The Inheritance of Loss - Kiran Desai [142]
For the first time he hit her, although he had wanted to before and fought the urge for some time. He emptied his glass on her head, sent a jug of water swinging into the face he no longer found beautiful, filled her ears with leaping soda water. Then, when this wasn’t enough to assuage his rage, he hammered down with his fists, raising his arms to bring them down on her again and again, rhythmically, until his own hands were exhausted and his shoulders next day were strained sore as if from chopping wood. He even limped a bit, his leg hurting from kicking her.
“Stupid bitch, dirty bitch!” The more he swore, the harder he found he could hit.
Blotchy bruises showed the next morning in disastrous contrast to the sight of contented civilization—eggs in eggcups, tea cozy on the pot, newspaper. The bruises didn’t fade for weeks. Ten blue and black fingerprints clamped on her arm, a thunder-dark cloud loomed up on her side where he had pushed her into the wall—a surprisingly diffuse cloud for that one hard precise push.
The anger, once released, like a genie from a bottle, could never again be curtailed. The quieter she was, the louder he shouted, and if she protested, it was worse. She soon realized that whatever she did or didn’t do, the outcome was much the same. His hatred was its own creature; it rose and burned out, reappeared of its own accord, and in her he sought only its justification, its perfection. In its purest moments he could imagine himself killing her.
At this point he grew circumspect, meticulous in every other area of his life—his work, his bath, his hair-combing—uneasy with the realization of how simple it would really be for him to skid from control and jeopardize his career to commit a final violent act.
______
Spring came to Βonda in milk-swilled colors and newly hatched caterpillars, lizards, and frogs hopped and crawled about in adorable baby size. He could bear her face no longer, bought her a ticket, and returned her to Gujarat.
“I can’t go,” Nimi said, waking from her stupor. She could take it for herself—in fact it would be like a balm, a dark place to hide herself—but for her family—well, the thought of their shame on her behalf was too much to bear.
“If I don’t send you back,” he had said to her at this point, in a tone almost kind, “I will kill you. And I don’t want to be blamed for such a crime, so you have to go.”
Six months later a telegram arrived in Bonda to announce the arrival of a baby.
Jemubhai got drunk that night and not out of joy. Without seeing his child, he was sure what it would look like: red as a blister, going off like a kettle, spilling liquids, waves of heat and anger emanating from it.
Far away, Nimi was staring at her daughter. She was fast asleep, and in those early months of life, peace seemed to be deeply anchored in her nature.
______
“Your wife is ready to return. She is rested,” wrote the uncle in the haveli, hopefully. He had mistaken the reason for Nimi’s arrival home and attributed it to Jemubhai’s concern for his wife’s health, because it was appropriate, after all, to have a daughter return for the birth of a first child. They hoped this baby would bring the father back to their community. He was influential now—he might help them all.
______
Jemu sent money with a letter. “It will not be suitable,” he replied. “My work is such. No schools. Constant travel….”
The uncle turned his niece from the door. “You are your husband’s responsibility,” he said angrily. “Go back. Your father gave a dowry when you married—you got your share and it is not for daughters to come claiming anything thereafter. If you have made your husband angry, go ask for forgiveness.”
Please come home, my dear, my lovely girl.
She had lived the rest of her life with a sister who had not married as successfully, as high up, as Nimi. Her brother-in-law resented every bite that entered Nimi’s mouth. He watched for signs that she was growing fat under his generous care.
______
Jemubhai’s father arrived to plead.
“Our family honor is gone. We are lucky Bomanbhai is dead,