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
Arthur D’Mello, HerbalSolutions’ IT man, laid the laptop down
on Frank’s desk, a strange expression on his face. “Someone has
chopped the wires, sir,” he said, his voice reflecting the bewilderment he felt. “This is a deliberate job.”
Frank glanced at the computer and saw the veracity of what
Arthur was telling him. But his mind could not comprehend what
his eyes were seeing. The machine was almost brand-new. Why
would someone— ? And who would— ?
Even before he could complete the thought, he knew the answer.
Prakash. It had to be. The fellow had destroyed the computer. No
one else would be that spiteful and that reckless. But why would the
jerk do this? Did he really not care about his son at all?
He had not been too concerned when Ramesh had showed up last
night complaining that his computer was not working. “Can you
repair, Frank?” the boy had asked.
“I don’t know how to fix these things, bud,” he’d replied. “But
I’ll take it to work tomorrow. I’m sure Arthur can figure out what’s
wrong.” All the while thinking it was a simple software glitch, not
sabotage.
2 9 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
Arthur was eyeing him curiously. “Are you all right, sir?” he
asked, and Frank realized that some of the fury he was feeling must
have shown on his face. “Yeah, fine,” he replied, forcing his face
into a neutral blankness.
“Who would do such a thing, sir?” Arthur continued. “Why?”
Even while his rational mind told him not to confide in a subordinate, Frank heard himself saying, “A total bastard, that’s who.
A jealous, insecure jerk who’s afraid of his own child’s success. I’m
going to kill him when I get home tonight.”
Arthur took one step back. “No, no, don’t say that, sir,” the young
man said appeasingly. “You’re just upset, sir, I understand. What to
do, sir? So many stupid-stupid people in this country.”
Oh, don’t even get me started about this country, Frank thought.
He looked at the man standing next to him. He liked Arthur—he
was a smart, competent guy, one of the best hires Frank had made.
Also, he was from Bombay and had a level of sophistication, indeed,
a rhythm that the small-town people who made up most of HerbalSolutions’ midlevel office staff lacked. Still, he’d seen how startled
Arthur had looked when he’d lashed out against Prakash. Better to
be careful. How could he expect a perfect stranger to understand the
extent of Prakash’s vileness and perfidy?
He made a visible effort to control his emotions. “Well, is it fixable?” he asked, nodding toward the laptop.
Arthur made a face. “I could try, sir,” he began. He shook
his head. “But to be honest, there’s a lot of damage done. Not
sure if—”
“Forget it,” Frank said, cutting him off. “Let’s just junk it.”
“We can save the hard drive and other parts, sir,” Arthur said.
“After all, it’s brand new.”
Didn’t he know it? He remembered the joy on Ramesh’s face on
Christmas Eve and felt murderously angry all over again. He forced
himself to focus on Arthur. “Whatever you wish,” he said. “Thanks
for coming in.”
Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 2 9 3
“No mention, sir,” Arthur said. He picked up the ruined laptop
and left Frank’s office.
He spent the rest of the afternoon plotting what he was going to
do to Prakash. By the time Satish picked him up for the ride home,
he had come to a resolution: it was time to remind Prakash of who
was boss. What he wanted from the man was a confession and a
promise never to do such a thing again. If that meant threatening
Prakash with filing a police report, he would.
Prakash was in the courtyard pulling the weeds from between the
stones when Frank got home. His distaste rose as he saw Prakash’s
skinny, bent shape. Still, he ignored the man and went indoors.
“Hi, honey,” Ellie called to him and he gave her a kiss before
he went into the bedroom to change. He came out wearing a Tshirt and cargo shorts. Ellie looked up. “You have a good day?” she
asked.
“Great,” he lied. He didn’t want any of the anger that he was feeling to be squandered in the retelling of the story to her. “I’m going
out to the car for a minute,” he said and walked outdoors.
Ramesh was in the yard, helping his dad with the weeds. Frank
stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the boy, unsure of whether to
confront Prakash in front of his son. But right then Prakash looked
up at him and smirked. Frank took in the cagey eyes, the thin smile,
and then he was almost upon the man, who was still crouching on
the stones as he tugged at the weeds.
“Get up,” he said. “Get up.”
Prakash rose slowly. “Yes?” he said.
Frank could hear the mockery in the man’s voice. “Why did you
do it?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “When did you do it?”
Prakash’s eyes widened. “Do what,
seth
?”
Frank was dimly aware of the fact that Ramesh had risen, too,
and was staring at him. But he was past caring. He would get a confession out of Prakash if he had to beat it out of him. Prakash had
started this provocation, but he, Frank, would end it. “You know
2 9 4 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
what I’m talking about. Destroyed the computer. Tore out the wires.
Why did you do it?”
Prakash opened his mouth, but Frank spoke first. “Don’t lie to
me, you scumbag. Don’t. Because if you do, next thing you know
you’ll be talking to the police, not to me.” He stopped, remembering
something. “Or better yet, I’ll turn you over to Gulab Singh.”
He had instinctively chosen the right weapon to fight Prakash
with. At the mention of Gulab’s name, Prakash began to wail. “
Maaf
karo
, Frank sahib,” he said, folding his hands in a pleading gesture.
“It was my mistake. Too much to drink, sir. Please forgive.”
Prakash’s wailing drew Edna out of her house. “What?” she
said. “Frank sahib, what has happened?”
“Dada broke my computer,” Ramesh yelled to his mother. “Purposely. Cut the wires, ma.” The boy was near tears, his eyes flashing
with rage. And instead of feeling sorry for Ramesh or protective of
him, Frank felt a raw satisfaction. Let the boy know what his father
is made of, he thought. It’s time he knew his character.
“Besharam
,” Edna berated her husband. “Wormeater.
Kutta
. I
curse the day I laid eyes on you.”
As if to salvage his last remaining pride, Prakash turned on Edna
with a growl. “Shut up, you whore,” he yelled and raised his hand
toward Edna. “Get back to the house.”
Frank moved. His right fist landed on Prakash’s chest bone
at the exact moment that Ellie came into the courtyard to see what
the commotion was about. Prakash staggered back five steps and
then fell heavily on his butt. He stayed on the ground, moaning to
himself, rubbing his chest with both his hands. The blow had landed
harder than Frank had intended. He knew from how his knuckles
stung.
“Frank,” Ellie screamed as she raced toward where he was standing, towering over Prakash. For a full minute, she was the only one
moving. The other four stood frozen, varying degrees of shock registering on their faces.
Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 2 9 5
“Oh, shit,” Frank said, staring at Ellie and then at Ramesh. “I
didn’t mean to—. I thought he was going to hurt her,” he added,
pointing toward Edna.
Ramesh was staring at him, an expression on his face he couldn’t
read. And then, still keeping his eyes on Frank, Ramesh went up to
his father and sat down beside him, stroking his arm. “
Chalo
, Dada,”
he said. “Get up. Come into the house.”
Frank felt his cheeks burn. He wished Ellie wasn’t here to witness
his shame, the obvious fact that Ramesh had sided with his father
over him. He noticed the protective way in which Ramesh cradled
his father, the careful way in which he was helping him get to his
feet.
Just before hobbling away, Prakash looked at Frank. The contempt on the man’s face took Frank’s breath away. It was a look that
said that Prakash knew what Frank saw—that even in defeat, he
was triumphant. Because Ramesh belonged to him. Because the ties
of blood could not be severed as easily as cutting the wires on a
computer.
Edna, ever anxious to curry favor with her employers, must’ve
dimly registered what had just occurred. “Thank you for saving me,
sir,” she said. “Not telling what that drunkard would have done.”
Getting no reaction from Frank, she turned toward Ellie. “He save
me, miss,” she said. “That rat was about to—”
“I know, Edna, I know,” Ellie said dryly, and Frank knew that
she was not convinced.
Ellie turned to Frank. “This is enough drama for one day, don’t
you think? Let’s go in.”
He followed behind her. As he’d predicted, she turned to him as
soon as he shut the door behind them. “You
hit
him? Are you out of
your mind? Can’t you find someone your own size to—”
“Damn you,” he said in a low voice. “You weren’t there. You
don’t know what he did. He’s a piece of shit. And I should’ve known
that you’d side with that prick instead of with me.” But what he was
2 9 6 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
really thinking was, Ramesh went to his father’s aid, not mine. Even
after he found out what his dad had done.
“Frank,” Ellie began, but he cut her off.
“No. Not today. Save the social worker act for someone else. You
don’t even understand or like these people. You—you just feel sorry
for them, that’s all.” He turned around and left the room. He sat on
the porch for a few minutes and watched the sea churning in the distance. But he was too agitated to sit still. He got up, crossed the front
lawn, and ran down the steps to the beach. He tied one shoelace that
had come undone and began to run along the water, the evening sun
sinking to his left.
But no matter how fast he ran, he could not run away from the
image of Ramesh sitting beside his fallen father, stroking his arm.
Stupid, stupid, he chided himself. Hitting the bastard in front of the
child. Leaving the poor kid with no choice. Frank made a fist and
slammed it into his left hand repeatedly, punishing himself for his
violence, for his lack of control. A few fishermen drying their nets
on the sand looked at him curiously as he ran along, punching and
talking to himself. He barely noticed them.
The sun had set by the time he got home, and he ran the last
quarter mile in darkness. Ellie had left the porch light on for him.
She was reading in the living room and looked up when he came
in. He wanted to ask whether Ramesh had come asking for him but
didn’t have the heart to find out. Besides, he was pretty sure he knew
the answer. The boy was probably home with his father, who would
soak up sympathy like bread in a bowl of warm milk.
Pulling off his drenched T-shirt, he headed into the bathroom
and slammed the door behind him.
Ramesh was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Along with his father.
Two days after Frank’s altercation with Prakash, the latter had
left the house to go pick up Ramesh from school as he usually did. He
had mumbled something to Edna about taking his son for an outing
and that they would be home late. Edna, happy any time Prakash
paid attention to his son, had been glad. But at eight that evening
Mulad, one of the village drunks, had staggered up the driveway,
knocked on Edna’s door and handed her a note. It was in Ramesh’s
handwriting but was dictated by Prakash.
Dear Edna,
the note said,
I am taking my son away for a while.
The boy needs to understand where he comes from. And I am need-
ing to know my son. You please do all the cooking at the main house
while we are away. Don’t worry. We will return soon.
Your husband,
Prakash
Edna read the note and then brought it over for Frank and Ellie
to decipher.
2 9 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
What caught Frank’s immediate attention was Prakash’s two
mentions of Ramesh as “my son.” He looked at Ellie to see if she
had picked up on the current of hostility that wound its way through
the letter. But the expression on her face told him that she didn’t see
what he did—that this was Prakash’s revenge for Frank humiliating
him in front of his family.
“Where could he have taken the boy?” he asked Edna.
“That only I’m asking myself, sir. I’m thinking and thinking
but not knowing. But the blue suitcase is missing. God only knows
when Prakash took it out of the house.”
Frank gritted his teeth. “Does he have any idea how it’s gonna
set Ramesh back in school, this little—adventure?”
Edna looked ready to cry. Ellie shot him a warning look. “I’m
sure Prakash is aware of that, honey,” she said smoothly. “I’m sure
they’ll only be gone for a day or two.”
He barely heard her. He had just had another thought: What if
the note was a ruse to buy Prakash some time? What if the drunken