Aquarium

~ ~ ~

It began with Steve’s idea to go cut down a Christmas tree. He should have known this would be too much for my mother. She didn’t want my grandfather to have a happy Christmas family time. We all should have known to say no. But Steve looked so excited.

We’ll run through the snow like wolves, he said. I’ll carry the handsaw, like some man from a fairy tale. I’ve always wanted to do this and never have. Just run into the forest and cut down a tree.

Is that legal? my mother asked.

One tree, Steve said. And not even a big one. Who will miss it?

I don’t know.

What about you, Caitlin? Steve asked. And Shalini. Do you want to run through the forest like wolves?

I looked at Shalini and we laughed.

That sounds like a yes, Steve said. What about you, Bob? he asked my grandfather.

Okay, my grandfather said. He was smiling. I don’t mind getting in a little trouble. This was the end of breakfast, all of us full and leaning back into our chairs. My grandfather’s arms crossed. He wore a brown cardigan. His eyes blinking.

Well, my mother said. I don’t know. She grabbed a last strawberry. I guess if I have to spend the night in jail, at least I don’t have to go to work right after.

There you go, Steve said. We’re all set then. He jumped up from his seat and started grabbing dishes.

All the maple syrup everywhere, and I wanted to kiss Shalini with maple syrup lips.

My first Christmas tree, she said. Today I will be more American.

How long have you been here? my grandfather asked.

Six months.

How is your English so good after only six months?

We learned English in school in Delhi, where I come from. It used to be British English, so I have a bit of an accent, even though everyone’s learning American now.

Fancy, my grandfather said.

Yes. I try to be fancy.

My grandfather laughed. Well any friend of Caitlin’s is a friend of mine.

My mother had a sour look already, and my grandfather should have been more careful.

I got up and helped with the dishes.

What’s Delhi like? my grandfather asked.

We had a bigger house, many rooms, and many people to do the cooking and cleaning, and I had tutors. And the city was enormous, and had so many things.

It seems strange that you left.

Yes.

We’ll all need boots and snow pants, Steve said.

We don’t have those, my mother said. Cheap rain pants, I guess, the kind you just put over your regular pants, but no boots except rubber ones.

Those’ll work. We won’t be out in the snow long. Just put on some good socks, two layers.

I don’t have any boots, Shalini said. I’m sorry.

It’s a different place, my grandfather said. But it sounds like you had everything in India, like your family was well off there.

Yes.

You have a class system there.

Yes, a caste system.

We should get moving, Steve said. I need to run to my place for the saw and my boots and such. Then we’ll head off in my truck and one of the cars.

Shalini doesn’t have boots, I said.

We’ll grab some on the way out, Steve said. Just some rubber boots.

What caste was your family? my grandfather asked.

Khatri, Shalini said.

And what’s that?

I guess it’s the ruling class. My great-grandfather was a wazir.

And what’s that?

The advisor to the king. The second most important person.

Holy smokes. You’re royalty, or aristocracy or nobility or something.

Shalini laughed. Not really. We’re just American now.

But what was it like? my grandfather asked. What was it like growing up in that class?

Jesus, my mother said. Suddenly you’re the interested one. Want to know all about the world, and hear all of Shalini’s stories.

Sorry, my grandfather said. I’m just curious about the other side, what it’s like to grow up not struggling for money.

My father has to work, Shalini said. My family lost all of their land.

How did that happen? my grandfather asked.

Seriously, my mother said. You don’t give a shit about your own daughter, and then you have to know everything about Shalini’s family ten generations back.

I’m sorry, Shalini, my grandfather said. This is my fault. It’s true I wasn’t here.

It’s not just that you weren’t here, my mother said. It’s also that you still don’t give a shit. You like seeing Caitlin and her little friend, because how critical, really, are twelve-year-olds going to be? You get to play Santa.

It’s not like that.

Really?

Of course I want to know about your life. I want to know everything. I’m just afraid to ask.

Spare me. Poor little grandpapa having to walk on eggshells around his big bad daughter.

Please, Mom, I said.

Jesus, Caitlin. You really have a way of stepping in it.

I do want to know, my grandfather said. I want you to tell me everything. The others can go cut down a tree, and you and I can sit here and talk and I want to hear everything.

Not so easy. I’m not going to just vomit up my life in one day. An occasional question would be nice. Just some small sign of interest as you do your long interviews with everyone else.

The fire had gone out of my mother. We were all looking at the floor. Just silence and no one moving. I felt so bad for Shalini, but this was a moment I couldn’t do anything.

There was a clock ticking. I’ve always hated that sound. Unbearably tense and also empty at the same time, soulless. It seemed impossible that my mother would ever forgive my grandfather.