As Sweet as Honey

25




Week thirty-eight arrived. All morning Wednesday, Grandmother kept dropping things. She liked to grind the coffee beans herself when the tin ran empty. This morning, as she opened a fresh package from Kaladi, a few beans scattered to the floor. I helped her pick them up from under the stove. Then, after the grinding, as she transferred the powder into the tin, her hands slipped and powder spilled. For some reason she began to smile.

Shanti-Mami arrived to begin the day’s cooking, and Anitha for the day’s washing-up. Anitha was just a few months younger than Nalani, with a broad smile, even as she squatted among the vessels to wash in the alcove off the kitchen. Her husband drank too much, and Sanjay said he beat her, too. That’s why some mornings she arrived late, no smile. Those days she would have long talks with Grandmother after the dishes were done. There was a litany of life in her words, involving a sister-in-law, a brother-in-law, a sick mother. Usually, Grandmother gave her extra money, while Aunt Pa railed against the system of police who turned their eyes away. This morning, Anitha was fine, as she had been for several weeks, her husband working in another town. Grandmother discussed the day’s menu with Shanti-Mami, deciding on idlis for tiffin. This was no big surprise, as we usually got idlis for tiffin, though we would have been happy with just a sweet and milk.

“The baby’s coming.”

Nalani had run into the room with this announcement. Startled, we rushed out of the kitchen. Meterling was ready, and Grandmother agreed. Meterling smiled wanly at us, and asked Sanjay to fetch Simon. Chitu-Mami, the midwife, and Dr. Kamalam had already been sent for. Soon, she lay on her side as the doula, who was already there, massaged her lower back. Grandmother said a quick prayer. Our aunt would smile, then pain would cross her face, and then she’d let a breath out. The doula counted the time between the groans. She cheered our aunt along, as if we were at a cricket match. How in the world would a baby be able to be born out of her body? I imagined Aunt Meterling stretching a hole as large as a small head, but that was like magic, a universe’s expansion. A bicycle jingle let us know Sanjay had arrived with Simon.


We didn’t see the actual birth, although we wanted to, sort of. Men and children still were not allowed. We heard words like “dilation” and “centimeters.” We hung out at the doorway, with Simon. He looked so worried.

“It won’t hurt for too long,” he said, wiping his forehead.

“How long does it take?”

“I’m not sure. My aunt Patricia delivered very quickly, but she’s very athletic. Rode horses and that sort of thing.”

“How quick is quick?”

“Half-hour?”

“How long will Auntie take?”

Simon shook his head.


It took five hours. Later the doula said that was because it was the first time. We heard Meterling shout with pain, which Simon kept repeating was perfectly normal, keeping us from running inside, although it looked like he wanted to do the same. After a while, we heard a baby cry. Finally, Aunt Pa let us go in. There, in her arms, was a tiny baby. It was very red, but had soft black hair. The eyes, when open, looked very big. I was surprised to see its skin was brown. Somehow I imagined the baby would be white with blue eyes, blond hair. I wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing.

“Meet your cousin,” said Aunt Meterling.

Simon hung back until Meterling smiled at him, and said, “You, too.”

Grandmother nodded at him.

He entered bashfully.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Tired.”

“Eight pounds, three ounces,” said Dr. Kamalam.

“Ten little fingers, ten little toes,” said the doula, also smiling.

Both Aunt Pa’s and Grandmother’s faces were streaked with tears, and Grandmother looked radiant, the happiest I’d seen her in so long.

We cooed at the baby, who was very red and distraught.

“He’s feeling the air—it’s all new to him,” said Nalani.

“He looks just like Tharak,” said Grandmother, breaking into a wide-toothed smile. I hugged her, my grandmother. I looked at Simon, who was crying as well.

Maybe it was at this moment she decided Simon could marry Meterling, if she still wanted him.

Now we all had to troop out to let her—them—rest.



Eleven days later came the naming ceremony. We all crowded around the crib where the baby slept. Aunt Pa whispered the baby’s name in his ear. “Oscar” was official.

Later, someone wrote his name out on a layer of unhusked rice that had been spread out just for this occasion, and the aunties put anklets and bracelets on him.

“Won’t it hurt?” asked Simon, to which everyone laughed. What do men know about babies? Or new mothers, either? It was the aunts who bathed the baby. They stepped in and did nearly everything. Meterling fed him and rested, fed him again and rested, and we hung around her bed. They both slept a great deal.

Would he have a Sanskrit name as well? He would. Ramana. Oscar Ramana Tharak Forster. That too was written on the grain.

The anklets and bracelets were unhooked and slipped off after the ceremony. Around his waist, he wore a simple black cord, tied with turmeric root. He constantly ate from my aunt’s breast, and then slept, contented.

“I think Archer must be watching him, too,” she told us.

I wasn’t sure, because perhaps he was playing carom, or was a baby in a new life. Once my grandmother told me my grandfather became a fly after his death, so he would always be in our presence. My mother says I got the word wrong, that my grandmother meant gecko. But I think she believed my grandfather went straight to Vishnu, and I think Aunt Meterling thought the same of Uncle Archer.

And just like that, she agreed again to marry Simon.