As Sweet as Honey

41




By the time drinks were poured, Oscar looked ready to sleep. This was the tricky part, because she would need a good half-hour to feed him and put him to bed. She never got used to the idea of nursing in front of her in-laws, even though Susan had friends, she said, who seemed to delight in the show. Maybe they were just tired of making it seem so mysterious. She shut the bedroom door. Oscar’s wispy head grew heavy with sleep as she eased his mouth away, and put him in his crib. She wondered if she should just put him in his bouncy in the living room, but knew Nora or John would wander in and check on him, if not Simon or Susan. This was her family, after all, who even if they might question her at times, would forgive Oscar everything. He looked peaceful; his eyes closed with baby swollenness, his hair just a little damp. She could not imagine life without him, she thought, bending to give him another kiss.


John forgot the punch line of the joke midway through telling it, but seemed not at all embarrassed. Even Dr.—Kavita—and Lisa laughed at his delight. Seated at dinner—not a buffet after all—she was glad she had made raita the night before. There was her labor before her, in large and small dishes: the lentils, the rice, the two kinds of vegetables, the raita, and the parathas that Susan and Simon must have made—no! It was Kavita and Lisa, it turned out, to her chagrin.

“We had so much fun in the kitchen—please don’t mind!”

“I hadn’t made parathas in years” said Kavita, adding apologetically that she got hers from Sainsbury’s.

“These are out of this world,” Susan added hastily, forestalling any more blushes on Meterling’s part.

Nora’s salads were good as well, as it turned out—she had known that Nora was a good cook, a fact that always had intimidated and slightly irritated her, but now she was grateful her salads and eggs were on the table. Everyone dug in. Later, there was quite a bit of lemon rice left in its bowl, though, and she wondered if she had added enough salt. Only John filled his plate with it twice, while Nora remarked on his delicate stomach.

“Thank goodness Simon was a good eater,” she said. “I’d serve feasts for the three of them—back when even you liked to eat, Susan.”

Susan delicately forked some Brussels sprouts. Simon hid a smile.

“Don’t laugh, Simon. It’s true; I’d make Christmas dinners and cook for weeks. The pudding alone took a month, and when the children were little, we’d have lovely roasted goose and ham.”

“No vegetables,” said Simon, helping himself to more dal.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Simon, of course there were vegetables. I’d do a very nice swede-and-sweet-potato bake, and we had jellied beets, of course. Brussels sprouts as well, but none of you except Archer liked those. Archer loved my Brussels sprouts, poor boy. We ate Christmas dinner together, our two families, but I did most of the cooking. Those were wonderful times—you children so sweet in your dress clothes. No one really dresses up anymore, do they? And hardly ever was food spilled on the napkins. Well, the meals were tasty, if I say so myself. But this meal is just lovely, dear.”

“My father liked fiery curries.”

The table turned to John.

“He started the day with eggs, but in the evenings, it was always a biryani or a curry.”

“That was because of Rekha,” said Nora, reaching for more wine.

“The actress?” asked Meterling.

“No. So, Archer didn’t tell you?” asked Susan.

The table was quiet only for a moment, before the Forsters began speaking at once.

“She was more like a wife to him.”

“She was seventeen when my father met her, and Mummy was still alive. It killed her.”

“It didn’t kill her. Aunt May never liked India or Pi, and that’s why she stayed in Craywick.”

“She caught pneumonia.”

“Her constitution was very delicate, Susan. She might have died of anything. Malaria.”

“How could she die of malaria in England?”

“Bronchitis then—Susan, this is ghoulish.”

“Uncle John!”

“I’m being honest, Susie, not disrespectful.”

“How can you discuss Daddy’s bloody mistress and not see that as disrespectful?”

“Susan!” said Simon.

Susan rolled her eyes and looked away, while my aunt Meterling stared at John.

“I saw your mother once, after she died,” offered Nora.

They turned to her.

“She was following Mrs. Vickers—oh, how is she working out, Meterling?”

“Fine, fine. Actually—”

“Anyway, she was following Mrs. Vickers—”

“You saw my mother?”

“I did. I was helping close up the big house after your father died, Susan, and Mrs. Vickers came up with another woman to clean. I was unpacking the dusters to place over the furniture, and I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I followed her following Mrs. Vickers as she scrubbed the entryway floor. The poor woman had her back to me, stooped over her pail and brush, and as she made her way to the stairs, there was May, following as well.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, I left and went back to what I was doing. I felt like I was intruding, really,” said Nora.

“I would have spoken to Mummy! I wish—” said Susan, her eyes filling with tears she hurriedly blinked away. “Anyway, she’s gone.”

“Can you pass the wine, Mother?” asked Simon.

“Have some curry, girls,” said John.

Lisa received the bowl of sweet potatoes, saying, “I love Indian food. Kavi likes Chinese, so we go a lot to the fusion places. The only thing I won’t eat are some of the, ah—more demanding—dim sum, but Kavi loves it all.”

“My parents used to cook Chinese food. They were in Penang for quite some time,” said Kavita.

“Oh, my grandfather worked in Malaysia, but I think it was Kuala Lumpur,” said Meterling, thinking, The Gin King had an island mistress! No wonder Susan dislikes me.

“But you’re from Pi, right? That’s a really nice place,” said Lisa.

Meterling smiled.

“It’s like a little lost in time. Lisa and I went there, oh, three years ago? We stayed at a hotel on the beach south of Trippi and had a lovely time.”

“Well, except our hotel room was robbed, but luckily we had our passports in the hotel safe.”

“So the hotel safe was safe but the hotel itself wasn’t?” asked John.

Lisa shrugged.

“Well, you might go to Meterling’s town next time, although John and I like Tuscany. Simon edited a book on Tuscany once—didn’t you, dear?—and we became hooked,” said Nora.

The stories of Rekha and May’s ghost were folded away.

Amid all the chatter, Meterling noted how quickly the meal was eaten. Simon kept refilling everyone’s glasses with Riesling, which went well with the food. The champagne was long gone. Oscar was sound asleep. Funny how it had taken her so much time in the kitchen, but in two hours, everyone was done and waiting for dessert. She sliced the cake, added fruit, and arranged the sweets on small dishes to pass out, while Simon put on the coffee. Suddenly she felt a longing for him that surprised her with its ferocity. If they hadn’t guests, she would go over and embrace him. As it was, she drank a small glass of water, and went to pass the plates.

Kavita was explaining Diwali.

“Some people see it as the time Rama returned after exile and the war to his rightful kingdom.”

“And Rama is an avatar of Vishnu?” asked Nora.

“Yes.”

“But your family connects it to the story of the demon king, completely unrelated to the Ramayana,” said Lisa.

“Right. The story is that once there was a king, Narakasura, who kept praying to Shiva, and became more and more corrupt as his power, which actually stemmed from the amount of penance and prayer he had stored up as a young devotee of Shiva, grew. Anyway, Narakasura began to lead a fairly awful, debauched life, and started wreaking havoc on not only his subjects but on everyone and -thing around him. No one could stop him because of the boons he’d received.”

“He stole earrings from the mother of the gods,” said Meterling.

“Right, he stole from the gods, he pillaged other kingdoms, and he raped sixteen thousand daughters of the minor gods and goddesses.”

“Sixteen thousand?”

“Yes. Finally, the gods went to Vishnu, who I think in the form of Krishna slew Narakasura.”

“Another legend has it that Krishna could only defeat the demon as an incarnation of Lakshmi herself, who was churned out of the ocean a few days before, but I might be mixing up the stories,” said Meterling.

“I’ve heard that as well.”

“But tell the ending.”

“So, as Narakasura lay dying, he came to his senses, and praised Vishnu for killing him and stopping the violence of the night. He asked that his death be marked with celebration, with lights, and feasting, and joy, so you have Diwali. As for the sixteen thousand women, they were deemed too sullied for marriage, so Krishna took them into his own harem, and apparently, they became sages.”

A loud burst of firecrackers punctuated her words.

“So Diwali is a day of celebration, of washing away old wrongs, wearing new clothes and starting afresh,” said Meterling.

“What an interesting story. I love fireworks, but John sometimes thinks they are too much like the bombing in the war,” said Nora.

“That’s right, but Nora, I don’t dislike fireworks, especially tonight,” said John.

“He loves to contradict me,” she said.


That was when the air turned damp, the tea lights began to flicker, and my aunt Meterling’s toes began to tingle.

Archer appeared as Simon’s parents continued to eat, as Lisa and Kavita discussed acupuncture with Susan, and Simon rubbed his head.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

My aunt’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t think I’d not show up to my wife’s first dinner party.”

“Ex-wife,” she muttered under her breath. Could Simon see him?

“You will always be my wife, until—”

“Death us do part.”

“What? Whose death?” asked John.

“John, you have a smudge of curry on your lip, dear,” said Nora.

Meterling excused herself to bring more water to the table.

She refilled the jug in the kitchen, while Archer watched her.

“Archer, this is becoming impossible. I don’t mean to be rude, but you can’t just keep showing up whenever you like. It’s—embarrassing.”

He frowned.

“Embarrassing?”

“I start to speak to you, and people will begin to think I’m crazy. It’s bad enough I’m tall.”

“You never felt bad about your height.”

“Don’t change the subject. Anyway, you know I am no longer your wife. Why can’t I have some life of my own?”

“What kind of life is this, Meti? Away from your family, your home.”

“This is my home.”

“London? London can’t be your home. How will you stand the cold? You’ll shiver in your sari. And what will you wear on your feet?”

“I’ll wear a coat, Archer, and I’ll wear boots.”

“You can’t be serious! Your beautiful skin will turn raw and red—”

“I had no idea you felt I couldn’t take care of myself, as if I don’t know how to protect myself from the elements.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You don’t belong here, that’s all.”

“You mean I can’t belong here, that I’ll never fit in because you never fit in.”

“I wanted to give you everything, treat you like my queen, bathe your feet at night—”

“And where were you when my feet got tired and swollen during my pregnancy? Where were you when I had to tell my grandmother that I was pregnant? Were you there to witness her disappointment in me? Her heartbreak over you, the noble Gin King’s son, the gentleman who promised to prove her trust? Her utter despondence at the fate that awaited me, a barely wed single parent?”

“I would give my life again to have spared you—”

“But you did give up your life, you did!”

“Meterling—”

Simon came to the doorway, hearing Meterling’s voice from the kitchen. He saw Archer at the counter. He hesitated. He longed to go in and have a few words with him, if not throw a punch, but this was Meterling’s conversation, not his, he told himself. They had to resolve things by themselves. Plus, he couldn’t very well throw a punch at a ghost, could he? He returned to the table and made a remark about loud neighbors as he reseated himself.

“Which is why you should move,” said Nora.


Meterling continued to address the ghost.

“How can you appear like this? It’s one thing to haunt me, but Simon—how dare you! Don’t you have any conscience? The man I married would never have pulled a childish stunt like this, coming to a party unannounced, intruding on our lives—”

“Meterling—”

“No, you must hear this! You can’t disrupt our lives.” She took a breath. “It took me months to get adjusted, to acknowledge you were gone. I nearly—I nearly went over the edge, and then, like a miracle, Oscar was born—ten little toes and ten little fingers. Yes, he’s your child, but you died! Another miracle occurred; I opened my heart to Simon. My husband, Simon, your baby cousin.”

“Simon—” began Archer.

“And who else do you think I’d have married? Only the kindest, gentlest man I know, the only one who loved you so deeply we could not even speak critically about you out of fear of hurting the other.”

“Is this a marriage, Meterling? Where you walk on eggshells—”

“But we don’t—we don’t. Where did you get that idea? We—you and I—might have—we don’t know,” said my aunt. And though she could have burst into tears, she did not. She tried to look beyond Archer’s ghost, see through him, as if he were a veil hiding a vista that she needed to witness clearly.

Then she turned around, marched out of the room, and rejoined her guests.


They did not seem in better shape than she did.

Susan was in tears.

Meterling was startled. She’d never seen Susan cry.

“Look here, now, Susan, pull yourself together. And you, Simon, look after your wife, she looks like she’s seen a ghost!” said John.

“Was there any reason to bring up Rekha again, Aunt Nora?” continued Susan, ignoring Meterling.

“Susan—”

“Don’t ‘Susan’ me, Simon. Archer’s—” Susan stopped, biting her lip.

“It’s all right, Susan, Archer’s gone,” said Meterling. Simon glanced at her.

“I was going to say, Meterling, that Archer is the only one who understood how I felt about Rekha.”

“But I thought he liked her, darling.”

“He tolerated her, Aunt Nora. We both tolerated her. And if he were alive, if he hadn’t died so abruptly, so prematurely, he’d—he’d still be here.”

“Susan—” began Simon.

“Don’t ‘Susan’ me, Simon! If only Daddy had never set sight on bloody, bloody Muddy-pur!”

Simon started to laugh.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” he told an alarmed Meterling, laughing some more, even as Susan excused herself from the table. Meterling followed her.

“He’s so beautiful. It’s so unfair,” she said, looking at Oscar as he slept, oblivious.

Meterling nodded.

“It is unfair, Susan.”

“Simon doesn’t get it.”

Shaking her head, my aunt led Susan to the bathroom and rummaged for a towel. Susan washed and dried her face. Meterling wondered what Kavita and Lisa must be thinking.

“I suppose you think I’m crazy,” said Susan.

“Why would anyone think that?”

“It shouldn’t still wound like that. So my father had a mistress.”

“I don’t think you can ever predict the emotional consequences of what our parents might or might not do,” said Meterling carefully.

Susan bit her lip before speaking.

“Look, I know I’ve been pretty ghastly to you. It’s just that I didn’t want another heartbreak caused by some Indian woman …”

Meterling didn’t say anything.

“God, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it that way,” said Susan.

“You probably did,” said Meterling.

Susan cracked a smile. “Yeah, I probably did.”

“And we don’t have to examine the inherent racism in your upbringing.”

“Thank you, Meterling.”

“Not today, anyway.”

Susan dried her hands.

“I feel his presence sometimes, Meti,” said Susan, using the diminutive for the first time.

Meterling hesitated, then said, “I sometimes think I see him. I don’t think I’ll see him again, though.”

“It’s probably natural, like the way when you are in a new city and you think you see old friends in the crowd,” said Susan.

A burst of noise interrupted them. The Diwali fireworks from Neasden Temple had started.

“C’mon, let’s make the most of it. Let’s go outside and watch the display,” said Meterling.

Going back to join the others, they saw the silvery remains of a burst of color at the window. It was a welcome distraction, and Kavita and Lisa looked less uncomfortable. After they trooped outside, Simon took a quick look back to see if Archer was around, but the room was empty. But why was his scalp itching? He heard a sigh.

“Why her, Simon?”

“Who else, Arch?”

“She was my wife.”

“She was. I don’t forget that.”

“I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t have kept away. You’d have swept her off her feet and absconded into the night.”

“Unlike you.”

“We didn’t sneak away. Look, yes, Meti was your wife first. She will always be your wife first. And Oscar is your son. But he’s my son, too. For godsake Archer, you’re dead!”

“I know I’m dead!”

“Then bloody the hell leave us alone!”

“Simon.”

Simon turned at Meterling’s approach. She took his hand and led him outside.

In the garden, Simon lit the wicks in the pots lining the walls, and the effect was magical. Meterling squeezed Simon’s hand.

“We used to set off firecrackers all day, my brothers and I,” said Kavita. “Do you remember Diwali medicine?”

“What’s that?” asked Nora.

“A digestive concoction—with, let’s see, cumin and salt and honey—”

“Ginger and cardamom and camphor—” added Meterling. “Wretched tasting. But with all the sweets we’d eat, we needed something to counteract it all.”

“Diwali medicine,” said Kavita, breaking into laughter.

Meterling’s guests stood on the steps to gaze at the pyrotechnical effects in the sky. Other corners of the city provided their own small bursts of garden fireworks—pattasu was the imitative word in Tamil for the pat-pat-pat swoosh—spiraling into plumes or confetti, unfurling into flowers. Like fairy lights, they sparkled into the sky, to disappear with noise. Light to usher in light after darkness.

Meterling loved fireworks as well and felt glad now, in a rush, to be away from Pi, where they might have had to travel to someone else’s home to celebrate, following grief custom, and in the end, not feel like celebrating at all. On Pi, Nalani and Ajay, now asleep, would have already celebrated their first festival together. She leaned against Simon and he put his arm around her.

By the time goodbyes were being said, the talk was warmer than it had been all evening. Maybe because everyone was physically warmer, looked forward to their beds, and had survived an evening out with company, as well as an evening with memories, hearty promises to call and visit were made. Susan would meet Kavita and Lisa for tea; Susan would baby-sit Oscar; Susan would call on her aunt Nora more often.

“Bye,” said Susan, surprising Meterling with a quick kiss on the lips. “It was, all in all, quite a party.” One by one, they concurred.

“Happy Diwali!” shouted John as he helped Nora up the stairs. Sounds of firecrackers could still be heard in the dark; parties all over England were being held to celebrate the ushering-in of light after darkness.

Meterling went into the other room and scooped up Oscar, who stirred a bit, yawned, and went back to sleep. She should have done so the minute Archer appeared, she told herself, putting him back down.

“I will protect you with my life,” she told Oscar.