Page 86 of The Henna Artist

“I spent thirteen years building a life. Now my appointment book is empty. Page after page—nothing.”

The baby was squirming now and clenching and unclenching his fists.

“But I loved him—I love Ravi,” she said, as if that made it all right.

My voice rose. “Love? This isn’t one of your American films where the heroine does as she pleases. And you’re not Marilyn Monroe.” I couldn’t stop. “How many times do I have to tell you that we don’t have the means to give this baby what he deserves? We’re not part of the polo set or the ladies’ auxiliary, no matter how much you wish it. We can’t afford to take a day off work while they book European tours for a month. Tailors, vegetable-wallas, cobblers—they go totheirhouses, not toours. I wish it were different. But it’s not. It never will be.” I was in too deep. “You say you don’t want to be the Bad Luck Girl? Well, parade this baby around the city and you will be the Bad Luck Girl forever! No one will want to come near you or him.”

Radha’s eyes glittered, like the marbles Malik shot across the dirt. “Ihateyou! Get away from me!” she screamed.

The baby let out a loud wail. Radha rocked him from side to side, but her arms were shaking, which only frightened him more. His face had turned red.

The door opened. Dr. Kumar entered, followed by the sour-faced nurse with the brooch watch.

His eyes wandered from me, to Radha, to the baby, back to me. “Everything all right?”

I wiped the corner of my mouth where a little spit had formed. I couldn’t look at him because I was filled with shame. What I’d said to my sister about the Bad Luck Girl was a cruelty I hadn’t known I was capable of. I cleared my throat. “Please take the baby away.”

“No!” she shouted. “I want to feed him!”

The baby’s cries were deafening.

With an effort, I shifted to the smooth voice I always used with my ladies. “Doctor, please.”

He sighed. Slowly, he turned to the nurse and nodded. Glaring her disapproval, the nurse took the screaming baby from Radha’s arms, and walked quickly out of the room.

The doctor rubbed his eyes. “Radha—”

“Dr. Kumar, I beg of you. Please. Let me keep my baby.”

It embarrassed me to hear her plead like a beggar.

“It’s not my decision,” he said.

“I’ll take care of him, I promise! I’ll find a way.”

“Your sister is your legal guardian until you come of age. You must follow her wishes.”

Radha covered her ears with her hands, shaking her head. “It’smybaby! Don’t I have a say?”

I looked at Dr. Kumar, who was rubbing his jaw, his eyes troubled.

He took a step toward me and touched my shoulder, leaving his hand there for the briefest of moments. It was soothing, as if he were telling me to be brave; that all would be well in the end. Then he was gone, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Her face wet and flushed with anger, Radha exploded. “You control everything! Whether I can feed my own baby. Who I spend time with. How I talk. What I eat. Will it always be like this? When willyoustop running my life? I managed by myself for thirteen years! Thirteen years! I may as well have been alone. Pitaji drunk. Maa barely there. I found a way to get to you hundreds of miles away! Do you know how hard that was?”

She looked down at her hospital gown, now damp from her leaking breasts. “I want a family, Jiji. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s why I traveled so far to find you. This baby is my family. He wants my milk. Did you see the way he looked at me? I talked to him the whole time he was in my belly. He knows my voice. He knowsme. Iknowhe needs me.”

Of course he knew her. He’d had her to himself for eight months. I understood that. And yes, my feelings toward him were so tender, so strong, it surprised me. Which is why I wanted the best for them both. Didn’t she realize that? How could I not manage one sentence that would help my sister understand that everything I did was for her own good? She exasperated me and sometimes intimidated me, but I would do anything to make her life better, easier.

She crossed her arms over her chest but instantly regretted it; her breasts hurt.

They were filled with milk because I hadn’t let her feed the baby. It was as if she needed him as much as he needed her. But I’d seen what Radha hadn’t: desperate women begging mysaasto rid them of their burdens. Where she saw joy, I saw hardship. Where she saw love, I saw responsibility, obligation. Could they be two sides of the same coin? Hadn’t I experienced both love and duty, delight and exasperation, since she entered my life?

I stood up. “I brought something for you.” I removed two thermoses from my carrier, unscrewed the cup from one and poured the steaming liquid into it.

“Drink this. It’s bitter, but it will help with the soreness in your breasts.”

She wrinkled her nose.

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