At the market on Saturday, Olivia walked with the other teachers as they perused the stalls and debated purchases. She didn’t need anything, and only accompanied them because they’d refused to take no for an answer. She knew they were worried about her and had been since the second instance of red rain. On one level, she greatly appreciated their concern, though it rather baffled her. Why did they care? Still, she hadn’t been able to shake off the funk that overwhelmed her since.
Tisha in particular maneuvered to meet up with her when no one else was around, and her gentle attempts to encourage conversation were perhaps more transparent than she realized. Olivia knew what Tisha was trying to do and recognized the kindness behind it, but she didn’t want to talk. As a counselor, Tisha probably couldn’t stop herself from attempting to intervene, but she didn’t want to talk about her past problems. They could stay firmly in the past. No more meltdowns.
However, she soon regretted her reluctant decision to join them as the shopping did not, as they’d predicted, snap her out of it. If anything, it only made things worse. The open-air market teemed with families. Saturday was a big shopping day. When she spotted Aditi with her family, her heart lurched. The girl’s father glared at her, as if daring her to approach. She didn’t. A caustic exchange was the very last thing she needed.
Then the other teachers spotted Meena with her mother, a pinched and sour-looking older woman, nothing like Ms. Vanya with her warm smile and welcoming demeanor. When they pointed her out, Olivia couldn’t stop herself from staring. Like herself, the young woman ought to be toting an infant in her arms. Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought an urge to run. What was wrong with her?
Meena caught her staring. Olivia quickly managed a smile and lifted her hand in greeting. The young woman took in the others in the group, then understanding seemed to dawn on her. She nodded at Olivia, but grief clouded her face. She’d made the connection and identified Olivia as her replacement. Guilt tugged at her. But she’d had nothing to do with that situation, and nothing she could do would fix the enormous injustice that befell Meena.
For days, she’d reverted back to simply going through the motions, sliding back to that place she’d hoped to leave behind and never revisit, where she simply existed, barely. The other teachers insisted she join in the planning meetings, excitedly preparing for Diwali, the Festival of Lights. In addition to the plans they had for their classrooms, the teachers took great delight in sharing ideas for decorating their rooms. Even Chris got in on it, which especially surprised her. Scott had certainly never shown an iota of interest in planning or decorating for holidays. Mostly he’d harrumphed at her attempts at festivities, rolling his eyes anytime she got excited. And apparently the town would do something together as well, though she wasn’t clear what exactly it would be. That was on her though, since she’d only half listened. What did she have to celebrate?
At least no one had attempted to get her to open up and share since the night she’d had the meltdown. They seemed to understand the need to leave the subject alone.
At the news stand, headlines jumped out at her about the second occurrence of red rain. She peeled away from the group and paused to skim an article before paying the vendor for a copy of every English-language paper he had. She intended to scour every one for useful information. Maybe one of them could finally shed some light on what the heck they were all being exposed to. Not knowing left a simmering anxiety stewing in the back of her mind. How could the other teachers maintain such a cavalier attitude about it? She heard more giggling as they happily discussed plans for the holiday.
“Olivia!” Tisha called. “Diwali is like Christmas here. You have to participate.”
“It’s beautiful,” Chris said. “Lasts for five days. I’m so glad I’m still here and get to celebrate it again.”
She didn’t want to be a Grinch, or the Diwali version of one, but a festival of lights didn’t strike her as anything she could enjoy at this point in her life. Where was the light in her darkness? The girls in her classes had no future. Her own future, so sure not even a full year ago, stretched before her, murky and unknown. One year ago, she’d been putting the finishing touches on a nursery, delighting in the kicks and jabs of the baby girl she carried. She’d been married, about to have a child, held a position as adjunct, and had fully expected to step into a full-time faculty position eventually. But now? Everything had changed, all for the worse.
Folding the newspapers and tucking them under an arm, she rejoined the group. She could accompany them while they shopped, regardless of her own opinion on the matter.
Soon, however, disappointment clouded all their faces. This was India, not America, where giant stores competed aggressively for disposable income, seeking to gain the upper hand for those dollars with earlier and earlier holiday displays. Though the teachers giddily made plans, no huge displays of Diwali decorations awaited their fists full of rupees. Finally, they happened onto a stand with strings of lights and bags of colored sand.
“Here we go!” Chris led the happy descent onto the stall. “Everything needs to be brightly lit. We will all need lights for our rooms, our classrooms, the hallways—the courtyard! Last year we didn’t do much with the courtyard but maybe we can manage more this year.”
Olivia couldn’t deny the allure of the light strings and envisioned them sparkling softly in her room—over the bed, around the door, adding to the glow of her peacock lamp.
Chris lifted bags of brightly colored sand. “I’m going to try my own rangoli this year. Ms. Vanya is incredible at making them. Maybe I can make a simple one.”
“A what?” she asked, joining the other teachers in selecting several light strands, estimating how many she’d need. A tiny shiver of excitement pulsed through her. After all, who didn’t get excited about setting up the Christmas tree, even if it was a bit early. She imagined the children’s delight during the festivities. Time to put aside her own issues and focus on the children.
“They’re called rangoli. Beautiful drawings on the floor made from colored pigment or sand. Everyone will have one in their home. Ms. Vanya made some for us around the school last year. So intricate. They’re round with swirls of patterns in the circle. Incredible little works of art. You’ll never believe they’re drawn free-hand!”
She thought for a moment. “Can the kids make some?”
“Oof. Not with sand,” Melanie said. “What a mess that would be.”
“Yeah. I kind of tried that last year,” Chris said. “Disaster.”
“They can draw pictures,” Tisha said. “Paper and crayons will do.”
“What about chalk?” Olivia suggested. “Outside?”
“There’s an idea! Anywhere on concrete would work great. Good thinking!” Chris beamed at her.
“And that would simply wash away next rainstorm,” Delilah said. “No muss, no fuss. Especially once the monsoons hit.”
“Let’s just hope it isn’t red again,” Aubra said.
“Ever again,” Melanie agreed. “It’s so weird.”
“My parents are convinced I’m having a laugh,” Aubra said.
“I emailed my mom,” Olivia said, “but she didn’t say anything about it when she replied. Maybe she thinks I’m joking too.”
She noticed Chris’s face cloud over. He probably wished he could reach out to his mom to discuss the bizarre experiences they’d lived through. How would she feel if she couldn’t talk to her mom? That would suck. She’d always been close to her mom and shared most everything with her. From what he shared with her, she suspected Chris’s relationship with his mom had been similar before a man came between them and ruined it. Not for the first time, she was grateful to her mom for forcing her father out of their lives. And proud of her for the strength she found to do it.
“Who would joke about such a thing?” Delilah asked. “My boyfriend believes me, but he’s convinced it’s some sort of chemical warfare experiment gone wrong. And he’s convinced there’s a massive coverup since he can’t find a single mention of it anywhere in any publications back home. Not a thing about it in the overseas news.”
“I have every newspaper I could get my hands on,” Olivia said. “But not one article offers anything definitive. Lots of wild conjecture.”
“That’s exactly why he’s convinced of a coverup,” Delilah said. “There’s nothing anywhere.”
“A friend of mine from back home has an internship in a lab at Kerala University,” Aubra said. “They have samples of the rainwater they’ve been running tests on. He swore me to secrecy, but—”
“Get away from my wife!” A shouting man startled them all.