“Don’t,” Geeta said. “I don’t want to hear it. We’re not friends. We were never friends. I say plenty about Saloni, but at least she’s an honest snake. You have honey on your tongue and a knife in your pocket.”
“No! I—”
“I don’t have to defend my work to you. I eat no one’s salt but my own. And until you and your drunk chut of a husband started harassing me, I was fine. You begged me to save you because you can’t save yourself. You can’t seem to do much of anything.”
Farah began crying, but it was quiet and earnest rather than her usual overblown, onion-cutting tears. “Please forgive me.” She sniffed. “I didn’t mean any of it. You are my friend, Geetaben.” She launched herself at Geeta, the impact forcing her to take a step back. The hug was fierce, Farah’s reedy arms surprisingly strong, and Geeta could smell the coconut oil on Farah’s hair, the regret and fear emanating from her skin. Geeta was not accustomed to hugs; she did not return the embrace, but neither did she pull away. She patted Farah’s shoulder twice before extricating herself.
Farah gathered the skin of her throat with her thumb and forefinger in a vow. “I swear, I won’t ruin it this time. I promise, Geetaben. You can count on me.”
NINE
The dog, obviously, was just a ruse. Even he seemed to realize this, snuffing trash and humping tires on the way to Karem’s door, as though he smelled her intent and was bent on procrastination. If so, his perspicacity impressed Geeta, because she herself wasn’t clear on what she was seeking. Exasperated, she called him over and carried him the remainder of the way. He smelled like unwashed feet and stale sweat. His odor had worsened since the truck ride from Kohra.
“Tomorrow’s bath day, Bandit.” The name had been more of an inevitability than a decision. He squirmed as they arrived, climbing up her chest, attempting eye contact. His cold nose found her chin. She maneuvered around his smelly face to knock. Maybe Bandit knew what she refused to admit, that she was chasing trouble.
After the row with Farah, Geeta hadn’t wanted to be alone. When she’d first pushed open her front door, Bandit bounded toward her, pink tongue lolling. She cooed over his seemingly restored vision, rubbing his fox ears. She’d forgotten about him and it was pleasant to have companionship without the onus of speaking.
In the kitchen, she prepared lentils and rice in a khichdi that neither of them touched. It had been her favorite comfort food as a child. Whenever her stomach had pained, her mother made it, but Geeta always added dollops of spicy mango pickle that, her mother chided, defeated the purpose. But her parents stored loads of achaar—carrot, gooseberry, green chili—in the pantry for her and Saloni, a gesture of love so minor that its absence shouldn’t have stung her eyes, though it did.
Bandit’s body, warm and pulsing, proved a panacea for Farah’s lackadaisical cruelty. Geeta had steeled herself against the typical rubbish: that she could turn children cross-eyed and render men lame. But Farah had struck what Geeta had neglected to protect: her pride in her work.
Geeta rubbed Bandit’s belly, his hind legs extending in wanton hedonism, until he fell asleep on her lap. Her affection, it seemed, was addictive; he awoke each time she stilled her hand. Until she resumed petting him, he glared at her with such focus, it was a marvel he’d been blind only a few hours prior. She muttered that he was already spoiled, but obediently stroked his coat, detangling as she went.
It was satisfying, the unabashed love he’d shown her so quickly for so little in exchange, but after a few minutes, her restlessness proved no match for him. Her mirror revealed the dog hair liberally peppering her sari. Sluicing it off was futile, so she changed into a black one. Though it was plain enough, the bijou blue embroidery announced she was trying too hard. So she changed again into a maroon one that announced she had the aesthetic sense of the gourd on her counter. After shaking out the original sari as best she could, she changed back. As she tamed her brows and hair, Bandit observed her titivations knowingly.
“I liked you better blind,” she informed him.
Now Karem, and thankfully not one of his kids, opened the door. “Geeta! Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, but it’s Bandit. Here.” She thrust Farah’s gourd at him. “For you.”
“Er—thank you. Bandit?”
Geeta lifted her arms to indicate the pungent dog.
“Nice name. That was fast.”
She scowled at his smile. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Well, I made him some khichdi, but he won’t eat it.”
“Are you sure you’re not just a bad cook?” He laughed. “I’m kidding, come on in.”
She looked past him but did not cross the threshold. “I don’t want to disturb.”
“Not at all. My youngest two are sleeping, but we can talk out back?”
She left her sandals outside. “Sure.”
He rubbed the soft space between Bandit’s eyes, and they closed in pleasure. “Hey! He can see me!” When had he removed his small earring? Like her, he wore no jewelry, and she saw the divot in his lobe.
She was soon busy ogling his home without appearing as though she were ogling. Really, all there was to the house could be observed at once. The space near the front door was also the common area, where makeshift toys littered the thin rug and the cement floor. A stack of steel plates and utensils were housed in a far nook. On either side of her were two bedroom doors, closed now. She imagined the younger two slept in one, while the older boys had their own room. Then Geeta noticed the charpoy leaning against the common room wall, legs sticking out like an insect’s. Like many people, Karem likely slept on his terrace beneath the stars.
Thinking about Karem in bed was not the smartest idea. But then, neither was a surprise nocturnal appearance at his home.
“Papa?” A boy in shorts and a torn red shirt that read Nike emerged from one of the rooms.
“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
The boy rubbed his eye. “I’m thirsty.”
“You are not.” Karem turned to Geeta. “This is Raees.”
“Hey, you’re the lady from the playground.”
She placed him after a moment. “Kabaddi kid?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you win?”
His smile turned alert. He was missing two bottom teeth. “Yeah. She said she wasn’t scared of you, but she was lying, ’cause everyone knows that you can make sweets taste like gobar if you get mad at someone.”
“I—er—how old are you, Raees?”
“Seven. It was my birthday last week.”
Which, Geeta realized now, was why Karem had corrected his kids’ ages on the way to Kohra. “Many belated happy returns.”
“Thank you. Wanna see my balloons?”
“Let’s not bother Geeta with that. She can see them some other time. And you need sleep.”
“What’s that?”
“This is Bandit.”
“Does he bite?”
“Not that I know of. He’s very gentle. Just let him smell you first.” She set Bandit down and Raees joined him, plopping cross-legged on the floor. Bandit rolled onto his back, front paws bent, his exposed belly both an invitation and demand.