Read Online In the Shadow of the Banyan by Vaddey Ratner - Free Book Online
Authors: Vaddey Ratner
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around the room, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. Quietly,so as not to wake Radana, I got up and went out to the living room. The house was mostly dark except for a muted glow from the kitchen. Hungry, I went toward the light and found Mama and my two aunts sitting on footstools. They were busy arranging foods, their faces illuminated by the kerosene lantern burning on the tile counter just above their heads. Auntie India was telling Mama and Tata something when she saw me standing in the doorway. “There you are!” she chimed, her voice melodious even when she said the most mundane things. “You must be starving!”
I went over to Mama, needing to be reassured by her closeness. I had dreamt of Milk Mother, of her absence. She was a void as black as the night, and even though I felt her presence, I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t find her face in the darkness.
“Everyone has had their dinner already,” Mama said, parting the wisp of bangs from my eyes. She pulled out a wooden footstool for me. I sat down and pressed close, my head against her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked, lifting my face to hers.
I nodded, wanting her to keep talking. Her voice calmed me, chased away the fears that lingered at the edge of my waking. She smiled and handed me the plate of fried rice she’d saved from dinner. I looked at it, hesitating, not sure if I wanted to eat now. “You’ll feel better,” she said, “once you’ve had some food.”
“We didn’t think you’d wake up,” Tata said, squinting at me from where she sat. “The way you just lay there on the floor.”
“Still as a squashed bug!” Auntie India chimed in, laughing.
As soon as I took a bite of the food, my stomach grumbled with hunger. Surely we must have had lunch, but I couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. How long had I slept? Had it only been one day from the moment the soldier banged on the gate? As I ate, the women resumed their tasks, sorting perishable foods from the dried and canned goods.
Mama seemed to have gotten control of herself and was again the woman who could run a household by herself or host an extravagant New Year’s party without a drop of sweat on her silk. She was in charge now,telling my two aunts what was essential and practical to keep and what we could do without, like the bottle of brandy Auntie India had brought along for the men, or the unopened can of butter Tata had somehow managed to grab from the refrigerator before we left. Auntie India, nodding vigorously, deferred to all of Mama’s suggestions and instructions. Tata, even as she continued to hold herself regal and erect, conceded authority to my much younger mother and admitted openly, “What would we do without you, Aana? And yes, what was I thinking? Butter in this heat! I guess I panicked and grabbed what I thought would be impossible to find.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mama laughed. “We can use it for tomorrow’s dishes—maybe make mango crepes for the children. Or we could trade it for real meat—some fresh beef from a local butcher, perhaps. Same with the brandy.” She gave Auntie India a teasing nod. “That is, if you haven’t told the men yet.”
All three laughed. Then it turned serious again when Auntie India inquired tentatively, “Do you think it’s wise to leave the property, to trade or for any reason?”
There was silence. Mama turned to me, as if not wanting me to hear the conversation. But before she could say anything, Tata said, “I know what you mean. It’s just too horrible.” She shook her head. “They’re everywhere, shooting people left and right. Barbarians, that’s what they are.”
“They say anyone with glasses reads too much,” Auntie India offered. “The sign of an intellectual.”
I looked at Tata and noticed her glasses were not where she’d always had them, hanging from the gold chain around her neck. Then I remembered she’d taken them off in the car sometime during our journey.
I went over to Mama, needing to be reassured by her closeness. I had dreamt of Milk Mother, of her absence. She was a void as black as the night, and even though I felt her presence, I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t find her face in the darkness.
“Everyone has had their dinner already,” Mama said, parting the wisp of bangs from my eyes. She pulled out a wooden footstool for me. I sat down and pressed close, my head against her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked, lifting my face to hers.
I nodded, wanting her to keep talking. Her voice calmed me, chased away the fears that lingered at the edge of my waking. She smiled and handed me the plate of fried rice she’d saved from dinner. I looked at it, hesitating, not sure if I wanted to eat now. “You’ll feel better,” she said, “once you’ve had some food.”
“We didn’t think you’d wake up,” Tata said, squinting at me from where she sat. “The way you just lay there on the floor.”
“Still as a squashed bug!” Auntie India chimed in, laughing.
As soon as I took a bite of the food, my stomach grumbled with hunger. Surely we must have had lunch, but I couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. How long had I slept? Had it only been one day from the moment the soldier banged on the gate? As I ate, the women resumed their tasks, sorting perishable foods from the dried and canned goods.
Mama seemed to have gotten control of herself and was again the woman who could run a household by herself or host an extravagant New Year’s party without a drop of sweat on her silk. She was in charge now,telling my two aunts what was essential and practical to keep and what we could do without, like the bottle of brandy Auntie India had brought along for the men, or the unopened can of butter Tata had somehow managed to grab from the refrigerator before we left. Auntie India, nodding vigorously, deferred to all of Mama’s suggestions and instructions. Tata, even as she continued to hold herself regal and erect, conceded authority to my much younger mother and admitted openly, “What would we do without you, Aana? And yes, what was I thinking? Butter in this heat! I guess I panicked and grabbed what I thought would be impossible to find.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mama laughed. “We can use it for tomorrow’s dishes—maybe make mango crepes for the children. Or we could trade it for real meat—some fresh beef from a local butcher, perhaps. Same with the brandy.” She gave Auntie India a teasing nod. “That is, if you haven’t told the men yet.”
All three laughed. Then it turned serious again when Auntie India inquired tentatively, “Do you think it’s wise to leave the property, to trade or for any reason?”
There was silence. Mama turned to me, as if not wanting me to hear the conversation. But before she could say anything, Tata said, “I know what you mean. It’s just too horrible.” She shook her head. “They’re everywhere, shooting people left and right. Barbarians, that’s what they are.”
“They say anyone with glasses reads too much,” Auntie India offered. “The sign of an intellectual.”
I looked at Tata and noticed her glasses were not where she’d always had them, hanging from the gold chain around her neck. Then I remembered she’d taken them off in the car sometime during our journey.
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