The Girl in the Garden Read Online Free PDF Page B

The people seemed much smaller than they did back in Minnesota, and livelier, too. There was a grace combined with unrelenting energy that propelled each muscle and tendon into motion.
    Two young boys who looked to be around my agecame running up to us chanting “Madam, madam, please madam” in reedy voices, and tried to take our suitcases and place them on top of their heads. Amma shooed them away with one hand like flies.
    I tugged at the dampening cotton of the sundress I had changed into in the airplane bathroom. Moisture prickled my skin and I felt unsteady on my feet.
    A cluster of men in khaki uniforms passed by and I noticed their eyes scanning Amma’s jeans-and-T-shirt-clad figure, up and down, up and down, a dirty look that made me clutch the crook of her arm and press closer against her side.
    A full day had passed since Aba had dropped us off at the Minneapolis airport and unloaded our suitcases onto the sidewalk. He had bent down low and taken me in his arms, holding me close. He seemed exhausted and resigned. I longed to tell him how much I loved him, that he should trust me and I would make everything right again. But I knew if I said that I would start to cry, and I wanted Aba to think I was brave.
    “Promise you’ll take care of Merlin,” I said instead.
    “I will,” swore Aba with a smile. I had elicited a similar promise from Merlin as I embraced him earlier that morning, curling my fingers in his black fur, and he had given my palm a dignified lick in response.
    “I’ve heard that the phone lines where you’re going are not very reliable, so we won’t be able to speak much, but we can write letters,” said Aba. “Take this anyway, in case of an emergency.” He handed me a folded-up piece of paper. Inside, he had written down the code that I would need to punch in before our phone number in order to call home from India. I placed the paper in my pocket and resolved to memorize it as soon as I got onthe plane. “And Rakhee,” said Aba, standing up, “Look after your mother for me, all right?” He was gone before I could respond, just like that. Amma didn’t even say goodbye to him.
    “Come, Rakhee, don’t dawdle.” Amma tugged at my hand.
    We had to board a second plane, smaller and bumpier than the last, which carried us south, along the western coast of the country. My heartbeat quickened as I peered out the window, down through the clouds at the blue waves tossing and turning below us. My first glimpse of the ocean.
    “Your grandmother will be so pleased to see you, Rakhee. Do you remember her—your Muthashi?” Amma asked over the whir of the engine.
    I did remember Muthashi, my grandmother. She had come to stay with us in Minnesota when I was around three or four. I could not recall the exact details of her face, but I had a vague mental picture of a slight woman draped in white who used to sit me on her knee and sing a song in Malayalam about ants.
    I used to run out onto the driveway humming the ant song, and guide a string of the black insects into my palm. Weaving my fingers together and making a delicate cup with my hands, I would transport them into the house, giggling as the ants tickled inside their little cage. Muthashi would always act so pleased when I proudly deposited the squirming ants into her outstretched hand, although I’m sure she would let them out the back door as soon as I wasn’t looking.
    “Rakhee,” continued Amma. “I haven’t told you much about our family, have I?”
    I shook my head.
    “Well, the Varmas are the most prominent, respected family in the village. My father was a doctor, and he started a hospital across the street from our home. He died a long time ago, so now my younger brother, Vijay, is in charge. You’ll also meet my big sister, Sadhana, and her three daughters. One of them is about your age. And Vijay’s wife, Nalini, who I have never met, recently had a baby boy. Everybody lives together at Ashoka—that’s the name of the