Faerie by Eisha Marjara Read Free Book Online Page A

down the hallway toward Monika’s room, pushed open her door, and walked in. But Monika wasn’t there.
    She was in the garden hosing the rose bush. She wore a buttercup yellow T-shirt and denim shorts, and the misty water cast her in shimmering stardust. Dad stormed outside. “ Ki kitta tune? Sharam nahee andhi! ” he roared as he marched toward her and snatched the hose from her hand. A flurry of vexed Punjabi obscenities tumbled from his tongue. Monika tried to plead with him, but my educated, progressive, westernized father channelled the old-world convictions of past generations. Monika was his flesh and blood. He was, in his rage, immune to the influence of higher education, western ways, and modern life with its liberal leanings. Monika carried a responsibility, unique to the children of immigrants, to uphold the traditions and values of the land which had birthed her parents’ generation while excelling with competitive rigour in the traditions of the host country. It was a delicate cultural balancing act, and Monika had failed.
    Mr Lorry Driver’s parents had phoned to invite us to celebrate the good news and were sorry we were out of the country and could not attend the wedding.
    Once she left, we obeyed an unspoken rule that her name was not to be uttered. Dad transformed Monika’s room into a library. The reconstruction of this room took up most of his time outside his academic and domestic duties. I helped him classify books, paint hard-to-reach corners, and accompanied him to furniture stores. I was ever the obedient little child. Never did Iwant to trigger in him the anger he felt for Monika. I would not dare to grow up on him now.
    â€œ Aunty ji …” Monika lowered her voice. “He treats me well. He is a good husband.” Then her manicured hand fell on her belly. “We’re expecting …” Mother brought her hand to her mouth as though covering her lips would hold back her tears. “I’m happy, Aunty ji . I want nothing but your blessing.”
    Monika walked over to my mother and, crouching down, folded her arms about Mother’s broad ample figure.
    We then heard the low rumble of Dad’s Chrysler, the slam of the car door. Monika gave me a winking smile, as if to say that all would be okay. Mother stood up stiffly and walked into the kitchen. We heard whispers, then Dad appeared in the doorway. He looked first at me, then at Monika, who had risen to her feet.
    â€œHello, uncle.”
    He stared at her for a moment and, without a word, turned and disappeared down the hallway. We heard the library door shut with a resolute click.
    Monika’s shoulders slumped in resignation.
    Mother let out a sigh. “He’ll come around. Don’t worry.”
    Monika gave me a feeble hug before leaving again, without my father’s blessing.
    By the end of that summer, I weighed 135 pounds.

10 . The Heavy
    The school yard clamoured with excited, bronzed teens who boasted about their summers and stood tall and gorgeous in their fall fashions. I stepped off the school bus and made my way to the classroom. I had graduated from juvenile backpack to senior shoulder bag, which held promising new notebooks awaiting lessons from him. My longing for Mr Black had grown exponentially during the endless solitude of my summer, especially after Monika had left again. I had been waiting to relive the precious moments when our eyes first locked.
    When I looked in the classroom door, however, he was not where my fantasy needed him to be; instead, we found a dull substitute. Mr Black had been called back to England and would not be returning. I expected to be disappointed, but my immediate response was sweet relief. I was glad he was gone. And then I overheard gossip so incredible it left me breathless. Mr Black hadn’t been called away; he’d been sent away because of a girl named Marie Namur, a mousy-haired grade-nine student. She’d exposed, in