Free The Grammarian by Annapurna Potluri

greeted him with the strange mix of gentle good humor and aloof familiarity. The cold metal of the chairs, the smooth tables of finished wood, ink stains on his fingers from an unwieldy newspaper—how great the quotidian and daily gift of morning. He could scarcely understand why anyone would choose sleep over sunrise, over an endless violet sky. But as he so dearly loved coffee in silent solitude, he was glad so many did.
    He chose the day and the sun.

5
    A LEXANDRE WOKE UP , feeling still dizzy and not entirely sure where he was; his body felt like a leaden weight and he tentatively stretched his fingers. The sun was out and he couldn’t tell what time it was, and though he knew he was in a home, when he closed his eyes he could still feel the rocking of the train. He heard wrestling in the trees and the sound of clinking dishes and footsteps. He smiled for a moment, feeling very anxious, understanding he was not at home, not his home anyway; he blinked away a haze of confusion and realized he was in India, in Adivi’s house, and he reached for his silver cigarette case and lighter. He sat up in bed and smoked, wondering if anyone else was awake, and if so, how exactly he should enter the main house. He looked through swirls of smoke, wondering exactly how to make his entrance, and wearily eyed his bags. After a few moments, he slowly stood up, his legs trembling slightly as he found his balance. He stood, realizing that he had a pounding headache like those he sometimes got from oversleeping. Touching his temples, he kneeled by his luggage, carefully loosening the buckles and zippers and pulling out a white shirt and dark trousers. He splashed his face in a basin of cool water left by his bedside; he undressed and noticed on his white chest and arms a few angry red mosquito bites. He dressed and raked back his dark hair with a wet comb. He grimaced: his stomach ached dully from all the travel.
    Alexandre put out his cigarette and blinked into the mirror. He looked older than the last time he’d had a moment to examine his face.The little lines around his eyes and mouth looked deeper. He had taken his beauty for granted most of his life. But as he disliked vanity in men, he tried not to pause in front of mirrors too often. Standing in front of the mirror, he felt embarrassed that he noticed his aging and even more so that it bothered him, making a small vague feeling of panic in his chest. Alexandre sighed and wondered if he should put on shoes—the family went barefoot in the home, but it made him feel awkward and informal to walk around that way. After a few moments’ consideration, Alexandre chose to defer to the native custom. Alexandre, feeling oddly vulnerable and childish in his bare feet, tentatively opened the door of his room.
    In the courtyard, two female servants, with their tattered saris tied between their legs, swept the stones with twine brooms and soapy water, their bright white teeth gleaming in contrast with their sun-blackened faces, their cracked heels and spaced-out, almost simian toes. They chatted with each other, laughing, telling vulgar jokes and the gossip from the nearby villages they were from. The thin hair of one was coiled into a bun; the other wore a large, silver nose ring. They had a look about them, as if they smiled a lot. Seeing them, Alexandre hesitated for a moment, at once aware of the superiority of his station with regard to theirs and yet feeling like an invader. Noticing him, the servants turned and smiled silently; Alexandre smiled, feeling strange, and looked down at his hands. His eyes darted around, looking for any of the Adivis, until one of the maids pointed at the dining room and said, “Mr. Adivi.”
    Alexandre nodded his thanks and smiled, relieved. He had long prided himself on his manners and his ability to say and do the right things, even at times when others didn’t, and he realized how irritatedhe was in that strange moment. His education and comportment