Read Online The Vine of Desire by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni - Free Book Online
Authors: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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passing. Will there be a hurricane? His eyes flit like evening moths that sense a flame nearby.
He takes a deep breath, pulls that maverick wind into his lungs. He moves away from the window and checks his watch. Two P.M. Is he thinking that it’ll be at least a couple of hours before Anju gets back from school? Two dangerous hours that make his heart speed up when he thinks of what might be donewith them. There is a recklessness in the arc of his arm as he sweeps his coat from its rack. He leaves the floor littered with pages from the unread report and stops only to tell the secretary that he has to go home.
All day Sudha works the way a deep-sea swimmer treads water, as though to stop were to drown. She cooks and vacuums and mops, she dusts the meager knickknacks in the living room. “Who would think that before I came to America I had never mopped a floor!” she says to Dayita, whom she keeps close by. “That girl’s into everything!” she’ll tell Anju later. “Can’t let her out of my sight a minute!” Does Anju sense that Sudha is afraid of: aloneness? When Dayita falls asleep, Sudha talks to herself.
She camouflages her daily cleaning by leaving a few newspapers scattered around. This is so that Anju will not scold her. (“Did I bring you here to turn you into a servant? I swear I’ll stop going to college if all you do when I’m gone is clean, clean, clean.”) She feeds Dayita and eats a little of the khichuri she has cooked for Anju. “It feels funny eating all by myself,” she grumbles. “Civilized humans weren’t meant to live like this, don’t you think?” She places a clove into her mouth and chews on it abstractedly. It is an old habit that has stayed with her from girlhood.
“Oh, Sudha, don’t tell me you still chew cloves like your mother made us do when we were children!” Anju exclaimed, laughing, after dinner on the first night. “Remember what she used to say —Girls, it will give you sweeter mouths—and a husband always likes a wife with a sweet mouth!” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Sudha smiled, though a bit ruefully. “It’s okay, Anju! Just becauseI’m divorced now doesn’t mean you can’t mention anything to do with marriage. Why then, we’ll never be able to speak of our growing-up days—because that’s what they were, a giant, nonending rehearsal for becoming married women!” Then she added, “Remember how I used to tell you that once I was married and out of Mother’s control, I’d never touch another clove? But when that day came, I found I couldn’t do without them.”
“How we grow addicted to our tortures!” Anju said.
Sunil shot her a glance. Perhaps he wondered if there was a second meaning to her words. He should have known, by now, that Anju wasn’t one to hide her meanings. She pointed her words toward people like arrows—that was the only way she knew to use them.
Now, dutifully, Sudha turns on the TV. Anju has told her she must, it will help her understand Americans. So she watches a weather report that states there’s a 70 percent chance of rain; a commercial for paper towels that features a giant male, a dirty floor, and a tiny, agitated woman; and the rerun of a game show. But when a plump woman who has correctly guessed the cost of a blender shrieks with delight and jumps up and down and throws her arms around the host to kiss him, she grimaces and switches it off.
“That’s disgusting!” she tells Dayita. “I’m sure that, as a self-respecting female, you’ll agree with me.” She plays finger games with her for a while, but she is distracted. You can see it in the way she turns her head suddenly, as though hoping to catch sight of something that lurks just outside the line of her vision. She opens the window all the way. Outside, the wind swoops and dives, scattering leaves and debris. It blows malicious grit into her eyes to make her weep. She rubs at them—a child’s gestureunexpected in a woman who threw
He takes a deep breath, pulls that maverick wind into his lungs. He moves away from the window and checks his watch. Two P.M. Is he thinking that it’ll be at least a couple of hours before Anju gets back from school? Two dangerous hours that make his heart speed up when he thinks of what might be donewith them. There is a recklessness in the arc of his arm as he sweeps his coat from its rack. He leaves the floor littered with pages from the unread report and stops only to tell the secretary that he has to go home.
All day Sudha works the way a deep-sea swimmer treads water, as though to stop were to drown. She cooks and vacuums and mops, she dusts the meager knickknacks in the living room. “Who would think that before I came to America I had never mopped a floor!” she says to Dayita, whom she keeps close by. “That girl’s into everything!” she’ll tell Anju later. “Can’t let her out of my sight a minute!” Does Anju sense that Sudha is afraid of: aloneness? When Dayita falls asleep, Sudha talks to herself.
She camouflages her daily cleaning by leaving a few newspapers scattered around. This is so that Anju will not scold her. (“Did I bring you here to turn you into a servant? I swear I’ll stop going to college if all you do when I’m gone is clean, clean, clean.”) She feeds Dayita and eats a little of the khichuri she has cooked for Anju. “It feels funny eating all by myself,” she grumbles. “Civilized humans weren’t meant to live like this, don’t you think?” She places a clove into her mouth and chews on it abstractedly. It is an old habit that has stayed with her from girlhood.
“Oh, Sudha, don’t tell me you still chew cloves like your mother made us do when we were children!” Anju exclaimed, laughing, after dinner on the first night. “Remember what she used to say —Girls, it will give you sweeter mouths—and a husband always likes a wife with a sweet mouth!” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Sudha smiled, though a bit ruefully. “It’s okay, Anju! Just becauseI’m divorced now doesn’t mean you can’t mention anything to do with marriage. Why then, we’ll never be able to speak of our growing-up days—because that’s what they were, a giant, nonending rehearsal for becoming married women!” Then she added, “Remember how I used to tell you that once I was married and out of Mother’s control, I’d never touch another clove? But when that day came, I found I couldn’t do without them.”
“How we grow addicted to our tortures!” Anju said.
Sunil shot her a glance. Perhaps he wondered if there was a second meaning to her words. He should have known, by now, that Anju wasn’t one to hide her meanings. She pointed her words toward people like arrows—that was the only way she knew to use them.
Now, dutifully, Sudha turns on the TV. Anju has told her she must, it will help her understand Americans. So she watches a weather report that states there’s a 70 percent chance of rain; a commercial for paper towels that features a giant male, a dirty floor, and a tiny, agitated woman; and the rerun of a game show. But when a plump woman who has correctly guessed the cost of a blender shrieks with delight and jumps up and down and throws her arms around the host to kiss him, she grimaces and switches it off.
“That’s disgusting!” she tells Dayita. “I’m sure that, as a self-respecting female, you’ll agree with me.” She plays finger games with her for a while, but she is distracted. You can see it in the way she turns her head suddenly, as though hoping to catch sight of something that lurks just outside the line of her vision. She opens the window all the way. Outside, the wind swoops and dives, scattering leaves and debris. It blows malicious grit into her eyes to make her weep. She rubs at them—a child’s gestureunexpected in a woman who threw
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