother are inviolate. At least in Travancore a purity of line is guaranteed.”

“Who lives in the Orchid House now?”

“Probably some relations.”

“Where would they go if we took Amar up on his offer?”

“How should I know?” He sighed loudly. “Why don't we visit and find out? The countryside is very appealing and the journey through the backwaters would make, a wonderful holiday.” As he started for the large central room of the house, I followed behind and watched him pluck a banana from the bowl and eat it rapidly.

He handed me a banana, but I replaced it. “I hardly think we need a holiday. We have not yet begun to live any sort of regular life together. Every day has been different so far.”

“Is that a complaint?”

Tears rushed into my eyes. I turned my head from Edwin and walked outside to the waterfront side of the house. Along the far shore, warehouses with tiled roofs glistened in the morning sunlight.

“Dinah!” he called after me.

I blinked, hoping he would think the glare had caused my eyes to water. “If we had remained in Calcutta, you would have gone to an office and I would have managed a household and visited with family and friends. I would have known what was expected from me, and you would have known what was expected from you. People are happiest when they have markers to follow, at least from day to day. Nobody knows what life may bring, I realize that, but they should live their days in a pattern of constructive deeds.”

“Who says that should be our course?” he asked gently. “You are describing the acceptance of a sort of slavery. The pathetic rickshaw-wallah is chained to the yoke of his vehicle in order to feed himself and his family a few grains of rice. For twelve hours a day, through drowning monsoon and scorching summer, he carries his burden until at last he succumbs, a broken old man before thirty. Great fortune has been showered on us both so we might break from such binds, whether brutal like the rickshaw staves or benevolent like familial duty. We have been given the luxury of living each day different from the last, to expand our horizons, to make discriminating choices.”

“How shall we live?” I asked in an edgy voice. “On my dowry?”

He straightened his back, and his mouth puckered with displeasure. “Certainly not. We must keep that intact until we have determined the best possible use for the money. We must analyze investments. If we went to Travancore, we could look for opportunities in that land—it's a frontier ripe with possibilities. Also, I have several ideas to pursue in Cochin.”

“For instance?”

“I could represent the Sassoon interests here. I know most of the opium goes east to China, but there is a steady trade to the west. Cochin might be a port of call.”

“You said you didn't want to do that,” I said with alarm.

He looked at me queerly. “Why does that worry you? There is hardly a commodity with more profit than poppies.”

“Well,” I demurred, since this was hardly the time to bring up my mother or
Edwin Drood
, “I would prefer to be independent of my family—and yours.”

“I see your point,” he said gently. “I didn't mean to upset you. Many other possibilities exist. There hasn't been time to discuss everything with you. If I had known how anxious you were . . .” He trailed off.

I reached over and clasped his shoulder. “I am sorry, Edwin. Everything has happened so quickly that I felt adrift. When I woke this morning and found myself in yet another bed, it took a few minutes before I even knew where I was.”

His mouth curled at the edges. “You were beside me. Nothing else should matter.”

I nodded. “Sometimes I fear that when I wake, you will have disappeared.”

“For me, Cochin is home. I forget how foreign everything must seem to you. I can understand why you wouldn't wish to go somewhere new again. We shall remain here as long as you like. Only . . .” He paused. “I would not like to insult Amar.”

“We might visit him someday.”

“Of course, we shall visit him whenever you like.”

“If we did, we would not have to live in Travancore, would we?”

“No, certainly not. However, once you see it, you may decide Travancore is one of the most enchanting places you have ever seen.”

Dimly at first, then with ever-increasing clarity, I saw how masterfully Edwin had managed my distress. He had listened to me, he had acceded to my wishes, and somehow in the process he had maneuvered me into a new comprehension of his position. Even more astonishing, now that I had the assurance I had craved, I wanted to give him what he desired.

“Sahib!” Edwin and I turned and saw Hanif running toward us in some agitation.

“What is it, Hanif?” Edwin shouted before we met up with him.

“Your mother is ill.”

“Oh, Edwin!” I said in alarm. “What could be the matter?”

“Don't worry.” He patted my hand. “This is her way of making me pay attention to her. Mother was not pleased when I told her I bought this house for you. Since I was the youngest, she always expected me to remain by her side.”

I thought he sounded unsympathetic and I worried that his mother really might be ill. My concerns faded somewhat when we visited her an hour later. Esther Salem had moved back to the larger bedroom and was propped up on pillows. The room had a sour smell.

“Good morning, Mother,” Edwin said without much emotion.

“At least you two look as though you slept last night. I couldn't close my eyes, not for a minute.”

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked. “Is it your back again?”

“No, that pain has subsided.” She clutched at her chest and spoke with a loud intake of air between syllables. “I fear there is something the matter with my heart.”

“Oh, Mother.” Edwin grinned. “More than half the population of Jew Town must be suffering from overindulgence. I saw you sipping the wine.” He went to the window and threw open the shutters. “It stinks in here. What you need is some fresh air and a walk in the sunshine. Dinah and I have already had a long stroll along the banks, and it cleared my head considerably.”

His mother shielded her eyes. “No, the light bothers me.”

Edwin sighed and adjusted the slats to direct the light to the ceiling. “Now, Mother, if you get out of bed and come downstairs, Dinah and I will take tea with you.”

Esther Salem pouted. “I don't know if I have the strength, Edwin.”

He turned to me and shrugged.

“May I be of assistance, Mother Esther?” I asked in my most amenable voice. “Perhaps some mango juice would soothe you, or—”

“I cannot abide mango juice!” she shouted so unexpectedly that I shrank back into the doorway.

Without another word Edwin turned from her, took my arm, and escorted me downstairs.

Aunt Reema was waiting for us in the parlor. “Don't be too hard on your mother,” she said in a gravelly whisper. “If that prince hadn't shown up and—”

“What does this have to do with Amar?”

“What would your mother do if you left Cochin?”

“Is that what this nonsense is about?” Edwin's tone had a seething edge I never had heard before.

“Edwin!” His mother sounded like she was in pain.

He stepped out in the hall and looked up the stairs.

“Edwin!” Now she seemed frightened.

I watched as he climbed several steps, paused to deliberate whether to continue up or not, then, changing his mind, hurried back down and out the door.

“What shall I do?” I asked Aunt Reema.

“Let him be. This has nothing to do with you, or at least not directly.”

“What if it is her heart?”

“No, it isn't.”

“Maybe it would ease her mind if she knew I do not want to go to Travancore.”

“Oh, yes.” Aunt Reema seemed relieved. “Tell her that, please.”

With reluctance I climbed the stairs in Edwin's stead. I pushed open the door to her room slowly to avoid flooding her with light.

“Edwin . . .” Her face was turned away. “I was afraid you had gone out. Was that Reema leaving? She hasn't been very helpful. She thought you and your wife should have the day together. Your
wife
! I have to admit the word sounds strange to me, but I suppose I will have to get used to it. Besides, it is not as though you haven't had enough time alone with that girl—” She stopped, for when she glanced behind her to see her son's reaction, she realized she had been talking to me. Her face blanched momentarily, but she recovered rapidly. She pushed herself back into a sitting position and stared at me with weary eyes, the green color of a stagnant lagoon. “You weren't happy here, were you?”