A Dead Hand Read Free Page A

Indian women did, I realized that she was not just attractive but extremely beautiful—queenly, motherly, even sexual, with a slowness and elasticity in her manner and movements, a kind of strength and grace. I did not feel this in my brain but rather in my body, as a tingling in my flesh.
    "Please sit down. I thought you might not come. Oh, what a treat! What will you have to drink?"
    The waiter was hovering.
    "Beer. A Kingfisher," I said.
    "One more of these," one of the young men said.
    "I'm fine," the other said—the Indian.
    "My son, Chalmers."
    "Charlie," he said. "And this is my friend Rajat."
    "Should I have another drink?" Mrs. Unger asked. "I never know what I ought to do. Tell me." She winked at me. "They're in charge. I just take orders."
    "Go on, Ma," Charlie said.
    "It's only
jal,
water with a little cucumber juice," she said. "One more." The waiter bowed. "This is Sathya. He is far from home. He knows that I am far from home. Maybe that's why he's so kind to me.
Onek dhonnobad.
"
    "
Dhonnobad, dhonnobad.
Kindness is yours, madam," Sathya said. He was a gnome-like figure in a blue cummerbund, and round-shouldered with deference. He bowed again, then hurried off sideways, as though out of exaggerated respect.
    "Ma babies him," Charlie said. I was still turning "Chalmers" over in my mind. "He loves it."
    "I'm the one who's infantilized," Mrs. Unger said. "That was the great mistake the British made in India. They thought they had the whip hand here. They were waited on hand and foot. They didn't notice that the servants were in charge. It took awhile for the servants to realize they had the power. And then the flunkies simply revolted against the helpless sahibs."
    Rajat said, "Our love-hate relationship with the British."
    "Why on earth would you love these second-rate people?"
    "Institutions," Rajat said. "Education. Judiciary. Commerce."
    "India had those institutions when the British were running around naked on their muddy little island."
    "Road and rail system," Rajat said, but ducking a little. He was a small, slightly built man in his twenties with fine bones and a compact way of sitting. "Communications."
    "Self-serving, so they could keep India under their thumb," Mrs. Unger said. Seeing Sathya returning with a tray of drinks, she said, "Ah!"
    Sathya set down her glass of juice and the beer.
    Charlie said, "They make their own whiskey. That's a great British institution."
    "When Morarji Desai was PM he closed down the breweries and distilleries. They turned to bottling spring water," Rajat said.
    "Desai had his own preferred drink," Charlie said. "A cup of his own piss every morning." He stared at me. "Did you know that, doll?"
    "Chalmers is trying to shock you," Mrs. Unger said.
    Rajat said, "Some people think it has medicinal properties."
    "I am one of those people," Mrs. Unger said. "I'm surprised Chalmers doesn't know that."
    "Ma is a true Ayurvedic. You won't believe the things she eats and drinks."
    "But I draw the line at tinkle, efficacious though it may be. I don't quite think my body is crying out for it."
    "Ma has healing hands."
    "Magic fingers for Ma," Rajat said.
    "I try," Mrs. Unger said. She lifted her slender hands and gazed at them in wonderment, as if seeing them for the first time.
    She told me about her earliest visits to India, recalling cities and experiences, but because she didn't drop any dates I could not work out her age. Charlie was in his mid-twenties. I took her to be in her late forties—younger than me but forceful, assertive, more confident and worldly, so she seemed older. Charlie did not look like her at all. He was pale, beaky, floppy-haired, languid, his lopsided mouth set in a sneer.
    She talked about her business—textiles and fabrics, being funny about how she was overcharged, lied to, and always having to bribe customs officials—while I looked closely at her and at her attentive son and his Indian friend.
    Her opinionated humor and energy made