‘With her own hands?’
‘Yes. In those countries most people build their houses themselves.’
Maria would take them further north where the Lapps lived; they would see the midnight sun. Not once did Danielle ask if Nila wanted to join them. It was obvious that Maria had invited everyone from that night at Nicole’s, except Nila.
Out of politeness, Danielle asked her about herself.
She lived in the hotel where Van Gogh had got a room for three and a half francs, a century lay between them and the price had increased hundred times.
‘But you are rich, why are you worried! I have never earned or even seen so much money in my entire life.’
Nila said, ‘Whatever you saw in Calcutta was my father’s and brother’s. My mother has left me some money and it is all I have for my entire life. I heard money could buy almost anything. But here, in Paris, one can’t rent a house with it.’
Nila made a fervent plea to her to do something.
‘What’s the rent?’
‘Say around six thousand.’
‘Then you have to go to someone who earns four times that much. I don’t. I’m of no use to you.’
‘Any of your friends, Nicole, Rita, Michelle?’
‘I doubt they will. Why don’t you ask your Bengali friend? He earns well and I’m sure he’ll agree.’
Nila didn’t feel like talking to Sunil. She just lay there. Benoir came after work, to spend another night at the hotel. His touch woke her dreams, of a home, a family. The more he said Je t’aime, the more she wanted firm ground under her feet. She was afraid to live a loveless life like Molina.
When Benoir lay in her arms, like a child, Nila surrendered to wakefulness and gazed at his intense beauty. It wasn’t like she didn’t feel like pushing him off the bed at times, or even throwing him out of her room. But then her future loomed before her, hopeless, a victim of Sunil’s desire everyday, living like a helpless woman. Although Benoir loved her, he didn’t trust her yet. A vague sense of reproach kept her silent.
The next day she called Sunil and visited him at the clinic.
‘Why did you leave like that? Even Chaitali said it wasn’t the right thing to do,’ Sunil said innocently, as if he had never stepped out of line with her or done anything objectionable.
Nila was exasperated and angry, ‘Didn’t you tell Chaitali the reason I left?’
‘What reason?’
Nila balled her fists. She had never wanted to see this man or hear his voice or his strange laugh, but she had no choice, she needed a house for herself. She was surprised at her own tone of voice when Nila commanded, not requested, Sunil to be a guarantor for her house.
‘Have you decided to live in Paris? Why don’t you get your papers in order first? What’ll happen if Kishan divorces you? Oh, of course, you have a French lover. So, are you marrying him?’
Nila shut him up, in the same commanding tone.
Eventually she was able to rent a place. It was in Rue de Vouyeer, seventy square metres, four rooms and the rent was seven thousand. She paid two months’ advance rent and seven thousand to the broker, showed them Sunil’s documents and guarantee and then got the key to the house. She entered the house on the fourth floor and took a few deep breaths of freedom. Sunil had said, ‘What will you do with such a big house. You could have gone for a studio.’ She could have; she could also have stayed in one of the tenements where the refugees lived without electricity and hot water, which were declared unlivable by the government and so the tenants occupied them and lived there for years without paying any rent. She could have rented a cheap place in Belle Ville where Mojammel and most black and brown people lived. Nila could have done many things, but she didn’t. She had no regrets. She began to plan how she’d set up the house and how Benoir would be stunned when he entered the decorated apartment, how he’d kiss her and say, ‘You amaze me every time I see you. You are wonderful.’
Nila opened all the windows and sat on the floor with her legs stretched out and leaned against the wall. The wind blew into the room; a lone bird came and sat on the balcony railing, shat on it and flew away. She had paid off her debt to Sunil and, Nila felt, he had paid his too. That’s how he had looked, with that smile which people have when all their debts are paid off.
Nila threw up whatever she’d eaten at Chez Lullu.
A New Life
Life held little meaning for Nila now, yet she bought expensive things to decorate her home. Molina had never been able to decorate their home according to her wishes. It was always Anirban who decided where the sofa or the beds would be and even what was to be cooked that day in the kitchen. Molina was there only to execute his wishes. Anirban made it amply clear that the house was not Molina’s and he was the lord and master. That’s how it was until Nila left the country and Molina this world.
In the evening the people from the stores came and arranged the furniture, just the way Nila wanted it. It took her two more days to get the house looking the way she wanted, with flower pots in the balcony, orchids on the dining table, lilies on the coffee table, and a computer in the study in case Benoir wanted to use it. On that table she placed ten red roses.
Nila walked around in her home and felt delighted. A bedroom, a living room, a study and a guest room—now what, Nila, she asked herself, you’ve got everything! Then she answered her own question, but I feel so lonely!
She showered and stood on the balcony watching the people pass by and wondered whom, among them, she wanted, who would be nice to have here right now. If only there was a knock on the door and she found Molina standing outside! She had dropped by to see how Nila was doing in Paris. Nila would hug her, say, ‘I love you, Ma. Don’t ever leave me.’ It was something she had never said before. She’d make Molina lie on the bed, lie down beside her and tell her all about the cruel world, everything. She would never be able to say it to anyone else. Bottling it all up, sometimes her heart felt like a dead weight.
She forgot her eager anticipation for Benoir in her conversation with her mother. When the day ended and the night bore darkness on its scavenging wings, she called Benoir and told him of her new abode.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to? Do I mean so little to you?’
Nila didn’t answer.
When he walked in, Benoir was dumbstruck. ‘Whose house is this?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
Nila laughed, ‘It’s mine.’
Benoir sat on the sofa and frowned as he looked around. ‘Yours?’
‘Yes, mine.’
‘How did you find a house? I thought you were looking for a place to rent and I was helping you do that?’
‘You were helping me?’
‘Wasn’t I? I took you to see the houses in Emile Zola and Voissiray.’
‘Oh.’
‘Who else will live here?’
‘Just me.’
‘And?’
‘And you?’
‘How can I stay here?’
Nila said, ‘If you don’t want to, don’t stay. I’ll live here alone.’
‘Such a big house just for you?’
‘I’m used to a big place in Calcutta. I guess some habits die hard.’
‘But you don’t have a job. How will you pay the rent?’
‘I’ve told you once, I can do without a job. Don’t be afraid.’
‘Hm.’ Benoir sat there with a glum face.
Nila smiled at him and said, ‘Aren’t you happy?’
‘What’s there to be happy about?’
‘Nothing? You saw me drifting around for so long, like a refugee, begging shelter here and there. My friend, Danielle, threw me out of her home. I wasn’t happy in Sunil’s house either, he has humiliated me in the worst possible way. I never had a truly dependable place to go to. I had no choice but to go to a hotel. Now I have a home of my own and you know how good that feels, to have your own home. Don’t you know how peace
ful it is? However much we love one another, I can only go to your home and stay in it, if you ask me to. If you wake me up at three in the night and tell me to leave, I’ll have to, right?’
Benoir raised his voice and said, ‘Have you gone mad? Why would I ask you to leave?’
‘You haven’t but you may one day. So can I, can’t I?’
‘Are you telling me to leave?’
She sat on the arms of the sofa, hugged him and said, ‘Not at all. I want you at all times, in the day and at night, when I wake and when I sleep.’
Benoir looked around him and said, ‘Have you won a lottery or something?’
The curtains were light green, just as the sofa and the bed linen.
‘Are you also fond of light green?’
Nila laughed and said, ‘Oh no, I like blue.’
‘Then why is everything light green here?’
‘That’s because you like it.’
Benoir bit his lip and smiled sweetly. Nila placed her forefinger on his lips and said, ‘When I love, this is how I love—one hundred per cent.’
‘Do you know magic? How could you do all this in such a short while?’
Nila snapped her fingers.
Benoir heaved a sigh. ‘Of course, if you have the money it can even be done in two minutes.’
Benoir walked into the bedroom, stood with his hands on Nila’s waist, looked around at the light green bed, the two bedside tables, the lamps on them, the wall-to-wall wooden cupboard and clicked his tongue. ‘You’d have got these much cheaper at Ikea. If you had waited, I could have taken you there.’ He knocked on all the wooden furniture and said, ‘This is not good wood; you’ve been cheated. Where did you buy these?’
‘Habitat.’
‘That’s a useless store, rubbish. You should have asked me before buying all this. Ouf, you can be so stupid at times.’
Nila pulled his hand and brought him before the cupboard. ‘Open this, and see.’ Benoir opened it and said, ‘Where did you buy it and for how much? I’m sure you’d have got it cheaper in other stores.’
‘Just take a look inside.’
Benoir found men’s clothes, shoes, shaving things, eau de toilette.
‘Whose?’
‘Guess!’
‘Kishan’s?’
‘Question doesn’t arise.’
‘Then?’
‘Take a guess?’
‘Sunil’s?’
‘Why would Sunil’s things be here?’
‘Then?’
‘Guess!’
‘I can’t.’
Nila laughed, traced her fingers on his chest and said, ‘Yours.’
Taken aback, Benoir shouted, ‘Have you gone mad, Nila?’
‘Why?’
He sat down on the bed, the light green bed, and said, ‘I have all these things already.’
Nila said, ‘So what? But I have some doubts about the shoes; just see if they fit.’ She took out the black Italian leather boots and kept them in front of him.
‘Shoes? What size?’
‘I don’t know the size but I looked and thought they’d fit you.’
Benoir turned the shoe over, saw the number on the back and kept it aside; no, they weren’t his size.
‘Why have you bought all this for me?’ Benoir asked, with fifteen furrows on his forehead.
Nila sat beside him, looked into eyes and said, ‘I love you, that’s why.’
One more surprise was yet to come. Nila took Benoir into the last room, with rows of books on the bookshelf and the computer on the desk.
Benoir raised his brows and said, ‘You are going to use the computer?’
‘No, I don’t use machines. This is for you.’
‘For me? But I have a computer.’ Benoir tried to laugh.
‘I know.’
He sat on the revolving chair. Nila plucked two wilted petals off the roses and said, ‘If you feel like using a computer when you are in this house . . .’
‘How many gigabytes is this?’
‘I don’t know that.’
‘Do you know the RAM?’
‘No.’
Benoir clicked his tongue again. Nila stood behind his chair and sank her fingers into his hair and kissed the thick blonde hair, ‘Don’t you like it?’
Benoir switched the computer on and said, ‘Do you know more about computers than I do?’
Nila smiled sweetly. ‘I didn’t say I know more. I’ve bought it for you to use.’
He clicked his tongue again. ‘I don’t use these kinds of computers. You’ve just wasted your money.’
‘Don’t worry about the money; tell me what you like and I’ll exchange it.’
‘And they’ll do it without a fuss?’ He had the furrows on his face again.
‘Okay, so you don’t like the computer; what about the roses?’
Nila buried her nose in them. Benoir said, ‘They look good.’ But he made no attempt to smell them. Nila could tell that flowers were mostly a pleasure to the Western eye and not a delightful scent.
Benoir stood by the bookshelf and asked, ‘Have you bought these books in Paris?’
‘Some, yes. The rest I brought from Calcutta.’
‘All of them are classics.’
‘Not all, some. I have always wanted to have a home of my own which will have a library.’
He pointed to Ulysses. ‘Have you read that?’
Nila shrugged. ‘I never could go beyond twenty pages and I don’t think I ever will read more than that.’
Benoir walked towards the kitchen. ‘I need some coffee; do you have it?’
Nila followed him as she said, ‘Of course.’
She leaned against the kitchen door and said, ‘But I don’t know how to make coffee.’
Benoir started making it for himself. Nila stood beside him and said, ‘As you know, I am hooked on tea.’
Nila learnt how to make coffee in the machine; Benoir directed her. He took the cup of coffee and sat at the dining table. Nila made herself some tea and sat in front of him; her eyes smiled, her lips smiled. Benoir stirred some sugar into his coffee and asked, ‘Have you read anything by Tom Clancy?’
‘No.’
‘Stephen King?’
‘No.’
‘Ed McBain? Tory Brookes?’
‘No.’
‘Then . . .’ Benoir paused.
Nila said, ‘Actually I haven’t read too much of contemporary Western literature. I’ve read more of Bengali.’
‘Elmore Leonard?’
‘No.’
‘George Simenot?’
‘No.’
‘David Eddings?’
‘No.’
Benoir sipped his coffee.
‘Have you read Terri Pratchett?’
‘No.’ Nila looked stricken.
‘What? You haven’t read such a famous writer?’
‘No.’
‘You haven’t even heard of her?’
‘No.’
‘You said you love reading, and yet . . . don’t worry, I’ll lend you some of her books.’ He poured himself more coffee.
‘What kind of novels does she write?’ Nila sat with the tea in front of her.
‘Oh, I can’t describe. If you start the book, you won’t be able to put it down.’
Nila held his hand and said, ‘Don’t you want to see what else is there for you?’
Benoir’s voice was cool, ‘What?’
She brought a bottle of Moët and Chandon champagne and placed it in his hands. ‘Just what is needed in a new house, the bubbly, right?’
‘I have to drive. It won’t be right to drink.’
Nila was startled. She had never seen him being so cautious.
‘But you do drive after a few drinks.’
‘Perhaps I did, but it’s not right.’
‘How can you think of right and wrong in this new house, today? Oh please, just pour the champagne, it’ll be fine.’ Nila brought two champagne glasses.
Benoir heave
d a sigh, ‘Well, if you insist, I guess I’ll have to.’
He uncorked the bottle with a morose expression. The froth leapt out noisily. Nila’s joyful shout drowned out that sound.
They went to the balcony, champagne glasses in hand.
‘It’s nice out here, isn’t it?’
Before he could answer her, one way or another, the phone in Benoir’s pocket rang. He went into the room as he talked into it. Nila stood outside, eyes closed against the pleasant breeze. He came back and said, ‘Pascale is coming back to Paris tomorrow.’
The champagne glass shook in her hands. Nila drained it swiftly, ‘It’s a good champagne, isn’t it?’
‘Nila, Pascale is coming back to Paris tomorrow.’
‘I heard.’
‘So say something?’
‘What can I say?’
‘Do you know that I have told Pascale all about you and me?’
‘No, you didn’t tell me.’
‘Well, I am telling you now. She knows about us.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Do you know that Pascale and I have a daughter called Jacqueline?’
‘I know.’
‘Can you imagine how difficult it is for Pascale to accept our relationship?’
Nila went inside to pour herself more champagne. When she tried to pour him some too, he moved his glass and banged it down on a corner of the table. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, ‘Why don’t you say something? Have you lost your tongue? Until now you had a lot to say, you showed me the house and all the expensive things you’ve bought. So talk now!’
Nila drank the champagne in long gulps as if it was water. She looked into Benoir’s eyes, those blue eyes, the ones she loved.
She said, ‘I know it’s not possible for Pascale to accept this. You go and apologize to her and don’t come back to me ever. I won’t call you either.’
Benoir smashed his glass on the floor and shouted, ‘Is that what you want?’
Nila trembled at the noise. He pulled her up from the chair and said, ‘Look into my eyes.’
Nila stared at the shards of broken glass at her feet.
‘What are you looking at—have I ruined your expensive set of glasses?’
French Lover Page 23
