“Yah.”
“And it’s Irem?”
“Hopefully not for long, though.”
“She’s so much senior to you.”
“I know! That’s what I keep telling her. Hey, how old’re you?”
“Eleven.”
“D’ya want a girlfriend?”
“Definitely. But not Irem.”
“Be nice, boys. The girl’s father just expired.”
“What was her excuse before?” Arhaan whispered to Raees, who giggled. Geeta let it slide. She halted near a mud house, the boys nearly bumping into her, when a tractor backed into the alley. Its huge tires dipped into the drain, splashing water before continuing.
In front of Farah’s home, Irem paced in the sun, jouncing a crying baby. Though it was Sunday, she was wearing her school uniform, cerulean dupatta pinned to her flat chest. When she recognized Geeta, her eyes saucered.
“Aw, shit! Did you come to tattle on me?” she demanded. “Don’t you got anything better to do, like make someone’s nose hairs grow into their brains?”
People really needed more hobbies in this village. “I need to talk to your mother, but not about you. And the boys came to play.”
“Can’t. Gotta watch my brother.” Irem gestured to the baby.
It was already too late to find another avenue. Geeta reluctantly extended her arms. “I’ll take him. Is your mother inside?”
“Yeah, she’s steaming some dresses,” Irem said, passing the child.
The baby was denser than Geeta anticipated. Tiny thing, likely less than ten months, but he felt heavy in Geeta’s untrained arms.
“Watch his head. Offo! What—you never held a baby before?”
“I got it. Go on, you kids have fun.”
Arhaan tapped his naked wrist and mouthed, “Thirty.” Geeta bit her lip and reared one hand back in a faux threat. She felt the baby shift and quickly held him with both hands.
“Oh and, Irem?” Geeta kept her voice pleasant as she smiled. “I know you think you’re a tough brawler, but you so much as look at that dog wrong, and I’ll cut you up and feed you to him like I did my husband, got it?”
Irem opened her mouth to share some venom and then closed it. She gave Geeta a tight nod. Geeta hurried into Farah’s courtyard, calling out her name. Her cement home followed the open layout of most in their village. Blue doors stood all around her. Laundry hung overhead. The kitchen was empty, a sack of rice slumped against one corner.
“Irem! Did you get the grain from the mill? I hope you told him not to make it so coarse this time.”
“Hello?” Geeta said.
“Geetaben? Is that you?” A flushed Farah emerged from her cooking nook—a stool and a clay chulha stove—which was tucked in the triangle beneath the stairs leading up to the terrace. Heat frizzed the hair around her forehead and temples. Sweat studded her upper lip. “What a nice surprise!”
“Do you have a few minutes to chat? Here.” Geeta offered both baby and gourd to Farah, but she just kissed his head as though Geeta had asked him to be admired rather than taken. After relieving Geeta of the gourd, Farah fanned her dewy cheeks with her hands. Behind her, the kitchen windows were open, revealing the back space through the iron bars. A tethered buffalo chewed with bored leisure. Lining the green hedges stood a stone wall with sloppy cement. Broken glass decorated the top as a deterrent, but Saloni was threading her arm through the gate to undo the latch.
“Of course. Would you like some tea or water?” Farah made to turn.
“No!” Geeta exclaimed, then calmed herself. “No tea or water, I’m fine. Come sit, you look like you could use a break.”
“I could, thanks! Let’s go to the back, it’s cooler out there. Nice mehndi, by the way.”
“No! Ah, no, let’s just sit here.”
“It’s actually great that you’ve come. I was going to drop by later.” Farah lowered herself onto a charpoy with a fantastic sigh and gestured for Geeta to sit as well. Geeta chose a plastic chair, dragging it so that she could view part of the garden through the kitchen window. Farah cradled two walnuts in her hand and lined the grooves to crack them.
“Really?” It was a distracted question as she watched the free end of Saloni’s silk sari flutter up and catch on the broken glass. Saloni remained unaware, confidently sauntering into the garden until she was yanked back as though collared. On reflex, Geeta gripped the baby tighter and he cried. Farah set the walnut shards on a nearby dish and took her son back.
“He’s colicky,” she explained. Then she grinned. “Or maybe he just misses his father, na?”
Geeta’s eyes closed as Saloni tried to turn to see what’d trapped her. She looked like Bandit when he attempted to catch his own tail. “Listen, I came to tell you that I thought about what you said and you’re right. We’re in this together. I was just overwhelmed at first, you know, with the cops showing up, but I’m all sorted now.”
Saloni gave a good yank and the silk tore and returned to her. Geeta watched Saloni’s mouth form a streak of blue words as she beheld her ripped pallu. The baby, as though a helpful accomplice, shrieked, masking Saloni’s cursing.
Farah bounced her son on her lap, her expression friendly. “That’s wonderful to hear. I knew you’d come around; you’re very smart.”
“Well, the samosas helped clear my head.”
Farah’s smile was not one of contrition. “Wasn’t that too funny?” She fished out the walnut meat and offered a half to Geeta, who declined. Saloni waved from the yard as though their both being present was a pleasant surprise.
Geeta nodded. “Hilarious,” she squeaked as Saloni inspected the tall pong pong bush.
Farah splintered two more walnuts and once again offered some to Geeta. “There’s no poison, Geetaben,” she teased. “I promise.”
Geeta tried to smile. “You know how it is: ‘One who has been burnt by milk drinks even the buttermilk very carefully.’？”
Farah pealed a laugh. “You always have the best proverbs.”
“I try. So we’re good?”
“We’re excellent. I just have a small favor to ask.”
Geeta’s teeth gritted. What was it with these women and their “small favors”？
“Last time you had a small favor to ask, someone died.”
Farah giggled again. In the yard, Saloni bent her knees and jumped toward a green fruit. The buffalo watched her with mild interest. She missed, instead disturbing two crows. Outraged, they dove toward her face and she ducked. Their caws were louder than the baby.
“Well, it’s nothing like that. This is a much easier favor.”
Geeta narrowed her eyes at Farah. “You sure about that? ‘When someone lies, a crow caws.’？”
“Well,” Farah sighed. “While I can’t say I miss Samir, I do miss his income. We’re down to one paycheck. I mean, I’m cooking with gobar instead of gas.”
“So do I. You have a buffalo, at least it’s free. But Farah, you didn’t think of this beforehand?”
“Oh, you know me. So spontaneous. Aren’t all artists?” She shrugged. “I thought we could make do. Turns out, he didn’t have much saved.”