The Householder by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

Author:Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780393008517
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2013-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

3

THE servant-boy stood out on the landing with a wide grin on his face: ‘She is home,’ he said. Prem walked past him and went straight into the bedroom. On the little table with gilded lion-feet stood a bottle of hair-oil, a comb, a little round tin of mascara and a glass phial of scent. Indu had her back to the door; she was hanging up her picture of Mother and Baby, stepping back several times to see if it was straight. Prem rubbed his hand against the side of his leg. His face was stern and strained, and he did not know what to say. Indu turned round and saw him, and she lowered her eyes and also did not know what to say. They stood like that for a while. At last Prem said, ‘You have hung up your picture.’ Indu nodded. ‘It looks nice,’ Prem said. His voice was hoarse; he was still rubbing his hand up and down against his trouser-leg.

‘Son!’

‘Your mother is calling,’ Indu said in almost a whisper.

‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘It was very hot in the train.’

‘I see,’ Prem said, and they stood and did not say anything more.

‘Son!’

‘There were many people in your compartment?’

‘She is calling you.’

‘It is safer to travel in a compartment with many people, but sometimes there is great inconvenience.’

‘It was very hot.’

‘It has been very hot the whole week,’ Prem. said. ‘I think next week it will be even hotter.’ She really looked pregnant now, he noticed. Her figure protruded from the waist and she held herself balanced slightly backward. She seemed to him so beautiful that he was shy and fearful to look at her.

‘Why don’t you come when I call you?’ said his mother. She stood between them, looking cross.

‘I did not hear you,’ Prem said.

‘Come and have your tea, son. I have made for you.’

Indu stayed behind in the bedroom. Prem’s mother stirred his tea for him: ‘I have put a lot of sugar, son. I know how sweet you like it.’

‘When did she come?’

His mother shrugged one shoulder ill-humouredly. ‘I did not notice the time.’

The servant-boy, a self-satisfied expression on his face, could be seen passing into the bedroom, carrying tea on a tray.

‘Why could she not write a letter to say “I am coming”,’ Prem’s mother grumbled.

Prem finished his tea and said, ‘I have some writing work to do.’

‘Sit here, son,’ his mother said. With her own hands she carried the little cane table under the light for him. ‘You will not be disturbed here.’

While he was writing she walked round the room on tiptoe. Once she rushed out into the kitchen to admonish the servant-boy who was cheerfully singing: ‘My son is doing writing work and you bellow here like a jackal!’ When he had finished writing, Prem folded his piece of paper and stuck it into a stamped envelope. He told his mother, ‘I must go and post this. It is very important.’

‘What is it?’

‘It is an application for rise in salary.

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