Prema stops short and her eyes widen. A young black male has just emerged from the staircase that leads to the basement. Dressed in a T shirt and a pair of shorts, he smiles at them.
– Did I startle you, the man says.
– Mom, this is Joe, our tenant.
Prema somehow manages to find her tongue.
– Pleased to meet you, she says.
– Same here. Sorry to intrude, but I won’t take more than a minute.
– Take your time. No hurry, says Shyam.
When Joe goes into the kitchen, Prema sits down on the sofa looking shell-shocked.
– Joe was renting the basement room when we bought the place. He came with the territory, so to speak.
– I don’t know what to say.
– Mom, we need every penny we can lay our hands on. You’ve no idea of the mortgage payments…
– Shyam, I’m unable to understand how you could give a perfect stranger such… free run of your home!
– Joe’s a very nice guy. He only comes up once or twice a day to do his cooking or use the toilet.
Prema shoots up like a rocket from the sofa.
– Please stop! I think I’ll go to my room.
The next morning when Prema wakes, a pallid sun pretends to shine outside. The silence in the house is almost sepulchral – no birdsongs, no traffic sounds, nothing. Still groggy with jetlag, Prema forces herself to get up and go downstairs. She finds nobody about: it’s as if the house is standing stock-still, holding its breath.
Prema makes herself a cup of coffee. Unable to find a newspaper, she goes through the stack of flyers. Later she tries to switch on the TV, but the universal remote proves to be too much of a challenge. She returns to the kitchen and cooks a south Indian breakfast, enjoying the explorer-like thrill of looking for, and finding, various vessels and ingredients.
At around noon, Shilpa comes out of her bedroom. She’s wearing a kind of long loose T-shirt and seemingly little else.
– Shilpa! How nice to see you!
Prema walks up to Shilpa and puts her arms around her.
– How are you feeling, my child?
– Good, thank you.
She sounds formal, even standoffish.
– Are you taking good care of yourself?
– Yes. Amma, I’m sorry, I didn’t get to see you yesterday. You’d gone to bed when I came back.â€
– Never mind, dear. Would you like to have some upma?
– Did you make it? How quickly you’ve learned to find your way around the house!
The second statement almost sounds like a rebuke. Ignoring it, Prema talks about the day Shyam was born. Shilpa remains mostly silent as she mechanically devours the breakfast.
– …It was in the middle of the night and we went in a rickshaw to the hospital. Can you believe that?
– Amma, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go and get ready now.
– It’s OK, my dear. How do you go to work?
– My supervisor picks me up.
– Oh.
Shilpa returns, wearing an ill-fitting top and a crumpled pair of trousers.
– Everyone at the factory dresses like this, says Shilpa.
She gets into a scuffed pair of work-boots, and yanks out a genderless coat from the closet.
– Don’t wait for me, Amma. Have your dinner with Shyam.
Prema peeps though the front window. She sees a dusty red pick-up drawn up on the road. Before climbing into the vehicle, Shilpa turns and looks at the window.
Prema steps back, as if stung.
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