Disowned

by Tikiri

“We can’t have that now, can we?” she said. “Well, it looks like you’re done, aren’t you? Look at how those cars are gleaming. The boys I hire to detail my cars don’t do half as good a job as you’ve done. Maybe I should ask Mrs. Rao to let you help me one of these days.”

  I smiled. I have enough work as it is, I thought, but I didn’t say anything.

  Jacqueline gave a sly smile and whispered loudly, “Then, maybe, I can rescue you from her.”

  “I don’t think she’ll let me—”

  Hiccup! Jacqueline’s head wobbled and one of her arms shot over the hedge. “Oh goodness me!”

  “Are you okay?” I asked, but it was too late.

  I saw the twinkle of the glass tumbler as it fell over the hedge and crashed on the ground. The smoky smell of whiskey filled the air. Jacqueline was still up on her ladder, holding on to the hedge with both hands. “Oh, my goodness! What have I done?”

  I looked at where the glass tumbler had fallen and my heart skipped a beat. It had bounced off the car’s bonnet and broken into smithereens on the ground. When I bent over to wipe the few drops of whiskey off the hood, I saw the scratch. An ugly gray mark on Mrs. Rao’s shiny Cadillac.

  “Oh, no!” I put a hand to my head. “Oh no.”

  “My goodness me,” Jacqueline said, looking terrified. “What have I done? I’m so sorry, dear child, ever so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  I gently wiped the spot with the terry cloth, but that just made it worse. A glass shard scratched the paint to the primer. It was not a large scratch, but right then, it looked like I’d put a bullet hole through the sleek black panel. My heart stopped.

  I heard a rustle from the hedge. The eyes had disappeared, but I could hear Jacqueline’s voice warbling from the other side. “I’m coming over, right now, to apologize to Mrs. Rao. I’m going to do so right away.”

  “No!” I shouted despite myself. “Please, Jacqueline, don’t do that! Come back!”

  Silence for a few seconds. Jacqueline’s eyes popped over the hedge once again, her face a bright pink.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, gesturing for her to stay where she was. “No need to come over, or Mrs. Rao will kill—.” I stopped. I’ve said more than I should already.

  “Let me talk to her,” she said.

  “It’s not a big deal. Really. It’s best you don’t. Please.”

  Silence.

  “I do hope this doesn’t put you in trouble. You tell me if it does, you hear?” she said.

  “I gotta go.” I picked up the water pail and walked quickly toward the garage, my legs feeling like they were about to give way any moment.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I was in the kitchen baking pecan-kiwi muffins when the front doorbell rang.

  I jumped to get it, but before I could get to the hallway, Mrs. Rao rumbled out of the living room like a steam train and brushed me aside.

  “Get back in the kitchen and shut the damn door,” she snapped. Mrs. Rao didn’t normally swear, but she had become increasingly impatient, ever since the scratch on her car.

  Only a week earlier, I’d dragged myself back to the house after parking the scratched Cadillac in the garage. Inside, I found Mrs. Rao standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, a dark look on her face. That was the day I saw those warthog tusks of hers.

  As soon as I walked in, I blurted out, “I scratched your car, Mrs. Rao. It was the water pail. I bumped it on your car. I’m so sorry.” Her face didn’t change. She brushed past me and stomped outside and over to the garage. I trailed behind her, trembling in fear.

  Her face flushed bright red when she saw the scratch. “What the hell did you do?” she shouted for the first time since I’d arrived at the house. “What did you do to my husband’s beautiful car!”

  A mistake, I said. I pleaded forgiveness. I almost got on my knees, but her yelling didn’t stop. Her oversized bosom heaved up and down, like she was hyperventilating. I cowered in a corner of the garage, behind the car, trying to hold myself together against the barrage of insults she lobbed at me.

  I offered to take it out of my wages. I had no idea what she was paying me because it went straight to Franky’s office in Goa, but I was sure something could be arranged.

  She barely heard me. “This is my husband’s car! I promised him I’d take care of it, and now you’ve gone and desecrated this, you useless runt! He’s probably turning in his grave right now.”

  “I’m so sorry….”

  “Do you realize how much this car cost, you wench?”

  I shook my head.

  “Almost a hundred thousand dollars, more than you’ll ever see in your entire lifetime, you idiot!”

  I quivered in my corner. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Rao. I’ll do whatever I can to fix….”

  “Do you think your stupid sorries can fix this? Are you so dumb to think you can say sorry and get away with it?”

  I looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow me up.

  “I bring you all the way here to help you and your family, and this is how you repay me? You stupid, stupid village girl!”

  Her screeching didn’t stop for half an hour, until her voice started to get hoarse. I stayed balled up in my corner, not daring to look up, not daring to move.

  “How do you think you’re going to pay me back for this, you imbecile?” she shouted.

  “I’ll work harder, Mrs. Rao,” I managed to mumble.

  “Not good enough.”

  “I’ll work longer if you want, Mrs. Rao.”

  She took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to add twelve more months to your contract. That’s still not going to pay for this beautiful car, but I’ll take that.” Her voice was still angry, but at least she’d stopped screaming.

  “A year?” I asked, shocked.

  “That’s only for part of the fixing I’ll have to do. I’m being generous, you dolt!” she screeched. “I can make you stay two years to pay in full!”

  “I’m good for twelve months,” I said quickly, without even thinking.

  The next day, she drove the Cadillac to an auto body repair shop and it came back three days later in pristine condition. I had no idea how much it had cost. All I knew was I had promised to stay for another year.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I said get back in there!” Mrs. Rao snapped, pointing toward the kitchen. “Now!”

  I turned and fled down the corridor. I was just about to shut the kitchen door when I heard a female voice.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Rao. I’m here to see about the girl.”

  I took in a sharp breath.

  “Aahh, thank you for coming,” Mrs. Rao said in an unusually syrupy voice. “Come in. Please do come in.”

  I tiptoed out of the kitchen and peeked into the hallway. A middle-aged woman stood at the doorway, dressed in a smart tweed suit with a white scarf around her neck. She was carrying a briefcase, like she was ready for the office. A ray of sunshine flashed off the silver badge on her lapel, but it was too far for me to read. I’d never seen her at any of Mrs. Rao’s weekend parties. Who is she?

  I tiptoed back toward the kitchen. There was a nook outside the kitchen door where no one could see me, but from where I could hear everything going on in the dining and living rooms. It was a good place to hide on Saturday evenings after I served dinner to Mrs. Rao’s guests, especially on those days I dreamed up a new recipe. No one ever complimented me directly, but from my hiding spot, I could hear the clink of forks and knives against plates, and the oohs and the aahs, and the mumbles of “delicious,” “what a treat,” and “she’s good,” between mouthfuls.

  “May I get you tea? Coffee? Orange juice?” Mrs. Rao said.

  “No, thank you,” the guest said. “I don’t have much time today, I’m afraid. I only have a few questions, and I need to run to my next appointment.”

  “Of course, of course. Make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Rao said, leading her guest to the living room. There was sile
nce while they settled down. I could imagine them sitting in Mrs. Rao’s prim empress chairs.

  “About this girl now.” The woman said.

  “Of course, of course.”

  “First, we need to know what relation she is to you.”

  “The girl is my niece. You see, my youngest sister died last year in a car crash in India.”

  I felt a stabbing pain go through my heart as she mentioned the car crash.

  “Oh? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, it was heartbreaking news. She was my closest and dearest little sister. We spent all of our childhood together in India. In our culture, family is the most important thing, you know. The only thing. We live and breathe for our family. Life is strange sometimes, isn’t it? How it can so easily take away those most precious to us.” Mrs. Rao sniffed loudly.

  I felt my cheeks burn.

  “I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Rao. I didn’t know.”

  “I’m doing my best to take care of the little girl now. My lonely niece, an only child, you see. I sponsored her as a family member. That was the best I could do for my dear sister. In our culture, we never leave our family behind, no matter what.” I heard a tissue being pulled out of a box. Like an elephant trumpeting, the sound of Mrs. Rao blowing her nose reverberated through the house.

  “I’m sure you’re doing your best.” The woman’s voice had taken a softer tone. “I’m sure the girl appreciates having an aunt who cares so much for her. I usually have trouble finding families for our orphans. They get shunted from one foster family to another. I wish they all had generous aunts like you.”

  “Oh, I only think of that poor girl. She sleeps next to my room, and some nights, I hear her cry, you know. I know she misses her mother, but I can never replace her. It’s truly heartbreaking. I get my strength from Lord Vishnu.” More pitiful sniffs from Mrs. Rao.

  What lies, I thought from my hiding spot. What horrible lies.

  “The thing is, and this is what I came to talk to you about, she’s a minor, and we must ensure she’s going to school. You do know, education is compulsory until eighteen in Ontario.”

  I perked up.

  “For girls too?” Mrs. Rao asked.

  “We don’t discriminate, Mrs. Rao.”

  “Oh, I knew that,” Mrs. Rao said quickly.

  “I’m sure you did. When we get reports of unattended children who don’t go to school, we have to investigate. I understand this is a difficult time for your family, but the law is the law, as you know, and it is there for good reason.”

  “Of course. Of course. You see, the girl’s still adjusting, especially after that painful accident. I was waiting for her to settle down a bit and get over the trauma, before finding a suitable school. It isn’t easy to lose your parents like that, you know? The girl was very close to them, you see.”

  How dare she talk about my parents? My hands clenched into fists.

  “I can fully understand, Mrs. Rao.”

  “The problem is she doesn’t speak English very well, so it’s important to be selective, you see. Didn’t want to shock her, you see.”

  What? I speak better English than she does.

  “We have English-as-a-second-language classes for new immigrants, especially children who are sponsored here. They’re offered for free. My office will do whatever we can to help you and your niece.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you, very kind indeed. Thank you for thinking of my little girl. I have so much going on that I am not doing everything I should be doing. I am a terrible aunt.”

  “I understand perfectly, Mrs. Rao. You’re struggling through a loss, and that must be truly difficult. Let me know how we can help you. You can find the information you need on our website. We even have someone you can call during the day if you have questions about our services.”

  “Thank you so much. The girl is a bit nervous about going to school, you see, but this may help her adjust. I am glad you came today.”

  Nervous about school? Me?

  “So where’s the girl today? I’d like to talk to her.”

  “She’s sleeping in her room. Not too well today, I am afraid. A bad period, you know.”

  I cringed. Couldn’t she have picked a better excuse?

  “Perhaps next time?” Mrs. Rao said, her voice seeping with honey.

  “Here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions or need any help.”

  Noises of chairs being scraped back came from the living room. I scooted into the kitchen and closed the door gently, my heart beating fast. I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or worried. Who’s this woman? Does she work for the police? How did she know I lived here? Does she really mean it about school?

  Mrs. Rao barreled into the kitchen so abruptly, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I grabbed a dishcloth and pretended to wipe the counter. The phone rang in the background for the hundredth time that day, but we both ignored it.

  “Next Monday, you will come with me to register at school,” Mrs. Rao said, her face puffed up in fury.

  I looked at her in surprise. Is she serious?

  “Don’t you think I’ll be sending you to that private school like the Jones’ girls. I don’t throw away my hard-earned money on servant girls, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Rao.”

  “And don’t think you’ll get out of work. I didn’t pay to bring you all the way here to play. I don’t do charity. You’ll finish your task list every day, like now. That’s the contract, you understand? Otherwise, you and your family won’t get paid a dime.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Rao.”

  She stomped toward the door, her face contorted into a nasty scowl. She stopped at the doorway and turned around so quickly, I jumped again.

  “I know about Jacqueline,” she hissed.

  I gulped.

  “That nosy, interfering old bag,” Mrs. Rao growled. “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know everything that goes on inside this house and outside. You hear me?”

  I nodded, feeling numb to the bones.

  “You’ll work in this house for me till the day you drop dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ashok appeared out of nowhere.

  I was getting ready for my first day of school. It was seven in the morning, and I’d already vacuumed the house and cleaned the bathrooms and the dining room. I was tired but happy. I’m going to school again!

  For the first time in ten months, I got a whiff of freedom. I was going to see the world again, the world outside this house. I pushed Mrs. Rao’s threat to the back of my mind, that threat I’d work for her forever. That can’t be true, I thought—she’d been really angry when she said that. So I woke up that morning, feeling a slight sense of relief. While things were bad, not all was lost.

  But that morning, Mrs. Rao was not in a good mood.

  “Ashok!” she yelled over my head, making me jump.

  The kitchen door creaked open. To my surprise, a lanky Indian man, barely in his twenties, wearing baggy gray pants, a threadbare shirt, and open-toed slippers, appeared at the kitchen doorway. I stared at this apparition. He shuffled over self-consciously, his slippers making sticky noises and leaving traces of dirt on the white kitchen tiles I’d just mopped. His back was slightly stooped and his face cast down, as if he was walking into the den of a lioness.

  No one came into the kitchen other than Mrs. Rao and me, and no one visited the house during the day. The only people I saw inside, other than whoever belonged to those mysterious footsteps every full-moon night, were the well-heeled dinner guests who came on Saturday nights and filled the house with expensive smells of whiskey, cigars, and French perfume. Those people owned exotic cars and yachts, unlike this man who looked like he’d just stepped off a rickety fishing boat.

  “You take this girl to this address like I showed you, okay?” Mrs. Rao spoke to him in Hindi as she flung a slip of paper onto the counter. “Then you pick her up exactly at two this afternoon, do you hear? The car has a GPS a
nd a clock. Use them.”

  Ashok nodded at his slippers.

  “The girl can’t go anywhere other than school and the grocery store. You hear me?”

  The man nodded again, not making eye contact with Mrs. Rao or me. He picked up the car keys and the slip of paper. Putting his hands together, he bowed low and shuffled back out of the kitchen door, closing it gently behind him.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, turning to Mrs. Rao.

  “None of your business,” she snapped. “He’s a mute, dumb as a doorbell, and only understands Hindi, so no use making him talk, you hear?”

  I stared at her. How’d she manage to conjure up someone like that out of the blue?

  I vaguely recalled being woken by the sound of a car engine in the dead of the night before. Unlike the sound of trucks coming in and out on full moon nights, the noise had dissipated within two minutes, and I’d gone back to sleep not thinking much of it. It could have been a passing car or a brief stopover by one of the private security guards who did their rounds at the nearby mansions.

  “No need to wash the cars anymore. I’ll give that job to Ashok from now on. But you need to clean Mr. Raj Kapur’s room tonight. He’s made a mess again. After that, I need you to clean the swimming pool in case my guests want to use it this weekend. And here’s what I want you to make tonight.” She threw a piece of paper at me. “Ashok will drive you to get groceries after school. When you get back, I want to see good cooking, you hear me? No slacking.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Rao,” I stammered. I took her grocery list and stuffed it in my pocket. I reached for my bag and followed Ashok’s steps out.

  Outside, the white Land Rover was parked in the driveway, ready to be taken out. Ashok was squatting beside the driver’s door like I’d seen bus drivers do at the station in Goa when they were on their breaks. He had an unsophisticated look about him, but there was a glint in his eyes that made me wonder if he saw and heard more than he let on.

  He stood and climbed into the driver’s seat as I approached the car. I stepped in next to him, a whirlwind swirling inside my head. Life was going to be different from now on, I thought.