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Copyright © 1999 by Jhumpa LahiriALL RIGHTS RESERVBD

For information about permission to reproduce selectionsfrom this book, write to Permissions,

Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,New York, New York 10003.

Library of C~gress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lahiri, Jhumpa.Interpreter of maladies / Jhumpa Lahiri .

<;p. cm.Contents: A temporary matter - When Mr. Pirzada

came to dine - Interpreter of maladies - A real durwan -Sexy - Mrs. Sen's - This blessed house - The treatment

of Bibi Haldar - The third and final continent.ISBN 0-395-92720-X

1. East Indian Americans - Social life and customs -Fiction. I.Title.

PS3562.A316158 1999813'.54 - dczr 98-50895 elP

Printed in the United States of America

Book design by Robert Overholtzer

QUM 20 19 18 17

Some of the stories in this collection have appeared elsewhere,in slightly different form: "ATemporary Matter" in The NewYorker, ''When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine" in The LouisvilleReview, "Interpreter of Maladies" in the Agni Review, ':A RealDurwan" in the Harvard Review, "Sexy" in The New Yorker, "Mrs.Sen's" in Salamander, "This BlessedHouse" in Epoch, and "TheTreatment of Bibi Haldar" in Story Qllarterly.

INTERPRETBR OF MALAE>IBS :~ 44

but dressed as foreigners did, the children in stiff, brightlycolored' clothing and caps with translucent visors. Mr. Kapasiwas accustomed to foreign tourists; he was assigned to them

. regularly because he could speak English. Yesterday he haddriven an elderly couple from Scotland, both with spotted facesand fluffy white hair so thin it exposed their sunburnt scalps. Incomparison, the tanned, youthful faces of Mr. and Mrs. Daswere all the more striking. When he'd introduced himself, Mr.Kapasi had pressed his palms together in greeting, but Mr. Dassqueezed hands like an American so that Mr. Kapasi felt it inhis elbow. Mrs. Das, for her part, had flexed one side of hermouth, smiling dutifully at Mr. Kapasi, without displaying anyinterest in him.

ABthey waited at the tea stall, Ronny, who looked like theolder of the two boys, clambered suddenly out of the-backseat, intrigued by a goat tied to a stake in the ground.

"Don't touch it," Mr. Das said. He glanced up from hispaperback tour book, which said "INDIK in yellow letters andlooked as if it had been published abroad. His voice, somehowtentative and a little shrill, sounded as though it had! not yetsettled into maturity.

"I'want to give it a piece of gum," the boy «alled back as hetrotted ahead.

Mr. Das stepped out of the car and stretched his legs bysquatting briefly to the ground. A clean-shaven man, he lookedexactly like a magnified version of Ronny. He had a sapphireblue visor, and was dressed in shorts, sneakers, and a T-shirt.The camera slung around his neck, with an impressive tele-.photo lens and-numerous buttons and markings, was the onlycomplicated thing he Wore. He frowned, watching as Ronnyrushed toward the &oat, but appeared to have no intention ofintervening. "Bobby, make sure that your brother doesn't doanything stupid."

1 N T E R PRE T B R 0 F MAL A 0 I B S .~ 45

"I don't feel like it," Bobby said, not moving. He was sittingin the front seat beside Mr. Kapasi, studying a picture of theelephant god taped to the glove compartment .

"No need to worry," Mr. Kapasi said. "They are quite tame."Mr. Kapasi was forty-six years old, with receding hair tHat hadgone completely silver, but his butterscotch complexion andhis unlined brow, which he treated in spare moments to dabsof lotus-oil balm, made it easy to.imagine what he must havelooked like at an earlier age. He wore gray trousers and amatching jacket-style shirt, tapered at the waist, with shortsleeves and a large pointed collar, made of a thin out durablesynthetic material. 'He had specified both the cut and the fabricto his 'tailor - it was his preferred uniform .for giving tours'because it did not get crushed during his long hours behind thewheel. Thro.ugh the windshield he watched as Ronny circledaround the goat, touched it quickly on its side, then trottedback to the car.

"You left India as a child?" Mr. Kapasi asked when Mr. Dashad settled once' again into the passenger seat.

"Oh, Mina and I were both born in America," Mr. Das an-nounced with. an air of sudden confidence. "Born and raised.Our parents live here now, in Assansol. They retired. We visitthem every couple years." He turned to watth as the little girlran toward the car, the wide purple bows of her sundressflopping on her narrow brown shoulders. She was holding toher chest a doll with yellow hair that looked as if it had beenchopped, as a punitive measure, with a pair of dull scissors."This is Tina's first trip to India, isn't it, Tina?"

"I don't have to go to the bathroom anymore," Tina an-nounced.

"Where's Mina?" Mr. Das asked.Mr. Kapasi-found it straJ;J.g~that Mr. Das should refer to his

wife by her first name when speaking to the little girl. Tina

I N T E R P R B T ERa F MAL A D I B S .~ 46

pointed to where Mrs. Das was purchasing something fromone of the shirtless men who worked at; the tea stall. Mr.

, ' r I

Kapasi heard one of the shirtless men sing a phrase from apopular Hindi love song as Mrs. Das walked back to the car,'but she did not appear to understand the words of the-song, forshe did not express irritation, or embarrassment, or react inany other way to the man's declarations.

He 'observed her. She wore a red-and-white-checkered skirtthat stopped above her knees, slip-on shoes with a squarewooden heel, and a close-fitting blouse styled like a man'sundershirt. The blouse was decorated at che~t-level with acalico applique in the shape of a strawberry. She was a shortwoman, with small hands like paws, her frosty pink finger-nails painted to match her lips, and was.slightly plump in herfigure. Her hair; shorn only a little longer than her husband's,was parted far to one side. She was wearing large dark brownsunglasses with a pinkish tint to them, and carried a big 'straw•bag, almost as big as her tors.o, shaped like a bowl, with a waterbottle poking out of it. She walked slowly; carrying somepuffed rice tossed with peanuts and chili peppers in a largepacker made from newspapers. Mr. Kapasi turned to Mr. Das,

"Where in America do you live?""New Brunswick, New Jersey""Next to New York?""Exactly I teach middle school there.", "Wha~ subject?""Science. In fact, every year I take my students on a trip to

I the Museum of Natural History in New York City In a way wehave a lot in common, Y0U could say;you and I.How long Haveyou been a tour guide, Mr. Kapasi?"

"Five years."Mrs. Das reached the car. "How long's the trip?" she asked,

shutting the door.

I N T E R P R B T ERa F M A ):..A DIE S .~ 47

'About two and a half hours," Mr. Kapasi replied.At this Mrs. Das gave an impatient sigh, as if she had been

traveling her whole Iife'without pause. She fanned herself witha folded Bombay film magazine written in English.

"I thought that the Sun Temple is only, eighteen miles northof Puri," Mr. Das said, tapping on the tour book.

"The roads to Konarak are poor. Actually it is a distance offifty-two miles," MI. Kapasi explained.

Mr. Das nodded, readjusting the camera strap where it hadbegun to chafe the back of his neck.

Before starting the ignition, Mr. Kapasi reached back tomake sure the cranklike locks on the inside of each of theback doors were secured. As soon qS the car began to move thelittle girl began to play with the lotk on her' side, clicking itwith some effort forward and backward, but Mrs. Das saidnothing to stop her. She' sat a bit.slouched at one end of theback seat, not offering her puffed rice to anyone. Ronny andTina sat on either side of her, both snappingbright green gu11l.

"Look," Bobby said as the car began to gather speed. Hepainted with his finger to the tall trees that lined the road."Look."

"Monkeys!" Ronny shrieked. "Wow!"They were seated in groups along the branches, with shin-

ing black faces, silver bodies; horizontaleyebrows, and' crestedheads. Their long gray tails dangled like a series of ropesamong the leaves. A few scratched themselves with black leath-ery hands, or swung their feet, staring as the.car passed.

"We call them the hanuman," Mr. Kapasi said. "They arequite commonin the area." ;

As soon as he spoke, one of the monkeys leaped into themiddle of the road, causing Mr. Kapasi to brake suddenly.Another bounced onto the hood of the car, then sprang a,*ayMr. Kapasi beeped his horn. The children began to get excited,

lNTBRPRETER OF MALADIES :~ 48

sucking in their breath and covering their faces partly withtheir hands. They had never seen monkeys outside of a zoo,Mr. Das explained. He asked Mr. Kapasi to ,stpp the car so that.he 'c(i)Uldtake a-picture; . ,! .. ,', ." 0;' ,

While Mr. Das adjusted his telephoto lens, Mrs. Das reachedinto her straw bag and pulled out a bottle of colorless nailpolish, which she proceeded to stroke on the tip of her indexfinger.

The little girl stuck out a hand. "Mine too. MOmmy, domine too." '\ 1".

"Leave me alone," Mrs, Das'said, blowing Oil, her nail andturning her body slightly. "You're making me mess up."

The little girl occupied hers# by buttoning and unbutton-ing a pinafore on the doll's plastic body.

'1\11 set," Mr. Das said, replacing the lens cap. • ,The car rattled considerably as it raced along the dusty road,

ca~sim.g them .all, to pop rap from their seats' evesy no~ andthen, but Mrs. Das continued. to polish her nails. Mr. Kapasieased up on the accelerator, hoping to produce a smootherride. When he reached for the gearshift the boy in front accom-modated him by swinging his hairless knees out of the way.Mr. Kapasi noted that this ~oy was slightly paler than the other,children: "Dadda }V9Y is,the driver sitting on the wrpng side 'inthis [ar;' tOG?"the boy aske& . , I

,"They an do that here, 'dummy," Ronny said."Do11,'tcall your brother a dummy," Mr. Das said. He turned

to Mr. Kapasi. "In America, you know ... it confuses them.""Oh yes, I am well aware," !vir. Kapasi said. As delicately

as he .oould, he shifted gears again, accelerating as they' ap-Pt~ached a hill in the road: "I ,see it 01'1 EJallils; the steer~ngwheels are en the left-hand side." '

"What's Dallas?" Tina asked, banging her now naked doll onthe seat behind Mr. Kapasi.

I N T B R P R B T BRa F MAL A D I B S :~ 49

"It went off the air," Mr. Das explained. "It's a televisionshow."

They were an like siblings, Mr. Kapasi thought as theypassed a row' of date trees. ·Mr. and Mrs. Das behaved like .an 'older brother and sister, not parents. It seemed that they werein charge of the children only for the day; it was hard to believethey were regularly responsible for anything other than them-selves. Mr. Das tapped on his lens cap, and his tour book, drag-ging his thumbnail occasionally across the pages so that theymade a scraping sound. Mrs. Das continued to polish her nails.She had still not removed her sunglasses. Every now andthen Tina renewed her plea that she wanted her nails done,too, and S0 at one point Mrs. Das flicked a drop of polish onthe little girl's finger before depositing the bottle back insideher straw bag.

"Isn't this an.air-conditioned car?" she asked, still blowing Onher hand. The wjndow on Tina's side was broken anGh'couldnot be rolled down.

"Quit complaining," Mr. Das said. "It isn't so hot.""I told you to get a car with air-conditioning;" Mrs. Das

continued. "Why do you do this, Raj, just to save a few stupidrupees. What are you saving us, fifty cents?"

Their accents sounded just like the ones Mr. Kapasi heardon American television programs, though not like the' ones tinDallas.

"Doesn't it get tiresome, Mr. Kapasi, showing people thesame thing every day?" Mr. Das asked, rolling down his ownwindow an the way. "Hey, do you mind stopping the car. I justwant to get a shot of this guy."

Mr. Kapasi. pulled over to the side 'of the road as Mr. Dastook a picture of a barefoot man, his head wrapped in a dirtyturban, seated on top of a cart of grain sacks pulled by a pair ofbullocks. Both the man and the bullocks were emaciated. In

1N T E R PRE T ERa F MAL A 0 I E S :~ 50

the back. seat Mrs. Das gazed out another window, at the sky,where nearly transparent clouds passed quickly in front of oneanother.

"I look forward to-it, actually;" Mr. Kapasi said-as they con-tinued on their way. "The Sun Temple is one of my favoriteplaces. In that way it is a reward for me. I give tours on Fridaysand Saturdays only I have another Job during the week."

"Oh? Where?" Mr. Das asked."I work in a doctor's office."',You're a doctor?""I am not a doctor, I work with one. AB an interpreter." ,"What does a doctor need an interpreter for?""He has a number of Gujarati patients. Mr father was Gu-

jarati, but many; people' do not speak Gujarati in this area.including the doctor. And so the doctor asked me to work inhis office, interpreting what the patients say.", ,,"Interesting. I've never heard of anythin~ like that," Mr. Dassaid.

Mr. Kapasi shrugged. "It is a job like any other.""But so romantic,", Mrs. Das said dreamily, breaking- her,

extended silence. She lifted her pinkish brown SUnglasses andarranged them on top of her head like a tiara. For the firsttime, her eyes met, Mr. Kapasi's in the rearview mirror: pale, ~bit small, their gaze fixed but drowsy

Mr. Das craned to look at her. "What's so romantic·about it?"

"I,,don'~ know., Something," .She shrugged, l¢itting her.brows together for an instant. "Would you like a piece of gum,Mr. Kapasir" she asked brightly. She reached into her straw bagand handed him a small,square wrapped in green-and-white-striped paper. As soon as Mr. Kapasi put the gum inhis mouth,a thick. sweet liquid burst onto his tongue.

I N T E R PRE T ERa F MAL A 0 I E S .~ 5I

"Tel] us more 'about-your job, Mr. Kapasi;" Mrs. Das said. \'What would you like to know, madame?""I don't know," she shrugged, munching on some puffed

. rice and licking the mustard.oil from the corners of her mouth."Tell us a typical situation." She settled back in her seat, herhead tilted in a patch of sun, and closed her eyes. "I want topicture what happens." .n

"Very well. The other day a man came inwith a pain in histhroat."

"Did he smoke cigarettes?"I

"NGl. It was very curious. He complained that he' felt as ifthere were long pieces of straw stuck in his throat. When I toldthe doctor he was able to prescribe the proper medication."

"That's, S0 neat.""Yes," Mr ..Kapasi agreed after some hesitation."So these patients are totally dependent on you," Mrs. Das

said. She spoke slowly, asif she were thinking aloud. 'lIn a Wiay;more dependent on you than the doctor." '

"How do you mean? How could it be?""Well, for example, you could tell the doctor that the pain

felt like a burning, not straw. The patient wotllcl never knowwhat you had told the doctor, and the doctor wouldn't knowthat you had told the wrong thing. It's a big responsibility."

"Yes, 'a big responsibiltty you have there, Mr. Kapasi," Mr.Das agreed.

Mr. Kapasi had never thought of his job in such com-plimentary. terms .. To him it 'was a thankless occupation. Hefound nothing noble in interpreting people's maladies, assid-uously translating the symptoms of so many swollen bones,countless, cramps of bellies and bowels SP0tSon people's palmsthat changed c010r, shape, or size. The doctor, nearly half hisage, had an affinity for bell-bottom trousers and made hu-

INTERPRETER OF MALADIES :~ 52

morless jokes about the Congress party. Together they workedin a stale little infirmary where Mr. Kapasi's smartly tailoredclothes clung to him in the heat, in spite of the blackenedblades of a ceiling fan churning over their heads.

The job was a sign of his failings. In his youth he'd been adevoted scholar of foreign languages, the owner of an impres-sive collection of dictionaries. He had dreamed of being an in-terpreter for diplomats and dignitaries, resolving conflicts be-tween ,people and nations, settling disputes of which he alonecould understand both sides. He was a self-educated man. In aseries of notebooks, in the evenings before his parents settled ,his marriage, he had listed the common etymologies of words,and at one point in his life he was confident that he couldconverse, if given the opportunity in English, French, Russian,Portuguese, and Italian, not to mention Hindi, Bengali, Orissi,and Gujarati. Now only a handful of European phrases re-mained in his memory; scattered-words for things like saucersand chairs. English was the only non-Indian language he spokefluendy anymore. Mr. Kapasi knew it was not a remarkabletalent. Sometimes he feared that his children knew better Eng-lish than he did, just from watching television. Still, it came inhandy for the tours.

He had taken tlhe job as ;ill, interpreter after his first S0n, atthe age of seven, contracted typhoid - that was how he hadfirst made the acquaintance of the doctor. At the time Mr.Kapasi had been teaching English in a grammar school, and hebartered his skills as an interpreter to pay the increasinglyexorbitant medical bills. In the end the boy had died one eve-ning in his mother's arms, his limbs burning with fever, butthen there was the funeral to pay for, and the other childrenwho were born soon enough, and the newer, bigger house,and the good schools and tutors, and the fine shoes and ,the

INTERPRETER OF MALADIES :~ 53

television, and the coundess other ways he tried to console hiswife and to keep her from crying in her sleep, and so when thedoctor offered to pay him twice as much as he earned at thegrammar school, he accepted. Mr. Kapasi knew that his wifehad little regard for his career as an interpreter. He knew itreminded her of the son she'd lost, and that she resented theother lives he helped, fn his own small way, to save. If ever shereferred to his position, I she used the phrase "doctor's assisttant," as if the process of Interpretation were equal ito tak-ing-someone's temperature, 0r'ch~hging ~ bedpsa, She neverasked.him about the patients who, €aFfle te, the doctor's office,or said that his job was a big resPQnsibWcy.

For this reason it flattered Mr. Kapasi, that Mrs. Das was sointrigued by his job. Unlike his wife, she had reminded him ofits intellectual challenges. She had also used the word "roman-tic." She did not behave in a romantic way toward her hus-band, and yet she had used the word to describe him.' Hewondered if Mr. and Mrs. Das were a bad match, just as'he andhis wife were. Perhaps they; too, had litde in cornmon apartfrom three children and a decade €:Iftheir lives, The signs herecognized from his own marriage were there ~ the bickering,the in~er~p.ce, the projracted silences, Her sudd€It. interest ,in him, an in~erest she did 'pot express in eithel\ het 'hu~bandor her children, was mildly, intoxit~ting. When Mr., ~a:pas.i 'thought once again about how she had ,saj.d "romantic," thefeeling of intoxication grew.

He began .to check his reflection in the rearview mirror' ashe drove, feeling grateful that he had chosen the gray suit thatmorning and not the brown one, which tended to sag a little inthe knees. From time to time he glanced through the mirror atMrs. Das. In addition to glancing at her face he .glanced at thestrawberry between her breasts, and the golden brown hollow

I N T B R P R B T B R 0 F M:A LAD I E S .~ 54

in her throat. He decided to tell Mrs. Das about another pa-tient, and another: the young woman who had complained ofa sensation of raindrops in her spine, the gentleman whosebirthmark had begun to sprout hairs. Mrs. Das listened atten-tively, stroking her hair with a small plastic brush that resem-bled an oval bed of nails, asking more questions, for yet an-other example. The children were quiet, intent on spottingmore monkeys in the trees, and Mr. Das was absorbed by histour book, so it seemed like a private conversation betweenMr. Kapasi and Mrs. Das. In this manner the next half hourpassed, and when they st~pped for lunch at a roadside restau-rant that soldfritters and omelette sandwiches-usually some-thing Mr. Kapasi hooked forward to on his tours so that hecould sit in peace and enjoy some hot tea, he was disappointed.As the Das family settled together under a magenta umbrellafringed with white and orange tassels, and placed their orderswith one of the waiters who marched about in tricorneredcaps, Mr. Kapasi reluctantly headed toward a neighboringtable.

"Mr. Kapasi, wait. There's room here," Mrs. Das called out.She gathered Tina onto her lap,. insisting that he accompanythem. And so, together, they had bottled mango juice andsandwiches and plates of onions' and potatoes deep-fried ingraham-flour batter, Afterfinishing two omelette sandwichesMr. Das took more pictures of the gmup as they ate. ~

"How much longer?" he asked Mr. Kapasi as he paused toload a new roll of film in the camera.

'About half an hour more."By now the children had gotten up from the table to look at

more monkeys perched in a nearby, tree, so there was i consid-. erable space between Mrs. Das and Mr. Kapasi. Mr. Das placedthe camera to his face and squeezed one eye shut, his tongue

INTBRPRB17E'R OF' MALADIBS :.... 55

exposed at one corner of his mouth. "This looks funny. Mina,you need to lean in closer to Mr. Kapasi."

She did. He could smell a scent on her skin, like a mixture ofwhiskey and rosewater. He worried suddenly that she couldsmell his perspiration, which he knew had collected beneaththe synthetic material of his shirt. He polished off his mangojuice in one gulp and smoothed his silver hair with his hands. Abit of the juice dripped onto his chin. He wondered if Mrs. Dashad noticed.

She had not. "What's YOll!" address, Mr. Kapasir" she in-quired, fishing for something inside her straw bag.

"You would like my address?""So we can send you copies," she said. "Of the pictures." She

handed him a scrap of paper which she had hastily ripped froma page of her film magazine. The blank portion was limited,for the narrow strip was crowded by lines of text and a tinypicture of a hero and heroine embracing under a eucalyptustree.

The paper curled as Mr. Kapasi wrote his address in clear,careful letters. She would write to him, asking about his daysinterpreting at the doctor's office, and he would respond elo-quently; choosing only the most entertaining anecdotes, onesthat would make her laugh out loud as she read them in herhouse in New 1ersey. In time she w-ould reveal the disappoint-merit of her marriage, and he his. In.this way their friendshipwould grow, and flourish. He would p0ssess a picture of thetwo of them, eating fried onions under a magenta umbrella,which he would keep, he decided, safely tucked between thepages of his Russian grammar. As his mind raced, Mr. Kapasiexperienced a mild and pleasant shock. It was similar to afeeling he used to experience long ago when, after months oftranslating with the aid of a dictionary; he would finally read a

I N T B R PRE r ERa F MAL A DIE S ~ 56

passage from a French novel, or an. Italian sonnet, and under-stand the words, one after another, unencumbered by his ownefforts. In those moments Mr. Kapasi used to believe that allwas right with the world, that all struggles were-rewarded, thatall of life's mistakes made sense in the end. The promise thathe would hear from Mrs. Das now filled him with the samebelief.

When he finished writing his address Mr. Kapasi handed herthe paper, but as soon as he did so he' worried that he Ihadeither misspelled his nan:re" Ior :kcidentally' reversed the num- ,I

bers of his postal code. He dreaded the possibility of a lostletter, the photograph never reaching him, hovering some-where in Orissa, close but Ultimately unattainable. He thoughtof asking for the slip of paper again, just to make sure hehad written his address accurately, but Mrs. Das- had alreadydropped it into the jumble of her bag.

They reached Konarak at two-thirty. The temple, made ofsandstone, was a massive pyramid-like structure in the shapeof a chariot, It was dedicated to the great master of life, the;sun, which struck three sides of the edifice as, it .made itsjourriey each' day across the sky.. Twenry-four, giant wheelswete carved on the north and ~0uth sides of, the"plinth, Tnewhole thing was drawn by a team ·of seven horses, 'speedingas if through the heavens . .As they approached, Mr. Kapasi ex-plained that the temple had been built between A,D. 1243 andI255, with the efforts of twelve hundred artisans, by the greatruler of the Ganga dynasty, King Narasimhadeva the First; tocommemorate his victory against the Muslim army.

"It says the temple occupies about a hundred and seventyacres of land," Mr. Das said, reading from his book.

"It's like a desert," Ronny said, his eyes wandering across thesand that stretched on all sides beyond the temple.

INTERPRETER OF MALADIES ':~ 57

"The Chandrabhaga River once flowed one mile north ofhere. It is dry now," Mr. Kapasi said, turning off the engine.

They got out and walked toward the temple, posing first forpictures by the pair of lions that flanked the steps. Mr. Kapasiled them next to one of the wheels of the chariot, higher thanany human being, nine, feet in diameter.

"The wheels are supposed-to symbolize the wheel of life,"Mr. Das read, "Theydepict the cycle of creation, preservation,and achievement of realization;' Cool." He turned the page ofhis 00,01<,. '''Each; wheel is d}v:jqed,into eight thick. .and thinspokes, dividing the day into eight equal parts. The rims arecarved with designs of birds and animals, whereas the medal-lions in the spokes are carved with women in luxurious poses,largely erotic in nature."

What he referred to were the countless friezes of entwinednaked bodies, making love in various positions, women cling-ing to the necks of men, their knees wrapped.eternally aroundtheir lovers' thighs. In addition to these were assorted scenesfrom daily life, of hunting and trading, of deer being killedwith bows and arrows and marching warriors holding swordsin their hands,

It,was no longer possible to entec the temple, for it had filledwith rubble'y;ears ago, bat they.admired the exterior, as did allthe tourists Mr. Kapasi brought there, slowly strolling alongeach of its sides. Mi. Das trailed behind, taking pictures. Thechildren ran ahead, pointing to figures of naked people, in-trigued in particular by the Nagamithunas, the half-human,half-serpentine couples who were said, Mr. Kapasi told them,to live in the deepest waters of the sea. Mr. Kapasi was pleasedthat they liked the temple, pleased especially that it appealed toMrs. Das. She stopped every three or four paces, staring silentlyat the carved lovers, and the processions of elephants, and thetopless female musicians beating on two-sided drums.

MAL A 0 I E S :~ 58

Though Mr. Kapasi had been to the temple countless times,it occurred to him, as he, too, gazed at the topless women, thathe had never seen his own wife fully naked. Even when theyhad made love she kept the panels of her blouse hooked' to-gether, the string of her petticoat knotted around her waist. Hehad never admired the .backs of his wife's legs the way he nowadmired those of, Mrs. Das, walking as if for his benefit alone.He had, of course, seen plenty of bare lim:bsbefore, belongingto.the Ainetican and European l~cll'es~ho took his tours. .ButMilS., JDas wi:J.s'different .sUnlife th:@'0,tlie:pwomen, WO.o!:tad an,

Ui,terest only ht the temple, and kept ,t)::leir noses, buried in ~guidebook, or their eyes behind,th~ lens 'of a'camera, Mrs. Dashad taken an interest in him. I '

Mr. Kapasi was anxious to be alone with her, to continuetheir private conversation, yet' he felt nervous to walk at herside. She was lost behind her sunglasses, ignoring her hus-band's requests that she pose for another picture, walking pasther children as if they were strangers. Worried that he mightdisturb her, Mr. Kapasi walked ahead, to admire, as he alwaysdid, the three life-sized bronze avatars of Surya, the sun god,each emerging from its own, niche 'on the temple facade togreet the sun at dawn, noon, and ;evening.1'hey wore elabo-nate headdresses" thei~ languid, elopgated eyes 'ciGseq, their

i ' ' I I ,'I

bare chests draped with carved ehains and' amulets, Hibiscuspetals, 'offerings from~previous' visitors, .were strewn. at theirgray-green feet. lhe last statue, on the northern wall of 'the, 'temple, was Mr. Kapasi's favorite'. This Surya had a-tired ex-pression, weary after a hard day of work, sitting astride a horsewith folded legs. Even his horse's eyes were drowsy. Around hisbody were smaller sculptures of women in pairs, their hipsthrust to one side.

"Who's that?" Mrs. Das asked. He was startled to see thatshe was standing beside him.' ,

1,

INTERPRBTBR dF ~A~AbIBS

"He is the Astachala-Surya," Mr. Kapasi said. "The settingsun,"

"So in a couple of hours, the sun will set right here?" Sheslipped a foot out of one of her square-heeled shoes, rubbedher toes on the back of her other leg.

"That is correct."She raised her sunglasses for a moment" then put them back

on again. 'INeat." ,!V1~,Kapasi W,fs~ot cy,rtain exa!J~Yw}:latthe wor~ suggested, '

but lie ,qad a{~elibg it }Vasa favosable response. Me heped thatMrs.IDas Had understo~d, Surya's, beau.ty, his pow~r. Perhapsthey would discuss it further in, their letters. He would ,.~-plain things to her, thihgs about India, and she would explainthings to him about America. In its own way this correspon-dence would fulfill his dream, 'of ,serving as an interpreter be-tween nations. He looked at her straw bag, delighted that hisaddress lay nestled among its contents. When he pictured herso many thousands of miles away he plummeted, so much sothat he had an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms aroundher, to freeze with her, even for an instant, in an embrace wit-nessed by hi~ favorite Surya. But Mrs ..Das had already startedwalking, I· ' " j"", ' ., ', . ,

"w,hen qo you return to, ~~ti'~~~'" he, aske.a~,trylqg "tosound placid, ' '

"In teh .days."He calculated: A week to settle in, a week to develop the

pictures, a few days to compose her letter, two weeks to getto India by air. According to his schedule, allowing room fordelays, he would hear, from Mrs. Das in approximately sixweeks' time.

The family was silent as Mr. Kapasi drove them back, a littlepast four-thirty, to Hotel Sandy Villa. The children had bought

I N T B R PRE T E R 0 F ~ A L A J!) I E S :~ 60

miniature granite versions of the chariot's wheels at a souvenirstand, and they turned them round in their hands. Mr. Dascontinued to read his book. Mrs. Das untangled Tina's hairwith her brush and divided it into two little ponytails.

Mr. Kapasi was beginning to dread the thought of drop-ping them off. He was not prepared to begin his six-week waitto hear from Mrs. Das. As he stole glances at her in the rear-view mirror, wrapping elastic bands around Tina's hair, hewondered how -he might make !th~ tour last a little longer,. Ordinarily he' sped back to Puri using ,a"shortcut" eag~r t?return home, scrub his feet and hanas'with sandalwood soap,and enjoy the evening newspaper and a cup of tea that hiswife would serve him in silence. The thought of that silence,something to which he'd long been resigned, now oppressedhim. It was then that he suggested visiting the hills at Udayagiriand Khandagiri, where a number of monastic dwellings werehewn out of the ground, facing one another across a defile. Itwas some miles away, but well worth seeing, Mr. Kapasi toldthem.

"Oh yeah, there's something mentioned about it in thisbook,", Mr. Das said. "Built by a Jain king or something."

"Shall we go thenr" Mr. Kapasi asked. He paused at a turn inthe road. "It's to the left:". '.'. Mr. Das turned to look at Mrs. Das. Both of them shrugged. ,"Left, left," the children chanted. ' ," .,Mr. Kapasi turned the wheel, almost delirious with relief.

He did not know what he would do or say to Mrs. Das oncethey arrived at the hills. Perhaps he would tell her what apleasing smile she had. Perhaps he would compliment herstrawberry shirt, which he found irresistibly becoming. Per-haps, when Mr. Das was busy taking a picture, he would takeher hand.

INT~RPRETBR MAL A'I) I B S

He did not have to worry: When they got to the hills, di-vided by a steep path thick with trees, Mrs. Das refused to getout of the car. All along the path, dozens of monkeys wereseated on stones, as well as on the branches of the trees. Theirhind legs were stretched out in front and raised to shoulderlevel.jheir arms resting on their knees.

"My legs are tired," she said, sinking low in her seat. "I'llstay here."

'~y did you have to, ;wear thos~ 'stupid shoes?'~ Mr: li?assaid, "Yoq.:won't IDein the pictures." ' ,I" I I I', '

"Pretend: I'm there." ,, "But we could use one of these pictures for our Christmas

card this year. We didn't get one of all. five of us at the' SunTemple. Mr. Kapasi could take it."

"I'm not coming. Anyway, those monkeys give me thecreeps."

"But they're harmless," Mr. Das said. He turned to Mr.Kapasi. 'i\.ren't they?"

"They are more hungry than dangerous," Mr. Kapasi said."Do not provoke them With food, and they will not botheryou." ,il

, Mr. Das headed hlp the defile with the children, the boys at ,his side, the litde gwl. on lili, ,sh~ulders ..Mr. Ka,i?~s,ilatpred, a:SI~ ,they crossed 'paths with a Japanese man and floman, the bidy'other tourists there, who paused for a final photograph, thenstepped into a nearby car and drove away. As the car disap-peared out of view some of the monkeys called out, emittingsoft whooping sounds, and "then walked on their flat' blackhands and feet up the path. At one point a group of themformed a litde ring around Mr, Das and the children. Tinascreamed in delight. Ronny ran in circles around his father.Bobby bent down and picked up a fat stick on the ground.

I N T B :R P R B T B R 0 P MAL P¥. D I B S :~ 62

When he extended it, one of the 'monkeys approached himand snatched: it, then brrefly beat the ground.

"I'll join them," Mr. Kapasi said, unlocking the door on hisside. "There is.much to explain about the caves."."No. Stay a minute," Mrs. Das said. She got out of the back

seat and slipped in beside Mr. Kapasi. "Raj has his dumb bookanyway:" Together, through the windshield, Mrs. Das and Mr.Kapasi watched as Bobby and the monkey passed the stickback and forth between them., I'd'1\ brave little '@oy,"'Mr.Kapasi cornmente .

"It's not so surprising," Mrs. Das said.

."He's not his.""I beg your pardon?"':Raj's. He's not Raj's son."Mr. Kapasi felt a prickle on his skin. He reached into his shirt

pocket for the smalltin of lotus-oil balm he carried with him atall times, and' applied it to~three spots on his forehead. Heknew that Mrs. Das was watching him, but he did not turn toface her. Instead he' watched as the figures of Mr. Das' and thechildren grew smaller, climbing up the steep path, pausingeven:? now and then for a picture, surrounded by a growingnumber of monkeys. .

'Are you surprised?" The way she put it ma~e him choosehis words with <rare.

"It's not the type of thing one assumes," Mr. Kapasi repliedslowly. He put the tin of lotus-oil balm back in his pocket.

"No.iof course not. And no one mows, of course. No one 'atall. I've kept it a secret for eight whole years." She looked at Mr.Kapasi, tilting her chin as .if to gain a fresh perspective. "But

)' I,

now; I've told you." . . I ' '

Mr. Kapasi nodded. He felt suddenly parched, and his fore-head was warm ~d slighdy numb fron: the balm. He con-

1 N T B' R P R B T E R: 0 'P MAL:A_ DIE S l-> 63

sidered asking Mrs. Das for a sip of water, then decidedagainst it!

"We met when we were very young," she said. She reachedinto her straw bag in search of something, then pulled out apacket of pilffed rice. "Want some?"

"No', thank you."She put a' fistful in' her mouth, sank-iaro the seat a little, and

looked away from Mr. Kapasi, out the window on her side ofthe car. "We married when we were still in college. We were inhigh school ~whep he proposed. We went to the same college,of .course. Back then we couldn't stand the thought of being

. separated, not for a day, not for a minute. Our palfe~~s werebest friends who lived in the same town. My entire life I sawhim every weekend, either at our house or, theirs. We weresent upstairs to play together while our pal1tmts joked aboutour marriage. Imagine! They never caught us at anything,though in a way I think it .was all more or less a setup. Thethings we dia those Friday and, Satttrday nights, while ourparents sat downstairs drinking tea ... I could tell you stories,MI1, Kapasi."

As a result of spending all her time in college with Raj, shecontinued, she did not make many close friends. There wasno one to confide in about rum at the' end of al difE.dllt day,'orto share a passing thought or a worry: Her parents now livedon the other side of the world, but she had neyeF been very

I "close to them, anyway. After marrying so young she was over"whelmed by it all, having a child so quickly, and nursing,and warming up bottles of milk. and testing. their temperatureagainst her wrist while Raj was at work, dressed in sweatersand corduroy pants, teaching his students about rocks anddinosaurs. Raj never looked cross or harried, or plump, as sh'ehad become after the first baby.

Always tired, she declined invitations from her onepr two

, .

,',

. ,

" Goll'ege,girlfttepds', .tQihave lunch or sh(i)J9in Manhattan, Even-'t;U@y the friends stopped calling her, so that she ~as left atho~e all day with the bab:yl.surrounded by; toys that made he~tripwherl's];J.e walked .or wince' ;wn~nshe sat, always cros~ and'fue(;l1.IOn1y;,~ccasionally·dla theygo 9U,tiaften R0nPY was bern,and, ~v,en rrio;e r:;tre1y'did illey er:ite~,taill. Raj Glicfu'll mind; het00,k.edJ@batd te ~omfu.~'hOl!rle fr:0m ,~e~chitigand wat€H,ihg.t@I~~10n. and boundng Rd,J4i1y on' his knee: .She 'had b.~en~uttag~cl Wb.el)i Raj told heii that a' Runjabi rne1'1td:,someonewh@Q1she 'hag onte:'lf'let but dil not remember, w~iild 1>~,stay-iE!-g'"wit:k them 110r,aIWe,ek [dll some Job lffiterviews.in the NewBF1.!lllsWickiarea, ,'~ "/, s

B.o1J'my'/,Wasconceived. in ,the! afternoon, on a sofa littered,~th tu~b.6F teetiliirig toys, after the £iieh4 learned that a L0n-d,~:)J:1. 'pl1;:trmaceuticaf compClllY' had hired' fum; wMe Ronnycpied: tOJhe' freed fr0mylii$ playpen: She ,n;),~Gie110'plioteS!i wb:enthe fflelild to~dhe'd the, small of her back as, she was about

~ ., ., I , I, ~ )'

to make' 3'1;>01; offc0lf~e, then ·pulled her against IDS crisp l)~vysuit; He ~a& loze to her, ,s~y, in silence, ~ith an expertise.she had never .known, Without tlte meaningfUl expressio:ro.s

~ I' , , 1

and snll1es Raj always insisteo 0n, after,WaFd. The next ~ay Raj,cdt0ve,the fue:ro.cl,t;'ojFK::H.e,wa~I·rh.aliriedln0w, to a 1?'!111jabigirtand) illey lived. in LOlilGlon still, and' every year they exchangedChristmas ,ii::p..ds :with Raj apd Mina, each couple liU'cking phO'-~os of',them families ,into the envelopes.·He did ~ot Krr(!)'w"thathe iwasfl13obb)';'sfather. He n,ever:would.

"1,IDeg:¥ol!lI,parci01'1,Mrs. Das, but'why'have -you told me tp:is '. ,fuiorunat1onr/ Nfr. Kapasi as~~d when she Jtad Bri'a1l.o/.' finisheQ~peakiing, 'and liad ~ed to face lu.im, oQ.ce agam. '

"Fot {Qdd's sake, stoPlcalling me Mrs. E>as. X:m tweFlcy'i-eight ...You prob-ably have chilclren m.y age."

, It) c4sttu:bed 'Mr. Ka:pasl to learn

I N T E R P R B T B R 0 F MAL A DIE S :~ 66

T-shirt, a woman not yet thirty, who loved neither her husbandnor her children, who had already fallen out of love with life.Her confession depressed him, depressed him' all the morewhen he thought of Mr. Das at the top of the path, Tinaclinging to his shoulders, taking pictures of ancient monasticcells cut into the hills to show his students in America, unsus-pecting and unaware that one of his sons was not his own. Mr.Kapasi felt insulted that MrS. Das should ask him to interprether common, trivial little secret. She did not resemble thepatients in'thedoeton's office; those ;wh<q came glassy-eyed and ,desperate, unable to' sleep or breathe or urinate with ease,unable, above all, to give words to their pains. Still, Mr. Kapasibelieved it was his duty to assist Mrs. Das. Perhaps he ought totell her to confess the truth to Mr. Das. He would explain thathonesty was the best policy. Honesty, surely, would help herfeel better, as she'd put it. Perhaps he would offer to presideover the discussion, ,as a mediator. He decided to begin withthe most obvious question, to get to the heart of the matter,and so he asked, "Is it really pain you feel, Mrs. Das, or is itguilt?"

She turned to him and' glared, mustard oil thick on herfrosty pink lips. She opened her mouth to say something, butas she glared .at 'Mr. Kapasi some certain knowledge seemed.to' I

pass before her 'eyes, and she stopped. It crushed him; he knewat that moment that he was not even important enough to beproperly insulted. She opened the car door and began walkingup the path, wobbling a little on her square wooden heels,reaching into her straw bag to eat handfuls of puffed rice. It fellthrough her fingers, leaving a zigzagging trail, causing a mon-key to leap down from a tree and devour the little white grains.In search of more, the monkey began to follow Mrs. Das.Others joined him, so that she was soon being followed by ,

I N T E R P R B l' E R 0 F MAL A DIE S :~ 67

about half a dozen of them, their velvety tails dragging be-hind.

Mr. Kapasi stepped out of the car. He wanted to holler, toalert her in some way, but he worried that if she knew theywere behind her, she would grow nervous. Perhaps she wouldlose her balance. Perhaps they w0UJ.d pull 'at her bag or herhair. H~began to jog up the path, taking a fallen branch in hishand to, scate away the 'nionkeys. Mrs. Das continued walking,oblivious, trailiag gsains of puffed rice. Near the top of the

t I I I' •

inclines before a group of (fells frbnteci by a row of squat stonepillars, Mr. Das was kneeling on the ground, focusin'g the lensof his camera. The children ~tood under the arcade, now hid-ing, now emerging from view.

"Wait for me," Mrs. Das called out. "I'm coming."Tina jumped up and down. "Here comes Mommy!""Great," Mr. Das said without looking up. 'Just in time.

We'll get Mr. Kapasi to take a picture of the five of us."Mn Kapasi quickened his pace, wavinghis branch so that the

monkeys scampered away, distracted, ill another direction."Where's Bobby?" Mrs. Das asked when she stopped..Mr, Das looked up from the camera, "1 don't know Ronny,

where's Bobby?" ,Ronny shrugged, ~Jthought he was right here.""Where is He?" Mrs. Das repeated sharply. "What's wrong

with all of you?"They began calling his name, wandering up and down the

path a bit. Because they were calling, they did not initially hearthe boy's screams. When they found him, a little farther downthe path under a tree, he was surrounded by a group of mon-keys, over a dozen of them, pulling at his T-shirt with theirlong black fingers. The puffed rice Mrs. Das had spilled wasscattered at his feet, raked over by the monkeys' hands. The

OF MAl1.ADIES :~ ,'6,8

boy was silent, his, hoar frqzen, sWift, tears t~nnirtg' down hisstartled face. His, bare legs were dusty and red.,1mth welts from'where one :0£ the monkeys s~t;k him rep~atedly. with, thestick he had giv:en to it-earlier- ,

"Dad(lYi, the monkey's hunting ~,obby;" Tina said. 'Mr. Das wiped his palms 00 the fnont of his, shorts. In his

nervousness he accidentally:'pl'essed; ~e shJ.l,td~r"ol1!his \f,amera;the whirring' noise of the advan,cmg filin eocdt:e'ilithe monkeys;,and the one with the stiuj.{.beg~ to' bea~1:a~bby more lnthltlY. ,'What are we supposed to q0?'What i.£ 'they start attacking?" ~,"Mr. K:~pasi/' Mrs. Das shne~e~h, noticing him scantling t~

one side. "D0' something; for G,0d;s sake', do, s(!)merhing!", t.:

Mr. Kapasi took his branch and, sh00~d them avt.ay,,hissing I

at the ones that remained, siomping his feet to seare them.The animals retreared slowly, with a measured. gait, abe,went 'but unintimidated. Mr. \K:apasi gi!.tH:ereq Bobby illhis arms'and 'brought him back to where his-parents-and siblings w~):"estand-ing. As he 'tarried rum he was, tempted Ifa I"\\l'hisper a secrerinto. the boy:' sear, But Booby ,,(as, sturined, and, shivering withfright, his' Iegs bleeding-slightly where the stick had broken theskin. When MF Kapasi delivered him to his parents, Mr. Dasbrushed some dirt off the, boy:s'T-shirt and put the visor: ,QEl.

him the righi way. Mrs. Das reached into he'r straw bag-to fihd',a bandage whiq".she tape~ ,oy.er the cut on lps' knee. ,R,onnyoffered his brother a fresh piece of gqm. "He's fine. Just a lititlescared, right": Bqbby:?" Mr, Bas sru.Gl?,'pattirrgthe top of.his/~ead.

"God, Ids ,get mIt ,of here~" Mrs, Bas sai4. She foldeq. 'her,arms' across the strawberry on her meS1I, ":this f?Iace, gives me"th "e creeps. ,t, "

''Yeah. Back t<\>the hotel, aefir.llteiy,:' Nfr. D~s 'agireed: ~l '"Poor Bobby, " Mrs. Das said. "Come here a 'seGoncl. he't

.\ ,

Mommy ~ jOur hair." Again she r-eal;hed,int@ hel1 stra-yv;bag, ..