Part 16 (1/2)
”I don't know,” he answered. ”What're you making?” And through the window above the sink he heard a male voice say, ”Yeah.”
Kianga turned to Abhay and smiled. Preview stepped through the back door, holding a cuc.u.mber and a bell pepper. He nodded to Abhay, washed the vegetables at the sink, and started slicing them at the island counter.
Abhay felt useless standing in the middle of the kitchen. He'd thought he was going to gaze into Kianga's eyes while they ate a private breakfast.
”You got here early,” Abhay said as Preview arranged cuc.u.mber slices on a plate.
”I live here.” Preview scratched his head of matted hair.
Kianga was spooning oatmeal with raisins into four bowls. ”Abhay, go ahead and put on some water for tea,” she instructed. He thought about walking out the door, but he had to eat breakfast anyway. He just needed to be cool about the situation-whatever it was. He strolled over to the sink and filled the teapot. By this time Ellen was in the kitchen. She stood on a stool next to him, took several boxes of tea bags out from a high cabinet, and set them on the counter. After he turned on the stove he picked up the boxes of tea bags and took them into the dining room. Ellen was setting out spoons next to the bowls of oatmeal. ”Would you bring the honey?” Ellen asked softly. ”It's next to the stove.” He found a jar of honey and a spoon and brought them out.
Then, not knowing what else to do, he stood near the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Preview set out bottles of olive oil, vinegar, and herbs on the counter in front of him.
”So, Preview,” Abhay said. ”What do you do for work?”
”Well, right now I'm kinda between jobs.” He splashed olive oil and vinegar into an empty jelly jar. ”Kianga got me a temporary gig helping a disabled woman who's making this film about disabled street performers. I carry her equipment and help set it up.” He added generous pinches of herbs with his fingers, capped the jelly jar, and shook it vigorously.
Kianga came in the back door holding stems of bright red tubular flowers, which she set into a drinking gla.s.s filled with water and brought into the dining room. ”I needed to thin these plants anyway,” she explained to Abhay. ”They grow like crazy. The hummingbirds love them.”
Preview set his plate of vegetables, drizzled with dressing, on the table. Abhay thought about slipping out without eating, and perhaps never coming back to this house again. Ellen smiled at him and said, ”Come and sit down.” So he sat next to Ellen and across from Preview, who was next to Kianga. Preview laid a hand on Kianga's bare shoulder and ma.s.saged it carefully. Kianga and Preview exchanged a long glance. Abhay noticed Ellen gazing at him in the same way. He gobbled down his oatmeal as fast as he could.
Abhay stayed away from Kianga's place for the rest of the week. On Friday evening he went with his roommate, Victor, and Victor's girlfriend, Tiffany, to see a movie called Sicko, about everything wrong with the American health care system.
”Our country's going to h.e.l.l,” Victor said when they exited the theater. He had his arms around Tiffany, and she was nuzzling his neck. ”Canada's got a way better system than we have, so does France, even Cuba's better off than us. Those governments take care of their people. We spend our money on wars and s.h.i.+pping arms to dictators.” Victor gave Tiffany a sloppy kiss. Abhay looked away.
Victor and Tiffany took off for her place. As Abhay walked in the other direction, he could hear the two of them laughing. Why was it that Victor, and so many people like him, could see a disturbing movie like that, and complain about the country, yet continue to be apparently happy with their lives? Abhay, on the other hand, brooded.
In the apartment kitchen were dirty bowls, plates, gla.s.ses, and pans in the sink, which Victor and Tiffany had failed to wash. Abhay noticed a large black bug squeeze itself into a crack between the countertop and wall. He walked past it all to fall into bed with his clothes still on.
Sat.u.r.day morning dawned dull and overcast. The greasy popcorn from last night still sat heavily in his stomach. He showered, dressed, washed his dishes, and then sat at his kitchen table looking out at the gray sky. He thought about calling Rasika.
The phone rang. It was his mother. She called every week or so, worried about his low-paying job as a bookstore clerk, and worried that the job with Justin Time didn't really count as decent work.
”How are you?” she asked dolefully.
”Great!” He tried to make his voice full of pep. ”Things are going really well here. How are you, Mom? How's your business going?”
Mom clicked her tongue. ”Remember big sale I made? Last month?”
”To that home-schooling group?”
”So much work it was. So many times I met with them. Then they bought lot of books, so I am happy. I think, it is all worth it. Finally I receive my check. Hardly anything it is. All people above me have taken so much.”
”That's the way it is with these pyramid schemes, Mom.”
”Your father is angry. I did not even earn enough to pay for all samples I bought. They did not tell all this. In those meetings they just told how much money we will make.”
”I'm sorry to hear that it didn't work out, Mom.”
”So I will not do this work anymore. I gave samples to my friend Linda. I don't know what I will do now.”
”Well-do you feel like you learned something from this?” He watched a black water bug march boldly across the floor. ”You were running your own business, after all. Maybe some of those skills are transferable. You could start another small business.”
”What business? What I know to do? I can cook. I can take care of children. I can type and answer phone. What business I can start?”
”What about catering? Or a small day care? Or, I don't know, maybe a typing service or answering service?”
”Right now I have too many worries. I cannot think about anything new.”
He flung himself back in his chair and looked at a stain on the ceiling in the shape of a dog's head. ”What worries?”
”I want you to talk to Seema.”
”Why? What's going on? I thought she was doing great in her cla.s.ses.”
”I think she has-boyfriend,” Mom choked out. ”Black boy, I think.”
”Oh?” Abhay focused on one of the dog's ears, hoping that his mother's comment wasn't as bigoted as it sounded.
”Some Pan-Africa group she is involved in now. One freshman cla.s.s is about multicultural something. I thought they will be learning about different countries. But she is spending lot of time with these black students.”
”How do you know she has a boyfriend?”
”I can tell. One day she came home wearing new dress, some kind of loose African thing. She said her friend gave it. What friend, I said. And she told this boy's name. He must be black boy, if he is giving African dress.”
Good for her, Abhay thought. He sat up straighter and placed his elbows on the table.
”I cannot tell your father,” Mom said. ”So upset he will be. I want you to talk to her. I will go and give her phone.”
In a moment Seema's quiet monotone was on the line. Abhay had no intention of discouraging Seema from dating anyone she wanted, so he just chatted with her about her cla.s.ses. But Seema brought up the subject herself.
”Mom doesn't want me to get involved with the Pan-African Studies department,” she said. ”When I told her there were a lot of black people in my cla.s.s, I thought she'd be happy that it was, you know, more ethnically diverse. But instead she said, 'I didn't know so many blacks went to college.' I never realized Mom and Dad were prejudiced.”
”I don't get it either. How can one group of brown people look down on another group of brown people?”
”It's crazy,” Seema agreed. ”I feel at home when I visit the Pan-African Studies department. Their offices are in the bas.e.m.e.nt of Ritchie Hall. It's cozy and colorful, and they welcome everyone. They're not like Indian people, who look you over and want to make sure you're good enough for them.”
”That's great, Seema. Are you thinking of changing your major?” Maybe she'd come to her senses and would choose something that really mattered.
”I'm still in engineering. But I'm going to sign up for a cla.s.s called the Black Experience next semester. My friend Jawad suggested it. He said it would be a good introduction for me.”
Jawad was obviously the boyfriend. Abhay was delighted and amused. He wondered how his father would react to Seema's defection from the role of obedient Indian child.
He said good-bye to Seema and sat for several minutes, staring at the phone in his hand. He wondered what Rasika was doing at that moment. It was about noon in Ohio. Was she happy? She'd said she wanted to live an honest life. He wanted her to be true to herself, yet he still wanted her truth to include him.
To prevent himself from calling Rasika he dialed Chris Haldorson's phone number instead.
”Hey, Adios! How goes it in Portland?”
”It's going OK. I have a job. Not too many friends yet, though.”