The Girl in the Garden Read Online Free PDF Page A

them in Tupperware containers, labeled them with a heavy black marker, and slid them into the freezer. “For Aba,” she informed me briskly. I did not understand why Amma cared enough to cook for Aba but not to talk to him.
    One day as I was walking down the upstairs hall, I heard a noise in the bathroom. The door was ajar, so I peeked in and saw Amma standing over the toilet holding a clear orange bottle—her pills. She was turning it around and around in her hands, stroking the label with her fingers, a thoughtful expression on her face. She had taken off her clothes, which lay in a heap on the floor, and was wearing only a pale slip that revealed the pink crescentshaped scar that ran across the length of her upper arm.
    That scar was a reminder of how Veena Aunty had once saved her life, Amma had told me the first time I ranmy fingers up and down across its strange silkiness. I was very young then, but somehow I can still hear her voice telling the story:
    “We always used to go running recklessly around the jungle in the village together, Veena Aunty and I. One day, we were sitting in the forest, when a snake came and bit me. We were far away from home and I immediately felt my strength draining from my body. Veena Aunty carried me on her back all the way to the hospital so my father could give me medicine. If it weren’t for her quick thinking, I would have died and you would never have been born.”
    The story was fantastic and frightening, and I believed every word. A few days after she told it to me she went away to the hospital.
    Amma, unaware of my presence, shook the bottle like a rattle, and in one rapid motion, opened the lid and dumped the pills into the toilet. They fell in a white cascade. Amma laughed and hugged herself.
    On Saturday morning, the day before we left, Aba woke me up early and told me we were going to spend the day together, just the two of us.
    I dressed hastily. When I got downstairs Aba was pacing around the kitchen table, the way he did when he got excited. Amma was standing at the counter, ignoring him.
    “Rakhee, I’m going to take you to my lab today. How would you like that?”
    I grinned, pleased that Aba deemed me important enough to take to his lab.
    Amma glanced up at us. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Vikram? She’s too young.”
    Aba looked back at Amma. “It’s never too early to experience the thrill of digging for the truth and finding it.”
    When we arrived at the lab, Aba outfitted me in a loose white coat and a pair of oversized goggles. He had to tighten the strap so they wouldn’t fall off my face. A blackbarred cage was on the counter, and inside it sat a white mouse. Although I was not sure what exactly was about to happen at the time, I felt chilled by the sight.
    “Rakhee, we’re going to dissect this mouse,” Aba announced in a matter-of-fact tone. “You can see the inner workings of the body. I still remember the first time I saw real-life organs—the heart, the stomach, the lungs—right before my very eyes. It was truly remarkable.”
    Aba went to fetch the necessary instruments and I tried to avoid looking at the mouse, who was wriggling his pink nose through the bars at me. For one mad moment I considered opening the cage and setting it free, but I repressed the urge. I didn’t want to disappoint Aba and make him think I was a coward or, even worse, a bore who could not see the thrill of science.
    When Aba had returned he opened the cage and in one deft motion caught the mouse, encircling its head between his gloved thumb and forefinger, and holding its squirming hind limbs with his other hand.
    He released the mouse inside a large bowl that had a clear plastic cover fitted with a nozzle. The mouse began to run around in circles inside the bowl. Aba attached a small glass vial to the nozzle.
    “Now we wait,” he said. Its movements grew lethargic. Finally, it settled down in one corner, a sluggish white lump. Next, Aba took the mouse out