And Laughter Fell From The Sky Part 19

She had her arms wrapped around herself as she walked. They turned up a side street and stopped outside the iron fence of a large powder-green house amid the apartment buildings and cafes. Two columns of bay windows went up all three floors of the house on either side of the wide stairs leading up to the pillared porch and double doors. An intricate wrought iron fence bordered the yard.

"Take a look at how far back this house goes." Abhay stepped along the sidewalk until he could see the side of the house. "It looks like they have a greenhouse back here." He pointed to a gla.s.sed-in porch at the back of the house, with large houseplant leaves against the windows. "Maybe they have a separate library room downstairs. And maybe there's an artist's studio on the top floor. Wouldn't you like to live in a house like this?"

Rasika lifted her sungla.s.ses to the top of her head. "I never thought about living in an old house, although it's very pretty."

"I like the plaster decorations between the bay windows," he said. "And the flower baskets hanging from the porch roof."

She stood with her hands pulled into the sleeves of her jacket. "It's right up against everything else. There's a print shop on the other side, it looks like."

"That's what's great about it. You have this wonderful house, and you can step out your door and go out to eat or see a movie, without even having to get in a car. There are a bunch of big houses around this neighborhood. I like to walk around and look for them."

"I'd want to live away from everyone."

"Like on some kind of English manor? That's what the new expensive housing developments are trying to imitate, with their huge lawns and the houses set so far back. They want everyone to feel like they're on their own private little estate. What would you do, away from everyone?"

"I'd invite people over, I guess."

Abhay laughed. "You'd live far away from everyone so you could invite them over and have them admire your secluded mansion?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

He took a step closer to her and put an arm around her waist. "What would it be like if the two of us lived in this house? If we were married?"

She nudged him away. "I can't marry you, Abhay."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not the kind of man I want. You're too young, for one thing."

"I'm only a year younger than you."

"Well, you act like a boy. If I were as smart as you, I'd go back to school and get a degree so I could have a really great job. It's not just about making a lot of money. You could get a job where you'd be someone in the world, and make an impact. I don't understand why you're letting yourself work at these menial jobs. It's like-you're not grown-up, Abhay. You're still playing around."

"When I was a kid, my mom would give me my allowance and then take me over to the discount store, but I could never choose anything until Mom threatened to leave. And then I'd always feel sad in the car, with my toy, because I couldn't have all the other toys, too." He laughed at this memory.

"You're still being like that. Except your mom's not here to threaten you, so you haven't chosen anything yet. If you don't pick something, you'll never get anywhere. That's why I'm going to get married. I know I can't have every man in the world. I can only have one."

"So if I pick a good career, then you'd marry me?"

"Why do you keep talking about marrying me?"

"I love you. You love me. It makes sense."

"I don't love you."

"Rasika, you came all the way out here to see me. You've never traveled anywhere alone before."

"I just needed a break from my life."

"Then why did you choose to come out here? You could have gone anywhere." He unwrapped one of her arms and placed her hand against his heart. "If you want to get away from your life, why don't you stay here for a while? Portland's full of interesting things to do. Maybe you'd like to get involved with watercolor painting, or beading, or self-defense. We have movies, music, lectures. You can take all sorts of exercise cla.s.ses. You can learn j.a.panese flower-arranging, and how to read tarot cards. You can even go shopping every day, if that's what turns you on. And then we can decide later about our future. I know your freedom is really important to you. Just let yourself be free for once." He slipped his fingers into her coat sleeve and stroked her wrist and forearm.

"I've got enough freedom as it is."

"You've spent your life trying to fit into an impossible situation, being Indian in America. Just come out here, and figure out what you really want."

"You sound like my friend Jill. She wants us to run away to some tropical island together. But my parents would never leave me alone."

"You have to train them to leave you alone. Don't answer their phone calls for a while. They'll get the idea."

She pulled her hand away. "I can't. They'd be on my case all the time if I were single and living on my own. And I could never marry you. My father-"

"He'll get over it."

"No." She stamped her foot like a child. "Let me finish. You're from a different caste. My father is very proud to be a Brahmin, and he says he could never accept it if I married someone who isn't." She looked down.

"You don't agree with your father?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what caste you are, and I don't care."

"I personally don't think of myself as belonging to any caste." He spoke gently, hoping to soothe her. "My parents consider themselves Vaishyas, the traditional caste of business and trade. It's the caste Mahatma Gandhi belonged to, and that's pretty much all I know. Anyway, even in India, things are changing. Lots of people are marrying outside of their caste. One of my uncles married someone from college who was of a completely different caste, and everyone's been fine with it."

"Not in my family. Things are different for me. That's why I've decided to go ahead and get married the way they want me to." Rasika's hands were inside her jacket sleeves again.

Abhay put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wrought iron fence. Down the street, a hairy man in athletic shorts and hiking boots clumped closer and closer. Rasika stared at the man as he tramped past.

"This is why I can't stay in Portland." She jabbed a finger at the man's receding back. "I'd forget how to dress and wind up in faded jeans and hiking boots all the time."

He smiled. "Come on. I'll show you the bookstore where I work, and then we'll get some bubble tea. I bet you've never had that before."

"I'm so tired." Rasika sank onto one of the rows of brick steps surrounding the open, empty oval s.p.a.ce. She felt a pleasant ache all over her body. She was content to sit and rest. "We must have gone all over this city in one day. What is this place, anyway?"

"It's just a community s.p.a.ce." Abhay sat on the step beside her. "There's the courthouse on that side." He pointed to a large gray building across the way, with two wings and what looked like a little bell tower in the middle of the roof. "They have different events and fairs here."

Right now the place was almost deserted. Dusk gathered around them. A few people sat on the steps across the courtyard, reading or just sitting in the fading light. To her left down below was a small circular pond with a bridge across it leading to a set of gla.s.s doors. "Is that the entrance to a store?" Rasika asked.

"That's the TriMet office," Abhay said. "You can get public transportation pa.s.ses and maps there. Stuff like that."

She looked away from the promising gla.s.s doors, which now held nothing of interest.

"You look like a picture," Abhay said. "Or a statue. You're so still."

She sat with her elbow on a knee, hand supporting her chin. He slid closer to her on the step and put an arm around her. She leaned against him. She felt empty and light, as though the weight of her life had dropped away.

Nearby, at the bottom of the steps, a bearded man lifted a violin out of its case. He tucked it under his chin, closed his eyes, put the bow to the strings, and drew out a melody that sounded meloncholy and happy at the same time.

Abhay stood up and held out a hand to Rasika. "Let's dance."

"Not right now." She stayed put on the step. "There's no one else dancing. People will look at us."

"So what? Come on. No one knows us here." He pulled her up, and they descended to the vast brick-floored s.p.a.ce. He put a hand at her waist and took her right hand in his left. Rasika tried to make her pink sneakers follow his sandals, but they kept stumbling over each other. She giggled quietly and glanced over at the violin player, who still had his eyes closed.

"I think it's an Eastern European tune," Abhay said. He put his arms all the way around her, and they managed to sway together, hugging and standing in one place.

Rasika closed her eyes and relaxed against Abhay. He was surprisingly st.u.r.dy, despite his short stature. The violin music seemed to penetrate her, the strings vibrating inside of her. She was hollow, as though she were a reed instrument being played by someone else. She could allow herself to float along in Abhay's arms.

After the song ended on a long, high note, the violin player immediately launched into a fast, bouncy tune. Abhay stepped back and looked at her, and then leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't resist.

Abhay dug in his pocket for a few dollars, tossed them into the violin case, and led Rasika by the hand up the stairs. They walked silently back to her hotel with their arms around each other. At one point, her phone rang.

"You gonna get that?" Abhay asked.

"I'll just let it go to voice mail."

The melody stopped, then started again. She slipped her hand into her purse and turned the phone off by feel. She was so far away from anyone who might be calling her that she didn't even care. She wasn't even aware of where they were going. She just floated along. Up in her room, when Abhay pressed her close to him and kissed her, she allowed everything. It all seemed fine and right and perfect.

The next morning, when she opened her eyes, she saw Abhay sitting in an armchair, hunched over a folded-up section of newspaper.

"You're up already?"

"I've been awake for a while. I took a shower and went downstairs to buy a newspaper."

She stretched under the covers and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift in pleasant relaxation. It was funny to be out here with Abhay. She was supposed to be in Los Angeles. Well, really, she was supposed to be at home, preparing for her wedding. The thought made her giggle.

"What're you laughing about?"

She wriggled herself upright on the bed, holding the sheet over her front. "It's just strange. I'm not supposed to be here."

He flung aside his newspaper and crawled onto the bed. "Sure you are." He slid a hand under the sheet. "This is exactly where you're supposed to be, because you made the decision to come here. You're in charge of your own destiny."

"You're freezing." She gasped, yet didn't push him away. She s.h.i.+vered and giggled as his cold hands stroked her. She helped him shed his clothes. Soon she grew warm in the tangle of sheets. There was nothing in the world except her and Abhay, moving together in the pale morning sunlight. They dozed again, and when she woke up, the sun was bright and high, streaming into the room.

Once they were dressed and outside on the sidewalk, Abhay asked, "What should we do today?"

She squinted in the bright light as they stepped onto the sidewalk. She thought about putting on her sungla.s.ses but decided not to bother. She felt so light, as if she could drift along like a leaf without caring where she went.

He took her out to a fancy brunch at a nearby hotel. They filled their heavy china plates at a long, gleaming bar stocked with marinated asparagus, herbed potatoes, mini-omelets, scones, and a fruit salad with glistening berries, orange sections, and melon slices. They sat at a table covered with a thick white cloth and ate looking out the window at a patio and garden.

Rasika enjoyed the taste of everything. She felt empty of worries, and full of-something. Happiness? No, not exactly. Just full of being here with Abhay. He was so funny. It was adorable how he had tried to dance with her the evening before. But her husband had to be sophisticated, accomplished, important, and both older and taller than she. Abhay was none of these things.

They split the bill and stepped out to the sidewalk. "Let's go to the j.a.panese garden," Abhay suggested. He took her hand and they walked, swinging arms, to the MAX station.

"This garden is one of my favorite places in Portland," he said as he paid for both of them. They pa.s.sed along the stone-slab path among the trees to the pavilion. "Sometimes they hold receptions here," Abhay said. They stood on the wooden porch and leaned over the railing to look at the Zen garden of gravel raked into a complicated pattern of circles and swirls.

"I wonder how long it took them to do this," Abhay said.

They walked around to the other side of the pavilion, where the ground sloped down and away. From this height they had a view of downtown Portland, and past the linear forms of the buildings in the distance, against the pale blue sky, floated the pale gray form of Mount Hood. "I love seeing this scene from the city," Abhay said. "It looks like the mountain's nearby when actually it's about fifty miles away."

Rasika took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The mountain was like a vision from heaven.

They continued along the paths, not looking at the few other visitors who walked past them. The garden was cool, green, tranquil, balanced. When they got to an arched bridge over a pond, Abhay said, "How about I take a picture of you? I can stand over there." He pointed across the pond.

She turned in alarm. "Did you bring a camera?"

He shook his head. "No, I figured you had one, though."

"I don't want to have any record of this trip."

He left her on the bridge and walked along the path until he was on the opposite side of the water. She saw him standing there, observing her. After a few moments, he motioned for her to join him, and she walked off the bridge and down the path toward him.

He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. "You were framed by this weeping willow, and you looked like a flower yourself, in your yellow sweater."

They wandered under the trees, among the ferns. The path took them over a little creek. They stepped over and around the flowing water, balancing on the flat stones. Rasika squatted down and dabbled her fingers in the trickle. She wanted to stay here forever. They descended to a little hut enclosure with a bench, in a quiet, dark corner of the garden. They sat. No one else was within view. They looked out at the gray slender tree trunks among the layers of leaves in front of them, the light green of the maples, the darker pines beyond. Birds twittered and chirped. Water trickled over rocks somewhere nearby. From a distance came the dull roar of traffic.

She closed her eyes. "I wish it could always be like this." She took a deep breath.

"It can." He slid closer to her on the bench, and put his arm around her shoulders.

She opened her eyes. The sun peeked around the rim of the roof above them. Tomorrow at this time she'd be on a plane home. She needed to put herself back together, get herself into shape for her upcoming wedding. Since last night she had forgotten her goals. It was as if she'd forgotten to get dressed, and she hadn't even cared. She needed to clothe herself again. She pushed Abhay away. "It wouldn't be like this even if I lived here. I'd be stressed-out and my parents would be angry and I'd never be able to relax. Right now, no one knows I'm here. I'm hidden."

They heard voices, and another couple emerged from the path. Abhay stood up. Rasika didn't want to move, but she knew the other couple would want a moment of privacy. She pushed herself up, and her body felt heavy as she followed Abhay along the narrow path ahead.

They were back in the central area, near the little gift shop, which Rasika entered. Abhay followed and stood with his hands in his jacket pockets. After a few moments, he pushed open the door. "I'll just be sitting on that bench. Take your time."

Rasika picked up tea cups and pots, packets of origami paper, cherry blossom bath beads, enameled b.u.t.terfly earrings, silk scarves, carp kites. She wanted to buy something to represent her tranquil time in this garden with Abhay. Finally, she settled on just one thing, which she paid for with two quarters. Its simplicity would remind her. She held it in her hand and walked out to where Abhay was sitting on the bench.

He rose. "You get anything?"

She opened her fingers and displayed a smooth black pebble on her palm. "They have these rocks all around the trees," she explained. "I like them."

He picked it up and rubbed it. "What'll you do with just one?"

"When I look at it, I'll think of Portland." She took the pebble back.

"Why can't you stay?" he asked gently. "If you like it so much."

Her throat felt tight, but she refused to cry in public. It was too messy, too inelegant. She swallowed down her tears, blinked her eyes, and was able to look at him steadily. "I don't know anyone here," she said.

"You know me."

She opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it. Instead she shook her head. "I can't stay here because-" She couldn't think of a reason. She stepped closer to Abhay, he opened his arms, and she leaned against him and gave way to her sobbing. She was still clutching her stone in one palm. She felt as if all the water of Portland-the river, the little creek here in the j.a.panese Garden-were all flowing through her, and she allowed herself to be swept along. She felt Abhay working, slowly, on untangling the strands of her hair. She heard footsteps coming through the entrance gate, and voices. It was all background noise, like the breeze through the branches.

Rasika managed to control her sobbing, and stepped away from Abhay's embrace to find a tissue in her purse. She knew she looked terrible: wet face, mussed hair. At least she hadn't put on any makeup this morning. As she was mopping her face, she was aware that some people had stopped to say h.e.l.lo to Abhay. She didn't feel like being introduced to anyone, so she continued to pretend to rummage through her bag.

"Rasika," Abhay called.

She ran her fingers through her hair and turned around. Standing next to Abhay were two pretty young women: one had long reddish hair, and the other, short brown hair. They were smiling at her with interest. She felt a jolt of jealousy. Abhay stepped over to Rasika, grasped her hand, and pulled her into the little triangle.

"Rasika, I want you to meet my friends, Kianga and Ellen."