Page 12 of Six Days in Bombay

I had reconciled myself to the fact that aside from Dr. Stoddard’s offer I had no options. My mother’s voice, encouraging me to take chances, to discover new worlds, had taken residence in the back of my mind. I was leaving the comfort of what I knew to explore foreign territory—foreign to me at least. It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. The opportunity to go as far as Istanbul would take me: half the way to Europe. From there, I could use my father’s money to deliver the paintings to Mira’s friends in Florence, Prague and Paris. Of course, I would still need to find out where they lived from the clues in Mira’s stories.

The day after Amit left for Shimla, I’d received a note from Dr. Stoddard.

My dear Nurse Falstaff:

How delighted I was to learn that you would accompany a fossil like me to Istanbul. If you have never been, it’s a delightful place with the most divine baklava and the strongest coffee you’ve ever tasted. It will be jolly fun. And I’m so looking forward to our backgammon games. Meet me at the gangplank (gallows humor!) next Thursday at 10:00 a.m. I’ll be the one with a sour-faced (temporary) nurse in tow.

Yours,

R. S.

I took a tram to the Bombay docks with my battered trunk, which was large enough to carry the roll of paintings plus a few skirts, sweaters and shirts. There were a great many people milling about. Bare-chested Indian men in their dhotis carried streamer trunks to the boats. A vendor sliced the tops of his green coconuts with a machete. Workers upended the fruit to pour coconut juice directly into their gullets. A British overseer ordered men to stack cargo onto a waiting bullock cart. A middle-aged Indian woman fried onion bhaji for hungry customers. European women in their ivory dresses, hats and gloves descended from a cerulean-blue Daimler, their driver ferrying trunks to the passenger dock of the steamship. British, French and Dutch families were saying goodbye to their seafaring loved ones.

The RMS Viceroy of India was even larger than the Taj Mahal Palace in Bombay. Passengers waved from the four decks to those who had come to see them off. The steamship’s hull was a glossy black with a white band while the decks and cabins were the color of Chowpatty Beach. Two enormous black funnels released smoke—or was it steam?

Four days ago, as I was shopping for new shoes for my journey (I had money now to replace my scuffed ones), I went past a travel agency. Posters with images of palm trees urged travelers to go to Calcutta, Allahabad and Mysore. On a whim, I went inside to inquire about the RMS Viceroy. Having never been on a steamship, I wanted to be prepared; I didn’t want Dr. Stoddard to think me naive. The agent, a Parsi with horn-rimmed glasses, told me that first-class staterooms—professionally decorated, of course—could be reserved with or without adjoining rooms. There were tennis and badminton courts, a bar and library, a smoking room, a formal dining room and a Pompeian swimming bath. A pool! I’d never been in one!

At the appointed day and time, I waited at the pier where passengers were preparing to board the steamship. When I saw the stolid nurse pushing Dr. Stoddard in the wheelchair his nephew had procured, I came forward. A plaid wool blanket was draped over Dr. Stoddard’s legs. He looked up at me through his thick lenses.

He pointed behind him at the nurse. “Nurse Steele. Dependable. Totally devoid of humor, of course. Isn’t that right, Steele? I shall miss her.”

He leaned toward me and whispered, “On the first of never.”

His eyes danced as if he and I were sharing a private joke.

Nurse Steele maintained such a neutral expression she seemed carved from stone. I nodded at her, professional to professional. This one is a handful , she seemed to be signaling.

“Well, then. Shall we, Nurse Falstaff?”

he said, smiling up at me.

I took the reins from the older nurse and wheeled Dr. Stoddard toward the gangway.

“I wish to enjoy my voyage to Istanbul. I wanted someone jolly and fetching to accompany me. That’s what I told Mishra. Good man. You and I will be together for twelve days on this vessel and we will bloody well have a marvelous time.”

In his patrician accent, the word sounded more like maavelous.

In the wake of my mother’s death, I hardly felt as if I’d be a cheerful companion. Would I disappoint the good doctor? It was too late to worry about that now.

The steamship bellowed. We were leaving the Bombay docks. My adventure had begun.

***

The doctor had a well-appointed first-class stateroom with an interconnecting room for me. I was close enough to hear him if he needed me at night, but my room was private enough to give me space. It was comfortable and far more opulent than the flat Mum and I had shared. The walls were a polished mahogany as was the furniture. I had a bed, a washbasin, a dresser and an armchair. I needed no more.

My job was to get the doctor in and out of bed, help him put on his pajamas, make sure he ate, help him with exercises to heal his leg and prepare him for the day. I wheeled him around the ship for his morning constitutional and his meals. I didn’t fuss over him. I knew he would have hated being mothered. If he needed something, he would tell me.

I hadn’t counted on seasickness, however. The first few days were the worst. I was pushing the doctor’s wheelchair and started to feel nauseous. Automatically, I slowed down. Without acknowledging my discomfort, Dr. Stoddard said, “I’d like to move closer to the railing, Nurse.”

I heaved into the ocean until I had nothing left. I used my handkerchief to wipe my mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor. I’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Sorry about what? I prefer the view from here.”

We spoke no more about it. But in the evening, I found a small piece of ginger on a plate by my bedside. I put it in my tea from then on to overcome the nausea.

The doctor napped in the afternoons, which gave my mind free rein. All I could think about was Mum and what a void her passing had left in my life. How she would have loved being on this steamship, meeting passengers from the world over. I carried a small notebook with me around the ship and would settle in a deck chair so I could pour my feelings onto paper.

Dear Mum,

I miss everything about you.

I miss your smell—that mixture of rose water, turmeric and cotton that is no one else’s.

I miss the paper crowns you made for my birthdays, even when I got too old for them.

I miss your surprise of a milk toffee—just one—whenever I did well on a test.

I miss the tiny jackets you made for my cloth dolls.

You attached snaps where the buttons would normally go because you told me they didn’t make buttons that small.

I used to watch, fascinated, as you bit the thread off with your teeth.

I tried to do it too when you weren’t looking and ended up pulling out my baby tooth.

Remember? You said it would grow back if we put the tooth in a jar and buried it in soil.

Day after day, I looked for a new tooth to grow until one day you pointed to my mouth.

It’s grown in, beti, you said.

You knew everything.

Everything that mattered to me.

Why didn’t you tell me there would come a day when I would have to know everything too? But I don’t.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t know where I’ll end up.

I’m not sure of anything.

Why aren’t you here to guide me?

Some afternoons, I walked around the ship, wandering from one deck to another, tricking my grief into thinking I’d outgrown it.

I came to like the smell of the ocean—a mixture of pickled eggs, shrimp, stale air—and the cool breeze that sprayed my overheated skin.

My nurse’s uniform elicited more than a few stares and I used it like a shield to prevent personal questions about my life.

If a crew member happened to be walking by, I would engage him in conversation to avoid nosy passengers snaring me in theirs.

To engineers, I would ask, How does such a heavy ship stay afloat? To a petty officer, How many voyages does the Viceroy make in a year? After a few days, the passengers who had seen me pushing the doctor’s wheelchair stopped seeing me as a curiosity.

Once more, I became invisible, which was the way I preferred it.

I’d dodged prying questions and sly remarks about my half-half looks all my life.

There were times I wanted to believe the girls at school really wanted to be my friend, and I would let down my guard.

Time after time, I learned that they simply wanted to know the story of my mother and father so they could leverage it for a more privileged status among their friends.

I would come home in tears when they avoided me the next day.

One look at me and my mother would prepare the suji ka halwa I loved, the simple one without raisins or nuts.

As I grew older and became more cautious, I sometimes wondered why my mother—and father—had put me in the position of the other.

Didn’t they realize how hard it would be for me to blend in? The questions I’d be asked? I had trained my eyes to look away whenever Mum told the gossip-eaters that my father had died of a heart attack.

I knew my face would give the lie away.

It became safer for both of us to stay away from those who fed the rumor mill.

Dr.

Stoddard was perfectly pleasant to passengers, smiling and remarking on their health.

Looking fit as a fiddle, young man.

Still alive and kicking, Major? Feeling tickety-boo, madam? Yet, if anyone tried to engage him in conversation, he would invent some activity he needed to join in or a lie-down was in order, don’t you think, Nurse? I knew why I was so reticent, but I wondered why he had any reason to be.

He was often invited to share the captain’s table, an invitation he rarely accepted, but when he did, he insisted I join him.

The other diners sent alarmed glances around the table.

As did I.

I knew I had no place there, and so did Dr.

Stoddard.

I had the feeling my ornery charge did it on purpose to irritate them.

We played backgammon together.

I now won more games than I lost.

Which was probably why he began teaching me gin rummy.

He cheated at cards too until I knew enough about the game to see what he was doing.

I realized a game wasn’t fun for him unless he had a worthy opponent.

So I became one.

Soon, we were betting sips of port wine, which a steward delivered to his cabin every evening.

The winner got to sip; the loser watched longingly.

Of course, the winner would get pleasantly tipsy.

We also bet teaspoons of caviar, which the doctor ordered from the kitchen.

I’d never had caviar or port before.

The alcohol went to my head, loosening my tongue and making me laugh more than I ever had.

The doctor seemed pleased whenever I scolded him or took pleasure in winning.

Of course, there were evenings when the day had been too hard on his bones, his leg, and he only wanted to be put to bed.

He was more serious, less flippant on those occasions.

As I tucked the sheets around his bed one evening, he said, “I voted against the board, you know.”

I stopped to look at him.

“I know you. So does Mishra. You would sooner cut off your thumb than play loose with a patient’s dosage.”

He removed his glasses and looked down at them, played with the earpieces. “When I was a young doctor in Manchester, I was looking after a wealthy patient whom I diagnosed with tuberculosis. I was so sure I was right. I prescribed rest and mild exercise.”

He fiddled with his glasses some more. “Turns out he had pneumonia, which we might have treated with arsenic. He still may not have lived, but when he died…guilt followed me everywhere. I thought I could escape it by running to India. And I started over.”

He put his glasses on again. “Mistakes are made every day in our profession, my dear.”

“But that’s just it, Doctor. I’m sure I didn’t make that mistake. I didn’t give Miss Novak more than the prescribed dose. Someone else did. But who? The assumption that I did the unthinkable follows me everywhere.”

I scratched my forehead. “And where would I go to start over? India is my home.”

He nodded. “So how do you intend to salvage your reputation?”

I went to the other room and came back with the stack of paintings and the paper with Mira’s handwriting. “Miss Novak left these paintings in my care along with this note.”

He read the note. Then he examined the paintings one by one, taking his time. He turned each of them over. Finally, he said, “Wasn’t she a brilliant painter? The colors! And the composition is stunning.”

He considered the note. “The sinitials on the paintings match the names in the note.”

“Yes. I believe the S stands for me, Sona.”

“And who or what are P , Po and J ?”

“They’re people who mattered to Miss Novak. A lifelong girlfriend. A former painting tutor. Her art dealer.”

I paused. “I think I’m meant to deliver these paintings to their new owners. And they may tell me things about her I don’t yet know or need to know in order to exonerate myself.”

He put a gnarled finger across his mouth, deep in thought. “Where are these friends?”

“Petra is in Prague. Josephine is in Paris. And Paolo is in Florence.”

“What if what you find isn’t what you expected?”

“What do you mean?”

He paused, as if he were organizing his thoughts. “You seem to be enchanted by Miss Novak. You have an impression of her. I hear she was charming. She was bright. She was generous. But you only knew her for six days. The deeper you delve into her past relationships, you may encounter versions of her that surprise you. Versions that may confuse you.”

I straightened my spine. “I’m a good judge of character, Doctor. I think I understood her in a way that wouldn’t have changed had I known her for six years.”

His tone was mild. “It’s just that people are not always what they seem, my dear.”

His expression carried the weight of eight decades. “Where is your family, Nurse Falstaff?”

“There was only my mother.”

My eyes stung. “She’s gone now.”

“And your father?”

I hesitated. Anytime I thought of my father, I felt ashamed or angry or embarrassed. By way of an answer, I went to my cabin and brought the photo of Owen Falstaff with me.

Dr. Stoddard took the photo from me. “I see the resemblance.”

Then, “What happened to him?”

My face was hot with shame. “He lives in England. With his family.”

I hadn’t realized I was rubbing my hands together, hard, until they started to hurt.

The doctor regarded me for a long moment. “A casualty of the British Raj.”

He paused. “But that’s still not all, is it?”

My eyes begged him not to force it out of me. It was too painful. He would think less of me when he found out. He might leave me at Cairo and send me back to Bombay.

His eyes twinkled. “Unless you’ve murdered someone, my dear, I think it’s safe to tell me. You aren’t planning on a second act, are you?”

I choked on a laugh and started coughing.

“I think, my girl, it’s time we moved on to the Glenlivet. Port wine is only for backgammon and gin rummy.”

Picking up the phone, I asked the steward to bring the scotch. By the time he arrived, I had put the photo back in my trunk. The steward poured our scotch into two lowballs. When he left, Dr. Stoddard ordered me to drink first. I took a sip. I’d never had scotch. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat but then turned into a warm blanket in my belly.

The doctor watched my reaction and smiled. He lifted his glass. “Go on.”

I told him about my father leaving us when I was three. I told him about my brother, Rajat, who died not long after. I told him about my mother having no idea my father was married until the day he left and confessed everything.

“Hmm.”

We sipped our scotch. “So you’re going to Prague, Paris and Florence, correct?”

He paused, his expression brightening. “Now how about London?”

“What about it?”

“You’re not going to visit your father?”

“Why would I?”

My voice carried the resentment of twenty years. I finished my scotch in one gulp.

His gaze went to my empty glass. “That might be the point.”

He looked at me. “In any case, yours is quite the expensive excursion, dear girl.”

“I have some money…from my father.”

I told him about the annual gift and handed him the pouch of money.

He counted it. Then he gazed at me over his specs. “Not nearly enough, I’m afraid. Unless you plan to outsmart the train conductors.”

In less than a minute, my plan had gone from possible to absurd. I felt ridiculous. The night Mum and I had counted the money, it had felt like the kind of windfall Indira’s husband was always chasing at the horse races. Why had I ever thought this could work?

The doctor drained his glass. He looked tired. “Let’s put me to bed, Nurse Falstaff. We’ll have better ideas in the morning. Oh, and drink two glasses of water before you go to sleep tonight, my girl. Trust me.”

***

The next morning, I came to Dr. Stoddard’s cabin to help him get ready for the day. When I’d awakened, I felt as if I had cotton balls in my mouth and in my brain. I’d already thrown up twice. My head hurt.

“Feeling a little raw, are we?”

His eyes twinkled. He was knitting, a fluffy ball of pale blue yarn spinning on his lap blanket. My jaw dropped—I’d never seen a man knit before. He was neither embarrassed nor startled by my reaction. “It’s for my granddaughter.”

His fingers deftly moved the stitches from one knitting needle onto another, completing another row. The backside of a sweater was almost done. He must have been knitting all the while we’d been on the ship and never let on. He stuck the needles in the ball of yarn and said, “We’re playing tonight. In the Music Room.”

I pulled the covers back so he could swing his legs to the side. “You and I?”

“Among others.”

He leaned on me to help him to the bath. “Wear something fetching.”

I cocked my head. “You mean my nurse’s uniform with a cap or my nurse’s uniform with a cap?”

“Very funny. Now leave me to my bath.”