It occurred to Meera to be kind to the new girl – to share with her rather than intimidate her. Meera had always wanted a daughter instead of the two noisy sons who trailed dirt all over her freshly vacuumed carpet and wrestled like baboons over everything. But at the wedding, jealousy overtook Meera. Rita was young and vibrant. The cropped blouse of her wedding lengha showed off the tight, honey-smooth skin of her midriff. In Meera’s day, such outfits were considered scandalous. Meera felt a twinge of jealousy observing the way Rita’s husband watched her during the wedding reception. His eyes roamed over her body, hungrily taking her in. ‘Wait till they’ve been married a few years,’ Meera told herself. ‘His wonderment will wear off.’ These thoughts were satisfying, yet Meera was aware that her husband had never looked at her like that, even in the early days.
After the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon, Meera gave Rita a tour of the house, making sure to point out where everything was – from the spare sofa covers to the winter jackets. Rita appeared to be paying attention but that night, after washing the dishes, she stacked the plates haphazardly and wedged the cutlery into every available space. Fuming, Meera plucked all of the dishes from the drainer and started over. It took her some time to finish the chores for the evening because Rita ignored her system of wiping down the tables and thoroughly sweeping beneath the counters to get rid of stray rice grains. When she finally finished, Meera was glad that it wasn’t a Tuesday or a Friday – she was too tired and irate to put up with her husband’s routine thrusts.
As she settled into bed, her husband already snoring soundly, Meera heard noises from the adjacent room. A giggle followed by a ‘Shhh!’ Then the unmistakable laughter of her brother-in-law. Meera pressed her ear against the wall. Rita’s voice was commanding. ‘Good,’ she was saying. ‘Keep going. Do it harder.’ Meera recoiled from the wall. No wonder Rita didn’t take instructions from her. She was too busy being the boss in her marriage. This won’t do, Meera thought. There could be only one ruler of this household and it was going to be her. She decided to be extra stern with Rita the next day. She would insist on taking Rita through another tour of the house and she would quiz her afterwards. ‘Where does the Windex go? What about the spare plastic bags from the grocery store?’
Through the walls, she could hear Rita’s moans escalating now and the bed creaking to a frantic rhythm. Didn’t the girl realize that there were other people living in this house? Meera purposefully opened her room door and shut it loudly to remind the newlyweds of the way sound travelled in this home. The noise ceased for a few moments, but eventually it resumed, with Rita’s moans swelling through the house like notes in an opera song. Meera burned with envy. She tiptoed out of the room and noticed with disappointment that Rita’s bedroom door was shut. If it were just slightly ajar, she would be able to see what was going on. For some reason, she could not picture it. All she could see when she shut her eyes was Rita’s smooth, flat tummy. Her mind’s eye roved higher and she could picture the girl’s firm, round breasts, her nipples flushed pink and alert. She pictured a pair of lips closing around those nipples and she was horrified to realize that those lips belonged to her. She chased the image out of her mind and blamed her tiredness for making her imagination run wild.
Meera sprang out of bed the next morning, ready to start and finish her chores. She passed Rita’s room and noticed that the door was still shut. While Meera made tea, the sound of giggling drifted into the kitchen. Meera’s sons tipped their heads up towards the ceiling and then they exchanged curious glances. ‘Finish your breakfast,’ Meera ordered. Above her, Rita could be heard making demands again. ‘Use your tongue,’ she was saying. ‘Yes, just like that.’ Meera reddened. Again, she felt a strong tingling, a sensation that she was experiencing what Rita was asking for.
Rita finally came downstairs after her husband had left for work and the boys for school. The house was still. Meera threw herself into her chores. ‘Can I help with anything?’ Rita asked. Meera coldly replied that she didn’t need any help. ‘All right,’ Rita said with a shrug. Meera could feel the younger woman watching her. She felt self-conscious.
‘You must think I’m very uptight,’ Meera said finally.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you’re thinking it.’
‘Are you?’
‘No,’ Meera said. She picked up the laundry basket and marched to the washing machine. ‘I’m practical. I’m considerate of others. I’m not interested in hearing your nighttime activities.’
‘We’ll keep it down next time.’ Rita’s casualness infuriated Meera further. She searched the house for an impossible task for Rita to complete – perhaps washing the windows. The water spots always dried and left milky circles on the glass, making it look unclean. She was about to give her orders to Rita when she noticed that the laundry detergent was missing.
‘Where is it?’ she demanded. ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep the detergent on the shelf?’ Rita calmly pointed out that the detergent was better placed in the storage cupboard with the other cleaning supplies.
‘Rubbish,’ said Meera. ‘Is this how you expect to run a home?’ She marched over to the storage cupboard and found the laundry detergent. In the cupboard her hand also brushed across a box that she had not seen before. She reached into the box and found it full of clay sticks. They were rounded at the ends, with a particular length and thickness to resemble a certain part of a man’s body. She was about to return to Rita to confront her when she felt a breath on the back of her neck.
‘I didn’t think anyone would find those,’ Rita whispered.
‘I didn’t think you would need these,’ Meera replied, turning around. Her throat was dry but she managed to get the words out. It was rumoured that older women moulded these sticks out of clay and baked them to keep aside for when they were feeling an urge that their husbands could no longer satisfy. ‘You’re too young,’ Meera said.
Rita’s laughter was like birdsong. ‘Too young? Oh, Meera. There’s so much I can teach you.’
‘You? Teach me?’ Meera retorted. ‘I’m your elder.’ But as she spoke, Rita had leaned forward and kissed her on the neck. Lightly, with her tongue, she traced Meera’s collarbone. Meera gasped and shrank back into the cupboard as Rita brushed her lips against Meera’s cheek and then finally, a full, deep kiss on the mouth. ‘I can show you lots of things,’ said Rita.
Here, Tanveer stopped. The colour in her cheeks was high. She pressed her lips together and waited. The room was so silent that Nikki could hear the air stirring through the heating vents.
‘What happens next?’ Nikki asked.
‘They help each other out,’ Tanveer said. She couldn’t seem to meet the stares of the other women. Nikki nodded encouragingly at her. ‘I haven’t imagined that part yet.’
‘It’s definitely unusual,’ Sheena said, clicking off the tape recorder. The story seemed to have roused her spirits. She sat upright and regarded Tanveer with curiosity. Tanveer bowed her head as if expecting to be chastised. ‘Not in a bad way though,’ Sheena assured her. ‘Just different. Right, Nikki?’