Tiger, Tiger

by Galaxy Craze

  Everything went dark around me and I thought I had fallen down a hole. I grabbed at the dirt, but it crumbled in my hands. I felt the man’s body against me, pushing my face into the ground. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was like rolling under a wave in stormy seawater, thick with sand and stones.

  His fingers pulled my hair, and with his other hand he grabbed the back of my shirt, turning me over onto my back. He stood over me, taking the piece of cloth from his jacket pocket. He pushed my shoulders against the ground and put his knees against my thighs. I turned away from him, but he pushed me back and my head hit against the ground.

  His forehead was damp with sweat and his breathing was heavy, almost labored. He held his hands against my shoulders, looking down at me. He seemed suddenly confused. He looked up, taking his hands from my shoulders as though he had suddenly heard his name called. He looked behind him into the woods. He stood up quickly and ran through the woods, in the direction of the road.

  I lay on the ground.

  The sound of his footsteps grew farther away, until I could no longer hear them. I lay in the place he had left me as though waiting for him to return. When I pushed myself up, there was a sharp pain in my ribs and a throbbing in my head.

  “Eden?” I called, staring into the trees.

  I thought of the man’s face, turning, changing color. The way the sky might suddenly brighten or darken. Had he heard a sound? Realized that he had left his car on the road? Had he heard Eden? Seen him? Had he run to get him instead of me? There was a beating in my chest, a feeling that I thought would never settle.

  “May? Where are you?” It was Eden’s voice.

  “I’m here.” I said, but could not see him. “Eden?”

  “Yes.”

  I imagined that the man had him. That this was a trap. Then I saw Eden standing in the woods and I ran toward him.

  I held him in my arms, his head touching beneath my chin. I held him close. I felt his arms around me, holding me tight, the warmth between our bodies like a line.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Let’s go.” Eden pulled my hand, trying to make me leave this place, where the man had been.

  “What did he do to you?” Eden asked.

  I shook my head. “He pushed me down. Then he didn’t do anything.” The sound of the words surprised me. I wouldn’t tell him that he had touched me.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I took Eden’s hand and we walked quickly, farther into the woods. The night was growing colder and I could feel Eden shivering beside me. I was thinking, Parvati, keep us safe. It was the first time I had said these words, and through the night they repeated in my head like a prayer.

  Mosquitoes and insects buzzed around us. I heard a sound, a rustle in the trees.

  “What’s that?” Eden whispered.

  We stood still, listening. Two deer ran through the trees, flashing like brown lights, then disappeared. Eden was still, watching them. This is what I thought it must feel like, to be as frightened as a deer. There was nothing to be afraid of; no animal or insect would harm us. The only thing to fear was the man, hiding, watching us, waiting—we didn’t know where.

  We heard the shallow sound of the river near us and followed alongside it. As we walked, the woods seemed to brighten around us, as though we were holding a candle, but it was only the light from the moon, falling in patches through the trees. We walked quickly, without speaking, as though we knew our way.

  In the damp night air we could smell the grapefruit. We crawled beneath the barbed wire, into the ashram and I knew we were safe. I felt my shoulders relax. We walked between the lines of planted trees, past the fort where Sati used to play. I breathed in the bitter smell of the grapefruit. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I thought of myself opening my legs, the man’s fingers on my shorts, and I turned away from the thought, as though turning away from the mirror. I would not tell anyone. Not yet. Not for a long time. I did not want this to be a part of me, part of my life.

  “Eden,” I said. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

  “Even Mum?”

  I shook my head. I could not tell our mother.

  “No, Eden. Do not tell anyone. Please don’t.”

  He was silent for a moment. “All right,” he said. “I won’t.”

  As we passed the stables and the still, dark figures of the horses in the field, we could see the shape of the houses, and the lights inside the windows. I thought, by now, someone would be looking for us. Jabe and his mother would be looking for Eden. “Jabe’s mother will be looking for you,” I said. “Say you were searching the woods for wood for the fort or something … that’s where you got the bug bites and scratches.”

  Eden nodded. He stood listening, as though to instructions, with an attentive look on his face. I imagined I saw a deepness set in his eyes. I thought, The next time I look, in a different day, in a different light, a different room, it will be gone. He will look like himself again: like a young boy.

  Now in the opening, under the moonlight, I could see the dirt on Eden’s clothes, the scrapes from branches on his arms and legs.

  “Your face,” Eden said. He reached up to touch me but pulled his hand away. I felt my forehead, bulging just above my left eyelid.

  Eden said, “You can say you fell from a tree when we were building the fort.” I nodded. I would say that I fell from the tree or that I fell while I was running.

  We said good-bye outside the house. “Eden,” I said. “You have to promise you won’t say anything else.”

  “I won’t,” he said. I watched him as he walked away, in the dark, along the path.

  * * *

  That night, as I walked up the stairs of the house to our room, I felt something familiar, like a sound or a smell, but couldn’t place it. I stood on the stairs, looking down at the carpet, listening to the voices in the living room coming past the lights in the hall.

  I ran into the bathroom, locking the door and leaving my clothes on the floor. The torn white T-shirt, my denim shorts, my underpants. I wanted to throw them all away.

  In the shower the water stung my thigh: a cut, a fingernail mark from the man. I combed out the knots in my wet hair, roughly, with my fingers. I could hear the sound of my hair breaking at the ends. I brought my wrist to my nose. I thought that even beneath the smell of the soap the smell of the man’s cologne lingered, the smell of his body and skin. I felt a sickness at the bottom of my stomach, rising into my chest. I had straightened my back on the bench, I had moved my legs apart, and for a moment I had liked the feeling of his hand on my thigh. I looked at myself in the mirror and turned away.

  I dried myself with my shirt and dressed in my old clothes. When the hallway was quiet, I went to the bedroom.

  I opened the bedroom door and I saw a woman sitting on the bed in the dark room. She stood up when she saw me.

  “Mum?”

  The door was half open behind me, and she put her finger in front of her lips.

  “Close the door,” she whispered. I could see that she was nervous and I turned quickly, closing the door and locking it. I could hear her breath as she stood across the room from me. “Come here, darling.”

  She walked toward me, and when she was near she put her arms around me, pulling me close to her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I left you.” She held me and I felt the relief of her body next to mine. The smell of her skin, the touch of her hair against my cheek, as familiar to me as a bone in my own body. I wanted to stay like that, for her to hold me, but I pushed her away.

  “Why did you leave without telling us?”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  I remember staring at her, as though it were not Mum but only a photograph of her. A suitcase lay open by the door, and the shelves in the closet were empty.

  “Does Parvati know you’re here?”

  “No. Where’s Eden?” my mother asked, suddenly.

  “Eden doesn’t live here anymore.
He lives with Jabe and his mother in Lackshman House.”

  When I told her this, something changed in her face. Like a blanket slipping from the bed.

  “Parvati thought it would be better if he was with an adult.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “Since you left.”

  My mother nodded slowly, as though this was something she understood but had not expected. I bent down to take some clothes from the suitcase, and my mother switched on the light so I could see.

  In the light my mother touched the side of my head. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and pulled away from her.

  She looked at me strangely; the way you might look at someone you recognize but whose name you had forgotten.

  She reached out to touch the side of my face and I flinched. “Tell me what happened to you,” she said.

  “I fell. I fell while I was climbing the tree to the fort.”

  Through the hallway, a man called out that it was time for darshan. We heard the front door open and close and from the window the sound of voices rising up, a group of people walking together outside.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Darshan had already begun. My mother opened the door quietly and we stepped inside the room. The last people in, the latecomers, were not allowed to find a closer spot but had to sit right beside the door.

  My mother sat down, with her back to the door. She put her hand to her chest, as though trying to catch her breath.

  The room was decorated for Jaya’s christening. Vases of white flowers had been placed on the tables. A silver pitcher of water and an empty silver bowl sat on a table next to the chair where Parvati sat. Afterward, Indian sweets would be passed around the room. Trays of the pink-and-white coconut sweets and corn colored balls waited in the kitchen.

  The chanting began and Parvati walked into the room, holding the baby in her arms. The baby was dressed in a white antique christening gown. Sati and the Women walked behind Parvati. Sati wore a short floral-print dress; in her hand she held a small bouquet of white flowers.

  As Parvati carried Jaya through the room, I saw Caroline and John sit up, trying to catch a glimpse of the baby.

  Sati sat beside Parvati, and the candlelight reflected a soft glow on her skin. I wished, for a moment, that I could have believed in Parvati. The belief would have taken me from the rest of the world. Cut the other threads, so that being here with Parvati was the only one that remained. I imagined the simplicity of that feeling, the safety and purpose of it.

  In the middle of the room, I saw Eden sitting beside Jabe and his mother. He held his hands together on his lap, his shoulders hunched slightly forward.

  Parvati gave the baby to Sati to hold, the trail of white dress falling over her arms. “Namaste, my children,” Parvati began. “Tonight is my daughter Jaya’s christening.” She said she would be christened in all religions, in the way they believed on the ashram in all gods.

  Parvati talked about Jaya. She said at three months she was just beginning to smile. She chewed on her fingers, and her favorite toy was a stuffed animal duck she slept with. Sati held up the stuffed animal in front of Jaya, who reached for it, and everyone laughed.

  Caroline laughed too, as she sat cross-legged on the floor, holding her husband’s hand. She leaned forward, laughing louder than the others in the room, her face red, as though she were on the verge of tears.

  My mother stood up. She walked through the crowded room, until she was near the center, where she stood in the dim light. Parvati looked at her from across the room.

  “Lucy, my chela,” she said. “I am happy to see you, but I have not asked you back yet.”

  “I am not here to ask for your forgiveness. I have come to tell you that we are leaving.” I could see she was frightened of Parvati. Afraid that Parvati would sway her, make her stay. I thought, If Sati took my hand in hers, if she wrote I love you with her finger down my back, I would want to stay here too.

  Parvati looked at her. “I know you are angry.”

  My mother shook her head. “You are not the guru I want to follow.”

  It seemed as though a sound like a wave carried through the room. As though our mother were standing in still-churning water.

  “This is the best place for your children. What will you take them back to, a bad marriage? To fights and unhappiness? You told me you have never felt satisfied. Is that what you want for your children?”

  My mother did not answer. She stood in the room, the gray sweater she wore hanging from her shoulders and her head bowed slightly. I saw her touch her finger to her eyebrow, as though wiping something away. “I don’t know what we will be going back to,” she said quietly.

  “You don’t know anything,” Parvati said. As though she pitied her, as though she considered her a foolish woman.

  My mother looked into the room, searching for Eden. When she saw him, she walked quickly toward him. She reached for Eden’s hand, pulling him close to her. “We came to say good-bye,” my mother said to Parvati.

  “Let me say good-bye to the children,” Parvati said.

  Eden and I walked toward her across the crowded room. When we reached her she held us tightly in her arms.

  “I’ll keep you in my heart,” she said and let us go.

  Sati sat holding the baby. I tried to catch her eye, but she would not look at me. She looked down at Jaya, touching her head with her hand. I waited for a moment, wondering what to say. Would she write? Could I write to her? But she looked down at the baby and did not look back up at me.

  Eden said good-bye to Jabe; they stood in front of each other. Jabe leaned into his mother, hiding his tears in her side.

  I saw Sumner and Molly watching me, but their faces seemed expressionless.

  Parvati asked Renee to walk us to the gates, and as we were leaving she said my mother’s name. “Lucy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Who let you through the gates?”

  “Parvati,” she said, and I thought I saw a smile form on my mother’s lips, “I would never tell you that.”

  At the door, Caroline and my mother said good-bye. They held each other tightly. “Thank you,” my mother whispered into her ear. “I’ll miss you.”

  * * *

  Outside, the air was cool and the night was dark. Renee walked ahead of us, an arm’s length away. Was she embarrassed? Had she failed in front of Parvati, bringing our mother here only to have her decide to leave? Was she disappointed in our mother, returning now to the life she had left behind?

  “I have to get the luggage from the room,” our mother said to Renee. “I’ve already packed. I know you want to get back to darshan.”

  “I do,” Renee said.

  Inside the room, the shelves were bare. Our things packed in the two suitcases we had come with. A pile of clothes Eden had grown out of sat on the bed.

  Eden took his tin of pencils from his bag, the book of plain paper. He handed them to Renee. “I want to give these to Jabe.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Mum said to him.

  I looked to see what I could leave. I wanted to leave something for Sati. I thought of the photographs her father had taken when Jaya was two days old and wondered if she would miss me when she saw them.

  “Is there anything you want me to send you from London?” my mother asked Renee.

  Renee shook her head. “I have everything I need here.”

  My mother picked up the handle of her suitcase. She hesitated by the door. There was a chip in her eye, like the chip in the flower on the blue and white china plate. For a moment, I thought she would change her mind and we would stay here. She looked around at the small bare room. Was this enough for her? The newness she was looking for, the things she had wanted to change, had failed here. I could see in that moment that she still believed in something else, in something more, but understood she would live her life knowing this but never finding it.

  I touched my hand to the wall. This wou
ld be the last time I saw this room. The last time we walked down the stairs past the spotless bathroom, the kitchen, the living room with its stale smell of incense. Sati had not looked up at me to say good-bye. I wanted to go back to darshan and say good-bye to her again. It felt, in my mind, like untying a knot.

  Our Grandmother Hannah always kissed the wall of her house before she left. She kissed the narrow part next to the front door. It was superstitious, but it meant she would return home safely. I wanted to kiss the wall but only lingered with my fingertips before turning off the light and following my mother and Eden downstairs.

  We walked along the path to the gates. My mother held the suitcase, dragging it in the sand. Renee helped her with the duffel bag, and Eden and I carried our own luggage.

  We stopped inside the gates.

  “I’m sorry, Renee,” our mother said.

  In London, when Renee had sat in the kitchen of our house with Annabel and Suzy, she would admire the house itself, the things inside: the glass vase shaped like a flower, the Indian rug in the living room, the paintings on the walls.

  Here as she unlocked the gates, it was as though she was letting us out of her house, a house we had been lucky to be invited to but would not be asked back again.

  “I’m sorry too,” Renee said. There was a tone in her voice of pity, as she thought of us returning to the place we had left.

  Renee unlocked the gates and we walked through them, to the edge of the road. The car our mother had rented was parked along the side. “Let me know you’ve arrived safely,” Renee said.

  “I will,” she said. They embraced quickly. I looked behind through the gates, to the path leading through the ashram. Eden stood beside Mum, waiting for her to take his hand again.

  * * *

  We sat in the car. Our mother turned the engine key and the car lights lit up the trees and the yellow line on the road. She pulled cautiously into the lane and drove straight onto the highway.