not mean accepting a change for the worse.
For half the night Maneck struggled with his thoughts, slowly packing his boxes and suitcase. The other half of the night he spent unpacking, and writing to his parents. He wrote that so far he had not been truthful with them, and was sorry, but he had wanted to spare them the worry: “The hostel is such a horrible place, I cannot stay here anymore. Not only is it dirty and stinking, which I can tolerate, but the people are disgusting. Many of them are not even students, and I don’t know how these goondas are allowed to live in a student hostel. They take hashish and ganja, get drunk, fight. Gambling goes on openly, and they sell drugs to the students.” He thought a bit, then added, “One of them even tried to sell to me.” That should make them think twice. “It is all absolutely horrible, and I want to return as soon as possible. I’ll work in the shop without interfering, and do as you tell me, I promise.”
Surely this was drastic enough, he felt, to make his parents act. There was no need to reveal the real shame.
Secretly, Mr. and Mrs. Kohlah were both delighted that Maneck wanted to come home. They missed him intensely but had never dared talk about it, not even to each other. They preferred to pretend, especially in company, how proud and happy they were that their son was away getting a worthwhile education.
And Maneck’s urgent letter did nothing to change this. They carefully controlled their responses to keep up appearances. “What a pity if he comes back so soon,” said Mr. Kohlah.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Kohlah. “He will lose his only chance for a good career. What do you think, Farokh? What should we do?”
Mr. Kohlah knew in his heart that if his son was unhappy he should return home immediately. But perhaps there ought to be some effort made, however halfhearted, at finding another solution — it would surely be expected by everyone, including their friends. Or he might be accused of being too soft a father.
“Seems to me there is definitely a problem at the college hostel,” he said cautiously.
“Of course there is! My son does not lie! And he simply cannot be allowed to remain in such a wicked place, full of vice and rogues and ruffians, just for the sake of a college diploma! What kind of parents would we be?”
“Yes, yes, calm down, I am trying to think.” He massaged his forehead. “If the hostel is not suitable, maybe we should find him some other lodging. Privately, in someone’s home. That would solve the problem.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mrs. Kohlah, playing along. She did not want to carry the lifelong label of the possessive mother who had ruined her son’s future. “What about asking my relatives?”
“No, they live too far from the college, remember?” Besides, who could tell what kind of namby-pamby thoughts they would fill Maneck’s head with. After twenty years they still hadn’t got used to the idea of Aban living away from them.
“If only we can find him a nice safe room somewhere,” she said. “Somewhere that we can afford.” Which was next to impossible, she imagined cheerfully, in a city where millions were living in slums and on the pavements. And not just beggars — even people with jobs who had the money to pay rent. Only, there was nothing to rent. No, there was no chance for Maneck, he would be home soon. And she broke into a smile at that happy thought.
“What are you smiling for when we have such a big problem on our hands?” said Mr. Kohlah.
“Was I smiling? No, nothing, just thinking of Maneck.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, finding it difficult to contain his own pleasure. “You can try writing to that friend of yours. She might know of some place.”
“Yes, good idea. After dinner tonight I’ll write to Zenobia,” agreed Mrs. Kohlah, joyful in the knowledge that it would be a waste of a stamp.
They returned to their chores. The ordeal of masking delight with disappointment was over. Now it was just a question of waiting till their lukewarm efforts failed and their son came home.
In a few days, however, they had to pretend all over again, but in reverse, when, to their bitter surprise, accommodation was swiftly arranged for Maneck. Now they had to force a display of satisfaction that his education was going ahead, and sweep away the remains of their short-lived hopes.
Mrs. Kohlah resentfully wrote a thank-you letter to Mrs. Dalai, at the address Zenobia had sent. “I wonder if Dina is still as beautiful as she was in high school,” she said, relishing the sound as she tore the page from the writing pad. The rip was in harmony with her present mood.
“You can ask Maneck. He will soon be able to give you a full report from her flat,” said Mr. Kohlah. “Even send you an up-to-date photo if you like.” He could not help feeling, as he watched her at the desk, that the busybodies from his wife’s past were interfering in his family life, conniving to keep his son away from him.
Immediately afterwards, he realized he was being silly. He brought out his bank book and wrote a cheque for the first month’s rent. Mrs. Kohlah enclosed it with her letter to Mrs. Dalai.
Dina listened closely for sounds of life from the silent bathroom. What was he up to, why was there no splashing of water? “Maneck! Is everything all right? Is the water hot enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You found the mug? Should be next to the bucket. And you can sit on the wooden stool if you like.”
“Yes, Aunty.” Maneck felt awkward about mentioning the worms, which were advancing in battalions from the drain. He hoped they would soon return to their underground home of their own accord. But maybe I should have returned home on the train, of my own accord, he thought bitterly. How stupid of me to write a letter. Hoping Daddy would allow me to come back.
Dina kept waiting to hear the mug’s clatter and the splash of water. The silence outlasted her patience. “What’s wrong, Maneck? Can you please hurry up? I have to bathe too, before the tailors come.”
She hoped there would be some time today to cash the rent cheque. First, however, she had to see Maneck off to college and start things on the right footing. He wouldn’t be a problem once he became used to her routine. And learned to use modern gadgets, like the immersion heater. Poor boy had no idea what it was. And when she’d asked him what they did at home for hot water, he described the boiler stoked with coal every morning. How primitive. But he had made his own bed, folding everything neatly — that was impressive.
She went to the bathroom door and asked again, “Are you managing all right?”
“Yes, Aunty. But some worms are crawling out of the gutter.”
“Oh, them! Just throw a little water and they will go away.”
There was a splash, and then silence again.
“Well?”
“They’re still coming.”
“Okay, let me take a look.”
He started to put on his clothes, and she knocked. “Come on, please wrap your towel and open the door. I don’t have time to stand here all morning.”
He dressed fully before letting her in.
“Shy boy. I’m as old as your mother. What was I going to see? Now. Where are those worms that frightened you?”
“I was not frightened. They just look so disgusting. And there are so many of them.”
“Naturally. It’s the season for worms. The monsoon always brings them. I thought you would be used to such things, where you live. In the mountains, with wild animals.”
“But certainly not in the bathroom, Aunty.”
“In my bathroom you’ll have to get used to it. All you can do is push the worms back by throwing water. Cold water — don’t use up the hot.” She demonstrated, brushing past him to reach the bucket, hurling mugfuls that sent the creatures sliding towards the drain. “See? There they go, into the gutter.”
The soft lines of her outstretched upper arm did more to reassure him than the water technique. Bent over the parapet, her back pulled the nightgown taut against her hips, revealing the underwear outline. His eyes lingered, turning away when she straightened.
“Well? Are you going to bathe now? Or do you want me to stay with you, stand on guard against the worms?” He blushed, and she, worried about the tailors arriving, said, “Listen, because this is your first morning, I will do something special for you.”
She fetched the bottle of phenol from the shelf outside the wc, uncorked it, and trickled the white fluid onto the worms. It worked instantaneously, transforming them into a writhing red mass, and then into little lifeless coils.
