Unaccustomed Earth - Jhumpa Lahiri [118]
“I’ll get your tea,” Chitra said, putting her cup on the cocktail table and preparing to get up. “I didn’t make any for you. Your father told me you like to sleep late when you visit home.”
“It’s okay,” I told her. “Don’t get up. I don’t need any.”
She spoke to me in Bengali, I to her in English, as had been the case the night before. I thought that my slack Americanized pronunciation would be lost on her, but she seemed to follow what I said.
Chitra frowned, confused. “No tea in the morning?” The girls also looked away from the television, waiting for my answer.
“I need coffee. It’s what I have at school. I’m used to it now.”
“But there is no coffee in the kitchen. Not that I have seen.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab some at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Before she had the chance to ask, I continued, “It’s a place that sells donuts. Donuts are a kind of cake, with a hole in the center.”
“The store is far?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“But you must take the car?”
I nodded, and she looked disappointed. “Without a car there is nowhere to go?”
“Not really. Can you drive?”
She shook her head.
“It’s not hard. I’m sure you could get a license.”
“Oh, no,” she said, not as if she were incapable, but as if driving were beneath her. “I would not like to learn.”
“I’ll be back in a while,” I said. I noticed that the girls were looking up at me and I hesitated. “Would you like to come along?”
“Yes, please,” Rupa and Piu said at the same time. They looked at Chitra, and she nodded in assent.
I went back to the guestroom to get my wallet and keys, and when I returned the girls were already in their coats, matching red parkas that my father must have bought for them after they arrived. The thick zippers and bright nylon shells of the coats transformed their appearance, suddenly lending them a legitimately American air. They sat together in the back of my car among the newspapers, empty soda bottles, course books, cassette tapes. “Sorry for the mess,” I said, tossing everything off the seat and onto the floor. They fastened their seat belts carefully, prying one of the buckles out of its gap, Rupa helping Piu. Chitra stood in her housecoat looking through the storm door. She was trusting me to take her children to a place she’d never heard of and would not be able to find. Still, she waved and forced a small smile. I stepped on the clutch, about to reverse the car, when Chitra opened the storm door, poking her head out. “And I will be all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I will be safe alone, in this house?”
“Of course,” I said, stunned that it would be the first time, nearly laughing at her. “Enjoy it.”
“She does not allow us to go outside,” Piu said. “Not without her.”
“She is afraid because she cannot see neighbors,” Rupa added.
“And that we will fall into the swimming pool.”
I did not know how to respond to any of this, so I said nothing as I backed out of the long driveway and drove toward town. The closest Dunkin’ Donuts was less than fifteen minutes away, and when I approached it felt too soon. I wanted to continue driving, and so I kept going, heading toward the next town, where there was a beach my mother used to like for an occasional change of scenery. This required getting on the highway, and I found it satisfying, accelerating for a short while along the empty, impersonal road. The girls asked no questions about where we were going, each looking steadily out the back windows, the journey still brief enough that the lack of conversation did not feel strange. I entered the next town and took a road from which the gray line of the ocean was visible. I pointed this out to Rupa and Piu, but they said nothing. “We can either go into the drive-through or inside,” I said once we reached the donut shop. “You guys have a preference?”
“Which way is best?” Rupa asked.
“With the drive-through I get my coffee and drink it as we go back to the house. The other way, we sit inside.”
Rupa voted for the drive-through, Piu to go inside. “Tell you what,” I said. “We’ll go in, and on our way home