Arthur saw his father’s face everywhere. Here in the bazaar, among stalls wedged together like a mouth with too many teeth, Arthur liked to imagine bumping into him in the middle of doing his shopping for the Hintons. He could be any of these men—the ones that were tall and thin, a full head of graying hair all dusty and scraggly from the river breeze, with the blue khadi shirt he had been wearing the last time Arthur had seen him. It could happen so quickly, right here among the sacks of cardamom seeds and arbi. A tap on the shoulder, a moment of recognition, an apology for leaving that night when Arthur was just a boy. And he could ask every question he had ever thought of since his father disappeared. Did you have no choice? Could I have helped? Did Ma know what you were going to do?
It had taken him years to realize that his father had left for Arthur’s sake, to make a better life for him. And it had taken even longer for Arthur not to blame him for what eventually happened. It had turned out all right for Arthur in the end. He’d found the Hintons—or, they had found him.
He watched the seller weigh his rice on the scale and wondered how many sons the man had. Again and again the man’s weathered hands scooped more into the metal dish until it drew even with the other, then Arthur held out the empty ghee tin and watched as each grain disappeared into it. Money passed through hands, and then he shouldered the tin and used it to nudge aside the other customers, who scrambled to fill the space his body left. Though Saturdays were always busy, it seemed there were even more people than usual at the market today. The square seemed to swell with bodies, and the air hummed with an energy that set Arthur’s skin tingling. He spotted a man passing out pamphlets to anyone who would take them, and Arthur was surprised to see many did; usually people ignored anyone offering anything but food or goods at the market. Before his eyes, the space packed more and more people. Arthur sighed through his nose in frustration—he wished that he could leave before whatever this event was, but Neer had told him to meet here.
That was the last of the memsahib’s list, and he had finished the shopping with more time before the meeting with Neer and his cousin than he intended. Sometimes Arthur worried he spent too much time with the Hintons and was losing himself. He would never be like them, could never, and yet they were the people he surrounded himself with. He could hear Neer’s voice: Is that what you want for the rest of your life?
He dropped the ghee tin in the shade of a spice stall and sat on it, watching the passersby. A woman, who could be his mother’s age if she were still alive, met his eyes and grabbed two young girls—granddaughters, most likely—tighter to her. Arthur straightened himself in response. He patted the dust off his shirt and smoothed his hair. But they had moved on to another stall, and Arthur peered around the shoppers to watch them. The girls were school age, with long, braided hair and pierced ears to highlight their youthful faces. They pointed at the things they wanted, and the grandmother smiled at them, granting their every wish. Arthur could tell from their dress that they were more well-to-do than most, and the leisurely way they browsed the goods made it obvious they did not have the desperate need to haggle every last anna. Arthur wondered where they got their wealth. A mother’s good dowry? A hardworking father? Decades of money passed down, moving houses every generation to something bigger and better? Was that the normal trajectory of life? Arthur knew he should want this, too—it was the purpose of every man—and yet, he caught himself afraid. More people in his life meant more people depending on him.
His thoughts drifted to his father again. What would he do about this business with Neer and his cousin? Would he want Arthur to be married? He looked down at his hands and, tracing the wrinkles along his palm, dared to wonder something else: Was it too late for him? He squeezed his eyes and opened them again. What was he worrying so much for? Neer had said this would be a casual meeting. “Courting,” he’d called it. He would just meet Soni and see what she was like, and if the worst thing that happened was he went home and never saw her again, well, then it would just be like life had never changed at all. So why was his heart pounding so much?
“Arthur!” Neer called out from the crowd of shoppers. He looked flustered, sweaty, but his face alighted at the sight of Arthur. He held a small, wrapped box, which he thrust into Arthur’s hands.
“What’s this?” Arthur said, standing up from the ghee tin.
“Sweets to give to Soni,” Neer said. “See, I knew you wouldn’t bring her anything.”
Arthur squeezed the box to his stomach and hoped he hadn’t offended Neer. He was about to ask why he would give a box of sweets to the daughter of sweets sellers, but his friend had moved on and was looking over Arthur’s clothing with a frown.
“Is this your Sunday best?” he said.
Arthur glanced at the other people in the bazaar. “I’m no worse looking than most people here doing their shopping,” he said.
“But this is my cousin and her—never mind, this will have to do.”
“Where is she?” Arthur asked.
“She’s waiting at home, come on.”
“I am going to her home? I thought you said we will meet in the bazaar.”
“No, I said I would meet you in the bazaar. Come, I will take you to her.”
“But my things,” Arthur said, gesturing at the sacks of vegetables and spices.
Neer sighed and lifted the largest one. “You had to tack on the shopping as well?”
“Memsahib doesn’t just let me leave in the middle of the day, unless for shopping,” Arthur felt his face grow hot. He hadn’t planned on having to defend himself.
“OK. Just . . . let me take all this. You take the sweets. And try to smile, na? Girls like that.”
He led Arthur down narrow side streets, ducking under clotheslines and dodging bamboo fishing cages, the smell of burning paddy husk permeating the air around every corner. In a few minutes, they stopped at a long courtyard, the entrance to which was so small and unadorned, Arthur might have passed it altogether. The walls were plain; he wondered if he’d even remember this place should he ever return.
“I’ll just go up and get her,” Neer said. He dropped the sacks against a wall and disappeared into a darkened stairwell. Arthur listened to his footsteps recede.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. He looked down at the box of sweets as if it could reassure him that this was all right. Instead, he felt absurdly intimidated—the sweets were more presentable than he was. He took a deep breath and looked around the courtyard. He was surprised to find it wasn’t empty at all. A pile of hay sat in one corner, where a pair of goats slept to escape the midday heat. They had the right idea; the walls were just high enough to keep the courtyard cool. He took a few steps around, noting the dead marigolds strewn here and there. He nudged a cluster with his foot and revealed etchings in the dried clay floor, an egret and mangrove tree, a moon—or perhaps a sun?—shining over them. Though footsteps and debris had smudged their edges, Arthur could still tell they were done with remarkable skill.
On the opposite side was a cluster of earthen pitchers and a damp spot in the dirt where Arthur guessed the family did the washing. His eyes followed the well-trodden path from the gate to the stairwell and tried to estimate how many family members lived here.
Arthur looked up and was surprised to see a group of children peering over the walls from the rooftops. They didn’t look away when he spotted them. Instead, they grew bolder in their curiosity, whispering and giggling to each other. Arthur was about to pay them no heed, except a pair of faces in an upper window caught his eye. They were older than he was, and it seemed they regarded him not so much as an oddity, like the children probably did, but in the way one might inspect an ox at the market.
Arthur backed away, step by step, until he felt the cool wall against his back. He wished he could melt into the clay, entangle himself in the dead vines. He was sweating now and cursing Neer in his mind. What had he walked into? He looked down at his feet and had the mind to walk away right then when he noticed something. Another etching, a perfect lotus flower there in the hardened earth beneath his feet. It was so small and faint, he might never have spotted it at all had he not been waiting in this courtyard with nothing to do. He stepped to the side and took a few seconds to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. The flower was one of dozens, all etched in a circle as some sort of frame for what was at the center, a woman’s face, round like the moon, with a straight yet delicate nose and deep, long brows. The lips were full and symmetrical, and unlike the rest of the etchings, which showed signs of smudging and trampling from footsteps unaware, the lines of the lips seemed fresh, as if just done recently. It was evident they had been made with great care.
Arthur wanted to kneel lower to examine the work more closely. But then his friend ducked back into the courtyard, a sheepish grin on his face. Neer turned around and reached a hand back into the shadowed stairwell, and a small, bangled hand settled in his palm. He helped the woman down the last of the steps, and all the while Arthur just watched without trying to look too irritated at this less than casual setup.
“Soni-Bai, this is my friend, Arthur.” Neer nudged her forward.
Her simple undyed sari was draped over her head, and she held one edge over the lower half of her face. She cast her gaze to the ground as she bowed to Arthur, who had the urge to stop her, he felt so foolish. Instead, he pressed his palms together and said, “Namaskar.”
They stood an awkward distance apart, each not knowing what to do next. From over Soni’s shoulder, Neer was springing his eyebrows up and down at Arthur, clearly trying to tell him something.
“Oh!” Arthur took the box of sweets from under his armpit and held it out to her.
She took it with her free hand and bowed again, whispering, “Dhanyavad.” This time she chanced a glance upward, and Arthur felt nothing at the sight of her plain, brown eyes and the too-wide space between them.
Neer cleared his throat. “Soni-Bai, tell Arthur here what you were cooking, just now inside.”
She bent her head and murmured something Arthur couldn’t make out.
“Muri!” Neer said. His loud voice startled her, for Arthur noticed she took a tiny step backward. “See? She loves to cook, just like you.”
“Muri?” Arthur echoed. His mind felt stupefied, and repeating the word was all he could think to say. He was still trying to work out what was happening.
“Yes. She makes them with dates and sesame. Delicious.”
In fact, Arthur could pick out the scent of toasted sesame and burnt jaggery in the air. “Smells lovely,” Arthur said.
A beat of silence. Arthur wondered why Neer would bring it up if they weren’t going to offer him any. “You live here?” he said after a few seconds. Though it might have well been a rhetorical question.
“Yes,” Neer answered again for Soni. “My cousins have both floors.”
They all three looked at the upper windows as if it just occurred to them that they existed. The same faces were still watching as when Arthur first arrived. He took a deep breath and resented how nervous he was feeling in this moment, in this courtyard.
“They can afford it very comfortably. Their shop has done very well.” Neer wobbled his head as he spoke. They both knew his cousins’ sweets shop was just a cart they could pull anywhere from the bazaar to the ghats, but Arthur didn’t know why Neer was calling it a shop now.
“Do you make garlands, Soni?” Arthur asked. He kept his voice soft, but he searched her face; that is, the part he could see of it.
“Pardon?” she said.
“The marigolds over there,” Arthur nodded at the floor where he’d seen the dead flowers.
“Oh, yes.” She pulled the sari closer around her. “Sometimes I gather the ones left behind after the flower market. It is just to pass the time.”
“What? No,” Neer laughed. “Only the freshest. We get the freshest; we can get the freshest flowers.”
Soni shook her head. “No, it’s really—”
“And do you draw?” Arthur continued. He had a hunch about the etchings in the ground and wanted to see if it was true.
Soni hesitated, glancing at Neer, but his expression was empty. “No,” she said.
Arthur blinked. “No?” He had felt so sure, so satisfied in himself for making the connection.
“What would I draw with?” Soni murmured.
Arthur almost pointed at the drawing on the ground to catch her in her lie—he was so sure it was a lie—but he stopped himself. Why would she lie about drawing? He was being ridiculous. He took a deep breath, not knowing what else to say.
“Arthur works for the Padre Sahib. The Baptist family,” Neer continued.
“You are Christian,” Soni said. It wasn’t a question. Everyone knew Arthur had been baptized.
“The Hintons have been very kind to me. But I still attend Durga Puja every year. Habit, I guess.”
“They allow it?” Soni asked.
“They have never asked me about it.”
Another silence. Soni’s eyes watched him over her sari, and Arthur wanted to ask her to lower it, though he didn’t know how to ask politely. Despite himself and the annoyance he had with Neer for tricking him into whatever this meeting was, he was curious about her.
They exchanged more pleasantries—rather, Neer did for the both of them. His friend remarked on how thick and long Soni’s hair had gotten, and Arthur had to take his word for it, for it remained concealed under her sari. Neer talked about Arthur’s hut at the edge of the Hintons’ land as though it were something impressive. Soni showed polite interest, and Arthur did his best to do the same.
They talked long enough that the light changed in the courtyard. Arthur gave the excuse he needed to get home and start the cooking for supper. Soni bowed her head in farewell, and with her face still concealed, he couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved that the meeting was at a close. Nothing was said about meeting again, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. Neer was the only one who showed any excitement that the meeting had happened at all.
Outside on the street, as Neer handed the shopping sacks to Arthur, Arthur stopped his friend and looked him in the eye. “How come I’ve never seen this cousin?”
“What are you talking about? Of course you must have seen her in all the years we’ve known each other.”
“Never. I come by the sweets cart almost every time I’m at the bazaar. I see her parents—and don’t think I didn’t notice them watching from the windows, by the way—but never Soni.”
Something flickered behind Neer’s eyes, but he swallowed and straightened his back. “Soni-Bai isn’t there every day, and only at the busiest hours to help her parents. Perhaps you have just never caught her at the right time.” He must have noticed the doubt on Arthur’s face, for he softened and said, “What’s this all about?”
“What’s it all about! I really believed you and that silly business about ‘courting.’ As if that were something people like me could do. Instead you brought me to her parents’ house!”
“Well, you didn’t meet them,” Neer said caustically.
“They were there all the same, and I was looked at and inspected as if I were hanging in a market stall.”
“Come now, it wasn’t like that. And I can tell Soni-Bai liked you. Please come and see her again.”
Arthur felt his heat dissipate at the look of his friend’s pleading face. He reminded himself that this was his oldest friend, and perhaps he did know things about life and love that Arthur did not. Would it really be so bad to see Soni again, to run out whatever matchmaking plan Neer had concocted? He thought of the Hintons and the judge all waiting at home, and it became more agreeable to spend another day away from them and with Neer and his cousin. Still, he was indignant at his friend and the way he was acting. What was he hiding?
“I have to go.” Arthur gathered his things and turned away, but he chanced another look at the upstairs windows. The faces that had been watching him were gone.