Route 128 was pleasantly un-congested as she pulled onto Winn Street from the off-ramp. She'd called her husband before leaving. He’d sounded normal enough, no talk of dreams. With these few days behind them, he'd come to the realization that it was only a dream and nothing more.
She'd never known Suresh to take to such fancies, and the fact that he was so shaken by the nightmare made Neha uneasy. Then, a snippet on a talk radio show on WBZ this morning, a half-caught conversation as she passed the break room. She had let these fragments swirl about her mind, then quickly discarded them, was only hearing these things for her husband's sake. Today’s ravings from the lunatic preacher almost made her believe there might be something more to this. But that wasn't possible. To have classified Suresh with that vagrant, or some crazy person on a talk show, was a sin she could never forgive herself for.
Not to mention the risk it posed to her career, a tightrope as it was. To the ignorant, being both a minority and a woman would appear to be an asset. Neha knew better, saw past the veil of Equal Opportunity to the stark reality of her need for networking, building a reputation and, most of all, staying far from controversy.
The lights were on in the house. He'd waited up for her. That was good. Unless Neha was working graveyard, she felt the two of them should go to bed together. It was Friday and Suresh didn't have to get up for work tomorrow. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his pajamas when she entered, a cup of tea in his hands. Neha smiled. He was a handsome man, skin a consistent chocolate brown, nose straight and slightly flaring at the nostrils, hair thick (his mother's father had a full mane of hair until his death at seventy-four - Neha had inquired on that fact early on in their marital discussions), and odd blue eyes rare in their people, perhaps a trace of Slavic lost in his lineage.
Sure enough, there was a second cup of tea waiting beside him. Suresh's way of making sure his wife took no side trips. Do anything but head straight home and her tea would be cold.
She kissed her husband on the cheek and put her briefcase beside the telephone stand. Suresh yawned.
“Do my kisses bore you, my love?”
Suresh smiled. “I'm sorry, Nee. I dozed off on the couch earlier and you know what that does to me.”
She did, and began devising a number of ways to wake him up. Going to sleep after coming off-shift wasn't an immediate event for her. She needed to unwind.
Suresh sipped his tea as she went into the hall to hang her coat. “I had…” he said, then paused. “How were things at the hospital today?”
Neha froze halfway through hanging her coat. She'd heard the sudden change in the direction of his words. Her heart beat a little too fast. Please, she thought. Let this just be my wild imaginings. She feared she already knew what he would have said had he not changed the subject.
She was more tired than she'd realized. Neha forced a grimace before coming around the corner to the kitchen. “Fine,” she said, sitting across from him and taking a sip of tea. It was still warm, but the edge of heat had faded. “A busy day, not too bad. At least it didn’t snow like they predicted.”
“Mmm. Too late for that now, I think. Still...” His voice trailed off. There was something.
“We had a vagrant come in,” she said, “banged up, but not too badly. He ran in front of a cab.” No, don't go there. “All in all, a quiet night.”
Suresh was silent, nursing his cup. His silence spoke volumes to his wife. Neha didn't want to, but she asked, “What's wrong?”
“When I fell asleep on the couch tonight -”
No! It is not real!
“- I had that dream again.”
53
Neha sat in the small study off the living room, swirling the ice in her empty glass and glaring at the clock beside the bookcase. Two-Thirty in the morning. She reflexively wiped the corner of her eye, reassured by the lack of tears. She chided herself for having such an emotional reaction earlier, even to the point of crying. Just a few tears, but as soon as she'd realized they were there, she'd struck out against Suresh. A slap, to stop him from saying any more, knocking whatever was happening back into the Twilight Zone where it belonged.
Her husband had stared at her, dumbfounded, before stalking off alone to their bedroom. Even then, even in his rage, Suresh took a moment to mumble over his shoulder, “I know you didn't mean that, but I'd hoped for some understanding.”
Al ways ready to shoulder his wife's anger. Always the loving husband. Neha didn't want to see Suresh as weak, but standing in the kitchen after he'd left, shocked by the violence welling inside her, she knew that’s what he was. Another reason, perhaps, that she'd married him. Someone who would never overshadow her.
She sat now in the leather highback, a twin of the empty chair facing her opposite the small chess table. Suresh hadn't emerged from the bedroom. He'd likely fallen asleep by now. Neha knew she should have joined him, muttered soft apologies, offered an excuse for her reaction. She hadn't gone. Her anger, or fear, pulsed through her and denied any sleep or want of companionship. Maybe she feared the argument would continue. Perhaps in the morning she wouldn't treat her husband's concerns as trivial.
No, that was exactly what she had to do. These dreams affected Suresh in a deep, personal way. He was no recluse. He'd heard something on the news. A blurb at the top of the hour this morning on the way to work. Meant as a humorous outtake. It had frightened him.
And it frightened her.
Neha though about the bum lying comfortably in one of Forest Grove's beds. It was his fault. She would never have reacted so poorly if that man hadn't been brought in this afternoon and uttered his nonsense. He mentioned a flood, just like her precious Suresh. Dragging her husband down to his own pathetic level. An insect calling itself a hawk.
Her husband’s dream had been so vivid to him. Spiritual beings claiming to be devas of heaven, speaking as if they might be Krishna himself, or Vishnu excitedly plotting the doom of the world. Suresh had called them angels of God. Too long in this culture, he was forgetting his heritage and faith.
Suresh looked so pathetic, a child afraid of shadows in the corner of the bedroom, wanting reassurances from his mother. She wasn't his mother. She was his wife.
Like seeing heavy clouds on the horizon, Neha felt the inevitable downturn of tonight’s conversation as soon as it had begun. She'd moved close to him, rested her long fingers on his face. Such a handsome face. “Suresh, please, when you talk about that dream, it frightens me. Your eyes...” She stopped, caressed one cheek with the back of her hand. “It was only a dream. I don't understand why it's eating at you like this.”