The City Son by Samrat Upadhyay Page A

patterned blouse—he’s never seen her in that blouse either. She makes no attempt to gather the dhoti end and cover herself again: he can see the heave of her chestwith each breath. “My son,” she says as her finger slides across his lips. “You have no idea how much your mother missed you.”
    “Where are the others?”
    “I sent them away so it’ll only be you and me.”
    “Where did they go?”
    “To the village, for a week. Your father needs to take care of some matter regarding the house.”
    “What about Amit’s and Sumit’s school?”
    “One week isn’t going to hurt them. Are you hungry?”
    He nods.
    “What would you like to eat? Whatever my son wants to eat today, I’ll cook for him.”
    “I want to eat some kheer .”
    “Then I’ll cook some kheer .”
    She asks him to stay in the kitchen with her as she cooks. She’s tucked her dhoti end into her waist so her breasts bounce as she moves. His eyes become fixed on them, and she smiles at him. Her body still hasn’t welcomed him to hers. But every now and then her hand reaches out to touch his face—his eyes, his cheeks, his lips—and his neck and shoulders; once, her hand rubs his chest as she cooks.
    When he gazes at her face, the red lipstick makes him think this is what his mother must have looked like when she was younger, except, of course, his mother was prettier. Yet when Tarun looks at Didi now, he doesn’t think she’s ugly. He’s come to like the fleshiness of her cheeks, the chubby nose, the black spots on her face. Besides the redlipstick, she has also applied some powder to her cheeks, because there’s a sheen to them.
    When the kheer is ready, she ladles some on a plate and takes it to the bed, where they both sit. When he tries to scoot closer to her, she says, “You’re still not allowed to touch me, but I’ll feed you.” And she lovingly feeds him, watches him chew and swallow the kheer. “ Mitho chha? ” she asks several times and, his mouth full, he nods. At one point he asks her if she’s going to eat, and she says her hunger is satiated by just looking at him. There’s something odd about the way her voice is coming from a different place inside her. After he finishes a second helping of the kheer , he lets out a loud burp, and she laughs. “I guess you don’t want any more?” she asks.
    He shakes his head. “Then why don’t you lie down?” she says. He’s eaten so much that he is feeling drowsy, so he lies down on the bed, the bed where the Masterji sleeps at night. Since she came to Bangemudha, Didi hasn’t slept on the same bed with the Masterji; she sleeps by herself in a corner.
    He wonders if Amit and Sumit are enjoying the village. Did they really want to go? He’s heard Amit say a few times that he wasn’t going to return to that backward hole even if someone dragged him there in chains, and Sumit had smiled and said, “Yes, a backward hole.” Did they go willingly, or did Didi force them? He suspects the latter. As he begins to doze, he is aware that Didi is closing the curtains to the windows that overlook the street. Why is she doingthat? he wonders, but he’s too sleepy to wonder more. Then she slides next to him, and he can smell her—she’s put on some kind of perfume!—and her breasts press against him. Her hands begin to roam all over his body, and she calls his name over and over in endearment.
    A week later when the Masterji returns to the city with Amit and Sumit, there’s a smell in the house he can’t identify. “What’s this smell? Yo  …  tyo …? What is it?” The Masterji goes around sniffing but can’t place the smell. Amit thinks something is odd about his mother, something off. She appears to have become younger, her skin smoother; she seems to have become … prettier. How is that possible? She must have taken a lover—this realization jolts him, and he looks for clues to validate the presence of another man: cigarette butts around the house, a slip of