The front door to their flat opened and closed. Ramesh had returned. Nayana threw her towel on the bed and quickly slipped into her underwear, then fastened her bra. If he walked into their bedroom right now, what would he choose to see? Would he allow the evidence—this underwear, that dress hanging there—to finally present itself? Would he at least acknowledge that she wasn’t going to her teaching job? His voice from the hallway, though she could hear his good mood, reached her like a scolding.
“I’ve fed Felix, jaanu,” he said.
Ramesh continually provided these updates on the neighbor’s cat since Nayana had pawned its care off on him earlier in the week. Even when Beth had explained she would be away from London almost an entire month, working in Edinburgh, Nayana never hesitated to accept the task. She’d thought it would mean having a place to go, to be alone, to figure things out, maybe even get back on track. But having the keys to a flat downstairs had proved too tempting; she’d once picked up the phone while the cat was eating and begun to dial Daniel, intending to have him meet her there, in the same building. She’d come to her senses at the last moment and replaced the receiver. She was so relieved to find she still had limits that she almost broke down in tears right then under the cat’s scrutinizing gaze. It had come to this, to testing herself so she would know just how out of control she was. The following day, she claimed the lingering incense in Beth’s flat gave her a headache, then she showed Ramesh where to find the cat food and handed him the keys. And now Felix and he were apparently best of friends.
I should stay home, she thought, seduce Ramesh instead. She thought of ways she might end her bad behavior. She could start by admitting to her husband that Tuesdays were no longer teaching days. She should have done that at the beginning of the semester. Instead she’d convinced herself that what she needed was more time alone. And where had that landed her? Not alone at all.
For years, when Nayana looked at her reflection she couldn’t help thinking of Aditi. But her twin’s likeness no longer appeared in the mirror, as if effaced by years of living in England, worn down by disappointment, failure, loss. Good Aditi. They’d promised never to miss a month’s correspondence. And yet Nayana still owed her sister a letter for October. And here it was already mid-November. She’d told herself she was delaying to time her letter’s arrival with Diwali, which had always been their holiday. Now it was her reflection scolding her in the mirror; she’d let Diwali pass without greetings at all. Aditi had always been a kind of enforcer of Nayana’s conscience. No doubt the invisible shock waves of her recent infidelity had traveled all the way to Varkala. Why was it that she couldn’t stay in tonight? Write her sister? Come clean to Ramesh? Why was she painting kohl under her eyes, running lavender oil the length of her hair? Why did she press the scent of gardenias along each forearm, along each thigh, down the back of her neck, and behind her ears?
On these Tuesday nights, she took her time getting ready. She dressed the part she assumed Daniel liked. Tonight, she was his mistress in a purple dress, cut tight. She covered the dress now with her coat and pulled her hair up into a low knot. In her pocket, she felt for the key to the hotel room she and Daniel had now used more times than she could remember with confidence. Six? Seven? The affair had a fast and furious start. After the first time, when she was getting dressed, already late to be returning home, Daniel told her he would stay in that room until she returned to him. She was almost annoyed by so romantic a proposition. She turned to him, considered the expression on his face. His desire for her. She said nothing, picked up her bag, and walked to the door, making no promise to return or even to repeat the occurrence. His desire became a panicked need to see her again, and it was this face that brought her back the following day, and in the weeks since, days in which the two of them silently explored each other’s pleasure while Ramesh was at work or waiting for Nayana at home.
She threw a scarf around her neck and zipped the coat closed to conceal her dress from Ramesh. But was she hiding the truth from him or did he not allow himself to see her as she walked by? Did he not notice her painted eyes? Couldn’t he smell the gardenias?
“I’m late for work,” she said, rummaging for nothing in her handbag, avoiding his gaze, though she was already facing the door.
“Always in such a hurry, woman.”
His voice was slow and lilting, unexpected. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He had called her woman, as he used to. He was seated as always in his big brown chair, reading his newspaper by the light of his lamp. Maybe he does know, she thought. He’d always tried to give her freedom—he would give her anything—and this made the fact that it, that he, was not enough even harder to cope with. She scooped her house keys out of the bowl on the little table and reached for the door, frustrated by his unreproachful silence, then deeply moved by his ability to love her with such generosity. She paused in the doorway.
“Will you be all right for dinner?” she asked, with an old tenderness.
And then he did look at her, over the rim of his newly acquired reading glasses, and she believed he could see everything. She stood there, trying to make herself transparent. She wanted to be unburdened, to confess. She imagined him standing, finally fed up, and walking over to her, stripping her of her keys, pushing her into the landing, closing the door in her face. But he couldn’t carry this for her. He remained in his chair and looked away again.
“I’ll be just fine,” he said, to his paper.
“Fine,” she echoed. “See you after class.”
“Oh, jaanu,” he said, chuckling to himself. “I think Felix prefers the kidney and liver. I might pick up some more. He was especially affectionate after his meal this evening. I could hear him purring his gratitude.”
A new surge of affection for Ramesh was sufficiently sharp to feel like punishment for what she was about to do. She smiled—at her pain, and at the childlike wonder that occupied his face.
“I’m glad you two are getting on so well,” she said.
“It’s always a surprise, you know, when he hops onto your lap after he’s eaten. Such interesting creatures, aren’t they?”
Her smile fell. Beth’s apartment never was the haven Nayana had hoped it would be. She hadn’t sat down once. She’d merely paced behind the cat long enough to see that it was eating, then left.
“Just imagine what Mum would say if we got a cat.”
“You want a cat?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“No, of course not. I just thought . . .” He shook his head and returned to his paper. His voice grew quiet, unsure. “It’s just nice taking care of something, isn’t it?”
Nayana slipped out to the landing without a further word. That was their way now; they made allowances for each other’s silences. Closing the door behind her, she felt a sense of relief, but it lasted only a moment. Shame and guilt always too close behind. The lift was in the lobby; she took the stairs, freeing her hair and letting it fall down her back. She imagined Ramesh sitting alone in their home. Her perfume might have made its way over to him. Perhaps he allowed his doubts to linger alongside its scent for a moment. But he would shake them off, fold his newspaper, and swat them both away. He might turn his thoughts to dinner instead, or find something on television. Would he check on the cat once more? Was he so lonely? Wasn’t she?