The two police officers strode into Dr Prendergast’s waiting room and grabbed the yelling, rampaging boy. He went limp in their hands. They walked-dragged him to the door without a word. They did not even look in her direction.
She looked at the woman behind the glass-fronted counter, frantic. The woman looked away, pretending to be busy with something on the computer. Why had the policemen come? Who had called them there? Where were they taking Rahul? The receptionist must have called them.
Kamala ran after the men, her feet moving as if they had to be wrenched off the floor at every step. ‘Somebody stop them!’ she screamed. ‘They’re taking away my son!’
The waiting room was full of people but no one looked up from their magazines. Even the children seemed strangely absorbed in what they were doing. It was as though no one could see her.
She reached the door, and flew out after the men.
‘He’s only nine!’ she cried, tears streaking her cheeks. ‘Let him go! He can’t bear waiting for hours for Dr Prendergast. He gets hungry but the woman wouldn’t let us go. She said the doctor could call us any time. Please … you’ve got to understand. Let him go. He’s autistic.’
‘Artistic?’ said one of the cops with a wink and a smile. ‘Yeah, we can see that!’
‘If you will step away, ma’am,’ said the other cop, as Kamala tried to cling on to him, to the boy.
The policemen pushed her away and dragged the boy to their waiting car. They put him in the back, and shut the door.
‘Mom, Mom!’ she could hear Rahul cry out. She beat the windows with her fists and ran after the car. Before it disappeared from sight, she could see Rahul’s face staring at her from the back window. She stretched out her hands towards him.
They had taken away her boy.
Kamala woke up, her hair clinging to her forehead in damp clumps. Ranjan had his left hand behind his head in his favourite position. He seemed awake, and for a moment she thought she could see his eyes gleaming. But he was still. Strange how familiar faces could look eerie in the dark, with their night-lit contours and obscure shadows. She got out of bed, careful not to wake him. The last thing she wanted was an annoyed lecture. I’m sick of your obsessing about that boy and being in a funk about him all the time. You really need to relax, you’re making it worse for everyone.
She wrapped the faded green silk robe with stars and moons that belonged to another universe around her, put on her fat furry blue shoes and crept out of the room. The floorboards creaked. Drat these wooden floors and wooden houses. Fifteen years in the US, and she still hadn’t got used to the noisiness of American houses. Everyone could tell what everyone else was doing. In India, there was little concept of, or space for, privacy in most homes. In this country that prized it above all things, one’s most basic acts were broadcast by wood.
She shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs, not caring now about the creaking and thumping. At the very top, she stopped to catch her breath. The house stretched out beneath her, involved in its various electronic hums.
She walked softly up to Rahul’s door and opened it. She could see his dark head against the crumpled white sheets. He was fast asleep, his favourite bear-shaped pillow clutched to him. He looked just like any other child. She wanted to stroke his hair but she was afraid of waking him. She felt a warm wet nose kissing her hand.
‘Hiya, Sluggy, hiya, boy,’ she whispered, patting him, ‘go back to sleep, there’s a good boy.’
Slugger looked up at her and went back to his place near Rahul’s bed.
She smoothed out the sheets and slipped out of the room. She caught her reflection in the mirror that hung across from the foot of the stairs in the half-light, saw her sleep-styled hair streaming in all directions, her eyes with the charcoal smudges beneath them.
The dining-room clock showed one o’clock. She drank some water and set the glass in the sink. A chipped blue ceramic bowl with a spoon in it sat there, bearing traces of cornflakes and milk. Lavi. Things had not been easy for her since Rahul was born. Not that they had been easy for Ranjan or herself. But Lavi had had to put up with a distracted mother and a father whose face signalled distance. It was only at times that she could tell the strain on the girl. She hoped Tara’s visit would do her some good. She glanced out of the glass wall at the back of the dining room that looked out onto the deck and the swimming pool. In the day, you could see all across the sea of mown grass that dipped and rose up to the neighbours’ houses resting on the opposite hill. Not a thing stirred. The darkness fell away and seemed to stretch forever. She went back to bed.