As Sweet as Honey

20




The cousin from England called again. Archer’s cousin. He asked Meterling to come to England and see the fields Archer had left her. This time Meterling took the receiver. “I can’t,” she said, hesitating, and then saying, “I’m pregnant.” There was silence on both ends for a while.

“Then I’d better come see you,” said the cousin.

He did not waste time. He arrived one morning at the house, dressed in a beige kurta and nicely pressed pants. He didn’t look much like Archer, being younger, taller and lanky, like someone who didn’t know what to do with his limbs. He brought chocolates from Belgium for us. We were all curious to see him, and wondered how our aunt would react to his presence. I wondered if his family’s snub still hurt. Grandmother, pursing her lips, led him to our front room, where we had some charpoys and chairs. I loved this room because of the mirrored red coverings on the pillows, and the low table made of a dark wood that held an elegant silver tea service, one of my grandmother’s wedding presents. Only a few years ago, Rasi and I would hold tea parties with our dolls. That was when Rasi too played with dolls. Sanjay was not allowed, “only girls,” we said, but Sanjay didn’t care anyway. He practiced cricket with some boys in the street, batting nicely, he’d tell us later.

This man looked like he might play cricket. He had an open face, and since he had shaved off the mustache he wore at the wedding, he no longer looked so funny. He seemed embarrassed by our frank stares, and Grandmother was on the verge of scolding us when Meterling entered. The cousin, whose name was Simon, blushed, and stood up. She calmly walked in, eight months of pregnancy in front of her, wearing a pale-rose sari. She had placed jasmine in her hair, too, because he was Archer’s cousin and had come all this way.

Shanti-Mami had made some pakoras, and Aunt Pa brought them in. Greedily, Rasi, Sanjay, and I reached for them, ignoring Auntie’s pointed looks. They were hot and crispy, and we tried to be careful about them crumbling and leaving oily stains on our dresses and shirtfront. Receiving Simon-Archer (for that was what we called him in secret, though Aunt Meterling, overhearing, corrected us and told us his name was Simon Peter Harold Forster) was different from receiving Nalani’s intended bridegroom. There was an awkwardness, created perhaps by color or gender. Our grandfather had worked with white men, and frequently brought one or two home, his supervisor mainly, but sometimes the younger engineers, who came for a good home-cooked meal. Uncle Archer had been made welcome, too, after the wedding was announced. Once a wedding is announced, tensions ease somewhat. After a wedding, there’s much hearty laughter and joking.

Simon was unmarried. He was a journalist, and traveled a good deal. No, he’d never had anything in the News or the Accent, but he had published in the Lincolnshire Post. He covered local fairs, and garden shows, and wrote theater and book reviews; abroad, he wrote travel pieces. Meterling mentioned Neela, the poet, but he didn’t know her works. He mentioned the works of Indian poets he was familiar with, and for a few minutes, he and Meterling spoke easily about them. But perhaps fearing they were leaving the others out, they began to speak of the weather, the unusual rain. Uncle Darshan, who by this time had come back from his college, and was seated with a hot cup of coffee, said the pollutants we released into the atmosphere mixed up nature. Icebergs, he said, were melting, but Aunt Pa said that was nonsense.

Simon-Archer was offered a second cup of coffee, but he stood up, saying he had already taken up so much of our time. He was staying in a guesthouse, and the proprietress would have dinner waiting for him. Then he blushed once again, looked at Meterling, and asked if she would meet him for dinner tomorrow. At once, Grandmother and Aunt Pa put up a fuss, saying that she was in her eighth month, but Meterling, to everyone’s surprise, accepted. The doula had not wanted her to be bedridden, but also to be sensitive to her fatigue. Later, Aunt Pa and Grandmother decided it must have to do with the will.

• • •

While Meterling waited for Simon-Archer to call for her, Aunt Pa told her to be very careful of what she ate. Under no circumstances was she to eat deep-fried foods. And the minute she felt tired, she should come home. Meterling looked pretty that evening, wearing a soft georgette silk that had small red blooms on a cream background. She had put up her hair, and used a decorative comb in the bun. Again, she selected jasmine to wind around it. They smelled especially good, since the blooms were just beginning to open.

Simon-Archer arrived and they set off. Ajay came over a half-hour later. He had been visiting regularly, and he and Nalani took us to the movies. We argued over James Bond or Disney, and we finally settled for Disney, a showing of Snow White. It was much scarier than I thought, with the wicked queen. Sanjay and Rasi made fun of me afterwards, teasing me with “How about an apple?” until Nalani told them to stop. Ajay asked if we wanted ice creams, and Nalani laughed, saying, “As if there’s any question!” They seemed to like each other more. He was funny, cracking jokes and breaking into bits of film song, trying to win Nalani’s heart. He drove us to the beach, which was crowded as usual. The vendors were busy, and groups of people sat together eating and laughing. Carefully watching out for dog droppings, we walked to the midnight-colored water as the waves crashed. Walking to the right, we soon left some of the crowds behind, aside from the occasional family or lovers who had the same idea as us. It wasn’t an entirely crime-free area, especially at night, so we didn’t go far. It was a good thing Aunt Pa wasn’t with us. Sanjay, Rasi, and I looked for good, gleaming shells and rocks, but the water was too rough to seek them, and it was too dark. Nalani was still laughing.

We made our way back, and found a café that sold ice cream in a dish. We each had a scoop topped by a sugar wafer, and Nalani and Ajay had coffee. They were talking about France. It seemed Rajan was forgotten. Maybe they had just been good friends, and not in love, as Rasi said. I hoped he would come to the wedding. Already, Rasi and I had been fitted for new clothes, even though the wedding was a long way off.


Simon took Meterling to the Tanjore Hotel restaurant, renowned for not only its food but also its cleanliness. It was completely vegetarian; the cooks trained in Madras, and then had to pass additional tests in Madhupur. The Tanjore was full; lively couples poring over menus, family groups celebrating birthdays. The women were draped in soft silks and vibrant prints, ears full of gold and silver, cholis cut fashionably low. The waitress, who herself was fashionably outfitted, led them to their reserved table.

“Archer and I used to come here, when he first moved down. I stayed for about a month. I was on school holiday,” he told her as they sat down.

It began simply: “Tell me everything about him,” she asked.

The cousin told her about Archer’s childhood, his parents who died young, as had Meterling’s parents. He told her about the school they both went to, the games they played. All through dinner, he talked and answered questions, and asked some of his own. Over coffee, he told her Archer liked pickle-and-cheese sandwiches and Cadbury’s Fingers. “Cadbury’s,” whispered Meterling, “I like those chocolates, too,” thinking of Archer as a boy, how Oscar might grow up like him. All she knew of Archer was so brief, so slight—his humor, his kindness, his patience. His gaze, as he looked at her, had said: “Would you marry me?”—and hers had replied, “Yes, yes.” Thinking that the fates had been kind to her for once, thinking that she too would have a chance at happiness. And a few months later, the wedding and that dance. But the cousin was talking again, not letting her mind go down its familiar path. Instead, he said, simply, “Let’s take a walk, Meterling.” And she was startled to hear her name in his mouth.

He paid, and offered his arm. She took it. Next to the Tanjore were the famed Narati Gardens, a park that was often used for films and weddings. It featured hundreds of varieties of flowers in continual, orchestrated bloom. The jasmine was heady. A few couples, just-marrieds most likely, walked hand in hand. Meterling was embarrassed, but there was still so much to learn about Archer. How had he been at school? Where did they go for vacations? What sports did he play besides the cricket he had told her about?

The cousin was patient, and told her as much as he knew. They had left the gardens and were going to get a milky drink for her and a coffee for him before they noticed the time. Meterling wondered that she didn’t feel tired, but happy, somehow. Still, she’d promised to be in before ten.

When he left her at the door, Meterling asked if they could talk some more the next day, and he agreed with a smile.

“I’m glad you came out to dinner.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

Not sure how to take her leave, she hurriedly kissed him on the cheek, and quickly went inside.