Immigrant, Montana by Amitava Kumar

Author:Amitava Kumar [Amitava Kumar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571339624
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

I came home from the library and checked the tiny tin mailbox before entering the apartment. There was a postcard from Maine with a picture of a cowboy stuck on it. The photo had probably been cut from a trashy magazine. On the other side, Nina had written: Just saw a program on TV about American cowboys. There was one small bit that was interesting. These rodeo wrestlers hold a steer by the horns and bite its (very) sensitive lower lip to bring the animal down to the ground.

I felt an onrush of blood, a sudden heat and an upheaval. This is the effect that many of Nina’s letters had on me. At other times, I was left uncertain. Mystery surrounded her words. One day she wrote that she had fallen asleep in the dentist’s chair and she had a dream about us. We were seated in front of a hypnotist who was putting her to sleep. The two of us were holding hands. Even as she was drifting off to sleep, she was telegraphing a message with her fingers. She was saying that she loved me, she was asking for my help. Help me! I found this appeal indecipherable. And then Nina had added: I’m not at my parents’ place right now but I’m going to drive down there tomorrow. If you are a good one you’ll soon mail me a letter tasting of pears and licorice and your own sweet self.

Not at her parents’ place? Where was she, and why hadn’t she called? I sent her a card. I was like a man waiting for the bus on a long strip of empty road, uncertain whether the bus ever came on that route. In the food co-op that evening, while purchasing my groceries, I also picked up pear and licorice. But there was no call from Nina. Finally, four days later, a postcard arrived. I couldn’t tell where it had been posted. In Nina’s neat, angular hand, the following message: I heard on the radio today that Columbus’s men, unfamiliar with the migration patterns of American birds, regularly mistook the mid-Atlantic presence of feathered companions (en route to Africa) for signs of landfall. Continually disappointed. Where are you? I tried your office and your house. White featherless biped (f) seeks warm-blooded tropical creature (m) for new world adventures and more.

It helped that she had mentioned the radio; her story appeared anchored in some sort of reality. But how could she have missed me? If I wasn’t at the office, I was to be found in my apartment, reading all the books that Ehsaan wanted me to read. The truth was that I had grown suspicious of Nina and there were often occasions when I didn’t even know whether what she had written was true. Then I’d feel guilty and simply wonder whether I had misjudged her.‡‡ At other times, I questioned her judgment. After I was rejected for a journalism internship, she wrote: I’m sorry that you didn’t get the job.

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