“Actually, I didn’t. I’m—I’m just tired of his shenanigans, to be honest with you. I don’t want to deal with it.”
Frank swore under his breath. “Okay. I’ll talk to him when I get home. Stupid jerk. I thought he might pull something like this at the last minute.”
“Edna’s acting really weird, also. She’s been scuttling around the kitchen like a mouse all morning.”
He hung up, and although it was only noon, found himself craving a drink. A gin and tonic would be nice right around now, he thought, and then smiled as he recalled fixing his grandmother Benton her favorite cocktail at eleven in the morning while visiting her in Dearborn. “You know what hell is, honey?” she’d once said to him when he was a kid. “Hell is a warm gin-and-tonic—with a hair in it.” He had squirreled that nugget back to Ann Arbor to feed it to Scott, had stood on the bed in his bathrobe and imitated his grandma in his best Bette Davis accent.
But now he stopped thinking about his long-dead grandma and was back to fuming about Prakash. He wondered if the cook had broken the news to Ramesh and how the kid was dealing with it. He thought of the strings he’d pulled to get Ramesh a visa, remembered the strained, awkward conversation with his mom where he’d told her he was bringing a young Indian boy home with them, a conversation that had ended with his mom saying, “Okay, dear. If you think that’s wise.” I’ll call Prakash in tonight, he thought grimly. Ask him for an explanation for his ridiculous behavior.
But then, just as suddenly, his anger left him. In its place, he felt fatigue, an exhaustion that sank so deep into his bones, it felt like pain. He felt his shoulders sag, imagined his body made a hissing sound as he lost his fighting spirit, his outrage, his desire to bend Prakash to his will. He was tired. Tired of fighting all of them. All of India, it seemed to him, was ready to judge, disapprove of, or frustrate him. Of late, he had been feeling as if his hold on himself was slipping, that he was becoming someone he didn’t want to be, was shocked by racist thoughts that sometimes rose in his mind like dark waves, was stunned at how easily an invective or a cuss could rise to his lips. The slightest provocation—someone cutting Satish off on the road, Deepak’s blank, inscrutable expression during meetings, the close way in which Ellie always seemed to watch his interactions with Ramesh—bothered him. Ah, Ramesh. The kid was the only pure, unfettered source of delight in his life. He wished he could pick up the boy in the crook of his arm, bid adieu to the rest of them, and disappear. Everybody else seemed so goddamn complicated, and he was expected to feel sorry for all of them—for Deepak, who was making a fraction of his salary, for the workers who had suffered for generations at the hands of the moneylenders and the police and the government, for Prakash, who was a run-down alcoholic. Who, he wanted to ask, felt sorry for him? His own childhood hadn’t been that hot—a father who beat him as a kid and abandoned him when he was twelve, a mother who moped around the house like a friggin’ nun, a family business that spluttered along over the years, barely enough to keep them afloat. Yes, his luck had changed after he’d met Ellie, but those years were hard to recall now. Or rather, he didn’t trust his memory of them because he saw them for what they were—the setup, the trick, the lull before the Fall. If Eden came with a snake, was it ever really Eden? If paradise could be lost, was it ever really paradise?
He continued in this self-pitying vein for a few more minutes and then realized what he was doing. He was holding a one-way conversation with Ellie, pleading his case to her, trying to convince her that the fact that he was white and male and American—privileged, in her parlance—didn’t mean that he had to carry boulders of guilt all his life, didn’t mean that he had to make excuses for every Edna, Prakash, and Deepak. “Screw you, Ellie,” he muttered and then caught himself and laughed.
By the time he went home that evening, his mind was made up—they would not go home for Christmas. For weeks, he’d been trying to ignore the anxiety that he’d seen on his wife’s face because his own excitement at taking Ramesh to America was stronger than her dread at going back. But Christmas without Benny was hard enough. Celebrating it in a familiar place with family would be too painful. Like Ellie, he didn’t feel ready to face it, not without the crutch of Ramesh. Pete would be annoyed, but hell, Pete seemed annoyed at him all the time these days—he’d get over it. His mother and Scottie would be heartbroken, but maybe they could try going next June, when the weather would be better and there would be no holiday to celebrate. Ellie’s parents—well, she’d have to deal with them and their disappointment. He suddenly felt lighter than he had in weeks. For once, he was about to suggest something that would put him on the same side as his wife, rather than opposing her. It was, he supposed, the best Christmas gift he could buy her.
As he had suspected, Ellie didn’t seem too crushed by the change of plans. “Guess I’ll mail all the gifts,” she said. “I just hope they get there on time.”
“Or at all,” he said. “If some enterprising mailman does not pilfer them. It’s a common problem here.”
Another month went by and then it was time to plan their own holiday celebration. They invited Nandita and Shashi to dinner on Christmas Eve, and it was assumed that Ramesh would join them. Ellie insisted on cooking the meal herself, and Frank was happy to help her. That morning, Edna came to the door to sweep and clean as usual, but Ellie had sent her away. “It’s Christmas Eve. Go enjoy with your family,” she said.
Ramesh was in and out of their house the whole day. At one point, Ellie assigned him the task of shelling some walnuts. The boy looked at the silver nutcracker she handed him. “What for, Ellie?” he asked.
“To crack the nuts?”
Ramesh laughed. He ran to the door and placed the nut in the doorjamb. Then he half shut the door, cracking the shell open. “That’s the way we do it,” he said.
“A surefire way to break your fingers,” Frank said. “I think we’ll do it our way, buddy.”
Around four o’clock, Ellie turned to Frank. “I bought a tiny plastic Christmas tree,” she said. “How about if you and Ramesh decorate it?”
And just like that, their eyes filled with tears. They stood in the sunlit kitchen, holding hands, remembering the years they’d driven to Forest Farms just outside of Ann Arbor to chop down their own tree. Benny in his yellow parka, puffed with self-importance because Frank let him believe that he had actually helped his dad bring the tree down. Ellie warming the apple cider once they got home while father and son positioned the tree in its stand. Frank standing on a ladder to place the silver star on the top branch. The two of them staying up late every Christmas Eve wrapping Ben’s gifts.
“God,” Frank said, his voice hoarse. “Oh, God.”
“I wasn’t going to get a tree,” Ellie said. “But I saw it in the market and couldn’t resist.” Her voice cracked. “I—I just felt like he’d want us to.”
Frank nodded. “Okay.” He made a visible effort to control his emotions. “But you’ll have to help us decorate it.”
It took them all of ten minutes to finish the task. First they strung some silver tinsel over the two-foot tree. Ellie had bought a small blue star that Frank placed on the top. They looked at the small, pathetic tree with dissatisfaction. Frank thought back on the twinkling, seven-foot trees they usually decorated in the living room of their Ann Arbor home. How far we’ve fallen, he thought.
Ramesh closed one eye and looked at their handiwork. “It need snow,” he said. He turned to Ellie. “You are having cotton balls at home? That’s what we put at school.” And so they flattened cotton wool and laid it on the scrawny plastic branches. Frank felt a quick sense of regret that, thanks to Prakash’s stupidity, Ramesh had missed the chance to see real snow this December. “Is snow as white as the cotton?” Ramesh asked.
“Whiter.”
“Like vanilla ice cream, it is looking?”
“Guess so,” Frank smiled. “Except it’s flaky. You put a flake on your tongue and it dissolves. And did you know, no two snowflak
es are the same?”
Ramesh thought for a moment. “In the whole world no two are the same?”
“Yup. Just like fingerprints.”
The boy cocked his head. “Impossible.”
“But true.”
They left Ramesh to watch TV in the living room while they returned to the kitchen. Helping Ellie chop tomatoes, Frank thought to himself that children were like snowflakes—no two alike. Benny and Ramesh were so different from each other, unique in their personalities, and yet each boy was beautiful in his own way. He suddenly felt a great longing to see the two together in the same room, laughing and playing together. He turned toward Ellie. “Do you think Ramesh and Benny would’ve liked each other?”
Ellie’s smile was evasive. “Benny liked everybody.”
“I know. But do you think they would’ve been friends?” he persisted.
She pushed back a strand of hair with the back of her hands, which were covered in flour. “I think so. Though Ramesh may have bullied him a bit, being older and all.”
He nodded and turned away, dissatisfied with her response. Though in fairness, what could Ellie have said that would have made it better? “I’m done with the tomatoes. What else needs chopping?” he said.
In response, Ellie looked at the kitchen clock. “It’s quarter to five,” she said. “Better send Ramesh home for a few hours. I’d promised Edna he’d be home by five.”
He went into the living room to approach Ramesh. And maybe it was the angle of the sun in the room, maybe it was the light, maybe it was the chopped onions on the kitchen counter that had made his eyes burn, but for a split second, it was Benny sitting on the couch, his legs dangling. It was Benny fidgeting with the remote. There was Benny, his hair lit up from the side by the afternoon sun.
Frank blinked. And Benny disappeared, and Ramesh took his place. Frank felt his heart race. The world went completely silent. He stood for a moment, swallowing hard, unable to hear what the boy was saying to him. Then his ears popped, as if he’d descended from twenty thousand feet, and he could hear Ramesh jabbering away about the wrestling match he was watching. Seeing the strange look on Frank’s face, the boy stopped. “What’s wrong, Frank?”
“Nothing. Just—nothing.” He stood staring at the boy, reluctant to issue the command for him to return to his parents, when it was so damn apparent that his real place was here, on the couch, in this house, with them. He knew that Ramesh was coming back to dinner at eight, but even three hours away from this boy on Christmas Eve felt like too much. He was about to argue with Ellie when she came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said to Ramesh. “Go visit with your mom for a few hours, okay? But make sure you’re back by eight.”
To Frank’s surprise and disappointment, Ramesh didn’t protest. “Okay, Ellie,” he said, slipping off the sofa. “Bye.”
Frank sat down heavily on the couch and closed his eyes. He was tired. Lord, he was tired. When he opened his eyes again, Ellie was standing in front of him, holding out a gift-wrapped box.
“What’s this? Are we exchanging gifts now? I thought we were going to wait until the others—”
“Just this one,” she said, sitting down next to him. “It’s from Benny. The rest we’ll open after dinner.”
He opened the box and immediately recognized one of his old ties. The last two Christmases of his life, Benny had raided his father’s closet, picked out a tie, wrapped it, and presented it to his dad. Ellie was continuing the tradition. “Thanks,” he whispered. They sat on the couch, smiling awkwardly at each other. Frank kissed the top of Ellie’s head. “He was like you,” he said. “Gentle and sensitive.”
She shook her head. “No. He had the best of his dad. Everybody said that.” She got to her feet. “I need to put the pie in the oven.”
Nandita and Shashi arrived at eight, minutes after Ramesh had showed up dressed in the new outfit Ellie had bought for him. “Wow,” Nandita said to Ramesh. “You look so handsome I think I’m going to leave my husband and marry you.”
Ramesh’s eyes widened, and he looked questioningly at Frank, who pulled the boy near to him. “You tell her she’ll have to pay you a huge dowry before you’ll consider,” he instructed Ramesh.
Ramesh gave Nandita a toothy grin. “I am having a girlfriend,” he confided.
Nandita flopped down dramatically in a chair. “Arre, my naseeb is so bad.”
The adults all laughed. They sat in the living room sipping their drinks, and Frank noticed with appreciation that Shashi made every effort to include Ramesh in the conversation, asking him questions about school and his favorite teachers. He beamed at how smartly Ramesh answered back.
Ellie had tried to make a semi-traditional Christmas meal—mashed potatoes, apple and raisin stuffing, green beans and apple pie for dessert. To give it an Indian twist, Shashi had picked up tandoori chicken and lamb biryani from the Shalimar’s restaurant.
“Yowzers,” Frank exclaimed. “Think we have enough food here?”
“What you say?” Ramesh said. “Yeeou what?”
Frank ruffled his hair. “All right, my boy. This ain’t no time for an education. It’s time to eat.”
They moved back into the living room after dinner. Ramesh pointed out the small Christmas tree to the guests. “Me and Frank decorated it,” he said proudly. “Ellie helped.”
“Hon, how about some music?” Ellie asked. Frank plugged in the iPod and whistled tunelessly to “White Christmas.” When he turned around, Ellie had disappeared into the bedroom. She soon returned with an armful of gifts. “A little something for everyone,” she said.
Ramesh’s excitement reminded Frank so much of Benny’s. “I first, I first,” the boy yelled, tearing off the gift paper that Ellie had so carefully wrapped his box in. And then, “Yeeeeeessss. Yes, Ellie, yes,” as he held up a new pair of sneakers.
“Glad you like them, hon,” Ellie said. “Try them on to make sure they fit.”
As Ramesh walked around the room, they each opened their gifts. The Bentons received a beautiful carved wooden wall hanging. “It’s sandalwood,” Nandita said. “Smell it.”
“It’s lovely, Nan,” Ellie said.
Ellie had bought Nandita a green silk kurta and a silver bracelet. Shashi, who they knew was a big Harry Potter fan, got a T-shirt that had the caricature of an Indian potter making a pitcher. Under the picture it said, “Hari Potter.”
“I love it,” Shashi said, laughing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw that Ramesh was still dancing around in his new shoes. “Excuse me,” he said and went into the bedroom. He went into the closet of the guest room, where he’d hidden the big white cardboard box, and carried it out. He set it on the floor. “Oh, Ramesh,” he said casually. “Come see. Santa has brought you one more gift.”
He ignored the confused look that Ellie was throwing him, focusing on the boy. Ramesh broke into the box with eager hands, throwing the shredded paper packaging all over the floor. When he lifted the silver laptop out of the box, Ellie gasped. But Ramesh did not react, looked at Frank with a perplexed expression.
“It’s a computer,” Frank finally said. “For you. To help with your homework.”
The boy squealed with joy. “For me?” he said. “For me?”
Even though he was conscious of the curious looks the others were giving him, even though he was aware of how silent it had gotten in the room, Frank could not keep the pride and pleasure out of his voice. “Yup. Your very own computer.”
“Ae bhagwan,” Ramesh breathed. “I am so happy.”
Frank tossed his head back to laugh and caught the look that Ellie was exchanging with Nandita. He noticed that none of the other three had said a word yet, and the room felt heavy with their disapproval. He felt a shard of resentment shredding through his happiness. Fuck them, he thought.
But his tone was innocent when he finally spoke to his wife. “So what do you think, El? Don’t you think th
is will help him with his homework?”
Ellie bit her upper lip and shot Nandita a quick glance. “It should,” she mumbled.
“It was such a good deal,” he continued. “I was ordering some computers for work and thought—well, it was such a good deal.”
“Where will he put it?” Ellie asked. She gave a short, bitter laugh. “It’s not like there’s that much room in their one-room hut.”
“Oh, we’ll figure something out,” he said breezily, determined not to let her ruin his pleasure.
“And what about Prakash?”
“What about him?”
“Should we have asked him first?”
Ramesh was looking back and forth between them, having at last detected some tension. Frank felt a flash of anger. Why was Ellie acting like this? Deliberately, he put his arm around the boy. “So what do you think, bud?” he said. “Do you think your parents will let you keep this gift?”
The boy grinned from ear to ear. “Yes, of course,” he yelled. “I will tell them, Santa brought.”
Ramesh’s words changed the mood in the room. “Computers have become almost mandatory in schools now,” Nandita murmured, while Shashi turned to Frank and asked, “What software did it come with?”
Only Ellie, he noticed, was still not participating. He got up and walked behind her chair and rubbed her shoulders. Bending low so that only she could hear, he said, “He shouldn’t fall back in school because of the lack of a lousy computer, hon.”
She exhaled. “Guess not,” she whispered back. “I’m just worried about Prakash’s reaction. It’s such an expensive gift.”
He sensed her resistance waning and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry so much,” he said. And turning to his guests, “What would everybody like as an after-dinner drink? We have Bailey’s? Nandita, some sherry? Or Kahlúa?”
“I want to play my computer,” Ramesh cried.
“I do, too,” Shashi said, pushing himself off the couch. “Let’s go set it up, shall we?”
Nandita and Ellie remained in the living room, sipping their drinks, while the three males crowded around the kitchen table, checking out the new gadget. “This is beautiful, Ramesh,” Shashi breathed. “Will you share it with me?”
The Weight of Heaven Page 26
