5
SHARDS OF GLASS
You jerked awake as the bus thudded to a halt. “We’re here,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
The open-air bus terminal was packed with people shouting, laughing, and arguing. The smell of ripe guavas, piled high on a handcart pushed by a vendor, mixed with the smell of diesel smoke from buses. You held Marapachi close to your chest and stroked her wooden head.
As I wondered which way to go, I heard a voice right behind us. “There you girls are.”
I whipped around.
It was the bus driver. He’d crept so close behind that I could feel his hot, foul-smelling breath on my neck. “You girls need a job? Money? I’ll show you around the city.”
I didn’t dare answer.
“What’s her name?” He jerked a thumb at you.
For once, I was relieved he hadn’t asked you directly. You weren’t as suspicious of people as I was, and the last thing we needed was to strike up a conversation with him.
I quickened our pace, but he kept up.
“Come with me.” His hand came down on my arm and formed a vise.
“Let go!” I struggled. “Let go!”
A few bystanders glanced our way, but no one tried to stop him.
I tried to kick his shin—and missed.
“Don’t you dare, you filthy low-caste brat!” He twisted my arm so hard, I gasped.
“No,” I heard you cry. “No!”
Your arm swung back, and with all your might, you flung your hard wooden doll at him.
Marapachi hit his forehead with a satisfying thwack. He cursed, his grasp loosening enough for me to wrench free.
We raced away, deeper and deeper into the safety of the crowd.
When I finally felt safe enough to risk a look back, the bus driver was lost to my sight. Still, I decided we’d be better off if we crossed the road outside the terminal, putting as much distance between us as possible.
We waited for a break in traffic. And waited.
I’d never seen such an endless flood of vehicles and pedestrians. Other people were darting in and out of the traffic, disregarding the deafening horns. Somehow they weren’t getting run over. Holding you close, I stepped into the gap between a three-wheeled rickshaw and a motorbike. The motorbike almost ran over my toes.
“No, no, no!” You held my hand in a crushing grip.
“Move!” someone behind us snarled.
I heard the unlikely tinkle of a cow’s bell. A great white cow was fording through the river of traffic, vehicles parting to let it through.
“Good cow.” You put your hand on the beast’s side as though you owned it. It didn’t seem to mind.
Protected by the cow’s bulk, we managed to reach the other side of the street.
“Good cow.” You ran your hands along its neck.
“Yes, it’s a good cow, but that bus driver was bad, Rukku. We’ve got to keep moving.”
We came to a slightly less busy side street. On either side were run-down buildings that reminded me of our apartment. Towels, underwear, and faded saris flapped on clotheslines hung across the balconies.
Turning the corner, we found ourselves on an even narrower street, lined with shacks selling food. In one of them, a man stood behind a rickety counter. You watched, fascinated, as he poured steaming tea from one glass tumbler into another, until a layer of froth bubbled across the rim.
“We deserve a treat,” I said. “How about sweet, milky tea instead of the sweet I promised you?”
“Tea,” you agreed.
I was worried about how little money we had left, so I ordered us just one to share. As it warmed my hands and bubbles of froth tickled my lips, I knew it was worth the price.
I sipped slowly, then held it out to you. “Careful, Rukku. It’s hot.”
But before you could wrap your fingers around the slippery glass, I accidentally let go. You squealed, “Ai-ai-yo!”
Horrified, I watched the glass shatter on the ground, spattering tea across the hems of our skirts.
“Pretty.” You reached down for a sparkly shard of glass.
“Don’t touch!” I grabbed your hands. “It’s sharp, Rukku! It’ll give you an owwa!”
“Owwa,” you echoed sulkily.
The teashop owner scowled at us. “Do you know how much that glass cost?” he asked.
Not that much, I was sure, but just before I opened my mouth to apologize, an idea struck me.
“Sir?” I offered. “We’ll work to pay for the broken glass.”
“Okay. Clean up the mess.” The teashop owner stuck his hands on his hips. “Then go to the kitchen and help my wife.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Viji?” You sounded uncertain.
“Everything’s fine, Rukku.” I gave you a quick hug. “We’ve found our first job.”