Cutting for Stone - Abraham Verghese [113]
In the reflected light of the kitchen, Genet's eyes were moist, her face puffy and her lips swollen. She didn't want to meet my gaze. She preferred me blind. Her eyes were slanted, her nose rising to a quick point. Her forehead planed back, not at all like Rosina's rounded one. She looked like the bust of Queen Nefertiti in my Dawn of History book.
My blindfold was off but I still possessed a hyperacuity of the senses. I could see the future. Genet's face in that pantry was the face that most revealed her. It carried intimations of the woman she would grow up to be. I could see how those eyes would stay serene, beautiful, concealing the kind of restlessness and recklessness so evident tonight. Her cheekbones would push out, expressing the sheer force of her will, making her nose even sharper, further elongating her lovely eyes. The lower lip would outgrow the upper, the buds on her chest turn into fruit, and her legs would grow like tall vines. In a land of beautiful people, she would be most beautiful and exotic. Men—I knew this before I should have known—would perceive her disdain and would want her. Iwould want her most of all. She'd put up obstacles. I might never be as strong for her or as close to her as I was this night. Despite this knowledge, I'd keep trying.
I knew all this. I felt it, saw it. It entered my consciousness in a flash, but the proof was yet to come.
Rosina called Genet's name from somewhere in the house.
I picked up the belt. How we could both be so serene, I'll never know.
I touched Genet on her shoulders, gently, carefully. The other moment of touch was long gone. Her eyes turned to me with what could be love or its opposite.
“I will always find you,” I whispered.
“Maybe,” she said, bringing her lips close to my ear. “But I might get better at hiding.”
Rosina walked in and stopped, frozen at the sight of us.
“What are you two doing?” she said, in Amharic. She smiled out of habit, but her brows conveyed her puzzlement. “I've been looking all over for you. Where are your clothes? What is this?”
“A game,” I said waving the blindfold and belt as if it answered her questions, but my throat was so dry I don't think any noise came out.
Genet brushed past me, heading back to the living room. Rosina grabbed her hand. “Where are your clothes, daughter?”
“Let go my hand.”
“But why are you naked?”
Genet said nothing, her face defiant.
Rosina jerked her by the arm. “Why did you take them off?”
When Genet replied, her voice was cutting, spoiling for a fight. “Why do you take your clothes off for Zemui? When you send me out, is it not for you to get naked?”
Rosina's mouth froze in the open position. When she could speak, she said, “He is your father. He's my husband.”
Genet's face showed no surprise. She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, as if she'd heard these words before. I cringed for my nanny as Genet spoke. “Your husband? My father? You lie. My father would stay the night. My father would have us live with him in a real house.” She was angry, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Your husband wouldn't have another wife and three children. Your husband wouldn't come home and send me out to play so he can play with you.” She pulled her arm free and went to get her clothes.
ROSINA HAD FORGOTTEN I was there.
Innocence, the carefree days, hung over a chasm. She finally turned to me.
We studied each other as if we were looking at strangers. I'd gone into the pantry sightless. Now the blindfold was off. Zemui was Genet's father. Was I the only one not to know this? How stupid was I? Why had I never thought to ask? Did Shiva know? All the long hours the Colonel spent with us playing bridge … It made sense that Zemui was also around all that time. True, in a matrilineal society, one accepted these things and didn't ask about a father when none was present. But I should have asked. I saw it now. The signs were there. I was blind, and naïve and dumb. All the letters I had written for Zemui to Darwin inquiring about his family