The Blue Notebook Read Online Free PDF

immediately. My baby niece from the fields has arrived and she is filthy.” My hitherto unknown uncle was portly and exuded the sheen of self-importance. He was wearing clothes I had only heard about in stories, several layers of garments, all of which were trimmed in gold. His undercoat was white; another layer was red velvet. He wore a handwoven short vest jacket and a lightweight white topcoat with intricate patterns sewn in gold thread. Overall, he was a carefully crafted ball of glittering color and billowing material.
    An old, stooped woman shuffled into the room, her feetsliding against the carpet with a whoosh—whoosh—whoosh. Her head was cast downward and even when she turned toward Master Gahil, she moved with the glue of aging. Her plain blue sari was worn as a simple garment by a woman who understood the simplicity of her position in the world.
    The woman’s expression was that of an imploring old dog asking her master for scraps of meat. Master Gahil spoke to her as if she were a dog. “Kumud, take little Batuk here and clean her up. Also, tell Dr. Dasdaheer to be here tomorrow morning.” He looked me up and down and again smiled. He shouted, “Go now!” and bade the old woman away with a wave of his arm. She slowly turned and began to walk in her stooped way toward the curtain. In a smooth practiced action that caught me unawares, she grasped me by the scruff of my tunic and dragged me with her. For an old woman, her strength was astounding. Father called out, “Batuk, it’s my fault; I lost everything … darling, wait,” and moved toward me. Master Gahil bellowed, “You should have thought of this silliness, Mr. Ramasdeen, when you decided to be so late. We have business to complete and I have to go out this evening.” Turning to the shuffling servant woman, he shouted, “Old woman, take her immediately. I do not have time for this nonsense.”
    As Master Gahil thrust a pregnant envelope into Father’s tensed hand, I saw a familiar expression dart across Father’s face. I recognized it instantly from our trips to the doctor he invented to hide his lavender-perfumed “cousin” from Mother: self-loathing veiled in lust. As I observed the depth of my father’s weakness, our gazes touched and from him I felt the kiss of inner death. I was transfixed as I felt him draw me within him in terror.
    But our circle snapped. In shock seasoned with panic, I was propelled by the surprising force of the old woman and was thrust through to the other side of the silver curtain. The last words I would ever hear from my father were, “Batuk … darling … my silver-eyed leopard.” The last words Father ever heard from me were, “Daddy, take your Batuk—I beg of you.”

    With Puneet unwell, I had anticipated that I would receive more of Mamaki’s attention than usual. My prediction was right, but I had failed to fully calculate its impact. “My darling, I have more time to love you now” was her way of expressing this state of affairs. I had overheard several of Mamaki’s conversations with Master Gahil and I realized that Mamaki was expected to generate the same income from the six of us, regardless of Puneet’s indisposition. One afternoon I heard Gahil say to Hippopotamus, “I know, dearest Mother Briila, how difficult it is with the boy out of commission, and I appreciate very greatly how you dedicate your life to your little ones. But you have to understand that I run a business and I have many responsibilities and obligations. Even I have had to cut back on my essentials with the boy out of action … and so, dear Mother Briila, you may have to also.” Within ten minutes of Master Gahil’s departure, Mamaki was on the street cajoling men with promises of unheralded pleasures. She doubled her money gifts to the taxi drivers to bring us business, often sweetened with a free excursion or two on our beds. We have been busy. Thank goodness Puneet is returning to work.
    Initially, making