Beyond the Sky and the Earth_ A Journey Into Bhutan - Jamie Zeppa [127]
Outside this room, we are actors, cool and distant, nodding politely when we pass each other in the corridors of the college. In class, he is just Tshewang, taking notes, asking questions, muttering asides in Dzongkha that make his friends laugh. We become good at the split, the deception. We watch each other without ever looking. I am aware of him in the corner of the auditorium, I hear his voice through concrete walls, feel him moving down the hall outside the classroom I am in.
We are careful to do nothing to arouse suspicion. He is an excellent student, but I am careful when marking his homework. Not that it matters—his final exams will be marked in Delhi. I will have nothing to do with the grades on his certificate.
Except he misses so many early-morning classes that he fails economics.
Spring flourishes into summer and we barely notice.
When we cannot be together, we write letters, a dangerous practice considering how disorganized Tshewang is, shedding bits of paper, dropping books, losing notes. He leaves for his summer break and time without him is so painfully slow and barren that I don’t know how I will get through it. It turns out I don’t have to—he returns early, and we spend the next nine days in our room. We tell each other all the fears we can think of. “I am afraid you will get tired of this,” I say. “I am afraid you will want a real relationship.”
“Isn’t this real?”
“I mean a relationship with a woman you can go outside with. Go to Pala’s with. You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid you’ll go to Canada and abandon me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll tell your parents, and they’ll beg you to put a stop to this.”
“I’m afraid you’ll tell your parents, and they’ll beg you to put a stop to this.”
“What would your parents really say, Tshewang?”
He thinks about it. “Honestly, I don’t know. They wouldn’t understand if I converted to another religion, I know that, but about other things, they’re very tolerant. Now, what I’m really afraid of is that I’m going to die if I don’t eat a green vegetable soon.”
We have been living on noodles, eggs and chocolate for a week.
“I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”
“You could go get some spinach from the Matthews’ garden.”
“Or you could go.”
“Or I could go, and they could look out their window and see me sneaking out of your house.”
“All right, all right. I’ll go.” I creep out stealthily, casting nervous glances at the windows of the upstairs flats as I collect an armful of vegetables. Tshewang cooks a sumptuous meal of red rice, spinach in butter and garlic, and a salad of green chilies, spring onions and tomatoes. We stand at the backdoor after we have eaten, drinking in the air and eating raisins for dessert until a door opening upstairs sends us scurrying back inside.
The monsoon unleashes itself in a cloudy fury, the students return to the college, and still no one has found out. There are no secrets in eastern Bhutan, except this one.
Furniture
I am boiling water for the filter and cleaning the kitchen when I hear Lorna walk through the front door. She is singing, “Why, why, why, Delila.” We meet in the back hallway. “Hi,” she says. “I’m pregnant. What’s up with you?”
“Tshewang and I are in love.”
We collapse on the floor, laughing. She tells me about Darren in Canada. “I had no idea when I left that I was pregnant,” she said. “Poor Darren. I sent him a letter. The kid’ll be in high school by the time he gets it.”
“Are you going to have the baby here?”
“No, I’ll finish up early and go home. Home! You know what this means, don’t you?”
“No, what?”
“Furniture! ” Lorna equates furniture with settling down. Her voice is grumpy but the happiness comes off her in waves. She makes me promise not to tell anyone, especially the field director.