She isn’t sure what to do next to find Nita. She contemplates asking Saumil Uncle and Anjali Auntie for help. They have been so kind to her, and she doesn’t want to impose further on them. But their help could go a long way. They know Paris much better than she does and speak the language, so they could be a valuable resource if she were willing to open up to them. By the time she gets back to the hotel, she has convinced herself that this is the right decision. The stakes are too high to rely solely on herself.
Sophie opens the door to their shared hotel room very quietly so she won’t disturb Uncle and Auntie in case they are taking a nap. When she enters the room, she sees no one is there. The beds are still unmade. She scans the room, suddenly realizing there isn’t a trace of them left. And her suitcase still sits in the corner where she had left it, but its contents have been tousled.
She races to the luggage and falls to her knees, digging through her clothing to the places where she had tucked away the bulk of the money she had brought with her, separating the stacks as an added safety measure, just like Papa had taught her. She knows the thick wads of rupees that convert to nearly €3,000 will not be there, but she removes everything from the suitcase and shakes it out, holding out the last bit of hope she has because what else can she do? She realizes that her mobile is missing, too, but that seems less troubling given that it hadn’t worked here anyway. She knows she has been swindled by them, like in the plot of a Bollywood movie.
I’ll have to call my fois to help me, she thinks to herself, dreading the phone call. They have control over the accounts Papa left to her when he passed. All her money is in those accounts, including the money Papa’s friend paid her for her job. It was always understood that when she married, the accounts would transfer over to her husband like a modern-day dowry.
She cradles her head in her hands. She has been cautious her entire life, just as Papa taught her to be, and the one time she lets down her guard, she is punished for it. New anger builds on top of what was already simmering inside of her. But then she experiences something that dwarfs the anger. Despair.
It pushes against every muscle and fiber of her being, making her feel like she’s sinking into the floor. Sophie has never been without hope before. She has never been without someone to help her through life’s difficulties. She’d always had Papa. She realizes that she’s been sheltered from most of life’s adversities through the tireless efforts of him and their community in Ahmedabad. Without him serving as her shield, she feels alone, and her body begins to quiver. The new levels of loneliness she has felt since Papa’s passing make her realize she has never truly understood the feeling before, even if she thought she had. Papa had always told her how independent she was. She was the only one among her friends who didn’t get married by age twenty-five and start a family. She developed a career. Something unheard of for a woman in her community, and Papa had supported her in doing that, so it made it okay.
“Having a job that Papa helped me get didn’t make me independent,” she says to herself, kneeling before her suitcase with the contents now strewn around her.
It hadn’t made her independent. She suddenly sees clearly that she’s lived a very privileged and sheltered life. Her experiences have been controlled. She’s never had to deal with situations like the one she is currently in, and she’s unsure if she has the coping skills to get herself out of this mess. She reels at knowing that moments earlier her first instinct was to call her fois rather than to find a solution on her own. No, she is not independent. Far from it. Papa had tried to instill in her that she should be resilient, always telling her “Pavan ni disha na badali shako, pan amara sadh ni disha badali shako.” The direction of the wind cannot be changed, but we can change the direction of our sails. He stressed to her how important it was to be nimble in the face of adversity, but then in reality, he removed most of her obstacles before she’d even known they were there. He’d been the one adjusting her sails before she even knew she needed to. But now he is gone, and she has to learn the lesson he’d meant to teach her as a child.
Had Nita had these same feelings when she had come over? She’d had a similarly sheltered and privileged upper-caste life in Ahmedabad. Sophie could not imagine that Nita had any better life skills than Sophie did. If anything, Nita would have been worse off, never having worked a day in her life. At least Sophie had some experience outside of the home. It is this final thought that pushes Sophie forward, making her stand and pack her remaining belongings. She has the money she carried with her to the hostel this morning. She will not run to her fois. Nita had found a way to survive here, and so will she.
14
NITA
1998
After one of Simon’s class sessions, Nita was waiting for him to complete his rounds of critiquing the students’ work. They were inside a classroom in the sixth arrondissement this time, sheltered from the cold. Mathieu had stopped coming to each of the classes for which she modeled, beginning to delve more into his own work, claiming that she was inspiring him to test his artistic boundaries. She and Mathieu would walk around the city for hours at a time, him striding next to her and always walking on the side of the street closer to the traffic. She found his chivalry endearing and enjoyed their long strolls and the new impressions of Paris she was forming as she saw the city through his eyes—those of someone who knew every nook and cranny of it the way she knew Ahmedabad. His love for his city and enthusiasm for painting had begun to inspire her as well. Between Mathieu and the tips she overheard in Simon’s art classes, her work was getting better, and she was grateful for the free tutelage.
After Simon finished speaking with the students, he came back to her, bringing her coat.
“We should grab a drink,” he said, holding the coat open so she could slide into it.
Nita had not spent any time alone with Simon outside of his classes. In the past, Mathieu had been with her, and the three of them would go to a café together. There couldn’t be much harm in her going without Mathieu.
“Mais, oui,” she said, practicing her French.
“Allons-y,” he said, leading her by the elbow out of the classroom.
They sat in an intimate corner booth in a small café that overlooked one of the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens. Given the temperature, they had opted to be inside, near the window. Simon rubbed his palms together, trying to warm them.
“This weather still takes some getting used to,” he said.
She nodded. “I never had a coat like this until I moved here.”
They ordered a carafe of red wine, something Simon said he liked, and then ordered a plate of charcuterie, cheese, and bread to go with it. Changing her lifelong vegetarian diet had been an adjustment, just like developing a taste for wine had been, but Nita was determined to blend into the new world around her, and consuming the same things during meals was an essential component.
“How long have you and Mathieu been dating?” Simon asked as he filled both of their glasses, careful not to let any drops slide down the exterior.
“Oh, we, no,” Nita stammered. She took a breath and collected herself. “We are not dating. We just met when I moved here and became friends.”