Read The Weight of Heaven Online
Authors: Thrity Umrigar
Tags: #Americans - India, #Murder, #Psychological Fiction, #Married People, #India, #Family Life, #Crime, #Psychological, #Family & Relationships, #General, #Americans, #Bereavement, #Death; Grief; Bereavement, #Adoption, #Fiction
dirty-looking note, which he held out to Frank. They noticed that
the boy was keeping his eyes on the ground.
“What’s this for, Ramesh?” Frank asked, smoothing the creased
twenty-rupee note.
The boy kept staring at the ground. “Ma gave it to me,” he said.
“As spending money.” He finally looked up and around at the room
and was attacked by a fresh bout of sobs. “But this room must cost
so-so much money, Frank. You take this.”
Ellie reached him first. “Oh, honey,” she said. “It’s okay. We can
afford this.” She kissed Ramesh on his head. “It’s very sweet of you
to offer. But you keep this money, okay?”
The boy shook his head vigorously. “No, I want to give it. You
take it.”
“Tell you what, kiddo,” Frank said. “How about you save it for
us? And maybe you can buy us all ice cream later today?”
Ramesh thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. The three of
them sat on the bed in silence for a moment. Frank threw Ellie a
look. See this boy’s character? the look said. See how sensitive
Ramesh is? But Ellie gazed back at him expressionless, and he was
perturbed by the fact that he had no idea what she was thinking.
“Where am I sleeping?” Ramesh asked. “On the floor?”
“No, bud.” Frank laughed. “We’ll have a cot brought in for you.
That okay?”
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“Okay.”
Frank rose from the bed and stretched. “Well? What do you guys
want to do the rest of the afternoon?” He knew what the plan for the
weekend was—attend the picnic thrown by the consulate general
tomorrow afternoon and then visit the Elephanta Caves, which Ellie
so badly wanted to see, on Sunday. But that still left the rest of the
afternoon open today.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Ellie said promptly. “I’m tired.”
Frank was about to protest but then thought better of it. It would
be nice to spend some time alone with the boy. “How about if I take
him out for a couple of hours?” he asked. “Show him the Gateway
to India, maybe take a quick swim in the pool? Will that give you
enough time alone?”
Something darkened in Ellie’s eyes, but when she spoke her voice
was noncommittal. “It’s not that I want to be alone, hon. I just need
a quick nap, that’s all.”
“I understand,” he said quickly, afraid that she would change her
mind and decide to accompany them. He looked at her, wondering
if she had caught the pulse of eagerness in his voice, wondering if he
was imagining the fact that the air between them suddenly seemed
charged and tense. There was a time when Ellie’s face had been like
a movie screen, so that it registered every emotion she was feeling
and her thoughts. When had she learned to slam her face shut like a
door? Or had he simply lost the ability to read her? He remembered
what he’d whispered to her on their wedding day—You are part of
me; you live on my skin. He had repeated those words to her a million times since. And yet here he was today, trying to shake her off,
trying to sneak a few hours of guiltless enjoyment with Ramesh.
He turned away, afraid of letting any of this register on his face.
“We’ll see you later,” he said and then, over his shoulder, “Come
on, Ramesh. Put on the swimming trunks Ellie bought you, under
your shorts.”
Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 3 1
How lovely it was to see the beautiful stone arch of the Gateway of India and share its history with Ramesh, what a pleasure it
was to tell him about the similar-looking Arc de Triomphe in Paris,
to describe to him the Parisian bakeries and bistros. How wonderful to stroll down the sidewalk beside the sea, dodging the beggars
and the peanut vendors and the balloon sellers who were following them. Frank looked down with affection at the shiny head of
the shiny boy who walked beside him. “You okay, bud?” he said.
“You’re not scared, are you?”
Ramesh shook his head. “No,” he said. “I like this Bombay. Even
the beggars here are nice. Less sick.”
Frank laughed at Ramesh’s perceptiveness. “You’re right, sweetie.
This is a wealthy area. So, I guess, even the beggars are richer.”
Ramesh giggled. “You called me sweetie.”
“So?”
“So . . .” The boy lowered his voice to guard from the most
persistent street urchins who were still following them, “only
boyfriend-girlfriends is allowed to call sweetie.” He gave Frank a
look that was equal parts bravado and shyness.
Frank pretended to be outraged. “Ramesh. You naughty boy.
Who taught you about girlfriends and boyfriends?”
“A girl in my school,” Ramesh said. “She say she will marry me.”
“And do you like her?”
He shrugged. “She fine.”
Frank grinned. “She’s fine? Fine? That’s not enough to marry
someone.” He suddenly grew serious. “Besides, my boy, you have
to focus on your studies, right? No time for girlfriends, you hear?”
Ramesh nodded vigorously. “I know, I know.” He glanced up at
Frank again, as if trying to gauge something. Then, “She kiss me
once. On my nose.”
“She kissed you on your
nose
?”
“Don’t laugh.” Ramesh sounded cross. He stopped walking
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and putting a hand on one hip, looked up at Frank in exasperation.
“That’s what mother-father do,” he explained. “Before a baby is
born.”
Frank heard the frustration and something else—uncertainty—
in Ramesh’s voice. He stopped walking, too. “Come here,” he said,
drawing the boy toward the cement wall. “Let’s sit for a moment.”
He kept his arm around him as he considered his choices. Was this
the right time to teach this boy about the birds and the bees? Was
that even his place? Did Indian parents have these conversations
with their children? Prakash and Edna had obviously not, and the
thought annoyed him. Surely the boy was old enough to know the
workings of his body? Ramesh had always struck him as less mature
than his American counterparts, but still, it was ridiculous to think
that a woman got pregnant from a kiss on the nose. He suddenly
wished Ellie was here. She’d know how to handle this.
“Who told you that a woman can have a baby from a kiss?” he
asked cautiously.
“Parvati did,” he replied. “My school friend.”
Frank saw his opening. “And is Parvati going to have a baby?
Because she kissed you?”
Ramesh looked at him as if he was an imbecile. “No, Frank,” he
said patiently. “
She
kiss
me.
To have the baby, the boyfriend has to
kiss the girlfriend.”
Frank gulped hard and looked out at the water. “I see,” he said. It
occurred to him that he would have never had to have such a difficult
conversation with Benny. He and Ellie had always been candid with
their son, and Ellie had on more than one occasion told their son
matter-of-factly that a daddy had to stick his penis inside a mommy
for a baby to be born. Ellie had been emphatic about sparing their
son any confusion and puzzlement about sex. Even some of their
friends had been a little shocked at their pragmatic approach. Frank
remembered the time Ellie’s mother, Delores, was visiting them in
Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 3 3
Ann Arbor and had insisted on bathing her three-year-old grandson. He and Ellie had heard their son announce, “Grandma, that’s
not my pee-pee. That’s my penis.” The look on Delores’s face, they
agreed, was, as the commercial said, priceless.
Still, with Ramesh, he hesitated. How much easier this would
be if Ramesh was his son. If he knew that this boy would grow up
in the progressive, intellectual environment of Ann Arbor. But the
fact was, Ramesh was someone else’s boy. He belonged to a father
who seemed content to let the boy raise himself. And besides, Frank
knew how weird Indians were about sex, was aware of the odd combination of female prudery and male aggression that was the hallmark of Bollywood movies and, for all he knew, the culture itself. It
was not his place to educate Ramesh about sex, and his heart sank
at the realization.
Ramesh was wriggling beside him, eager to resume their stroll,
and Frank took the hint. “Listen,” he said as they walked. “No getting distracted by the girls, okay? You have to focus on your studies,
remember?”
“I remember,” Ramesh said.
Frank hesitated for a second and then set free the words that had
formed at his lips. “Besides, if you’re to study in America you have
to have good grades.”
“I am already first in my class, Frank.” Ramesh’s voice was
plaintive.
“I know, kiddo. But it’s very, very difficult to get into good
schools.” He pointed to where a group of obviously affluent, westernized college students were leaning against a Honda. “You see
those people? That’s who you will be competing against even to go
to college in Bombay.”
Ramesh stared at the group of boys in their blue jeans and thin
cotton shirts. His eyes grew big and his chin trembled, and seeing
this, Frank cussed himself for his stupidity. “Luckily,” he continued
1 3 4 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
brightly, “you don’t have to worry about this today.” He stopped
and cocked his head as he looked at Ramesh. “Want to walk more?
Or shall we go for a swim in the pool?”
Ramesh tore his eyes away from the group of laughing boys.
“Let’s go pool-swimming,” he said, and Frank remembered what
the boy had told them on the way to Bombay: that he’d never swum
in a pool before.
“Okay,” he said. “And then let’s go wake Ellie up and go out
somewhere. We have to celebrate your first trip to Bombay.”
Ramesh held his hand as they crossed the street.
The Fourth of July picnic was held on the grounds of a large stone
house in Malabar Hill. Frank and Ellie exchanged looks as Satish
pulled up to the wrought-iron gate. Frank whistled. “Man. I could
get used to living in these digs.” He turned to Ramesh. “This neighborhood is where the governor has his house. Can you imagine what
his
house must look like?”
Ramesh looked small and scared inside the car. He pulled on the
collar of the light green shirt Ellie had bought him for the occasion.
Like Frank, he was dressed in cream-colored chinos.
Satish stopped and lowered his window as a young American
carrying a clipboard hurried up to them. He was accompanied by
an intimidating-looking man in a suit and wraparound sunglasses.
The young man leaned into the car. “Hi,” he said. “Welcome. May
I get your names?”
Frank lowered his window and handed him the invitation card.
The young man checked off their names on his list. “Welcome, Mr.
and Mrs. Benton,” he said smiling brightly. Then the smile left his
face as he peered into the car and spotted Ramesh. “And who is
this?”
“He’s with us,” Frank said. “Hope that’s not a problem.”
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The young man frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said scanning
his list. “He’s not on here. And your RSVP says two attendees.”
Frank felt the heat rise to his face. “He’s my son,” he said.
“He—we didn’t decide to bring him until the last minute. And the
invitation said kids were welcome.” He felt Ellie put a warning hand
on his thigh. “Would you like me to take this up with Tom Andrews?” Tom was the U.S. consul general to Bombay, and the host
of this party.
“There will be no need for that, sir,” the young man said smoothly.
“Glad to accommodate your—son. Have a wonderful day.”
Frank realized his teeth were clenched as Satish eased the Camry
into the long, curved driveway. Beside him, he heard Ellie swear.
“Friggin’ bureaucrats. These were exactly the kind of people we
spent our whole lives avoiding. And now we have to spend the whole
day with them.”
Ellie’s words broke the tension, and he laughed out loud. Also,
he was grateful for the fact that she was directing her anger at the
man with the clipboard and not at him, that she wasn’t hurt by the
fact that he had referred to Ramesh as their son. “You better behave
yourself, babe.” He grinned
“Arre baap
,” Ramesh breathed as they pulled closer to the house
and saw its opulence. He looked up at them. “Does the maharaja of
Mumbai live here?”
But there was no time to answer because someone was flagging
them down. They got out of the car, and Satish handed over the car
keys. “I will pick you up later, sir,” he said. “Enjoy.”
They stood in the driveway, torn between wanting to join the
crowd that had already gathered on the lawn but knowing that protocol demanded that they first seek Tom out and say their hellos.
They walked up the five marble steps that led into an enormous
room with a mosaic-tiled floor and a high ceiling. Tom Andrews
was standing there, surrounded by a gaggle of the other guests.
Frank shook hands with many of the other American businessmen
Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 3 7
as they slowly approached the consul general. He didn’t expect Tom
to remember his name and so was astonished when he heard him
say, “Hey, Frank. Good to see you again. How the hell you been?