Everyday People Read online

  • • •

  After six months of dating, Sheila had explained to Sunil over dinner that he was a nice guy but there was something incomplete. Incomplete? Just tell him what, and he’d do whatever she wanted. He’d bring her flowers. He’d take her out for more romantic dinners. Maybe they could take a vacation together? Sheila shook her head slowly. There wasn’t something incomplete about their relationship, she elaborated. There was something incomplete about Sunil himself.

  Sheila’s words stung, and Sunil brooded over them for days. Truth was, it wasn’t the first time a woman had said something like that to him. Hadn’t Emily’s mother insinuated something similar just before she left? After the pain of the breakup eased a little, it occurred to Sunil maybe it wasn’t completely his fault. Maybe he’d been dating the wrong women. Maybe he should try to date someone more like himself. Maybe, if he was going to return, then he should return as completely as he could.

  Sunil had recognized early that Amara, the cook, was special. She was open and charming; there was a genuine sweetness in the way she smiled and laughed. She was also smoking hot. In the mornings, Sunil would watch from the upstairs window as she walked down the dirt road leading to the house. The men, the women, even the cows ambling among the piles of roadside garbage, stepped into the drainage ditch to let her pass. Sunil observed on more than one occasion the Scotsman next door watching Amara over the compound wall. One time, Sunil stepped into the yard to see his neighbor seated on the balcony, binoculars in hand, watching Amara as she hung the laundry to dry. When the Scotsman realized Sunil had seen him, he trained his binoculars at some distant seabirds.

  Recently, Amara had started taking classes to improve her English. She’d asked Sunil if she could practice by talking to him. She began by telling him she had two sons, a six-year-old and a twelve-year-old. The reason she was learning English was so that she could get a job in Jordan. Her husband was already living there—had left five years ago—and was working as a driver for a wealthy family. Her husband had learned English in school, but she needed to make her English better if she wanted to work outside the country. Sunil was grateful for the conversations. And why not? Amara needed someone to help her with her English. He needed someone to teach him about the country so he wouldn’t have to rely so much on Emily.

  Amara became more flirtatious. She giggled when Sunil spoke to her, and she stood closer to him. One day he reached out and touched her gently on the arm. She shivered.

  A few days later, Amara told him that her cousin had given her an old tape recorder. He’d told her to listen to music—American and British music. “Learn from book not good.” She tapped her ear. “Music fun and give how real people talk.” Her cousin had given her old tapes he’d kept since he was a teenager. She listened to the tapes in the evening after she returned home from Sunil’s. Her eldest son helped her with the lyrics. He was learning English at school.

  One day Sunil asked her what American music she liked.

  “Eagles. Chick-a-go. Michael Jackson. Cheap Trick.”

  Sunil perked up. “Cheap Trick? I listened to Cheap Trick growing up.”

  “You learn good English from Cheap Trick, no?”

  “No, not really. I mean, I knew English before I started listening.” He drew closer to her. “But I love Cheap Trick. What’s your favorite album?”

  “Album?” Amara enunciated carefully.

  “Song? What’s your favorite song?” Sunil waved his hands about but wasn’t sure how to mime “Cheap Trick.” “Fav-o-rite song by Cheap Trick.”

  Amara nodded that she understood. “I want you to want me.” She said the words clearly and precisely, looking straight at Sunil. Amara smiled coyly. “I beg you to beg me,” she continued.

  He coughed, hoping to hide that he’d forgotten to breathe. “Yeah, good song.”

  “What is your favorite song?”

  Sunil knew he should stop, but the answer came to him naturally, without much thought. “Surrender.”

  Amara stared at him blankly, so Sunil began to sing. “Mommy’s all right / Daddy’s all right / They just seem a little weird / Surrender—”

  She giggled. “Surrender,” she sang.

  “But don’t give yourself away.” They sang in chorus. Or at least Amara sang something that sounded like that. Sunil couldn’t really be sure.

  • • •

  Sunil’s encounter with Amara was easy to arrange. Sunil told Emily that he needed the afternoon to catch up on some reading. He found Amara in the kitchen filling pastry dough with ground meat. She didn’t seem surprised to see Sunil, and she didn’t seem at all curious when he stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching her. He finally worked up the nerve to ask her to make a pot of tea and went to sit on the patio.

  Amara brought out the tea on a serving tray and placed it on the table in front of him. When she leaned forward to nudge the sugar bowl closer, her hand grazed his knee.

  He didn’t know how exactly they made it to his bedroom. Amara led and he followed mutely behind. Later, when he replayed the moment, he could not remember moving, placing one foot in front of the other. Upstairs, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him.

  “What about your husband?” he whispered. As soon as it came out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself.

  But Amara remained unruffled. “In Kandy, in the time before—”

  “Old days,” Sunil offered helpfully.

  “Yes, in the old days. The woman run house. She can choose and have many husbands.”

  “A woman could choose to marry multiple men?”

  Amara nodded. “She could choose one brother. Then choose the other. When she with one brother, she hang shirt belong to him in door.”

  Sunil laughed. “Like this?” He took off his shirt and walked out onto the sun deck. He tied it to the railing. The fabric billowed and fluttered in the breeze. When he turned to go back in, he noticed the Scotsman on the balcony, watching a pair of terns flying in the distance. He suppressed the urge to call and wave.

  Amara was still giggling when Sunil returned. She unfastened the hooks and eyes that held the front of her blouse together. When she reached the bottom one, she stopped. “Mahattaya . . .” she began.

  “Sunil, please call me Sunil.”

  “I bring my sons to pool?” She pointed outside.

  Sunil’s stomach dropped. Good God, why hadn’t he thought of that sooner. Something so simple like letting her sons use the pool. “Sure,” he stammered. “That won’t be a problem.”

  She undid the last fastener and removed her blouse. She pulled off the skirt and then her bra. She lay back on Sunil’s bed. She’d let down her hair for the first time since he’d known her; the tendrils formed black curlicues along the surface of Sunil’s pillow. He lay down next to her and traced the silky outline of one.

  Later, he told Amara, though he was not sure how much she understood, something he had not told anyone—not Sheila, not Emily. He had family to the east, near Trincomalee. He’d been to visit only once. Up until he reached the border of the war zone, he was surrounded by the lush, tropical landscape he’d grown to expect. Then suddenly nothing. No animals. No houses. Just bleached and barren land. They passed men on bikes with AK-47s slung over their shoulders, and army convoys. When he came to the shack where his aunt lived, an old woman ran out and pulled him into the house. According to Sunil’s mother, her sister was in her late forties but this woman looked, with her gray hair and worn skin, nearly eighty. It took him several minutes to realize this was his aunt, his mother’s younger sister. The house she lived in had no doors, no glass in the windows. There was only an ancient electric range in the back and a small radio/television balanced on a crate. The pair muddled through a brief conversation. Finally, Sunil promised to return, and bring Emily with him. He hadn’t yet. He sent his aunt money every week, but every time he considered a second visit, he told himself it was too dangerous because of the war. The truth was he could not face his au
nt again: her poverty, the enormity of her loss.

  As Sunil finished his story, he realized Amara had fallen asleep. Gravity had flattened her breasts to reveal the skin along her breastbone, not brown like the rest of her but a creamy yellow. The base of her stomach sloped into a nest of coarse thatched hair that extended down the insides of her thighs. Sunil nudged Amara awake and explained that Emily would be home soon. Amara dressed quickly without any mention of what had just happened between them. Their day ended as it always did with an exchange of wages, a list of items that needed to be bought at the market, and a polite good-bye.

  • • •

  “Dad, why is your shirt tied to the deck rail?”

  Emily was standing, hands on hips, at the edge of the swimming pool. She was peering up at his bedroom.

  Sunil nearly dropped his beer bottle. “I was drying it,” he stammered.

  “Why didn’t you hang it on the clothesline?”

  “I was in a hurry.” Sunil took a swig of his beer.

  Emily considered this response for a moment and then tucked her long brown hair under her swimming cap. She dove into the pool.

  Sunil crouched at the edge. He watched as his daughter did backflips underwater. It still took his breath away to watch this glorious creature that he had somehow created. He was only a baby when she was born—though he had thought at the time he was mature beyond his years and perfectly capable of raising a child. Now he wanted to apologize again and again for all the mistakes he’d made. Emily made his life more real. At twenty-two, twenty-eight, thirty, his friends were going to bars, picking up women, and then complaining to Sunil that their lives were shallow. Not Sunil. He had to take Emily to school, help her with her homework, make sure she was clothed, fed, bathed. He’d nursed her when she was sick. They’d grown up together.

  But she was also, especially in the past few years, an alien. He’d expected his child to be an extension of him—the better part. She would be the blank slate on which he’d write the things he’d learned about life, a means for correcting all the mistakes. Instead, she seemed to contain a whole other world, replete with foreign signs and cues, and someone had forgotten to provide Sunil with the guidebook.

  Emily swam over and propped her arms on the side of the pool. “What?” she demanded.

  The water gave her skin a fine sheen. Even though she still had the unformed features and ungainliness of a thirteen-year-old, he knew she was going to be a stunning woman: one more thing that would pull her away from him.

  “I’m thinking of letting Amara’s sons use the pool. Once. Maybe twice.”

  Emily scrunched her eyebrows together and puckered her lips. “You can’t let her use the pool. It’s just not done.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Servants have their place. And we have ours. If you’re not careful, the servants will manipulate you.”

  Sunil clenched his jaw. Why was it so hard to get her to listen to him? “She’s not a servant,” Sunil insisted. “And this is my house. If I want Amara to use the pool, then she can. Because I’m the adult and I say so.”

  Emily smiled slyly. “I don’t know, Dad. This may be your house, and you may be an adult, but this isn’t your country. There are ways that things are done here and the truth is you don’t always know what they are.” He blinked at her. “You should listen to me,” she added, “like you usually do.”

  She kicked off from the side of the pool and backstroked away. Sunil stood up. Just as he reached the house, she called. “I think your shirt’s dry.”

  Sunil flinched but kept moving.

  • • •

  When Sunil went to sleep that night, he could still smell Amara on his sheets. He reveled in the scent and imagined her body. Even without language, they’d connected. He couldn’t explain how or why, but she was not a stranger. He imagined continuing the affair—quietly, of course. Still, the next day when he saw her approaching the house, Sunil fought the urge to sneak away. Amara smiled shyly when she saw him. “Sir, I bring sons to pool tomorrow.”

  Sunil thought of Emily. Just to make things easier, he should probably arrange this on a day his daughter wouldn’t be around. “How about we make it another day?”

  Amara looked dismayed.

  “The day after tomorrow.” Sunil offered quickly.

  “But that is—”

  “A school day, I know. But Emily stays for tutoring. I’ll come back from work early.”

  Amara hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly firm. “Sir, you not be here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Four months we no come to pool. Now you tell come. Older boy see you and understand too much. I tell him you and Emily go away. You leave gate open. We sneak in.”

  Sunil wanted to protest, but he couldn’t deny a sense of relief at not having to face her sons.

  At work, away from the house and Emily, Sunil dwelled on Amara. With his staff popping in and out of the office, with Sheila e-mailing details about a new obstacle to the project, his time with Amara felt an idyll. He called his secretary into his office.

  “I need to find a tape.”

  She looked confused. “There is sticking tape in your desk drawer.”

  “No, a music tape. An album. You know, songs.”

  The secretary scowled. “A music tape? We are a third-world country, but we are not that backward. CDs and DVDs now, sir.”

  “I need a tape of an album. Cheap Trick at Budokan. It’s a concert album.”

  The secretary began to protest.

  “eBay it,” demanded Sunil. “Buy the CD and tape it. Just get me the tape.”

  Sunil’s secretary closed the door behind her.

  That evening at home, Emily was going on about some trip she wanted to take the day after next, but Sunil was lost in his dream of presenting Amara with one of the best concert albums ever made. Of course, she wouldn’t really be able to appreciate it, but she could listen to it and think of him. It was innocuous. Something she needn’t be embarrassed to play around her kids. Emily prodded him, asking his approval to do something. Sunil just nodded.

  The next day Sheila sent several e-mails with the heading “Reminder.” He opened none of them. When Sheila was feeling unsure about her effectiveness, she tended to send a rush of urgent e-mails. All of them could be ignored.

  The day Amara was supposed to bring her boys, Sunil made sure to see his daughter off. Emily gave him a quick peck on the cheek and got into her friend Harishini’s car. For a moment he wondered when Harishini’s driver had started picking Emily up for school. But he didn’t think any more about it. Work was especially quiet. It wasn’t until late after lunch that Sunil realized he hadn’t seen any of his Sri Lankan employees: not Ranil, or Harry, or Sujeeva, or Bavan. When Sheila came into his office, he asked where everybody was.

  “Didn’t you get any of my e-mails?” Sheila demanded. “Today is the new moon.”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “It’s poya. A government holiday. Can you really be so out of it?” She shook her head. “This happens every month, Sunil. And you’re a Buddhist. How can you not know about your own religious holidays?”

  Sunil sat up in his seat. “School’s out today, isn’t it?” But he already knew the answer. Sunil made some excuse about having to go home for some papers. He picked up his briefcase and ran out the door.

  During the ride home, Sunil replayed his conversation with Emily the night before last. Hadn’t she said she was going on a trip? She’d be gone all day, no doubt. There was nothing to be worried about.

  When he reached his house, two boys, soggy swim trunks clinging to their bony legs, were standing in the doorway. Sunil tried to smile at them, but the oldest one glowered and shielded the younger brother with his body.

  Emily was seated inside. Amara stood in the shadows.

  “Guess what I caught them doing?” Emily demanded.

  Sunil glanced at Amara. He said her name softly.

&n
bsp; “They were in the swimming pool, Dad!”

  He took a deep breath. “I let them, honey. I told Amara she could.”

  Emily’s face contorted with anger. “Why?” she cried. “I told you not to.” She stamped her foot. Amara’s son was peering through the gap in the door, following everything that was being said. Emily turned and spoke in Sinhala to Amara. Sunil did not understand but somehow he knew she was firing her. Amara blanched.

  “Give us a few days, Amara,” Sunil said softly. “Think of it as a temporary suspension. Come back in a week, when everything has calmed down.”

  Emily sat in her chair, her body contracted with rage. Amara shooed her boys out the compound gate. After Amara was gone, Emily sat fuming. “How could you, Dad? How could you humiliate me like that?”

  “Humiliate you? How did I humiliate you?”

  “You went against me. You let them use the pool! I told you not to.”

  “And I told you this is my house.”

  Emily stamped her foot. “But you wouldn’t even know what to do with it if it wasn’t for me.” She hiccupped loudly and then burst into tears. “You told her to come back,” she wailed. “Why?”

  When Sunil didn’t respond, Emily covered her face with her hands and ran into her room.

  • • •

  For the next week, Sunil and Emily avoided each other. Avoided speaking. Avoided contact. Sunil had brooded, hurt and angered by Emily’s callousness. Then he received a call from the village police. The constable informed him that his daughter was with the chief inspector at the station house and that he should come. The line went dead before Sunil could ask any questions. He ran into Sheila as he was leaving work. She insisted on accompanying him.