The Story Hour

by Thrity Umrigar

  She had floated to the side of the pool when Sudhir caught up with her. “Hey,” he said, shaking the water out of his hair.

  She noticed his skin glistening in the water and felt a proprietary pleasure at the sight. “Hi, honey,” she said. “You headed for the hot tub?”

  “Not yet. I’ll swim a few more laps, I think. But I was wondering—you wanna go to that Chinese place for lunch?”

  “And regain whatever few calories I’ve burned? You know how long I’ve been trying to lose the last ten pounds?”

  Sudhir’s eyes darkened as they took in the long neck, the muscular arms. “You look pretty damn good to me.”

  She grinned. “Well said, honey. I’ve trained you well.”

  He began to smile back at her, but a second later, his eyes narrowed as they focused on something—or someone—past her. “Oh, great,” he muttered, and Maggie turned her head to look. The sun was in her eyes, but the next minute, her stomach lurched as she recognized the swimmer. It was Peter. Of all the dumb coincidences . . . But then she knew. Peter’s being here was no coincidence.

  “Why, hello,” Peter said in a voice that sounded dangerously insincere to Maggie’s ears. “Wow. What are you guys doing here?”

  “Hello,” Sudhir said stiffly. “I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

  “Oh yes. They gave me a visiting position for the year. How are you . . . It’s Sudhir, right?”

  “Right. And this is my wife, Maggie. I’m sure you remember her.” Maggie heard some inflection in Sudhir’s voice but couldn’t place it. Was he mocking Peter? Or her?

  “Yes, I do.” Peter grinned broadly.

  There was a strained silence, and after a second, Sudhir said, “So it’s been how long since—”

  “Three years.”

  “Ah, yes. I see your photo byline occasionally. In National Geographic mostly, right?” Sudhir smiled politely, but Maggie could tell it was a strain. He really dislikes Peter, she thought with wonder. It was so rare for Sudhir not to like someone.

  “Yup. In fact, a couple of years ago I was in India for them. Did a photo shoot on the extinction of the Bengal tiger,” Peter said. “I lived with the tribals for over two months.” He fingered the thick black cord he wore around his neck. “You see this?” he said, lifting the yellowed pendant. “That’s a tooth from a man-eating tiger that the villagers killed while I was there. They gifted it to me.”

  Sudhir shivered. From distaste, Maggie thought. But he only said, “I’m cold.” He turned to Maggie. “I’m going to swim a few laps. And then I’ll see you in the hot tub?” His eyes searched her face, and she realized that it wasn’t a statement but a question. Sudhir wanted some kind of reassurance from her. She felt her face flush.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready,” she mumbled.

  He nodded and swam away. Maggie waited until he was out of earshot and then turned toward Peter. “Why are you here?” she hissed. “I told you—”

  “I know. I know. But I can’t. I need to see you again.”

  She wanted to finish this conversation before Sudhir finished his lap and headed toward them again. “Peter,” she said. “Don’t do this. I love my husband. Do you get that? I’m not going to do anything that—”

  He leaned toward her and said something so intimate, it took her breath away. Her cheeks burned, and she looked at him sternly, but he held her gaze and she was the first to turn away. Because what he’d said was true. She loved Sudhir, but it was Peter’s body that she craved. “Go away now,” she said as she moved away from him.

  “Will you come see me?”

  “Yes, okay. Now go.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Tuesday, maybe.”

  “Call me, babe.”

  She didn’t bother to reply. She’d never known that it was possible for a heart to pound with fear and croon with joy at the same time.

  Forty minutes later, Sudhir and Maggie walked toward the car in silence. As he pulled out of the parking lot, she touched his arm lightly. “What happened to your mood?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.” After a few minutes he said, “There’s something about that man I can’t stand. Pompous asshole.”

  She forced her face and voice to remain neutral. “Who?”

  Sudhir took his eyes off the road to glance at her. “You know who. That Peter guy.”

  She attempted a careless laugh. “Oh, honey. You hardly know him. Why’re you letting him upset you?”

  Sudhir brushed the hair off his forehead. “I know. It’s crazy. But there’s something so . . . predatory about him. Ethnocentric bastard.”

  Sudhir’s characterization of Peter was so contrary to Maggie’s opinion of him that the words escaped her mouth before she had time to think. “How so? I mean, he seems entirely comfortable working in foreign places. I’ve never detected anything, you know, ethnocentric about him . . . about his photography, I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she was suddenly nervous. Was she defending Peter too vigorously?

  “Oh, come on, Maggie. Usually, you’re the one who notices these things. Haven’t you seen the stuff he photographs? Bare-breasted women in third-world villages, impoverished African children with their arms outstretched, asking some white relief worker for aid. Why the hell doesn’t he do a photo shoot in Idaho? Or in New York? Isn’t there poverty there that needs to be”—Sudhir took his hands off the wheel to make quotation marks in the air—“‘documented’?” He made a dismissive sound. “Nah, he’s a user. He gets off on other people’s troubles.”

  She was about to protest the unfairness of that statement when it occurred to her: Sudhir couldn’t be objective about Peter. Because he was jealous. And he wasn’t even conscious of it. But seeing Peter again had aroused some primal male instinct, had ignited a barely recollected memory-feeling from when they’d met him three years ago and Maggie had been drawn to him.

  “I mean, what kind of man wears a freakin’ tiger’s tooth around his neck, for God’s sake?” Sudhir continued. He glanced sideways at her for confirmation.

  She nodded. “I agree.” What she was remembering was the first time she’d slept with Peter. Afterward, she had lain with her head resting on his chest, listening to his racing heart. He had murmured something, and as she had raised her head to listen, the edge of the tiger’s tooth had grazed her below the ear and she’d let out a startled yelp. Peter had massaged the spot tenderly and, from then on, remembered to remove his necklace before they made love. For an irrational moment, she wanted to tell Sudhir this, to prove to him that Peter was more than a “user,” that behind the brusque photographer lay a kind and thoughtful man. She kept silent.

  “Anyway. Let’s not spend any more of this beautiful day talking about that guy,” Sudhir said. “Okay?”

  She was only too happy to comply. “Okay,” she said.

  “You still feel like going out for lunch?” he asked in a tone that suggested he was no longer keen on the idea.

  “Only if you do.”

  “We have so many leftovers at home. Maybe we should . . .”

  “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

  They rode half a mile in a stiff silence, and then Sudhir said, “Did you know? That he was back in town, I mean?”

  She tensed. “How would I know?” She forced herself to look at Sudhir.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He paused and then said in a rush, “I guess because you seemed so enamored by him—by his work—the last time.”

  “Sudhir,” she said very quietly. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  He puffed his cheeks and exhaled loudly. “No. I don’t mean to. It’s just . . . ah, forget it.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea.”

  By the time they reached home, the tension had ebbed enough that Sudhir had his arm around her shoulder as they walked in the house. “How about I fix us a sandwich?” he asked, and she nodded, although she felt faintly nauseated.

 
She sat at the table and watched him stack the sandwich in his usual neat, methodical way. He seemed to have gotten over his bad mood, but Maggie was queasy. Her neck muscles tensed as she kept reliving their conversation in the car.

  Sudhir knew. The only thing working in her favor was that he didn’t know that he knew.

  BOOK TWO

  21

  NOBODY IN MY village is knowing how Mithai the elephant come to us. We go to sleep one night and we are having dogs and cats and mice and chickens and goats and cows in village. But no elephant. But next morning, Kissan the doodhwala is going to Menon sahib’s big house to deliver the milk and what he see there make him almost faint. Because standing in the yard in front of Menon sahib’s house is Mithai. He is a baby, only three or four months old, but Kissan said he had such a big shocks, he spilling some of milk on the brick path. And what you know? Mithai take two-three big step to where Kissan is standing all shaking, and he licking the milk up. Then Mithai take his trunk and touching his forehead, like he saying salaam to Kissan for the milk. Then Kissan ascare no more. He know this is elephant from a good family, not one of those mean animal who sometimes go mad and killing everything in forest.

  So Kissan ring doorbell and Menon sahib’s wife come out and she scream and go wake up her husband. And Kissan say Menon sahib come to the door all sleepy and irritate with his wife but then he see Mithai and he rubbing his eyes. Kissan feeling proudly then, because he find the elephant. And then, Kissan tell us, what you think happen next? The baby elephant sit on back legs and touch trunk to his forehead, like he salute Menon sahib. Kissan say, Menon sahib get tears in his eyes. He look at elephant, look at wife, but he not able to speaking. Then he go outside house and stand in front of Mithai. And Menon sahib, our landlord, ruler of our village, richest man in whole district, a man who bow his head only in temple, take his hand and do salute to the elephant.

  Stop, stop, stop, Dada say, laughing, when Kissan tell this part. You adding liquor to your milk these days, Kissan? Menon sahib serious man. He not do salute even to government official. And he salaaming an elephant? Take your drunk stories to someone who may belief you. Jao, go on.

  Belief, don’t belief, what I care? Kissan say. All I know is, whole village gathering at three today in the marketplace to see our guest. You and your family only ones not there. And Kissan say goodbye to Ma, smile at me, and go.

  Dada laugh again after he leaf. “That rascal telling big fat lie.” He look at me. “Chalo, enough time waste. Lots of work in field today. You ready?”

  I goes with Dada, and even though sun is hot today and my body melting like a candle, I work. When Dada stop for lunch, I keep working. “Enough, re.” He frown. “You wanting to kill yourself? Here, eat a chapati, at least.”

  “No, Dada. I’s not hungry.” Instead, I go to tiffin box and take three of the pedas Ma pack for me for dessert. I put them in the pocket of my kameez to eat later.

  I works until it is two-forty. Then I say, “Dada, I want to go to marketplace. To see the elephant. I go for half hour only.”

  Dada smile. “So my daughter breaking her back working to go see the elephant that come out of Kissan’s daru bottle.” He look up at the sky for a minute and then again at me. The blue of sky drop into his smiling eyes. “Okay. Go. But I’m telling you, Kissan is big bluffmaster.”

  I runs through the field that I know as well as the inside of our little house. I go home first to pick up Shilpa, who I know back from school. Ma ask me question but I just change into my slipper, grab Shilpa hand, and we running down mud road toward the market. On the way, I am telling Shilpa about the elephant and she as excite as me. As we get to the market, noise of the crowd tell us where to go.

  In front of Menon sahib’s shop, big crowd gathering. I still holding Shilpa’s hand and we pushes through crowd of people. Shilpa, Lakshmi, they scold us, but they moving for us. When we get to front, we see him. The elephant. I take one look, and I loving him. He so small. He look just like a baby. His eyes so tiny and his body fat, like Menon sahib’s wife. He is having two tails, a big one, like a water pipe between his eyes, and a thin one, like hairs from a broom, on the backside. I try to reminder what name the front tail is call and then I knows: trunk.

  Shilpa is jumping up and down as if we at the mela. Everyone in crowd acting like they at the mela. Only Menon sahib is serious. He standing next to the elephant and touching him softly-softly. Then he take a dried coconut from a basket and call to Munna, who is now eight years old. He give Munna the coconut and lead his son’s hand toward the elephant. I knows Munna ascare. Everyone stop breathing. The elephant take coconut in his trunk, go to put it in mouth, and then stop. He hold it above his head and then he throwing it on the ground. Then he crushes on it with his left foot. I hears the coconut break open, and when he lift his foot, I see the white inside of the coconut. So do the elephant. He pick up the white pieces and puts inside his mouth. This is clever elephant, everyone say. Everyone so excite, they start to whistle and clapping. Now Menon sahib smile, as if elephant is Munna getting good marks at school.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Menon sahib say. “We are not knowing how this guest showing up in our village. I will send word to nearby villages to see if a circus has lost an elephant. If so, we must return him. I will also file a police report. But if nobody comes for him in a few weeks, we will know that this is the god Ganesh come to bless our village. He will live among us as our honor guest.”

  Vithal chacha, our next neighbor, take step to near Menon sahib. He bow his head. “Beg pardon, lord,” he say. “This animal not staying baby for long. We have all seen elephants at the cinema. They big animal. Who responsible for his feeding?”

  Menon sahib close his eyes as he thinking. “I will,” he say after one minute. “I taking care of this whole village, correct? Can I not feed some grass and sugarcane and coconuts to our god Ganesh?” He look at the crowd. “Of course, all of you must be helping. If this animal remain with us, I will take one percent from your crops for his upkeep.”

  “Fas gaye,” Vithal chacha say softly next to me. “We trapped.” And everyone else agree with him, but softly, so as not to make angry Menon sahib. Nobody want to give cut from their money to pay for elephant. All of sudden, the happy of meeting the elephant turn into angry, and I get ascare. I knows some people will throw stone and stick at the elephant when Menon sahib not protection.

  The thoughts that someone hurting this baby make me cry and I leaf Shilpa’s hand to wipe my eyes. The elephant watching me and now it coming toward me. I feels a little ascare but I forcing myself to be steady. It come and stand in front of me and look at me from its eye, small like a keyhole. It take its trunk and touch my hair, then my face. Shilpa scream and move away but I stand fix, like full stop. It trunk feel like blindman Vikram’s hand on my face when he trying to see how much I grow. Menon sahib come near me but he looking at the elephant with a puzzle. And then the elephant put his trunk in my pocket and take out the pedas. Before I can stop him, he open his mouth and put them in. “Ae,” I yell. “You a thief.”

  Everybody laughing now. Elephant, too. He look at me like a naughty child who teacher catch cheating. Then he walk away, like he dancing. The crowd whistle and cheer. So what you think? He come back and check my second pocket. Nothing in there. But I putting my hand out and petting his trunk. It rough like tree branch. I never touch or even seeing an elephant until today. But when I touching him, it is exact same as holding a friend’s hand. Like meeting someone you always know but forgetting to meet until now.

  “This not our Lord Ganesh,” Vithal chacha yell. “This elephant is a bada bluffmaster.”

  Everybody laugh. “That his name. Bluffmaster,” someone say.

  “He’s a chor. Thief. We call him Chor.”

  “No, no. His name Peda,” Munna yell.

  But Menon sahib come to me and his face look same-same as three years back, when Munna almost falling in well. “What do you say, Lakshmi?” he say. “W
hat should we call him?”

  I no need to think. “Mithai,” I say. “His name is Mithai. He sweet like mithai.”

  As soon as I say his name, Mithai make a loud sound, like a train coming to a station or a hundred water buffalos making noise. Everyone take one step back. Everyone but Mithai, who come forward to me. And with his trunk, he put little-little kiss on my face. It feels funny-pinching and I laugh.

  Menon sahib stand straight. “Mithai is good name. I will build tent for him behind our house. You people are welcome to come do his darshan whenever you like. He will bring our village good luck.” He smile. “Of course, remember to bring pedas whenever you come. And now namaskar to all of you. Mithai needs to rest.”

  The crowd say namaste to Mithai and slowly walk away. But I am not wanting to leaf Mithai. I wanting to stay near him. I take Shilpa with me and runs. “Munna,” I says. “You needing help in maths homework?”

  He make tall face. “I always needs help in maths homework.”

  “I can come tomorrow,” I says. “After work.”

  Menon sahib puts his hand on my shoulder. “Girl,” he says. “You not tired after working all day in the kheti?”

  “No. I comes. To help Munna. And I helps with Mithai also. Maybe to give him bath?”