Jerry Pinto - Em and the Big Hoom

‘Because we love you,’ said Tia Madrinha. ‘And tongues are wagging.’

‘Whose tongues?’

To which there was of course no reply. But then TM rose like an empress from the throne and said that she was Going Home. It was clear that she was not. It was clear that she wanted to be made to stay. Darned if I’d do that.

‘Thank you so much for calling,’ I said.

She misunderstood.

‘One day you will indeed thank me for calling on him,’ she said. ‘But I do not have to reply to you. I shall give witness before God. And He will be the best judge of my actions.’

Then Mae started snivelling and I turned on her like a Fury. At this, TM stomped off and then Daddy put down his paper and said, ‘For the love of God, Imelda, go and bring that woman back or we shall never hear the end of it.’

So I ate humble pie and brought her back and swallowed my rage because Daddy was looking quite ruffled and I suppose if I have to –

The entry breaks off but begins the next day:

Gertie says that if you say to yourself, ‘Every day in every way I get better and better,’ you end up getting better. So all morning I told myself, ‘I have the chin of that lovely girl in Anarkali . And I have the poise of Merle Oberon.’ I said it to myself and in the end, when I looked, I still had my own chin. I will never be able to cut an emperor dead at twenty paces in defence of my love as that dancing girl did. And I can’t be Merle if I am made to go to church in the morning and confess that I have sinned against my parents and my godmother. So when I called, I don’t think I was all cool and ironic. I almost squeaked when I heard his voice on the other end. The usual bark, of course: ‘Mendes.’ I have tried so hard to modify this but to no avail. And then when I said, ‘It’s me,’ he started to laugh quite immoderately. But something about the stern quality of my silence must have communicated itself so he swallowed his mirth and suggested that we meet for lunch. ‘I don’t think I could talk about this over lunch,’ I say and my tone is edged with a hint of frost. So he says he will spring for tea for two at whatever time I say and at a location to be picked by me. So I say, ‘Five thirty at Bombelli’s then,’ and I hang up.

When I get there, he’s already reached. It’s five forty-five. He knows he has to give me fifteen minutes of grace because I have to travel into town and he’s just a quick hop away, but he’s there. He’s deep in some specifications. I can tell. I hated specifications when I was at ASL, miles and miles of numbers and if one of them goes wrong, the static won’t precipitate or something. I hate them even more just then. My life is in disorder and he’s looking at specifications. I feel bruised by the world.

Then he looks up and sees me and his face changes and he comes over and walks me out of the restaurant and to the sea.

(NB: What is it about the sea? Is it because it’s there?)

We walked for a bit and then he took my hand and he stopped me and we stood there in the middle of the rush and the push and the chanawallah and the hijras and the laughing babies and gossiping ayahs and the balloons and the clouds and the glitter on the waves turning it all to metal. And then he said, ‘Do you want to do this?’ I didn’t know what to say. Then he said, ‘I do.’ I thought the girl was supposed to say that. So I did the only thing a fella could do. I nodded. And then he put his hand on the back of my neck. I thought he was going to kiss me in the middle of the rush and the push and the etc. But he just left his hand there and I remember thinking, ‘So might a man calm a horse.’

I didn’t even know I was crying until he gave me his handkerchief.

Yes, I blubbed. Angela Brazil would have been so ashamed of me but I just couldn’t stop blubbing. A policeman came up to us and asked poor LOS what he was up to. LOS said that he was innocent and I had to raise my tear-streaked face and say that I was all right and we were getting married. Only, I seem to have got the tenses wrong so the poor man thought I was saying we were already married. He looked at our hands and I saw that LOS had nice hands. Sort of capable. If we are ever going to have a nuclear bomb fall on us and if we survive, he will be able to build a hut and strangle a huge cockroach. But no rings on those hands. Or on mine.

My parents were taken to the police station.

It must have been an augury of things to come.

Then came another note in the diary. Just two lines:

The two old biddies asked ANDY to introduce them.

Irony of ironies!

‘Why?’ I asked Em. ‘Why was it ironic?’

‘Because he was in the running himself for Imelda Carmina Ana…’ she said and winked. ‘Yes, I know. But I was a hot number then even if I didn’t know it myself. Now I look at the pictures and I think, “Whoo, she is pretty,” but then? I was too busy worrying about whether the cow was eating grass when I got up from my chair. What things women have to worry about! Thank the stars I didn’t have to do my arms and legs. My, I went with Gertie once and she shrieked every time they pulled at the wax.’

‘Andrade?’ I drew her back to the story.

It began when Audrey said that David had invited her for a drink.

‘Who’s David?’ Imelda had asked.

‘Not any old David, silly. The David,’ Audrey said.

‘Which is the David?’

‘The one in the movies.’

‘You didn’t know David?’ I asked Em.

‘We didn’t go and see too many Hindi films. When Awaara came out and Anarkali , I think, yes, we went for those. And that film about the rickshaw puller which left me so sad for a week, I could hardly eat. But not so many that I would know who David was. But Audrey said that she was keen to meet him. I said she should go then. But she said, all girly-girly, that she couldn’t possibly unless I went along. So I shrugged my shoulders and said I would go. We met in a nice quiet little place which seemed to have been done up to look like a European restaurant. You know, fat candles, white-and-red-checked tablecloths, brave chrysanthemums and a girl in peach satin singing the blues. Only the waiters were Indian and one of them was picking his nose. He saw me look and he wiped his hand on the back of the tray. But I suppose they were all boys from the muluk and they didn’t know better. I stopped looking at them and focused on the girl singing. She was tapping her cheek with a rose. I thought that was overdone but she got lots of tips so I suppose it worked so who was I to argue? Audrey and I had got there early, so we just sat there, enjoying it all. What they call ambience these days. I kept thinking, “This is a real restaurant. If anyone took a picture of me now, whoever saw it would know I had been in a real restaurant.” Then David arrived. He was a little gnome of a man and seemed friendly. He asked me if I would like something to drink. I said I would like a Coca Cola. “You’re a Coca Cola girl, I see,” he said. I didn’t know what that meant but he said it in a way that suggested it might have many meanings. I was trying to decide whether I was in trouble or not when suddenly Audrey got up and said, “I’m going home,” and she left. “What happened?” David asked me. He looked a bit hurt, like a child who has been abandoned on the playground. I should have felt sorry for him. He was bald and gnomey and sad so I said, “Let me go and find out.” I thought I could catch up with her. He said, “No, let’s just talk. Tell me about yourself, Coca Cola Girl.” I thought Audrey might be ill. I began to get worried. I looked at the door. I began to get up. He smiled again and said, “If you leave now, everyone will think I am a naughty man.” I sat back down but then he said, “But I am a naughty man.” In that one second, he changed from a hurt little boy into something greasy.