Homeless Bird by Whelan Gloria

Author:Whelan, Gloria [Whelan, Gloria]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2008-12-12T16:00:00+00:00

eight

I suppose part of me had known all along. The thought had been waiting like a scorpion at the edge of my mind. Now it stung me, and I nearly cried out with the pain. There had been the letters from her brother in Delhi that she had never let me see. There had been the secret buying of the railway tickets. There had been the mysterious smile. She had taken care that I did not know her address in Delhi. I knew I could never find her in that city of millions. All I had were the forty-seven rupees tied into my sari. I understood now why she had entrusted me with so much money. It was to ease her conscience. Much as I hated to let the boy see me weep, I could not keep tears from streaming down my cheeks.

The boy looked at me. “It happens every day here,” he said. “You can go and chant in the temple like the other widows do. The monks will give you food.”

He continued to look at me. The insolent look was gone, and there was kindness in his face. He was about to say something when a man with a briefcase jumped into his rickshaw and ordered, “Get along.” The boy gave me one more look and pedaled away.

It was evening. The shadows climbed up the walls of the jumbled buildings and fell across the narrow alleys. I walked aimlessly. One street looked like another, and I could not tell if I had been down them before. I didn’t know what I was looking for, only that I hadn’t found it and didn’t think I ever would. My bedroll and basket were heavy. I was tired and hungry and only wanted to lie down. I knew others must have felt the same, for charpoys and mattresses began to appear on the sidewalks. Sometimes one person, sometimes a whole family settled down to sleep. I would have welcomed dropping down on a bit of sidewalk, but I didn’t know what was allowed or what bit of sidewalk was spoken for.

An elderly woman was watching me from a doorstep where she huddled, her dirty white widow’s sari drawn about her. She beckoned to me with a long, bony finger. When I went over to her, she moved even further into the corner of the doorway. She pointed to the empty space she had made. “You can sleep here,” she said. “The people in the house will not chase you away. They even threw out a little food for me.” She handed me a small portion of rice. It was cold and sticky. Gratefully I swallowed it. “Have you just come?” she asked.

“Yes, my sass left me this morning. I don’t know where she is. Maybe she will come back for me.”

The old woman shook her head. “You won’t see her again. It was the same with me. I came two months ago. When my husband died, I was no longer needed. His property was divided between his brothers.

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