Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

At the market they got a spot right by the entrance. Raj was docile and allowed himself to be led inside. They walked through the aisles, adding items to their cart: sliced turkey, bottled water, crackers, all the things they’d need for a picnic lunch. Raj was fascinated by the shelves stacked with canned goods. He loved to make piles, putting one block on top of another or lining his toys up in a row, and here was an environment with just the regimented order he liked. He clicked his tongue and flapped his arms, expressions of pleasure that Jaz had learned to read and enjoy. When Raj started to fill the cart with cans of corn Jaz managed to divert his attention by handing him an orange, an object he always found absorbing and could carry around for hours, like a plush toy or a pet. There were a few tears at the checkout when he had to give up the slightly squashed fruit to be scanned, but otherwise their expedition went smoothly. On the drive back Jaz whistled and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Raj clicked and hummed. Jaz looked out for more sky-blue women, but saw none.

Back at the motel, they found Lisa sunbathing by the pool, her long legs splayed over a sun lounger. She looked good in her bikini and Jaz felt an unfamiliar moment of passion for his wife. He reached down and kissed her, running his fingers over her thigh. She smelled great, like suntan oil and fresh sweat.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

She sat up and felt Raj’s forehead.

“You’re so hot. Come on, let’s get you into your swim things.”

Jaz kissed her again. “It’s OK, I’ll do it. You lie down.”

In the room Raj made no complaints as Jaz put him into cloth swim diapers and rubbed sunscreen on his body, but when he tried to slip the locket over his head Raj let out a fierce yell and gripped onto it. Jaz decided the battle wasn’t worth fighting. No big deal. The kid could keep it if he wanted.

“Come on, let’s go find Mommy.”

Out at the pool, Jaz saw Lisa talking to the motel manager, laughing over some joke. The woman walked off as he approached, and Lisa propped herself up on one elbow, shielding her eyes against the sun.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“That piece of crap round his neck.”

“Oh, something my mom sent. He liked it, wouldn’t take it off.”

“You put that on him?”

“Yeah. It’s just a — a traditional thing. She sent it as a present.”

“Damn it, Jaz, I thought I’d made it clear. I don’t want your mom’s superstitious bullshit anywhere near our son.”

“There’s no harm in it.”

“No harm? As far as she’s concerned, her family’s been cursed because you married a white woman. She thinks Raj is our punishment.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

She pulled the boy toward her and tried to slip the locket over his neck. He grabbed at the string and began to wail.

“You’re hurting him.”

“Raj, let go!”

Finally the string broke. Lisa swore and hurled the charm over the fence. Raj began rocking backward and forward, craning his head into his shoulder like a hibernating bird. Jaz sank down onto a plastic chair.

“Perfect. Good job.”

Lisa glared at him. He got in the pool and swam a few lengths, trying to control his anger. Finally he pulled himself up onto the side and sat with his legs in the water, feeling the heat evaporating the moisture from his back.

“Lisa?”

“What?”

“Could you — I don’t know — just try to see how hard this is for me? She’s my mom.”

“Jesus, Jaz. Sometimes I think you actually believe it. You think there’s something wrong with him.”

“Well, there is something wrong with him.”

“The evil eye?”

“What do you want me to say? That my mom and dad are ignorant? That we’re just poor brown-skinned immigrants who don’t understand your big modern American world? Between you and them — God, you have no idea of what I have to do, how hard it is.… I mean, look at him, Lisa! He’s not normal. No amount of PC language is going to change that. And if you really want to know, yes, sometimes it feels like a curse. It feels like I’m being fucking punished.”

He knew he’d gone too far.

“Lisa—”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean that. I love him just as much as you do. But look what it’s done to us.”

“What he’s done to us, you mean.”

“We were never like this.”

“It wouldn’t be so hard if you’d just support me sometimes, instead of behaving like I’m the problem.”

“Come on, baby. That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. You could at least stand up against your family. You don’t think it’s hard for me — to know what they think? According to them, this is my fault.”

“They don’t think that.”

“Yes, they do, Jaz. And you let them think it. You’ve never stood up to them, not once.”

“We barely see them.”

“That’s not the same thing. Running away isn’t the same as fighting.”

“And what do you expect me to do? Disown them? I have a duty. They’re my family. Family’s everything to us — that’s what you people never understand. I love my parents, and I love my son.”

She stared at him as if he’d just slapped her.

“You people?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Christ, now I’m ‘you people.’ Well, you know what, if you love your son so much, you and your wonderful Punjabi family can take care of him without me. Everyone will whoop for joy. Ding dong, the witch is dead! The nasty white witch has vanished and all the happy villagers can celebrate. You people? I don’t fucking believe you, Jaz. Where are the car keys?”

“What do you want them for?”

“Just tell me where the fucking keys are.”

“On the table by the bed.”

“Right.”

Grabbing her towel, she stalked off to the room. Jaz sat with Raj, trying to work out what had just happened. A few minutes later she came out again wearing a T-shirt and shorts, a pair of owlish oversized sunglasses screening her face. Without a glance over at the pool she marched around the corner to the car. He heard the starter motor squeal as the key was turned violently in the ignition. Then, with a screech of tires, she drove away.

As kids they used to go out to the rocks and look at the site of the accident. The wreckage had mostly gone to salvage, but you could see the remains of the rocket or whatever it was, a sort of twisted, crumpled cylinder pocked with bullet holes. The boys used it for target practice, though Dawn couldn’t see what kind of practice you got out of hitting something that size. It was more the sound, she supposed, the plink as the rusty metal gave way. There was a cracked concrete base, a burned patch; that was about it. Not much to see.

Everyone had different stories about how it had happened. Something electrical. Some kid lighting a firework for a prank. But the whole thing had gone up like a torch, in front of thousands of people, with the feller inside it. Communist, said the old guys at the store, who always knew everything about everything. An agent of hostile foreign powers. Still, getting burned alive like that, trapped in a tin can. No one should suffer so.

Frankie DuQuette had a beat-up Plymouth and they used to drive it out there, do skids and donuts, raise clouds of dust — just letting off steam, really, no harm in it. After, they’d sit up on the rocks looking out over the desert, or just lie on the hood, playing the radio and watching the sunset. When it got dark, they’d switch the headlights on; dust motes would dance in the yellow beams and they’d make out and Frankie would put his hand inside her shirt but never go further, because he was a timid boy and mortally afraid of his pastor. Her uncle Ray would do a lot of screaming when she got back home after those nights out at the rocks with Frankie. He’d remind her how grateful she ought to be for them taking her in, while her aunt held her hand over her mouth and made fish eyes.