Arranged Marriage: Stories by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page B

was afraid that Ms. Mayhew was going to insist that I bring Krishna in that very afternoon. Then she glanced at her watch and gave a sigh. “Oh, OK,” she said, “since it’s after three already. But mind you, be here at 9 A.M. sharp tomorrow, as soon as the office opens.”

    “Sharmila, what am I going to do?” I tried to keep my voice calm and low, not wanting to frighten Krishna, who was building a Lego tower in the corner. But his head jerked up sharply.
    “I don’t see that you have a choice. You’ve got to take him in tomorrow.” Sharmila’s voice over the phone line was sympathetic but firm. “You’ll get in a lot more trouble if you don’t.”
    “I shouldn’t even have started this whole process. I should have just taken Krishna and gone back to India….”
    “Meera!”
    “I was a fool to tell her about him! I should have just pretended I wanted them to find me a child, at least until I got the license….”
    “And then what? Call and say, ‘Oh, by the way, guess who turned up in my apartment yesterday?’ That would never have worked, Meera. They would have seen through it right away. I think telling the truth was for the best. And this Mayhew woman seems quite positively inclined toward you….”
    “How can you say that? She’s the one who insists that I have to turn him over….” Though I’d avoided using Krishna’s name, he made a sudden movement. The Lego tower fell over with a crash. On Sharmila’s end I could hear her baby crying, and I wondered if he had picked up on the tension as well.
    “She’s just doing her job. If you were in her place, you’d probably have done the same.”
    “Never,” I said hotly, but I knew Sharmila was right.
    “I’m sorry, Meera, I’ve got to go. Baby’s screaming hishead off in his crib. He’s been real cranky all day. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Sharmila sounded anxious.
    I felt guilty. I’d heaped all my troubles on her without even asking about her son. “You go take care of him. I’ll be all right.”
    “Don’t worry too much. It’s only a week, after all. Explain to Krishna—he’s a smart boy, he’ll understand. Listen, I’ll come with you tomorrow if you want.”
    “Would you?” I said gratefully. “That would make me feel so much better.” I dreaded, most of all, the ride back alone, the stepping into my empty apartment.
    The crying in the background had given place to angry shrieks. “Sure thing!” said Sharmila hurriedly as she hung up. “See you in the morning!”
    That night I cooked Krishna’s favorite dish, spicy fried chicken served over hot rice. It was one of my favorites, too, but I couldn’t eat more than a few mouthfuls. A feeling of dread pressed down on me, and though I told myself I was being foolish, I couldn’t shake it off.
    After dinner was our regular reading time. But when Krishna brought the mouse book over to the sofa, I took a deep breath and shook my head.
    “I have something to tell you first,” I said.
    When I explained to him where we had to go in the morning, and why, the blank expression on his face didn’t change. When I told him that he must have faith in me, that I’d do my best to get him back as soon as I could, he waitedpolitely, and when he was sure that I was done, he put the book in my lap.
    As I read to him about how Baby Mouse’s parents find her again, I wasn’t sure what I felt more deeply, relief or hurt. Had Krishna not understood me? Was he autistic? (Richard had suggested that once, and I had denied it hotly.) Or did he just not care?
    That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay there watching the shadows thrown onto my wall by the street lamp outside, thinking how strange the nature of love is and how strangely it transforms people. The street noises quietened. The shadows shivered on the wall and across the vast white expanse of my bed, making me shiver too. Then I noticed that another shadow had joined them.
    It was Krishna, his pillow tucked under his arm, his