The Lowland

relieved to see Gauri mixing with the other women. She was wearing a pretty sari. The child was beginning to overwhelm her. He saw some of the women putting their hands on her belly. He heard them talking about children, about recipes, about organizing a Diwali festival on campus the following year. He was grateful to have arrived with her, and to know that he would be leaving with her. That they were greeted and regarded as one.
    No one questioned that Gauri was his wife, or that he was soon to be the father of her child. The group wished them well, and they were sent off with an assortment of objects Narasimhan’s sons had once used, that Kate had set aside: a folding playpen, towels and blankets, caps and pajamas that seemed meant for dolls.
    In the car again, Gauri was quiet as Subhash retraced the drive. On the way there she’d read one of her books. But now that it was dark she had nothing to distract her.
    The women seemed friendly. Who were they?
    I don’t remember the names, she said.
    The enthusiasm she’d mustered in the company of others had been discarded. She seemed tired, perhaps annoyed. He wondered if she had not really enjoyed herself, if she’d only been pretending. Still, he persisted.
    Should we invite a few of them to our place, sometime?
    It’s up to you.
    They might be helpful, after the baby comes.
    I don’t need their advice.
    I meant as companions.
    I don’t want to spend my time with them.
    Why not, Gauri?
    I have nothing in common with them, she said.
    A few days later, he came home to the apartment and did not see her sitting in the living room as she usually was at that time, reading a book on the sofa, taking notes, drinking a cup of tea.
    He knocked on the door to the bedroom, opening it partway when she did not answer. The room was dark, but he didn’t see her resting on the bed. He called out her name, wondering if she’d gone for a walk, though it was close to dinnertime, getting dark, and she’d mentioned nothing about going out when he’d called a few hours ago, to check in on her.
    He went to the stove to put water on for tea. He wondered if she’d left him a note somewhere. A moment of panic flickered through him, wondering if something had happened to the baby. He checked the bathroom. He returned to the bedroom, this time turning on the light.
    On the dressing table was a pair of scissors that he normally kept in the kitchen drawer, along with clumps of her hair. In one corner of the floor, all of her saris, and the rest of her petticoats and blouses, were lying in ribbons and scraps of various shapes and sizes, as if an animal had shredded the fabric with its teeth and claws. He opened her drawers and saw they were empty. She had destroyed everything.
    A few minutes later he heard her key in the lock. Her hair hung bluntly along her jawbone, dramatically altering her face. She was wearing slacks and a gray sweater. The clothes covered her skin, but they accentuated the contours of her breasts, the firm swell of her stomach. The shape of her thighs. He drew his eyes away from her, though already a vision had entered, of her breasts, exposed.
    Where were you?
    I took a bus from the union, into town. I bought a few things.
    Why did you cut off your hair?
    I was tired of it.
    And your clothes?
    I was tired of those, too.
    He watched as she went into the bedroom, not apologizing for the spectacular mess she’d made, just putting away the new clothes she’d bought, then putting the old things into garbage bags. For the first time, he was angry at her. But he didn’t dare tell her that what she’d done was wasteful, or that he found it disturbing. That such destructive behavior couldn’t have been good for the child.
    That night, asleep on the couch, he dreamed of Gauri for the first time. Her hair was cut short. She wore only a petticoat and a blouse. He was under the dining table with her. He was astride her, unclothed, making love to her as he used to make love to Holly. His body entwined on the hard tiled floor with hers.
    He woke up, confused, still aroused. He was alone on the couch in the living room, Gauri asleep behind the bedroom door. They were married, she was his wife now, and yet he felt guilty.
    He knew that it was still too soon. That it was wrong to approach her until after the baby was born. He had inherited his brother’s wife; in summer he would inherit his child. But the need for her