Tell It to the Trees by Anita Rau Badami Page A

and kind of senile and in a nursing home. My father died a couple of years ago. I am forty-three years of age, and not looking for attachments for the time being. And yes, I admit, I must be crazy to have left a job with a fabulous salary, but I’ve always dreamed of writing stories, and so here I am, your tenant, hoping to have a book at the end of her stay. Or at least a draft.” She stopped, drew a deep breath, raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Anything else?”
    “So sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” I stammered, feeling foolish, feeling like I do when I say something that annoys Vikram, makes him look at me as if I am ridiculous.
    “No, no, I’m not offended at all!” Anu stopped in her tracks and caught my arm. “Why should I be? I apologize for sounding like I did. It’s just that, for a moment there, I thought I was back in India, all those ammas and aunties checking me out as a prospective bride. You know what I mean, right?”
    I smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do. They grab you by the chin and turn your face this way and that, ask you all kinds of things about private matters, as if you are for sale or something. They used to do that to me all the time.” And then Vikram came along, asked nothing, and like a fool I married him. Of course I don’t say this to the bright, sparkling woman who has arrived at our door.
    “Checking to see if you have grown an extra ear or are hiding a mole.” Anu chuckled. “So, tell me, Suman, where in India do you come from? Village, tribe, caste, sub-caste, etc, etc.”
    “I am from Madras, down south, near the sea.” I was silent for a few minutes, thinking of a narrow gully, the shadow of an ancient temple that was still, always, superimposed on my dreams. “And you? You are also hailing from the south, I think?” I couldn’t catch the little Indianism before it slipped out of my mouth. “I mean, you come from the south? From your name it seems so.”
    “Hailing from is much more interesting, I think,” Anu said. “I hail from Tamil Nadu on my father’s side and Bengal on my mother’s. They met at university and I am told it was love at first sight. I think my poor mother died a little bit when my father did and she’s gone rapidly downhill since then. Now she hardly knows who we are. She is waiting to end.”
    “I am sorry to hear that,” I said. “It must be very difficult for you.”
    We had stopped at the front door. “Would you like to come in and have some juice or cold water? Then I can take you to the back-house.”
    “Juice would be lovely, thanks.” Anu trailed after me into the kitchen. She peered out of the window at the green wilderness outside. “No kitchen garden?”
    “We had a very nice one before. My mother-in-law, you know. She has green fingers, everything she put in the ground grew. Such huge zucchini and tomatoes—evenafter squirrels and the birds got their share, we had so much. I tried to keep it going for a while, but I am not very good at it. Now I have given up. Only some herbs and chilies I plant.”
    “Does your mother-in-law live here with you?”
    “Yes, she is old, and can’t move. She had a stroke a few years ago. But her mind is still very sharp—although after her stroke, sometimes she wanders. Poor thing, she has her good days and bad ones also.”
    As if she knew we were speaking about her, Akka called out from her room. “Suman, is she here? Our tenant?”
    I gave Anu an apologetic look. “She likes company. Is it okay? You will come in and say hello to her? If you don’t mind, of course.”
    “I would love to meet her,” Anu said enthusiastically. “I like old people. They have the most amazing stories, the rich material of a long life.”
    I nodded. This woman was determined to find stories under every stone, it seemed to me.
    Akka beamed at us and patted the bed beside her chair. “Come, sit, talk to me. It is a long time since one of Vikram’s friends visited.”
    I excused myself. “I