Her smile matched his. “Oh, Soli, that is so good to hear. But then, Soli, why did you stop visiting us?”
“How to explain?” he cried. “At your home, I never got to see you alone. Never only the two of us. And you were only seventeen, just a little girl. What could I say to Abe Uncle? Then also, I am Parsi, as you know. My mamma is wanting me to settle down with a nice Parsi girl. And your religion is different from ours. Your parents are probably wanting you to marry your own kind, no? So for all these good reasons, Mariam, I decided to stop torturing myself by going over there.”
Her eyes were suddenly inexpressibly sad. “You’re right,” she said with a tight laugh. “These are all good reasons. Well, we should probably turn back. I don’t want these Parsi tongues wagging.”
He could feel her pulling away from him as the sea was pulling away from the beach. He felt a sudden panic. If he lost her now, he would never find her again. “Mariam, wait. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ooloo. This is all such a shock, and I’m such a blunderbuss. What I want to say is … Oh, to hell with what I want to say. What I’m wanting to do is kiss you. May I?”
Months later, they were still arguing about which one of them had first stepped into the other’s arms. But at this moment, all Soli knew was the reality of finally having his arms around a woman who had begun to seem mythical to him. But Mariam was delightfully, gloriously real. And he was, against all odds, kissing the lips that he had fantasized about for seven long years. In the midst of his delirious joy, Soli had a thought of utmost clarity—that from this day forth, his life would be divided into before Mariam and after. Mariam was the dividing line that separated a world of listlessness and loneliness from a world of love and happiness. “Oh, Mariam,” he whispered. “What if you had not come on this picnic today?”
As he said the words, he felt little stings of icy pain on his lower back. Turning his head, he saw a group of young urchins throwing pebbles at him and imitating his hushed whispers and puppy-dog expression. “Saala badmash,” he roared at the giggling children in mock anger. “Cbalo, get out of here.” The chattering children ran away, squealing at the unexpected pleasure of being chased by an adult.
But the mimicry had made the two of them self-conscious. “Everything okay?” he asked awkwardly. “Good. Let us hurry back to the group. We don’t want any silly talk to start about us.” But he was still holding on to her, his words and expression contradicting each other.
“Soli?”
“Umm?”
“If you really don’t want them to gossip, you’d better wash your face in the water before we join them. There’s a large streak of red lipstick from your lips to your chin.”
They had been together for five months. In that time, they had shared the news with only three of their friends, Rusi Bilimoria and Jam-shed and Mehroo Katpitia. Abe and Emma believed that Mariam was spending most of her evenings at Mehroo’s home. If they wondered why a recently married woman would want to spend so much time with their single daughter, their relief overshadowed their suspicions. Since their sons David and Solomon had left for Israel, Mariam had few companions her own age. There were no Jewish families in their new neighborhood for Mariam to associate with. And this group of Parsi boys and girls seemed nice—a little young for their age maybe, but friendly and polite.
Soli didn’t understand Mariam’s desire to keep their affair a secret. He knew that both their families would have a hard time accepting that they were marrying out of their communities. But the Rubins had virtually adopted him a few years earlier. And he knew that his mamma would ultimately put his happiness over her own reservations. The sooner they confided in both sets of parents, the faster this transformation would occur. He decided to broach the subject with Mar-iam. “Darling, why all this choop-cbaap?” he asked her one evening. “Sorry—Gujarati word. Meaning, why all this hush-hush stuff? I mean, I am so proud of you, I’m ready to take out an ad in the Times of India, declaring my love for you. Don’t you feel the same?”
“Of course I do. But I don’t want Daddy to find out. I need more time. It’s … I dunno, it just doesn’t feel like the right timing.” Her words disappointed him, but he understood. She just needs more time, he told himself.
But Soli was frustrated. It was hard to find public places where the two of them could have some privacy. The thought of taking an unmarried girl to a hotel was unimaginable. Occasionally, they would climb down on the rocks near Marine Drive and find a secluded spot to kiss, but Mariam looked so tense and distressed that it took all the pleasure away. She was constantly afraid that one of her father’s friends would see them. Once, Soli hired a taxi to drive them around as they sat kissing in the backseat, sheltered by the dark privacy of the cab. But even that was uncomfortable. For one thing, they had to be as silent as mice, afraid of drawing any attention to themselves. As Soli put his hand on Mariam’s knee, he caught the cabdriver’s leering eyes gazing at them in the rearview mirror. The cab gave a lurch as their eyes locked. Soli used that as an excuse to vent his anger. “That’s how most accidents happen—by gadheras not keeping their eyes on the road,” he muttered, loudly enough for the driver to hear. “Eyes everywhere excepting where they should be.” He ignored Mariam’s cautious squeeze on his arm, asking him to shut up. They left the cab that day more frustrated than when they’d gotten into it.
The next day, they had their first real fight. “Are we thieves or spies?” he burst out. “Are we planning a war with Pakistan or a bank robbery? If not, why do we have to do all this hush-hush stuff? For the first time in my life, I’m lying to my dear old mother. And for what reason? It seems wrong to lie about the thing I’m most proud of—my love for you, Mariam. How to make you understand this?”
“I do understand. I hate this, too. But I need time, Soli. Daddy had always wanted me to marry a Jew. I need to prepare him for this very slowly.”
“But you won’t even come and sit with me at Chowpatty Beach or go into a private cubicle at Cafe Paradise. For seven years, I waited to kiss your lips. And still I have to worry about some soover taxi driver spying on us in his cab. I’m a grown man, Mariam, not some six-year-old boy in half pants.”
Then he caught a lucky break. Jamshed and Mehroo, who were renting a one-room flat in Colaba, asked Soli to keep an eye on it while they went to Udwada for two weeks. Before leaving, they dropped the spare key off with him. “Mariam,” he told her the next day. “It’s a godsend. Let’s spend a day by ourselves in Jamshed’s flat. You have to come. Darling, I am wanting to talk to you and kiss you without worrying about Abe Uncle or God knows who else. Please, darling. I’ll go up first and take over some snacks and all. You come later. No one will see. I’ll wait at the window and open the door before you even knock. We’ll have a little indoor picnic, yes? Please, Mariam. We hardly get to see each other.”
On the day she was to come, he bought a dozen chicken sandwiches, potato wafers, and a bottle of wine. He took out one of Mehroo’s bedspreads from the closet and spread it on the floor for a picnic. He put Louis Armstrong on the gramophone. True to his word, he looked out the window for her and opened the door before she rang the doorbell. It was 3:00 P.M. on a Saturday. She hurried in. Her hair was tied back in a scarf and she had on a purple dress with black patent-leather shoes. She swayed a little to the music and then undid the scarf with a jerk. Her brown hair fell across her face like a shadow across a mountain. He kissed her before she had crossed the room.
They sat on the floor, munching their sandwiches and drinking the wine, until they had only about half a glass left. Soli dipped a potato wafer into his wine and watched it swim in the colorless liquid before fishing it out of his glass with his fingers.
“Ugh. You Parsis are a strange lot. Imagine eating a soggy potato wafer.”
He rose to his feet with the careful solemnity of a drunk. “Now that you have insulted the whole Parsi community, I feel responsible for defending their honor as well as the honor of all those who like wet potato wafers,” he said with a
flourish. He tried to say something more lofty, but the wine was squatting heavily on his tongue. Slowly, he made his way to the bed and sat on it.
Mariam giggled. “Whatsamatter? Cat got your tongue?”
“Not the cat. The wine.” He thought hard for a minute. “It’s funny, no, when you can actually feel your tongue in your mouth? Like a big sponge, it is. You know what that’s like?”
“Can’t say that’s ever happened to me, Mr. Soli.” Mariam’s eyes were dancing.
“Mariam?”
“Urn?”
“Know what I would like? To feel your tongue in my mouth.”
Silence.
“Mariam?”
“Urn?”
“Come and sit here next to me. Please? Now, isn’t that comfy? Mariam. Darling.”
The room was silent expect for the sounds of their wet, long kisses. Then, Mariam pushed Soli away. “Okay, Soli. Don’t get me all hot and flustered. I’ve got to go soon. That’s enough.”
“Oh, Mariam, please. Just this one time. I am so eager for you. Please, darling. When will we get such a chance again?”
“Soli, I can’t. My father will kill me if he finds out, and besides, what if there’s trouble later?”
“Oh, Mariam, your father is not here. But I am, and madly, madly in love with you. Seven years I waited, darling. Seven years. And there will be no trouble. I can, you know, pull out before … before … Trust me, darling.”
Her mouth tasted salty under his. Their bodies folded together as if a master architect had designed them for each other. Her long legs clung to his body like a vine on a tree. When she slipped off her dress, the slenderness of her shoulder blades reminded him of the neck of a violin. “Mariam,” he whispered. “You are perfection.”
Outside their window, the real world raged on—a lonely old woman peered through heavy curtains to spy on her neighbors; a street urchin tied a firecracker to a stray dog’s tail and then laughed as the animal went crazy with fear; a young couple rushed their firstborn to the hospital after he mysteriously stopped breathing.
In the still-larger world, Europe slept a cautious sleep as the nightmare of World War II crystalized into the frostiness of the cold war; on the Asian continent, China, India, and Israel hurtled toward their individual destinies. Baptized in the blood of the Hindu-Muslim riots, a young India struggled to emerge from rhe memory of the carnage. A short distance away, Israel flexed its muscles as it traded one set of enemies for another.
But inside this room, a different sort of blood was being shed. It was blood that would have to be washed off the blue sheet before Jamshed and Mehroo rerurned. Indeed, the sheet with its drops of blood was a kind of flag, the symbol of a new country. A country where the divisions of race and religion were melting under rhe heat of desire, melting into a new flesh, melting into a new four-limbed animal, an animal that was all mouth and tongue, all curiosity and all softness, all ache and all fulfillment of ache.
For Soli and Mariam were more than just lovers. They were citizens of a nation that had just been born.
Later, he lay on the bed with his hands knitted behind his head, listening to the sound of running water as Mariam took a bath. A lifetime of such joy awaits me, he thought, and shivered with pleasure. Mariam and I making love and then me lying awake, listening to the sound of the water running. When she stepped back into the bedroom, her face was damp and flushed from the hot water. She sat at the edge of the bed for him to zip her dress.
“Mariam,” he said, sitting up on one elbow as he dropped tiny kisses on her bare, fresh-scented back, “I can’t wait for us to be married. Then we will be having fun like this all the time.”
She smiled at him, and he noticed that the dark circles under her eyes were lighter, “So much happiness—it’s almost more than one has the right to ask for,” she whispered, taking his hand to her eyes and holding it there,
“Oh, darling, no such thing. You watch. We are going to be the happiest, luckiest couple we know. We already are.”
Two days later, Mariam left with her parents for their annual family vacation to Goa. Soli, who had never been to the oceanside Portuguese colony, wished he could have accompanied them, but he knew better than to suggest that to Mariam. He was loath to part with her, but Mariam consoled him. “Be patient, Soli,” she said. “Our reunion will be the sweeter for it. I’ll phone you at work as soon as I get back.”
But the day of her return came and went without a phone call. A worried Soli left work a little early and headed directly for Mariam’s apartment building. He was relieved but astounded to see the lights in the Rubin apartment. So they were home. He tried to think of all the reasons why Mariam had not called him, tried to decide whether to knock on Abe’s door in the hopes that Mariam would answer. But his courage failed him. There must be a good reason if Mariam hasn’t called, he told himself. Maybe she’s tired or sick. Or maybe she’s told Abe Uncle about us. If so, better for me to wait.
He was almost mad with worry the following day, as the expected phone call never came. Each time his phone rang at work, he would answer it with a thumping heart that almost stopped beating when he realized the caller was not Mariam. The tenuous nature of his relationship hit him as he realized that he did not have the authority simply to pick up the phone and talk to the woman he loved. Then, at 4:00 P.M., when he was sure that Mariam was dead, the phone rang again, and this time it was her. “Soli? Hi, it’s me. Sorry for not calling yesterday. Things are a little topsy-turvy here. Listen, are Mehroo and Jamshed still out of town? … Great. Can we meet at their apartment again tomorrow evening? … Sure that’s convenient? Okay, I’ll see you there, around six-thirty.”
Ignoring his boss’s mutterings, he left work early again the next day. He picked up two bottles of Duke’s raspberry and a full tandoori chicken for dinner. If Mariam was arriving directly from work, she would be hungry.
The dark circles were back under her eyes. In fact, Mariam looked two years older than when she had left for Goa a week earlier. Soli could not help the involuntary start of surprise. “Darling. Have you been sick while on holiday? Did the air in Goa not suit you?
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just fine.” But her manner was agitated and her eyes darted around the room.
She was making him nervous. In an effort to control his own agitation, he got up to pour her a soft drink. “Well, even if you’re sick, luckily for you, the doctor’s in the house.” He grinned. “Here’s some of my own, homemade dava.” He kissed her long and hard, and after a few seconds, she relaxed. “Aha. Better already. Here, come sit on this bed and I’ll give you some more medicine. Or perhaps you’d like an injection? Just a few pokes?” he said, grinning lewdly.
Mariam let him pull her on the bed, but he could tell she was distracted. He held her for a few minutes, hoping to calm her down, but it felt as if he was embracing a stranger. At last, he held her at arm’s length for a minute and searched her face. “Mariam, what is the matter?” he asked quietly.
“Something happened while we were in Goa,” she said in a low voice that matched his own. “A decision was made, you could say.” She bit her lip and looked away from Soli’s concerned, anxious face. When she looked at him again, her eyes were red. “Soli, my whole family had decided to move to Israel.” She heard him gasp, but she didn’t stop. “Daddy says there’s nothing left for us in India, that a Jew has no business living anywhere now except in our homeland. What happened during the partition riots really scared him. The way those Hindus and Muslims butchered one another. Almost like what happened in Germany with the Jews. I know partition seems like ancient history to you and me. But Dad remembers it vividly.”
He started to protest, but she stopped him. “While we were in Goa, we met with two other Jewish families,” she continued. “It was my dad’s friend Nizzim, who lives in Goa, who convinced him that it was time to leave. Goa’s a pretty safe place for Jews, but Nizzim still feels that his children would be better off in Israel. All three fa
milies have decided to leave at the same time, in maybe two months from now. Dad is already looking for a buyer for the flat.”
His whole world was caving in. He felt as if someone had toppled the planet, so that grass was now growing on the sky and clouds floating on the earth. “Mariam, darling, please. If this is a joke, please stop now,” he beseeched. “See how my heart is racing, like those horses at Bombay racecourse.” But one look at Mariam’s face told him that this was no joke, and his heart turned icy.
“Daddy says he is tired of how much we have to struggle here just to get by. He says that if we’re going to work this hard, let’s do it in a place that’s at least attempting something bold and new. The British have been gone from India for over ten years and nothing has changed, he feels. Just last night, when the electricity went out, Daddy said, ‘Damn it, if we’re going to live in a country of power outages and shottages, we may as well put up with those things in a country where we are working for the good of our own people.’ It just reinforced his decision. And I’m telling you, Soli, the partition bloodbath scared him. He says he’s never been able to look at India the same way since then. It reminds him too much of what happened in Germany.”
“Germany? You’re comparing India to barbaric Germany? How can you even compare that madaarchot crazy Hitler with his toothbrush mustache to our decent Oxford-educated Nehru chacha? Nehru purs a fresh rose in his buttonhole every morning—that’s how civilized and gentle he is. A man who loves nature, loves children. Nor like that eunuch Hitler, with his silly haircut and a voice that’s sounding like he always has hiccups. And besides, Hitler’s dead. As for partition, that was years and years ago, and that, too, was between the Hindus and Muslims. Let me ask you, Mariam, has India ever hurt you? Was your father not having a big business and fine house in Bandra? Did anyone ever harass you here?”
Mariam looked at Soli over the gulf of history and memory. “Soli, Germany was a civilized country, too. So civilized that they designed gas chambers to fry people in, so civilized that they removed gold fillings from the mouths of the dead, Just think about that. Daddy says that the only way to ensure this doesn’t happen again is to be among our own and to work for a strong Israel. And after all, that is our original homeland.”
Bombay Time Page 17
