The Weight of Heaven (31 page)

I wanting to be, I need to study today.”

Frank threw back his head and laughed. Behind him, a rocket

soared into the inky black sky and then showered back to earth in

splinters of color and light. Ellie caught her breath. Her mind photographed the moment—Frank with his head tilted back, his hair

damp with sweat against his forehead, framed by a cascade of tiny

lights, held in time and space by the loud, incessant pounding of the

thunderous drums.

“Made you laugh,” Ramesh said. It was a new game between the

two of them, their own version of tag. Somewhere, Ellie supposed,

one of them was keeping score on who made the other laugh more.

Like someone breaking off a conversation in mid-sentence, the

drumming stopped. Momentum kept Ellie’s body moving for a full

second after the music ceased. She looked around and saw that some

of the other dancers looked as dazed as she felt. Danceus interruptus, she thought to herself, and then giggled at her own silliness.

A thin, tall man whom Ellie recognized as the
doodhwalla
, the

milkman who came to their door every morning, strode into the

middle of the clearing. “Brothers and sisters,” he said in Hindi. “It

is time to share a meal together.” The crowd stirred, but he silenced

them. “But first, we must honor the guests in our midst.” Turning to

2 2 4 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

where Ellie and Frank stood panting, he glanced at them and then

sought out Nandita and Shashi. “Please,” he said. “You will lead us

to the food.”

Ellie looked around for Nandita, who immediately came up to

her side.
“Shukriya,”
she called out. “We are honored to be here.”

She turned to Ellie and Frank. “They want us to be the first at the

table. Come, let’s go.” Ellie smiled at the milkman, to ensure that he

knew they understood.

The staff at the clinic had cleared the desks from the classrooms

and set up a long dining table for the westerners in their midst. The

villagers squatted on their haunches on the floor and were served on

the traditional banyan leaves. Ellie watched in amazement as Mausi

bent her ninety-two-year-old knees and squatted on the ground.

She thought of Josetta, another therapist in her practice, who had

had two knee replacements at the age of fifty-two. For a second she

thought of suggesting that the rest of them join the villagers on the

ground, but Frank and the couple from Germany were already seating themselves, and she thought better of it. Ever since the fight she

and Frank had had at the July Fourth picnic, she was trying very

hard to tone it down, not to put Frank on the defensive for being

what he was—a middle-class white American. Besides, she was not

sure that her untested knees could survive a long dinner spent squatting on the floor.

However, despite the best of intentions, she could not abide the

thought of sitting next to the German couple for dinner. They were

headed to Dharamsala in a few days to spend a couple of weeks at

an ashram and talked incessantly about finding spirituality and enlightenment as if these were items they could buy from a catalog.

When she’d first met them earlier this evening, she’d thought they

were kidding, playing at being caricatures of the clueless Western

tourist. But watching the carefully constructed blankness on Nandita’s face, it had dawned on her that they were serious about believing

that they would leave India after two weeks having found what they

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 2 2 5

were looking for. She much rather preferred the wry humor of Richard Thomas, the gay British journalist who was traveling through

India. Now she looked around for Richard and, upon spotting him,

lunged toward him. “Shall we sit together?” she asked, ignoring the

frantic looks Frank was throwing her way, as he silently pointed to

the empty chair beside him.

Richard arched an eyebrow. “Ingrid and Franz getting to you?”

She grinned. “Naaaawww,” she drawled. Next, she turned

toward Nandita. “Get Shashi to go sit next to Frank,” she implored.

“I’ll owe you, forever.”

She dared not meet Frank’s eye as she sat down next to Richard. But a few moments later, her guilt at abandoning Frank to Ingrid’s earnest spirituality evaporated, carried away in the aromas

of the steaming food she was being served. She bit into an onion

pakora; tore a piece from a light, flaky roti; dipped the bread into

a thick, spicy curry; cooled her tongue on some cucumber yogurt;

picked up a tender piece of fish with her fork. She felt a little spiritual herself, swept up in a kind of rapture at the intensity of flavors.

“How on earth can one country have so many wonderful foods?”

she gasped.

“You asking
me
about good food?” Richard said. “I’m British,

remember?”

She laughed. “London has some great restaurants.”

“Yeah, and they’re all Indian.”

One of Ellie’s older male students came to their table, carrying a large stainless steel tray full of glasses. “You will have a lassi,

miss?” he asked.

She took a long gulp of the cool yogurt drink. “I think I’m having

an out-of-body experience,” she said.

“Easy there,” Richard said. “Your husband’s boring holes into

my back, anyway. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m the reason for

this look of ecstasy on your face.”

“I like you, Richard. You remind me of my brother-in-law.”

2 2 6 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

“Your brother-in-law is gay?” Richard deadpanned.

Ellie spluttered, blowing lassi out of her nose. “Oh, stop. Look

what you’ve made me do.” She turned to him, a pleading look on her

face. “Can’t you stay with us here in Girbaug? I can talk Shashi into

giving you a really good rate at the hotel.”

Nandita, who was sitting at Richard’s left and had been talking

to Franz, turned toward them. “What on earth are you two
guss-

puss
ing about?” She leaned over to face Ellie. “Frank’s going to kill

you on the way home, darling. You pulled a really dirty trick on

him.”

Ellie looked rueful. “I know. But I can’t deal anymore with stupid

foreigners.” She glanced at Richard. “Present company excepted.”

“Who’re you calling a foreigner, you Yank? My people were here

in India while yours were—”

“I know. Swinging from trees.”

“Something like that.”

“Nice to hear you two imperialists arguing about your claims to

India,” Nandita said. Her tone was bemused, her eyebrows raised,

and they all chuckled.

Frank came up to her as soon as dinner was over. “I’ll pay you

back for this,” he said, but his tone was light, his eyes friendly.

“I’m sorry. I’m a rotten wife.” She shot him a look of sympathy.

“Was it absolutely excruciating?”

“Well, it’s all a matter of perspective. I’m sure a brain tumor or

hemorrhoids would be worse.”

She was still laughing when Nandita came up to them. “Don’t

hate me for inviting them,” she said to Frank. “They insisted on getting the ‘full cultural experience.’ Poor Shashi had no choice.”

“I’ll forgive you for the price of a few invitations to dinner,”

Frank said promptly. He stopped, a frown on his face. “Speaking

of dinner, this was quite a lavish affair. How can these folks afford

this, Nan?”

Nandita looked embarrassed. “Well, actually we, Shashi and I,

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 2 2 7

we sponsor this celebration. I mean, it’s always been traditional for

the villagers to have a communal feast. But in the last few years,

well, the hotel is doing so well, that we offered to—chip in.”

Frank nodded. “That’s good,” he said vaguely. Then, “I tell you

what. If I’m still here next year, I’ll make sure HerbalSolutions becomes a cosponsor of this feast. That is, if you will have us.”

Both women spoke simultaneously. “What do you mean, if you’re

here next year? Why won’t you be?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Frank laughed, stepping back from them. He

turned to face Ellie. “In case you’ve forgotten, babe, I’ve only signed

a two-year contract. Everything has to be negotiated again soon.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie said. “Pete’s not gonna refuse you if you tell

him that’s what you want to do.”

Frank grinned and placed one arm around his wife. “I’m gonna

have to pry this one loose when it’s time to leave India—and I’m

hoping that won’t be for a few more years,” he added.

Nandita stepped closer to Frank and rubbed his back. “Glad to

hear it,” she said. “I can’t imagine Girbaug without the two of you.”

“Likewise.” Ellie heard the sincerity in Frank’s voice and was

glad for it.

But her mood had soured slightly. They lingered at the feast for

another half hour, watching another fireworks display, watching the

young people dance as Hindi film music blared from the loudspeakers. Nothing has changed, Ellie kept telling herself, you are here, be

present, live in the moment. But just the talk of returning to America

had cast a pall on the evening, made her realize the impermanence,

the precariousness, of their life here. The thought of returning home

produced nothing but a dull sadness in her. Just a few days ago, her

mother had asked on the phone whether they had bought their tickets for coming home for Christmas, and she had heard the joy and

anticipation in her mom’s voice and felt compelled to fake an enthusiastic response. The fact was, she was dreading the ten-day trip.

She had already made it clear to Frank that she would not visit Ann

2 2 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

Arbor. The plan was to fly into Cleveland and stay with Anne and

Bob. Unlike past years, Scott and his mother were coming to Cleveland for Christmas. Frank would drive to Ann Arbor for a couple

of days to check on the tenants they were renting their house to and

to meet with the folks at HerbalSolutions. He would take Ramesh

with him.

Yes, Ramesh. It had been Frank’s idea, of course, to take Ramesh

home with them. When he had first suggested it to Ellie in early

October, she had demurred but not put up much of a fight. She was

counting on several things—the fact that it would be difficult to

get a visa for the boy, the fact that Prakash would throw a fit at the

thought of being away from his son for ten days, the fact that Edna,

being a Christian, would want to have her son with her over the

holidays, even the fact that Frank would realize the awkwardness of

returning to his family in America with Ramesh.

What she had not counted upon was desperation. First, there was

Edna’s desperation to provide her son with every opportunity that

she knew that she and her alcoholic husband could not, her pent-up

desire to give her son what she saw as his birthright—the love that

his grandparents should’ve showered upon him and that he had been

deprived of. Now, she saw Frank and Ellie as an unexpected answer

to her prayers, de facto guardians of her son, with the means to offer

Ramesh opportunities even her parents could’ve only dreamed of.

Edna became a tigress, clawing at her husband’s resistance, chomping up his protests. “He’s going,” she declared. “My son will be first

in Girbaug to go to America. No one will stop him.”

Then there was Frank’s desperation. Unable to face the long

flight to America, with its echoes of that terrible flight from Thailand; unable to imagine sitting down for Christmas dinner without

seeing the boy who was missing; paralyzed at the thought of going

to the Ann Arbor house to check on the renters, knowing that the

house would echo with the voice and laughter of his dead son; terrified at being under the same American sky, breathing the same

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 2 2 9

chilly air, walking on the same hard ground, that his son had. So he

had first gotten Ramesh a passport and then called Tom Andrews to

request the embassy folks to issue the boy his tourist visa.

Finally, there was Prakash’s desperation. Unable to think

straight, not knowing what this strange new force was that had entered his life in the guise of a tall white man who was obsessed with

his son, he vowed every morning to stop drinking so that he could

be sober long enough to solve this puzzle. But he reached for the

bottle almost absentmindedly as the day, with its countless humiliations and chores and demands, ground him down. Stung and hurt by

the venom with which his wife spoke to him, believing her threats

to leave him if he didn’t give in to her demands, Prakash hovered

between bravado and capitulation. The prospect of losing Edna terrified him. So he reluctantly agreed to offer up his son to the Americans for ten days, in exchange for keeping his wife forever.

“What’s wrong?” Frank said to Ellie on the way home. “Your

whole mood has changed.”

“Sorry.” She thought for a moment and then decided to come

clean. “I’m nervous about the upcoming trip to the States.”

Frank sighed. “I thought so. I thought you got quiet after the

conversation about leaving India.” He shifted in the car seat so that

he could face her. “You really love this place so much?”

“I do. Though right now, it’s all mixed up with the dread of

going home. Of facing everybody. I don’t know what to expect—