Free As Sweet as Honey by Indira Ganesan Page B

free.
    Nalani saw Meterling’s suffering differently, more tangibly, like a shard of steel or glass in her heart. For Nalani, Meterling’s heart was embedded with this sliver, and the sliver, like a splinter, needed to be dislodged. Inside her heart, Nalani believed, Meterling carried her grief, and it was up to us, her family, to help her both carry the pain and dislodge it.
    But it was hard to deal with Meterling’s pain those first fewmonths. It came and went like a flame on a matchstick. With us, she would be happy, or pretend to, and then when she thought she was alone, it would come pouring out. We knew people who suffered from sadness. That sadness twisted in and out like a knife, making the person double in pain sometimes, and sometimes it was like a path that pointed down. Sanjay, Rasi, and I felt bad for Meterling when we saw her doubled up in pain.
    What could we do for Meterling?
    “Should we make her presents?”
    “A boat that she could use?”
    “A boat?”
    “A wooden boat.”
    “What would she do with a boat?”
    “Everyone wants a boat.”
    “ You want a boat—not everyone does.”
    “Maybe she’d want to play with Scrap?”
    “Rani Mami says Auntie should stay away from Scrap until the birth.” Rani Mami had come with Dr. Kamalam to examine our aunt. She would help her when it was time.
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Maybe we should just bring her tea and biscuits.”
    “That’s what Grandmother says.”
    Our aunt had a lot of tea and biscuits.
    Nalani practiced yoga. Nalani practiced deep breathing and dancelike asanas to help her float and ground, energize and stay rooted. One hundred and eight sun salutations was her goal, but usually she did just ten. Sometimes she asked us to join her, but Rasi and I were not very interested. But Sanjay sometimes stayed with her as she rolled out her mat on the roof, and practiced with her, side by side. Afterwards, Rasi andI would tease him, but usually, we noticed, for an hour or so after yoga, he remained fairly oblivious to our teasing.
    Nalani also tried to get Meterling to join her in her yoga, but Meterling always shook her head.
    “It will be so good for you, Meti, good for your bones, good for your skin,” she’d say, but Meterling always shook her head no, grasped her teacup with both hands, and walked away to muse.
    “Archer—she has to let him go. He has taken her heart and she needs it back.”
    “I thought she had a splinter in her heart.”
    “Both. She has it all. The whole kit and caboodle of grief.”
    And we wondered what a caboodle was, if it was anything like a caboose.
    Invoking Rilke, Aunt Pa said, “May her tear-filled face make her more shining, may her simple tears flower,” and, noticing us, she said, “Something I read once, long ago,” sweeping past us, not allowing us to follow. Oh, what a family we had! But Aunt Pa turned back, looked at us, and said, “What I think that means is to let something good come out of the grief.”
    Oscar, Oscar was going to come out of the grief, out of her belly, we thought, cheered up once again, although doubt had entered rather sneakily into our hearts.

15
    O ne day, Meterling woke in a panic. She could not recall Archer’s face. She remembered what they had done together—their walks, the boat ride, the wedding—but what did his face look like? She had no photographs. His hair, it was silvery, and he had a mustache. He was rotund. What did he look like?
    How could she have committed herself to a person she hardly knew? And create a baby with him before marriage? They were so sure. She loved him, she told herself, loved him, but the words seemed in that moment empty.
    What if Oscar asked her what his father looked like? What if he wondered what the Y chromosome deposited in his features, the nose, the mouth, the smile? What if Oscar became unrecognizable, the two of them a ludicrous pair of misfits? Could she bear to bring such a life to him? Meterling grasped her