tassels on a cornstalk and knees as knobby as a baby goat’s. He gives Pushpa a kiss on the cheek and tickles baby Jeena under her chin.
He notices me and points to his shirt. It has the number twenty-three on the back. “David Beckham,” he says.
I do not understand these words, but it is clear that this David Beckham boy is very proud of his shirt.
Shahanna says it is time for us to put on our makeup. Pushpa rises wearily, gives the baby a bottle, and puts her on a little bedroll under her cot. The David Beckham boy grabs a paper kite and runs off If I could speak his language, I would ask him if the night air in the city smells like the night air on the mountain, like rain clouds and jasmine and possibility.
EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW NOW
While Anita and Pushpa stand in front of the mirror, painting their faces, Shahanna explains everything to me.
Before, when you were in the locked room, Shahanna says, Mumtaz sent the customers to you. Now, if you want to pay off your debt, you must do what it takes to make them choose you.
Tell the customers that you are twelve, she says. Or Mumtaz will beat you senseless.
Do whatever the customer asks of you, Shahanna says.
Otherwise he will beat you senseless.
Then he will do whatever he likes and leave without paying.
Always wash yourself with a wet rag after the man is finished,
Pushpa says.
This will keep you from getting a disease.
If a customer likes you, he may give you a sweet, she says. You must eat it right away. Or Mumtaz will take it and eat it herself.
If a customer likes you, he may give you a tip. Hide it where no one can see so that you will have enough to buy yourself a cup of tea each day. Once a month, Pushpa says, a government woman comes to the back door with a basket of condoms. Take a handful and hide them under your mattress, but do not let Shilpa, the aging bird girl, see you; she is Mumtaz’s spy.
The Americans will try to trick you into running away, says Anita. Don’t be fooled. They will shame you and make you walk naked through the streets.
If an old man is at the door, bat your eyelashes and act the part of a little girl, says Pushpa. He will pay extra for this.
If Mumtaz brings you one of her important friends, bat your eyelashes and act the part of a little girl, says Shahanna. He will pay nothing.
There are special things you need to know about how to use your shawl, she says.
Flick the ends of your shawl in a come-closer gesture and you will bring the shy men to your bed, the ones who will slip an extra coin into your hand before they go.
Draw your shawl to your chin, bend your neck like a peacock. This will bring the older men to your bed, the ones who will leave a sweet on your pillow.
Press your shawl to your nose with the back of your hand, Pushpa says, when you must bring a dirty man to your bed. He will leave nothing but his smell, the stink of sweat, and hair oil and liquor and man. But you can use your shawl to block the worst of it.
Anita turns away from the mirror, transformed from a crooked-faced country girl into a tiger-eyed city woman.
There is another way to use a shawl, she says.
I cannot tell from her always-frowning face if she is being kind or cruel.
That new girl, the one in your old room, she says. Yesterday morning Mumtaz found her hanging from the rafters.
PRETENDING
Her coughing is so bad today that Pushpa cannot get out of bed, so we take turns playing with baby Jeena, tickling her, cooing to her, bouncing her on our knees. It is peaceful until Anita and the cook begin pinching each other’s ears over whose turn it is to hold the baby. In the midst of their fighting the baby begins to wail.
Pushpa rises wearily from her cot and takes Jeena in her arms. “You do not remember,” she whispers to her little girl, “but we used to have a proper home.” She opens her blouse and puts the child to her breast. But it is to no avail. There is no nourishment left in Pushpa’s withered body, and again
He notices me and points to his shirt. It has the number twenty-three on the back. “David Beckham,” he says.
I do not understand these words, but it is clear that this David Beckham boy is very proud of his shirt.
Shahanna says it is time for us to put on our makeup. Pushpa rises wearily, gives the baby a bottle, and puts her on a little bedroll under her cot. The David Beckham boy grabs a paper kite and runs off If I could speak his language, I would ask him if the night air in the city smells like the night air on the mountain, like rain clouds and jasmine and possibility.
EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW NOW
While Anita and Pushpa stand in front of the mirror, painting their faces, Shahanna explains everything to me.
Before, when you were in the locked room, Shahanna says, Mumtaz sent the customers to you. Now, if you want to pay off your debt, you must do what it takes to make them choose you.
Tell the customers that you are twelve, she says. Or Mumtaz will beat you senseless.
Do whatever the customer asks of you, Shahanna says.
Otherwise he will beat you senseless.
Then he will do whatever he likes and leave without paying.
Always wash yourself with a wet rag after the man is finished,
Pushpa says.
This will keep you from getting a disease.
If a customer likes you, he may give you a sweet, she says. You must eat it right away. Or Mumtaz will take it and eat it herself.
If a customer likes you, he may give you a tip. Hide it where no one can see so that you will have enough to buy yourself a cup of tea each day. Once a month, Pushpa says, a government woman comes to the back door with a basket of condoms. Take a handful and hide them under your mattress, but do not let Shilpa, the aging bird girl, see you; she is Mumtaz’s spy.
The Americans will try to trick you into running away, says Anita. Don’t be fooled. They will shame you and make you walk naked through the streets.
If an old man is at the door, bat your eyelashes and act the part of a little girl, says Pushpa. He will pay extra for this.
If Mumtaz brings you one of her important friends, bat your eyelashes and act the part of a little girl, says Shahanna. He will pay nothing.
There are special things you need to know about how to use your shawl, she says.
Flick the ends of your shawl in a come-closer gesture and you will bring the shy men to your bed, the ones who will slip an extra coin into your hand before they go.
Draw your shawl to your chin, bend your neck like a peacock. This will bring the older men to your bed, the ones who will leave a sweet on your pillow.
Press your shawl to your nose with the back of your hand, Pushpa says, when you must bring a dirty man to your bed. He will leave nothing but his smell, the stink of sweat, and hair oil and liquor and man. But you can use your shawl to block the worst of it.
Anita turns away from the mirror, transformed from a crooked-faced country girl into a tiger-eyed city woman.
There is another way to use a shawl, she says.
I cannot tell from her always-frowning face if she is being kind or cruel.
That new girl, the one in your old room, she says. Yesterday morning Mumtaz found her hanging from the rafters.
PRETENDING
Her coughing is so bad today that Pushpa cannot get out of bed, so we take turns playing with baby Jeena, tickling her, cooing to her, bouncing her on our knees. It is peaceful until Anita and the cook begin pinching each other’s ears over whose turn it is to hold the baby. In the midst of their fighting the baby begins to wail.
Pushpa rises wearily from her cot and takes Jeena in her arms. “You do not remember,” she whispers to her little girl, “but we used to have a proper home.” She opens her blouse and puts the child to her breast. But it is to no avail. There is no nourishment left in Pushpa’s withered body, and again
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