The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,109
to smooth her way, to make the patterns of life easier for her—buying tickets, paying bills, staff salaries, fixing cars, plumbing, the bubble of support he had built so she could play within. But another part of his brain—victorious, battle-scarred, finally at liberty, heady from speaking the truth—held him back, and he watched her stumble, look to the sofa, look to the door, look at him, and bewildered, lost, retreat unsteadily from the room.
twenty-six
KAMALA’S PLAN WAS QUITE SIMPLE. She would telephone her sister-in-law in the morning. She would explain her difficulties and ask her to intercede with her husband and arrange a loan on Kamala’s behalf. That would be better than pleading with her brother directly. Then Kamala and Narayan would catch a bus to the village and return with the money.
The consequences of such an action would be inevitable and mortifying to contemplate: a loan of such magnitude would leave her beholden for years; for the duration of that period she would have to endure her brother’s taunts and insults, as she had when she was dependent on him in the first year of her widowhood. Endure them—and perhaps never be free from them, for who knew how long it would take her to repay him?
The landlady had indicated that fifty thousand rupees, coupled with a slight increase in rent, could buy Kamala an additional year in the courtyard. The following year, Kamala would need to pay another lump sum. That was the best the landlord’s mother could do. Two additional years of schooling for Narayan—and Kamala, used to planning their lives a few months at a time, was content to trust the rest to the gods. Surely she could suffer her brother for such a cause? Dealing with Shanta these few months, she thought with a sudden deepening of amusement, had certainly been good training for what was to come.
She had forgotten to recharge her prepaid mobile phone card, so she made her call from the corner STD-ISD phone booth. It was mid-morning; her sister-in-law would have finished all her morning chores and be in a position to listen.
“Akke,” said Kamala, “I have something to ask you.” She glanced around; the door to the booth was firmly shut; Narayan, who had accompanied her, was chattering to the ISD booth man. Kamala hesitated no longer, comforted by her sister-in-law’s evident tongue-clucking sympathy. When at last her tale was done, she plucked up her courage. “Akke, I was so pleased to read of my brother’s success with the shop. I was wondering … is it possible for you to ask him for a loan?”
“Oh, little sister,” said her sister-in-law. “Thange. It is good that you have come to us for help. For years I have asked you to do so, but you have always refused and I have felt so terrible. I am glad you have asked. The thing is …” she said, and at Kamala’s soft comprehending groan, “No! Do not worry. We will contrive something. What a fate this is! What a karma. That I should urge help upon you unavailingly for years and finally, when you do ask—I am in no position to help. This is a cruel fate, indeed!”
“It is a large amount,” said Kamala. “I was a fool to think of asking.”
“Who else would you ask? You have done the right thing. The problem is that stupid shop.”
“Is it not prosperous?” asked Kamala.
“Prosperous?” Her sister-in-law began to cry. “That shop is like a hungry python, swallowing-swallowing every paisa that was ever saved in this house.”
Far from being a prosperous businessman, Kamala’s brother had growing debts and was essentially serving an indenture in the shop that would allow him to pay off all the monies he owed. “Do not tell him I told you,” said her sister-in-law. “He would be very angry with me.”
I will not, said Kamala.
“In fact, he was speaking of someday coming to Bangalore to look for some alternate employment. Do not tell him I told you.”
I will not, said Kamala.
She talked a minute more and settled the bill. She answered the impatient question in Narayan’s eyes. “Your uncle is in great debt,” she told him. “Helping us is beyond his current powers.”
They made their way slowly back to the courtyard. The landlord’s wife saw them enter and called, “Kamala-akka! Your employer’s watchman was here.”
“Is it?” said Kamala, barely listening, still digesting the phone call. “Narayan, do not wander far away. What did he want?”