“What happened, Beti?” Mama asks.
I start to tell her what I remember, vague images filtering through a dark curtain, but something in her eyes stops me. A revelation that what I will say is not a surprise, not a secret I have kept from her, from myself, but instead the other way around.
“You know?” I am on a swing, flying so high that I fear I may fall. One moment I am the woman she says I am, and in the next second I am just a teenager. I vacillate between the two, neither one feeling real to me.
“Yes,” she admits, lowering her head. “Not then, but recently.”
“How?” I demand. Shaking my head, I push past her back to the bathroom. There, I stare into the mirror, the image staring back at me changing. The girl with her hair strewn haplessly and tears streaking her face evolves into a woman I no longer recognize. “What’s happening to me?” I demand, grasping the sink for stability. “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” she asks.
“Tell me!” I scream again, hearing it echo in the empty house.
“He came to you late at night, after Marin’s wedding. He started drinking after all the guests left.”
I can smell the liquor now. He had never drunk before, always threatening it, but never following through. But that night he reeked of it. Cheap liquor mixed with the smell of wine. I made the distinction years later, the smell of both still causing my stomach to churn. I was fast asleep. I had started sleeping in my own room, insisting Sonya sleep in hers. He whispered the words in my ear, waking me with a touch. His hands down my arm, pulling the blanket slowly away. I clutched at it, fear paralyzing me.
“You are the only one I truly love. You know that, right? It is why you are so special to me. Why I treat you differently.”
Why I never beat you, were the unspoken words. The ones he didn’t utter, but made sure I understood. As he lifted my nightgown, the thought reverberated in my head. I was the lucky one. The special one. That’s why he wasn’t beating me. And when he finally bore down on me, I was grateful that I was still safe from his fists. If this was the cost of being protected, then it was a small price to pay.
“What did he do?” I demand, everything moving faster and faster. The first time we went to an amusement park, I repeatedly rode the teacup that went round and round, laughing as everyone complained how dizzy they were. Only after, when I climbed out, did I realize the effect. Holding on to the side of the ride, I fought for everything to stabilize and failed. I vomited seconds later, the purge finally giving me the steadiness I craved. “Tell me!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mama starts, obviously hiding the truth. We had learned to appreciate our lies like a veil over our lives, each untruth stronger than the facts. I loved playing with her saris as a child, using the end as a veil like women were required to in India. Always fascinated by the mystery it represented, I see it now for what it is—an excuse to keep a woman in her place, her beauty and power hidden from the world.
“It matters to me,” I yell. At the same time I demand an answer, I want to run from it. Now I understand Sonya’s instinct, her desire to keep moving. When faced with what has happened, when you have no choice but to live with it, it seems wiser to sink rather than swim. “Tell me!”
“He raped you,” Mama whispers, each word sounding as if torn from her throat. I take two steps back, her admission repeating itself over and over in my head. I was blind for so long that now I wonder how I will ever learn to see again.