The Lowland

satchels of books.
    On the streets she noticed certain buildings decorated, standing out from the rest. Though it was August they were draped with Christmas lights, their facades disguised behind colorful cloths. In the taxi one day they were stopped close to one of these buildings, behind a row of cars. A thin red carpet was spread over the entrance, ushering in guests. Music was playing, people in fancy clothes were walking in.
    What’s happening there?
    A wedding. See the car up ahead, covered with flowers?
    Yes.
    The groom is about to step out of it.
    And the bride?
    She’s waiting for him inside.
    Did you and Ma get married like that?
    No, Bela.
    Why not?
    I had to get back to Rhode Island. There wasn’t time for a big celebration.
    I don’t want a big celebration, either.
    You have a while to think about that.
    Ma told me once that you were strangers when you were married.
    This couple may not know each other very well, either.
    What if they don’t like each other?
    They’ll try.
    Who decides how people get married?
    Sometimes parents arrange it. Sometimes the bride and groom decide for themselves.
    Did you and Ma decide for yourselves?
    We did. We decided for ourselves.
    They spent the afternoon of her twelfth birthday at a club not far from her grandparents’ house. An acquaintance of her father’s, an old college friend, was a member, and he had invited them to be his guests.
    There was a pool for her to swim in. A bathing suit magically produced, because her mother had not packed one. Tables to eat and drink at, overlooking the grounds.
    There were other children for her to play with in the pool and on the playground, to speak to in English. They were a mix of Indians, most of them visiting, like Bela, from other countries, and some Europeans. She felt emboldened to speak with them, telling them her name. She was given a pony ride. There were cheese and cucumber sandwiches for her to eat afterward, a spicy bowl of tomato soup. A slab of melting ice cream on a plate.
    Her father and his friend sat talking to one another, drinking tea at one of the outdoor tables, followed by a beer, and then she and her father walked along paths that covered their shoes with red dust, along the edges of a golf course, past potted flowers, among trees filled with songbirds.
    Her father paused to watch the golfers. They stopped under an enormous banyan. Her father explained that it was a tree that began its life attached to another, sprouting from its crown. The mass of twisted strands hanging down like ropes, were aerial roots surrounding the host. Over time they coalesced, forming additional trunks encircling a hollow cone if the host happened to die.
    Posing her before the tree, her father took her picture. As they were sitting together on a bench, he produced a small packet wrapped in newspaper from his shirt pocket. It was a pair of mirrored bangles she’d admired one day in the market, that he’d gone back to buy.
    You’re enjoying yourself?
    She nodded. She felt him lean toward her and kiss the top of her head.
    I’m glad we came today. The rain’s held off. Not like the day you were born.
    They continued on, walking farther away from the clubhouse, past fields where jackals were resting. She felt mosquitoes beginning to sting her ankles, her calves.
    Where are we going?
    There was an area back this way, where my brother and I used to play.
    You came here when you were growing up?
    He hesitated, then admitted that once or twice, at the very back of the property, he and his brother had snuck in.
    Why did you have to sneak in?
    It wasn’t our place.
    Why not?
    Things were different back then.
    He noticed something a little ways off, on the grass, and walked over to pick it up. It was a golf ball. They kept walking.
    Whose idea was it to sneak in?
    Udayan’s. He was the brave one.
    Did you get caught?
    Eventually.
    Her father stopped. He tossed the golf ball away. He was looking to either side of him, then up at the trees. He seemed confused.
    Should we turn back, Baba?
    Yes, I think we should.
    She wanted to remain at the club, to run on the lawn and catch the fireflies that the other children who were there said came out at night. She wanted to sleep in one of the guest rooms, to take a hot bath in a tub, and spend the following day as she’d spent this one, swimming in the pool and visiting the reading room filled with English books and magazines.
    But her