The women drew together and stared at Nikki. ‘Welcome to the class,’ she continued. ‘Come on in.’ The air between them was still. Nikki’s smile began to hurt. ‘Please,’ she said.
As the ladies began to retreat, Arvinder came rushing out the door. She apologized to the women as they disappeared down the stairs in a slow, hunchbacked procession. Arvinder gripped Nikki by the shoulders and steered her back into the class. ‘Where are they going?’ Nikki asked.
‘You’ve scared them. They weren’t ready for this.’
‘Well, when they come back, I’ll apologize and start over. It’s just—’
‘They won’t come back,’ Arvinder snapped. Her stare was like a hot white light. ‘We are not all the same, Nikki,’ she said. ‘There are some very reserved people in this community.’
‘I know that, but I just—’
‘You don’t know,’ Arvinder said. ‘Our little group were the only widows to sign up for writing classes. That may seem like nothing to you but for some, it’s a very brave and frightening thing. Those women are shy and scared. They got no attention from their husbands – not the kind they wanted anyway—’
‘Oh, Mother, please,’ Preetam said.
Arvinder turned to face her. ‘Please what?’
‘Nikki, those women came from a very traditional village. That’s all. And you,’ Preetam said, nodding to Arvinder. ‘You always make it sound like you had a terrible husband. I don’t remember Papa being half as bad as you make him sound.’
‘You wouldn’t know anything about my private life with your father.’
‘But that night before my wedding, when you gave me all of that advice? Your cheeks were shimmering. You were like a new bride yourself. Don’t tell me it all came from your imagination. You knew what passion was. He had to have shown it to you at some point.’
Arvinder’s lower lip quivered. Nikki noticed her biting it, either to stop from laughing or saying something. Either way, she knew that she had to put an end to the conversation. She pulled the tape recorder out of her bag and laid it on the table. ‘I bought us a tape recorder so Sheena doesn’t have to transcribe and you all can tell your stories without having to pause.’ She busied herself with plugging it in and feeding it a new tape. ‘Shall we test it?’ she asked brightly, pressing the record button. ‘Somebody say something.’
‘Helloooo,’ Manjeet said, giving the tape recorder a wave.
Nikki turned it off, rewound it and played their recording. Their voices came through clearly. The silence from the other women was captured as well.
‘Could you give me the tapes at the end of each lesson?’ Sheena asked. ‘I’ll play them at home and transcribe the stories.’
‘You still want written versions of the stories?’ Nikki asked.
‘If it’s not too much trouble for Sheena,’ Manjeet spoke up. ‘I like that what I imagine gets put onto paper.’
‘Me too,’ Arvinder agreed, shrugging off her huff. ‘I can’t read the words but I can see them. It will be my only chance to see my words in print, even if I can’t read it myself.’
The class registration forms were still in Nikki’s bag from her visit to Tarampal’s house earlier. Somebody – one of Tarampal’s children, she assumed – had printed her name, address and telephone number in block letters, and hers was not the only form that looked rushed by another’s hand. Did these ladies look at those words and feel a sense of pride that they represented them as a person? Or was there shame at being unable to decipher the alphabet?
‘What’s your game, Manjeet?’ Nikki asked, recalling Manjeet’s exclamation as she had entered the classroom.
Manjeet looked very pleased. ‘Let’s each come up with a story for these pictures.’ She produced a magazine from her bag. On the front cover, a naked woman lay on her back, her full breasts glowing in the natural light that poured through an open window.
‘Is that an old Playboy?’ Nikki asked, feeling her eyes bug out slightly.
‘Confiscated from my son thirty years ago. I buried the magazine in a trunk because I was afraid that the neighbours might see it in the rubbish. I came across it this morning while sorting through all of our old things.’
Playboy from the eighties. The women had big hair and the photographs were tinted in sepia, giving the images an instantly nostalgic look. Some of the men had trim moustaches. The women passed the magazine around and flipped through the pages. Arvinder held up a centrefold of a model sitting naked on the bonnet of a sports car. Her bronze skin glowed against the car’s red finish. ‘This woman is waiting in the garage to surprise her lover. He’s a mechanic.’
‘He spends the whole day tuning people’s cars and when he returns, he’s ready to be tuned up himself,’ Sheena offered.
‘Only problem is, she’s getting sick of waiting. Plus, when he comes back, he has to shower to get all the grime and sweat off him so he can smell nice for her,’ Manjeet said.
‘So she decides to put her clothes back on and go for a drive around the neighbourhood. The first handsome man she sees, she’ll find and take him back to her house,’ Preetam said.
The magazine was still in Arvinder’s hands. She flipped to another page. ‘This man,’ she said, pointing to a picture of a muscular, tanned man. The women murmured their approval.
Nikki said nothing else as the story was passed from woman to woman, taking shape. Eventually, there was a pause between lines. ‘I think we’re done,’ Sheena said.
‘But they’ve only been using their hands,’ Manjeet protested.
‘What of it?’ Arvinder asked. ‘They’re both very satisfied. Besides, let her save the real thing for her lover. She’s still going to go to bed with him tonight.’
‘True. By the time she’s finished with this man, it’s evening and her lover is returning.’
‘Won’t he be able to tell that she’s been with another man?’
‘She can take a shower,’ Sheena said.
‘Then she’ll be too clean. It’s suspicious,’ Arvinder said.
‘Too clean?’ Preetam asked. ‘What man would be bothered by that? I always showered right before my husband came home.’
‘She can spray on some perfume then,’ Sheena suggested.
Arvinder shook her head. Her voice rose with certainty. ‘Here’s what she does. She takes a shower and then walks out the door. She passes the old village well and mingles with other housewives at the small market. She finds some extra errands to do – paying the chaiwallah in advance for a week’s worth of afternoon tea, bringing water to the farmhands. That’s about as much activity as she’d have done throughout the day. Her skin glows with a light sweat but she’s not dirty. That’s how she covers it up.’
When she was finished, she was out of breath, exhilarated, triumphant. She had revealed much more than she had said and the force of the confession seemed to knock her windless. The women stared at her. Preetam in particular looked horrified.
‘Those were all places near our home in Punjab,’ Preetam finally said.
‘Replace them with shops in this gori’s life then,’ Arvinder said. ‘Nikki, tell us, what’s within walking distance of your place?’
‘A pub,’ Nikki said.