The Weight of Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought about the enormity of Benny’s loss, she was dumbfounded by its magnitude—the books he’d never read, the movies
    he’d never see, the symphonies he’d never hear (or compose), the
    geometric theorems he’d never solve, the all-night college rap sessions he’d never bullshit his way through, the junior year abroad
    that he’d never take, the debates about Nietzsche and Kierkegaard
    he would never participate in, the first kiss he would never have, the
    continent of difference between having sex and making love that
    he’d never discover, the thrilling knowledge that he’d outgrown his
    parents that he’d never possess, the first job, the first promotion, the
    first trip abroad, the first love letter, the first heartbreak, the first
    Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n
    2 7
    child—and God, so much more—the pimply awkwardness of being
    fifteen, the reckless giddiness of being twenty, the contentment of
    being forty, the achievement of being sixty, the acceptance of being
    eighty—none of this would be Benny’s fate. Ellie understood now
    why people mourned the death of children. The reason to mourn the
    death of a child of seven (or eight, or nine) was simple—at seven (or
    eight, or nine) children are stupid, so unformed, so inexperienced,
    that they may as well belong to a different species. The true reason
    to mourn the young dead was not because of what they were but of
    what they would never be.
    Now Ramesh was drawing tiny circles on Ellie’s wrist with his
    fingernails, a shy, self-conscious gesture that she immediately recognized. Without thinking about it, she lifted his thin hand to her
    lips and kissed it. An American boy may have been embarrassed by
    this. Ramesh beamed. “I like you, Ellie,” he said, but his voice was
    thin and uncertain with shyness, as if he was asking her permission,
    as if the statement had a question mark at the end of it.
    “I like you, too,” she said. Then, to mask her own embarrassment she added gruffly, “Now come on, enough dillydallying. You
    want to do well on the test tomorrow, don’t you?”
    “Dillydallying.” Ramesh giggled. “Is that like khaata-mitha ?”
    She frowned. “ Kaataa-meeta ?”
    “It’s meaning sour and sweet. Like eating a green, unripe
    mango”—Ramesh screwed up his face—“and then eating an ice
    cream.”
    “Well, dillydally is nothing like that. It means to waste time on
    purpose. Which is what, you, dear boy, are doing.”
    Ramesh’s grin was disarming. “Caught me,” he said. He stretched
    his hands in a leisurely yawn above his head so that Ellie could see
    the flat, hollow stomach under his shirt. “I’m feeling lazy just now,
    Ellie.”
    “But ten minutes ago you were all frantic”—she saw he didn’t
    2 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r
    know that word—“worried about your test. Now come on, a few
    more questions and then we can stop.”
    Outside, the music of the storm continued unabated and the
    house creaked and groaned in accompaniment. When she was satisfied that Ramesh knew the answers to her questions, she got up.
    “I’m going to make a cup of tea. You read another chapter, okay?”
    He nodded, but each time she turned away from the kettle to look
    at him, she caught Ramesh staring at the front door. He’s keeping
    a vigil for Frank, the same as I am, she thought, but was not offended by the thought. In fact, it touched her, reminded her of how
    Benny used to wait for his father to return home at the end of each
    workday. Except for Thursdays, when Ellie worked late, she always
    came home by three o’clock so that for a few uninterrupted hours,
    it was just her and Benny in the house. But by six the boy would be
    agitated, his voice just a little louder, his playing a little more aggressive, looking out the living room window for his dad.
    Ellie felt her throat swelling at the memory of those long afternoons with her son. The dappled sun climbing into the kitchen as
    she cooked their supper. The