by Abha Dawesar
He woke up to the sensations of soft palms on his belly and chest.
“We’re hungry, we want to eat,” Julie said.
“Come.” Valérie gave him her hand. He grabbed it and sat up.
To his shock, there was a maid in the gazebo hidden behind all the plants arranging the table for lunch. They ate in their swimming suits. The girls had put on their bikini tops for the formal banquet: entrée, plat, fromage, dessert.
Prem let out a small burp of satisfaction after they were finished. He ran his hand on his bare belly.
“You need to swim after this or you’ll get fat,” Valérie said.
“I’m going to sleep. Faire la sieste.” Prem smiled at the maid, a woman of peasant stock in her forties.
“You will sleep and you will swim,” Julie declared haughtily.
The girls spent most of the afternoon in the swimming pool, their small breasts taking in the heat from the sun. Ever so often they stepped out and lay down on the chaise longue beside Prem to spread sunscreen over each other.
By five in the evening the temperature had dropped, and Prem stepped out from under his umbrella to walk around. Julie and Valérie were back in the water, Julie on Valérie’s shoulders, her knees hiding Valérie’s shoulder blades and squeezing into Valérie’s chest. To keep her balance, Julie had hooked her feet behind Valérie’s back, and Valérie was gripping Julie’s thighs. Julie waved excitedly to Prem as if she were seeing him for the first time. Her breasts looked like fluid gold skimming off a Klimt painting.
“Are you having fun?”
“Rejoignez-nous,” Valérie said, wading in a big circle carrying Julie on her shoulder.
“I’m going for a walk to see your godfather’s olive groves.”
“One second,” said Julie, impatiently kicking Valérie’s back with her foot to free Valérie’s hold on her thighs.
“You’re hurting me,” Valérie said as Julie plunged into the water.
Prem didn’t want them to fight—he felt responsible for the girls in Cavalier’s absence. Julie was at the edge of the pool and placed her palms flat on the stone to pull herself up.
“Ouch, it’s hot.” She shook out her palms as if they had burned.
“Are you okay?” Prem took her hands in his and turned the palms up to examine them. He looked up at her face. She looked terribly serious and mute.
“Ça va?” he asked again, more concerned this time.
In a flash she pushed into him with all her weight and threw him into the pool. Through the rush of water in his ears, he could hear the girls laughing. Julie was already beside him pulling at one leg. Valérie pulled at the other.
He came up gasping for breath.
“I’m too old for this. I’ll have a heart attack.”
“Laisse!” Valérie said to Julie. They both let go of his legs. He felt the bottom of the pool under his feet. Julie tried to climb onto his shoulders the way she had been riding on Valérie’s earlier.
“Wait.” Prem planted his feet firmly on the tiles.
“Okay.” He brought his hands to her legs and lightly gripped the outside of her thighs so that she wouldn’t fall off his shoulder.
“Now march in the pool,” Julie ordered.
Prem walked deeper into the water until it came up to the middle of his torso.
“Now off you go,” he said.
Julie slid off.
“My turn,” Valérie said. She had been watching from the shallow end and started swimming toward them. Julie looked at Prem and slid her hand up his inner thigh. His heart started beating fast.
She continued to look at him without blinking but addressed Valérie, “Attends.” Then she slid her palm all the way to his crotch and touched the enormous snake threatening to unleash itself from his trunks.
“Julie, stop,” Prem whispered.
She let her hand go.
“Viens,” she said, looking at Valérie who was a few feet away.
Valérie made straight for Prem’s shoulder and climbed on. Afraid of letting his lower body out of the water in this state, Prem walked deeper into the water and then walked across the breadth of the pool, keeping his waist submerged.
Valérie dismounted, and they all three stood by the edge of the pool. The maid came out of the house and walked across the garden to offer them snacks. The girls asked for some ice cream from the freezer in the gazebo.
“We’ll take it in the pool,” Julie said, giving Prem a sympathetic look.
Prem licked at a chocolate-covered vanilla stick as the tent that had formed in his swimming trunks slowly collapsed.
“So Maillol’s girls or us?” Valérie asked him.
“Vous,” he said, looking away from them both.
After dinner at the gazebo Prem retired to read. After a couple of hours he felt restless cooped up in the small cottage. He could be outside, in the breeze blowing in from the Mediterranean. He walked out of the cottage, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The dogs in the house barked as he walked.
“Shh,” Prem said.
“You are still awake?” It was Valérie’s husky voice. She walked to him with a flashlight.
“We were watching the lights of St. Tropez. Come see them with us,” Julie said. She held his hand and guided him in the dark. Valérie turned the beam of light in front of Prem’s feet so that he could see the path. Julie clutched his hand and didn’t let go. They stood at the edge of Cavalier’s olive plantation and looked at the tiny lights flickering below them.
“Close your eyes now, tous,” Julie commanded.
“I’ve closed them,” Prem said.
“Moi aussi,” Valérie said.
“Let us all imagine the sea,” Julie said.
“It’s black,” Prem said. “We are in darkness, and the black waves are rolling. Sometimes they catch the flicker of the stars.”
“And the edges of the black waves are frothy and white from the light of the stars,” Julie continued.
“And the waves roll and roll because the sea rolls and the earth rolls and the moon rolls. The moon is pulling the sea, and the earth is pulling the sea,” Valérie almost sang.
“Venus pulled herself out of the sea,” Julie said.
“Out of a seashell,” said Valérie.
“Girls, I’m going to kiss you both and go back.”
“Attends.” Valérie skipped away from him. She had addressed him in the familiar person for the first time.
Julie ran her hand on Prem’s forearm and said, “I am so glad I met you. You’re different from the other adults.”
“I am? How?”
“You don’t act superior with us.”
Valérie returned with an extra flashlight and handed it to him.
“Bonne nuit, mes belles.” Prem kissed them both on their cheeks. He picked his way down to the cottage, flashing the light over the stone steps and the gravel so as not to lose his balance. The sound of the girls’ steps grew faint behind him as if they had gone to the other side of the house.
Prem removed his dressing gown and made his way to the bed by the light of the table lamp. As he pulled his feet up on the bed, he sensed the pleasure that comes from lying down after an exhausting day. When he reached out to switch off the table lamp, he was completely startled by two high-pitched squeals of “Surprise!” It took his heart a good minute to slow down.
“I already said be careful. I’ll have a crise cardiaque at this rate,” he said irritably.
Julie’s face fell a little. Prem regretted his crabbiness immediately.
“What do you want now?” he asked smiling.
“Move to the middle of the bed,” Julie said, getting in on his left side. He felt Valérie sliding in from the right.
“Valérie, à poil!” Julie started pulling off her own T-shirt.
“There is no question of it,” Prem said firmly. He was not going to sleep between two naked gamines all night.
“But you’re only wearing this caleçon,” Valé
rie complained, pulling at his boxers. The bed was hot, and Prem didn’t want to get up and put on the only pajamas he had with him, a blue flannel set.
“Garde ta culotte!” Julie ordered Valérie.
“Are you girls still wearing your bathing suit bottoms?” Prem asked.
“Yes,” they replied in a chorus.
“Look, I really don’t think this is a good idea. I’m old enough to be your grandfather.” He felt himself torn between what he thought should be his demeanor toward them and what felt natural. Absurdly, everything that had happened felt utterly natural.
“My grandfather was no prude,” Julie said.
“Your parrain, Cavalier, will not appreciate this. I have to be a responsible guest.”
“Our parrain had an affair with one of our classmates himself,” Valérie said.
“Look, we’re not children. Please don’t talk to us as if you’re responsible for us.”
“But, Julie, I feel responsible for you. You’re young, how can I not?”
In response, she brought her hand down on the buttons of his boxer and started moving it up and down.
“Julie, non!”
“But what do you think? We were raised on eclectic soirees by our godfather. Les soirées parfois laïques parfois lubriques,” Valérie said in an eminently reasonable voice. Secular soirees and lecherous ones.
“What are you trying to say?”
“She is telling the truth. We’ve heard our parrain and his guests discuss the nature of French secularism and the eroticism of Bataille and Sade. We were always allowed to listen,” Julie said softly, continuing to rub his crotch.
He pulled her hand away and laid it on his navel. Her touch was like Meher’s. The memory of being seventeen was fresh in his mind. Weeks before Meher’s marriage, tasting her, penetrating her, making love to her against the wall, in the bed, in the bathroom, and crying, crying, crying whenever there was a pause in their lovemaking—that was what it had been like as a teenager. He had been no less an adult then. But now I am sixty-five. There was no way he was going to put his aged braguette inside their tender French fentes.
“No intercourse. Tous sauf pénétration,” he said aloud.
Julie agreed to the compromise with a jubilant d’accord.
The night was delicious and delicate. Prem fell asleep in the early morning hours to the regular breathing of his two minettes. If he never woke up from his sleep, his life would have been full, satisfying, beautiful.
He found himself alone on waking up. He showered and dressed slowly, looking at his watch only after he had put on his khaki pants. It was already nine. It was a bright and blinding day outside the cottage. A woman he didn’t recognize was sunning herself in a bikini by the pool. He heard laughter and voices from the gazebo beyond. Up the steps and behind the orgy of plants and creepers that were growing everywhere were Cavalier, his wife, his two kids, and the girls.
“Coucou.” Julie ran to him and planted a quick kiss on his lips. He smelled hot chocolate on her mouth.
Valérie kissed him on the cheek. “Bonjour! Did you sleep well?”
Prem walked to Cavalier and shook his hand warmly.
“Did my goddaughters take enough care of you? They can be a handful sometimes.”
“They were impeccable hostesses,” Prem said, smiling at the girls before greeting Madame Cavalier on the cheeks and then the kids. A boy and a girl. Both a few years younger than Valérie and Julie.
Cavalier brewed some coffee for Prem.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Madame Cavalier asked.
“Pain au chocolat?” One of the Cavalier kids waved to the basket on the table.
“No, nothing that heavy,” Prem answered, running his hand on his stomach.
“Eat some fruit,” Julie said.
“Would you like some fruit?” Madame Cavalier asked.
“Marraine, laisse-moi le faire.” Julie jumped before Madame Cavalier could get up.
The woman who had been sunning herself joined them, and Cavalier introduced her as Mrs. Werner. She had moved from Germany with her husband to run a guesthouse for German nudists in the Côte d’Azur and had continued living in the South of France after her husband died. Prem was sure she had been brought in for him. People inevitably invited a single woman to come to parties where he was invited. He nodded politely at her.
Madame Cavalier went into the house to unpack and organize for the party. Prem sipped his coffee as Cavalier asked him about the traffic on the drive up.
“I’m going to go in and help Madame Cavalier,” Mrs. Werner said shortly.
“Be careful, or Marraine will really put you to work,” Julie said cheerfully, placing a plate of peaches and apricots in front of Prem.
“That’s too much,” he protested.
“I’m going to eat some too.” She climbed and sat on the table right by the plate and picked up a peach. Its juice ran over her fingers and all the way down to her elbows as soon as she broke its skin. Prem grabbed a napkin and placed it under her elbow while continuing to talk to Cavalier.
“Attention, petite, don’t let the juice drip on Mr. Rustum’s clothes,” Cavalier said.
“It’s okay.” Prem picked up a peach himself. It was the sweetest fruit he ever remembered eating in his life, and so juicy he had to hold his hand over the plate so that he wouldn’t get himself dirty. Cavalier laughed and handed Prem a napkin.
Prem took up Cavalier’s offer to go to the farmer’s market with him in the next village. They spoke easily and frankly. Cavalier had read all of Prem’s books.
“Boutin is a very good writer. We’re proud of him in France. He’s a major export for us. But you’re different. It’s all that Eastern wisdom you bring to your writing. Boutin is just one of us. Even if he can rise above us, he’s still a product of modern Parisian society.”
“And I’m exotic?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. India is old and has integrated other cultures for thousands of years. You’re a product of that world. The fact that you’ve lived in New York and London and traveled a lot gives you the ability to talk to us in a language that we in the Western world can understand, but your knowledge is from that other world. We French love your country.”
“You’re kind. I sometimes don’t find much knowledge in my writing.”
“But that’s also natural for a writer. You may not see it, but we do. I teach a set of your books in my class on world urban sociology. I want you to give a lecture when the university is back in session.”
“Sure. I’ll be around in September.”
In the afternoon Prem retired for a short siesta in his cottage. Within five minutes the door opened without warning, and Julie walked in. She locked the door, which had hitherto been unlocked behind her.
“No way,” Prem said from where he was lying down.
“Don’t say no,” she whispered, coming close to Prem’s face and lifting her skirt. Sans culotte.
He held her loosely by the waist as she brought her leg over the bed and started to slide down toward his stomach.
“No, come here,” Prem said, pulling her all the way up to his mouth.
“Ah!” she moaned.
“Shh!” He put his hand over her mouth. She was like the peach he had eaten for breakfast.
“Your turn,” she said.
“No. Leave. Please, Julie,” he said.
“Okay.” She kissed his forehead and left the cottage.
Before falling asleep, Prem remembered Vedika quoting from the Chandogya Upanishad to him one day: “One should not reject any woman; that should be the vow.”
Prem slept deeply, waking up only when Valérie knocked on the door. She carried a tray in her hand.
“My godfather said that Indians like to have tea in the afternoon, just like the English. I made you some.” She placed the tray on the table beside his bed.
“Thank you, Valérie.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, somewhat awkward an
d shy in the absence of Julie. Then she stared at her thigh and pulled up her skirt. The door to the cottage was still open, and light streamed in from the five-inch crack. Prem put his hand on the part of her thigh she had exposed, tapped it to get her attention, and pointed to the door. Valérie got up and locked the door.
“It’s such a hot and humid afternoon. You did well to sleep,” she said as she came back to the bed. It sounded like something Julie had asked her to say.
“Where’s Julie?”
“She went with Parrain and Marraine to La Motte.”
Prem laughed.
“No, it’s really the name of the village nearby.” Valérie brought his hand down and placed it on her thigh. He let it rest. She pulled it farther up.
“Lie down, get comfortable,” he told her. He turned to his side, resting his body on his elbow and his head in his palm. With his free hand he touched her face and her eyes, her chest under her T-shirt, and her motte. Her skin was like Meher’s. He closed his eyes and let himself caress her slowly, trying to remember everything Meher had loved at that age. Valérie was groaning softly. More softly than Julie. After he brought her to climax, he gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Prem, we didn’t believe it, but Parrain was right—older men are gentler.”
“What did Cavalier say about me?”
“Nothing. At one of his soirees the adults discussed their youth and the affairs they had with older people. The women said that older men are less selfish, and Parrain agreed.”
“So you’re testing out this theory with me?”
“No, Julie and I were—how do you say it?—on en avait marre.”
“You’re too young to be fed up. What have you been reading?”
“I’ve started reading Platon. Le banquet.”
“Plato and The Symposium in English. Do you like it?”
“It’s difficult, but I want to finish it. I’ve read four of your books. But all in French.”
“Which ones? The French translations are good. I’m satisfied with most of them.”
“Grinding India because it’s the one Parrain makes everyone read first. He calls it your chef d’œuvre. Then I read Meher and Pondy in My Cherry. Now I’m reading L’odeur de la boue humide.”
