Mistress by Anita Nair Page B

has the TV on. I can see she is eager to talk. I pile the letters into a heap.
    ‘You won’t believe where I was this morning and yesterday,’ she begins.
    I pretend surprise. ‘Weren’t you at the beauty parlour and the tailor’s?’
    ‘That’s what you think. I was at the match factory.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And I feel that I have finally found something to do. Do you know they have a nice little arrangement there? One of them reads aloud while the others work. I have said that from now on I will do it. I plan to go there everyday and introduce them to literature. Right now they listen to serialized romances and gossip about film stars. In fact, this morning I took War and Peace . What do you think I should start after that? Kafka would be too morbid. Márquez would be nice. Yes, he would be perfect …’

    I groan. Which world does she live in?
    ‘You can’t be serious,’ I say.
    ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ She stares at me.
    ‘Everything. Don’t you realize that these women don’t want to hear Tolstoy or Márquez or any of your intellectual writers? They want their romantic fiction and cinema gossip.’ I pause and then decide to say what is really troubling me. ’‘There is something else. I don’t like it. You are my wife and you have a place in society. When I ask you to show some interest in what I do, I mean just that. Display interest and not hobnob with my employees or share meals with them.’
    I bite my tongue. I didn’t mean that to slip out.
    ‘So you knew all along and were pretending that you didn’t.’ Her nostrils flare.
    ‘I heard. My employees keep me informed. How else can I run so many business establishments?’
    ‘You disgust me.’ Her voice rises. ‘These are people. Human beings like you and me. But you consider yourself a superior being, don’t you?’
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ I snap. ‘It is not about being superior or inferior. You are breaking protocol; you are erasing lines between the employer and the employee. You are negating my position and I cannot allow that.’
    Radha slams the remote control down. ‘You should hear yourself. Allow that! You are a snob, a bloody fucking snob! Fine. I won’t go.’
    She flounces off to the bedroom.
    I continue to sit there. Her rage will settle in a little while, I know. I replace the remote on top of the TV, leave the newspapers by the door so that the maid can put them away and go to our bedroom. The door is latched from within.
    I consider knocking, but don’t. Why should I apologize? I’ve done nothing wrong.
    There is a day bed in the veranda. We have four other bedrooms, each with its own bed made up, but if I use one of them, it will set the servants talking. They might even mention it to Rani Oppol when she gets here. So I lie on the day bed and it occurs to me that once again we have failed to get it right.

    Early in the evening Radha comes to the veranda. Her face is pale but she doesn’t seem angry.
    ‘Do you want your tea served here?’ she asks.
    I get up and stretch. ‘No, I’ll come in.’
    I follow her to the dining room.
    We sip our tea and crunch our Marie biscuits. The arrowroot biscuits are floury in my mouth.
    ‘I am going to see Uncle,’ she says.
    I nod.
    ‘I hope that is not going to undermine your standing in society. Is there anything I can do that won’t? I wanted to teach in one of the primary schools and you said it was too much work for too little money. When I wanted to start a tuition class, you said the same. Then I wanted to start a crèche and you said you didn’t want the house filled with bawling babies. So I thought I would find something else to do which didn’t involve making money, but even that isn’t right. Don’t I have a right to an opinion? I am your wife. Your wife, do you hear me? But you treat me as if I am a kept woman. A bloody mistress to fulfil your sexual needs and with no rights.
    ‘Then your sister comes here and tells me that I am wasting my education and