later the front doorbell rang in the middle of the day.
I was in the kitchen baking pecan muffins and jumped to get it. But before I could get to the hallway, Mrs. Rao rumbled out of the living room like a steam train.
“Get back in the kitchen and shut the damn door,” she snapped, brushing me aside. Mrs. Rao didn’t normally swear, but she had become increasingly impatient, ever since the scratch on her car.
Only a week earlier, I’d dragged myself back to the house after parking the Cadillac in the garage, feeling like I’d committed a major crime. Inside, I found Mrs. Rao standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, a dark look on her face.
That was the day those warthog tusks of hers came out.
As soon as I walked in, I blurted, “I scratched your car, Mrs. Rao. It was the water pail. I bumped it on your car. I’m so sorry.”
With an angry snort, she brushed past me and stomped over to the garage. I trailed behind her, trembling in fear. Her face flushed bright red when she saw the scratch. I braced myself.
“What the in good Shiva’s name did you do?” she screamed. It was the first time she’d shouted since I’d arrived at the house. “What did you do to my husband’s beautiful car!”
A mistake, I said. I pleaded for forgiveness. I almost got on my knees, but her yelling didn’t stop. Her oversized bosom heaved like she was hyperventilating. I cowered in a corner of the garage, behind the car, trying to hold myself together against the barrage of insults she lobbed at me.
I offered to take it out of my wages. I had no idea what she was paying me because it went straight to Franky’s office in Goa, but I was sure something could be arranged.
She barely heard me. “This is my husband’s car! I promised him I’d take care of it, and now you’ve gone and desecrated this, you useless runt! He’s probably turning in his grave right now.”
“I’m so sorry….”
“Do you realize how much this car cost, you wench?”
I shook my head.
“Almost a hundred thousand dollars, more than you’ll ever see in your entire lifetime, you idiot!”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Rao. I’ll do whatever I can to fix….”
“Do you think your stupid sniveling can fix this? Are you so dumb to think you can say sorry and get away with it?”
I looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow me up.
“I bring you all the way here to help you and your family, and this is how you repay me? You stupid, stupid village girl!”
Her screeching didn’t stop for half an hour until her voice started to get hoarse. I stayed balled up in my corner, not daring to look up, not daring to move.
“How do you think you’re going to pay me back for this, you imbecile?” she shouted.
“I’ll work harder, Mrs. Rao,” I mumbled.
“Not good enough.”
“I’ll work longer if you want, Mrs. Rao.”
She took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to add twelve more months to your contract. That’s still not going to pay for this beautiful car, but I’ll take that.” Her voice was still angry, but at least she’d stopped screaming.
“A year?” I asked, shocked.
“I’m being generous, you dolt!” she screeched. “I can make you stay two years to pay in full!”
“I’m good for twelve months,” I said quickly, without even thinking.
The next day, she drove the Cadillac to an auto body repair shop and it came back three days later in pristine condition. I had no idea how much it had cost. All I knew was I had promised to stay for another year.
The doorbell rang again.
“I said get back in there!” Mrs. Rao snapped, pointing to the kitchen. “Now!”
I turned around and fled down the corridor. I was just about to shut the kitchen door when I heard a female voice.
“Good morning, Mrs. Rao. I’m here to see about the girl.”
I took in a sharp breath.
“Aahh, thank you for coming,” Mrs. Rao said in an unusually syrupy voice. “Come in. Please do come in.”
I tiptoed out of the kitchen and peeked into the hallway. A middle-aged woman stood at the doorway, dressed in a smart tweed suit with a blue scarf around her neck. She was carrying a briefcase like she was ready for the office. A ray of sunshine flashed off a silver badge on her lapel, but it was too far for me to read. I’d never seen her at any of Mrs. Rao’s weekend parties. Who is she?
I tiptoed back toward the kitchen. There was a nook outside the kitchen door where no one could see me, but from where I could hear everything going on in the dining and living rooms.
It was a good place to hide on Saturday evenings after I served dinner to Mrs. Rao’s guests, especially on those days I dreamed up a new recipe. No one ever complimented me directly, but from my hiding spot, I could hear the clink of forks and knives against plates, and the oohs and the aahs, and the mumbles of “delicious,” “what a treat,” and “she’s good,” between mouthfuls.
“May I get you tea? Coffee? Orange juice?” Mrs. Rao said.
“No, thank you,” the guest said. “I don’t have much time today, I’m afraid. I only have a few questions and then I need to run to my next appointment.”
“Of course, of course. Make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Rao said, leading her guest to the living room. There was silence while they settled down. I could imagine them sitting in Mrs. Rao’s prim empress chairs.
“About this girl now.” The woman said.
“Of course, of course.”
“First, we need to know what relation she is to you.”
“The girl is my niece. You see, my youngest sister died last year in a car crash in India.”
I felt a stabbing pain go through my heart as she mentioned the car crash.
“Oh? I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, it was heartbreaking news. She was my closest and dearest little sister. We spent all of our childhood together in India. In our culture, family is the most important thing, you know. The only thing. We live and breathe for our family. Life is strange sometimes, isn’t it? How it can so easily take away those most precious to us.” Mrs. Rao sniffed loudly.
I felt my cheeks burn.
“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Rao. I didn’t know.”
“I’m doing my best to take care of the little girl now. My lonely niece, an only child, you see. I sponsored her as a family member. That was the best I could do for my dear sister. In our culture, we never leave our family behind, no matter what.”
I heard a tissue being pulled out of a box. Like an elephant trumpeting, the sound of Mrs. Rao blowing her nose reverberated through the house.
“I’m sure you’re doing your best.” The woman’s voice had taken a softer tone. “I’m sure the girl appreciates having an aunt who cares so much for her. I usually have trouble finding families for our orphans. They get shunted from one foster family to another. I wish they all had generous aunts like you.”
“Oh, I only think of that poor girl. She sleeps next to my room, and some nights, I hear her cry, you know. I know she misses her mother, but I can never replace her. It’s truly heartbreaking. I get my strength from Lord Vishnu.” More pitiful sniffs from Mrs. Rao.
What lies, I thought from my hiding spot. What horrible lies.
“The thing is, and this is what I came to talk to you about, she’s a minor, and we must ensure she’s going to school. You do know, education is compulsory until eighteen in Ontario.”
I perked up.
“For girls too?” Mrs. Rao asked.
“We don’t discriminate, Mrs. Rao.”
“Oh, I knew that,” Mrs. Rao said quickly.
“I’m sure you did. When we get reports of unattended children who don’t go to school, we have to investigate. I understand this is a difficult time for your family, but the law is the law, as you know, and it is there for good reason.”
“Of course. Of course. You see, the girl’s still adjusting, especially after that painful accident. I was waiting for her to settle down a bit and get over the trauma before finding a suitable school. It isn’t easy to lose your parents like that, you know? The girl was very close to them, you see.”
How dare she talk about my parents? My hands clenched into fists.
“I can fully understand.”
“The problem is she doesn’t speak English very well, so it’s important to be selective, you see. Didn’t want to shock her, you see.”
What? I speak better English than she does.
“We have English-as-a-second-language classes for new immigrants, especially children who are sponsored here. They’re offered for free. My office will do whatever we can to help you and your niece.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you. Thank you for thinking of my little girl. I have so much going on that I am not doing everything I should be doing. I am a terrible aunt.”
“I understand perfectly. You’re struggling through a loss, and that must be truly difficult. Let me know how we can help you. You can find the information you need on our website. We even have someone you can call during the day if you have questions about our services.”
“Thank you so much. The girl is a bit nervous about going to school, you see, but this may help her adjust. I am glad you came today.”
Nervous about school? Me?
“So, where’s the girl today? I’d like to talk to her.”
“She’s sleeping in her room. Not too well today, I am afraid. A bad period, you know.”
I cringed. Couldn’t she have picked a better excuse?
“Perhaps next time?” Mrs. Rao said, her voice seeping with honey.
“Here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions or need any help.”
Noises of chairs being scraped back came from the living room. I scooted into the kitchen and closed the door gently, my heart beating fast. I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or worried. Who’s this woman? Does she work for the police? How did she know I lived here? Does she really mean it about school?
Mrs. Rao barreled into the kitchen so abruptly, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I grabbed a dishcloth and pretended to wipe the counter. The phone rang in the background for the hundredth time that day, but we both ignored it.
“Next Monday, you will come with me to register at school,” Mrs. Rao said, her face puffed up in fury.
I looked at her in surprise. Is she serious?
“Don’t you think I’ll be sending you to that private school like the Jones’ girls. I don’t throw away my hard-earned money on servant girls, you hear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Rao.”
“And don’t think you’ll get out of work. I didn’t pay to bring you all the way here to play. I don’t do charity. You’ll finish your task list every day, like now. That’s the contract, you understand? Otherwise, you and your family won’t get paid a dime.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rao.”
She stomped toward the door, her face contorted into a nasty scowl. She stopped at the doorway and turned around so quickly, I jumped again.
“I know about Jacqueline,” she hissed.
I gulped.
“That nosy, interfering old bag,” Mrs. Rao growled. “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know everything that goes on inside this house and outside. You hear me?”
I nodded, feeling numb to the bones.
“You’ll work in this house till the day you drop dead.”