Jerry Pinto - Em and the Big Hoom

‘What exactly is that?’

‘It’s how we would choose the den when we were children. Ugh.’

That was it — the sound of a playground.

‘Mother at the door, waiting to eat you up. It’s a horrible image but maybe it has an element of truth in it, like those Greek myths.’

‘Was Granny a devouring mother?’

‘I don’t know. I’m here, no?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I’m mad. That must count against her too. Maybe she did this to me. Do you think I’m that kind of mother? The kind who’d devour her infants?’

‘You could be, but…’

‘Have you never heard of the phrase “a comforting lie”?’

Living with Em, having survived her into adolescence, we’d earned the right to be her equals. ‘Will it comfort you?’ I said. ‘I’ll lie if it will.’

‘Oh shut up,’ she said, waving at me dismissively. ‘You would have to make it comforting.’

‘How?’

‘How? How? A well-told lie can heal. Otherwise, what’s fiction?’

‘Okay. You could never be a devouring mother.’

‘I don’t think a comforting lie can be told after the truth. I’d have to be desperate to accept that. So you can tell the truth.’

‘I think you could have been but you lost your chance.’

‘Don’t be too sure. I could still give it a shot.’

‘I don’t think you’d have the nerve.’

‘Are you challenging me?’

‘No, I’m complimenting you.’

‘Well, make it a compliment then.’

‘Okay. I don’t think you could be the kind of person who would go around trying to fuck someone’s life up.’

‘Is that what you think Mae did?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think all those terrible women who destroy their children actually look at their babies and say, “Your life is mine. I’m going to maim it.”’

‘Oh don’t,’ Em shuddered slightly. ‘Marriage is all right. At least the person you’re having a go at is an adult. But motherhood… You’re given something totally dependent, totally in love with you and it doesn’t seem to come with a manual. I remember when Lao-Tsu was born…’

Lao-Tsu was how she referred to Susan. It came from Sue to Tsu — in some letter she had written to us of an afternoon — to Lao-Tsu.

‘… the doctor showed me how to carry her, to feed her, and I thought, “I should know this stuff, shouldn’t I?” I mean, all those dolls. They were about learning the ropes, no?’

Em lit another beedi. She contemplated the floor.

‘She’s grown up now. I must confront that. I must see her as men see her. But how can I? I’m hardly the expert on the subject. I only knew three men well — my father, your father and you. And two of you I didn’t fuck so that leaves me with your Big Hoom. I’m the world expert on him but who’s asking.’

‘I am.’

‘You are. You are. But you want information. I want to give advice. Experts should be asked for advice. Who would need advice on him? Maybe his mistress. If he ever had one.’

‘For a moment there…’ I began, but stopped.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Em snapped. ‘Though I told him once. Mad people don’t want sex. They kick the sex drive out of you with those pills. No, even before the pills. There’s so much in your head that you can’t bear any distractions, you want to pay attention, careful attention, otherwise everything is going to explode. Or something like that. It’s like being in a dream where you can do something and every time you try to get it right, you find that the action has shifted to another place and you have to start again. There were times I didn’t want sex for months. So I told him, “Get a maid servant. One of those nice buxom girls. She might even teach your son.”’

‘Me?’ I squeaked.

She giggled, a wicked giggle.

‘Of course. Fuck the maid, a game for men of middle-class families. Penalty: pissing blood in the morning, that’s all. Why should my son be deprived? But he said, “I think he’ll find a way to learn about sex without exploiting someone.” I hadn’t thought of it like that. I suppose it’s my upbringing. I thought of it as something men did all the time.’

‘To the poske?’

‘Yes, to their own adopted sisters, the behenchods. That is what it means, no? I can never remember whether behenchod is sister-fucker or —’

‘It is.’

‘Keep a mistress, I told him.’

‘You didn’t mean that.’

‘Didn’t I though? I don’t know. It’s very difficult to know what I mean or what I don’t mean. Afterwards. At the time, I know.’

‘Then how are we supposed to know?’

‘Osmosis?’

‘And how was he supposed to know?’

‘You’re right. How? By the kick of the cow. But he said, “No, if it’s okay by you, I’ll just stay faithful.” What to say to a man like that?’

At the time, I remember wondering why The Big Hoom hadn’t taken her up on her offer. I was too young then to figure out the game Em was playing. Today, it seems quite obvious: she was playing out her insecurities. This was allowed by her ‘condition’. She could say what other ‘normal’ women could not.

For one wild moment, I thought I’d challenge her: did she ever repeat that offer? What if he’d been tempted, how could she be sure? But then both of us realized we were very close to the brink and we retreated to familiar territory: the first date, in her version of it.

‘What did you eat?’ I asked.

‘A chicken salad to begin with. And when the edge was taken off, I think I had a ham steak. It was totally gorgeous and what was even better was that he was paying. I wanted to order one more dish but I thought that would be rude so I ate his mashed potatoes as well. And I had a Coke float at the end of it.’

‘A Coke float?’

‘They would freeze the Coca Cola and put it in a bowl and put a dollop of vanilla ice-cream on top of it.’

‘Sounds vile.’

‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, buddy.’

‘Did he kiss you at your doorstep?’

Em roared, a hoarse rattle in throat and lung. ‘I’d have liked to see him try. There was no doorstep in D’Souza Villa, Clare Road, Byculla, Bombay. The door was open, the old ladies of the house were taking the air and saying their prayers and peeking outside. Children were sitting on the steps or playing Mountain-Land-Bridge-Gutter-Sea.’

‘So there were no goodnight kisses at all.’

‘We were in a taxi. We had to find other places to kiss.’

‘What a pity.’

‘I don’t see why. I don’t think the goodnight kiss is such a hot idea anyway. I mean, why send the poor man off with a hard on? Unless you’re a tease.’

It was time to change the topic.

‘Didn’t The Big Hoom have a car?’

‘In those days only the bosses had cars. Or the Parsis. Or the white men. Everyone else used the buses or the trams. But it was a date so we went home in a taxi.’

‘Did he at least try? To kiss you?’

‘I was frightened to death that he would. I was frightened to death that he wouldn’t. But he did the next best thing.’

‘What?’

‘When we were on Marine Drive, he held my hand.’

‘Awww.’

‘And well you may say “Aww” because it was perfect. It said, “I want you,” but it also said, “I know you’re worried about this so I’m willing to wait.”’

‘That sounds…’

‘Like I’m thinking up what he thought when he did it? I think we all do that. All women do, at any rate. If I kiss him on the nose, he’ll know I love him so I’ll kiss him on the nose. We hope he gets it, we fear he doesn’t but if he looks even vaguely gratified, we know he’s the one.’

‘Does it work?’

‘What work is it supposed to do?’