The Museum of Failures by Thrity Umrigar

Author:Thrity Umrigar [Umrigar, Thrity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2023-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Remy sat in the living room with a contractor, discussing the work he wanted done in the apartment: the fallen ceiling plaster replaced, a fresh coat of paint throughout the flat, some of the floor tile repaired. “The main thing is, boss, I need you to start soon. Put us at the top of your list. I’m willing to pay extra.”

The man smiled. “They told me you’re from foreign, sir. You must to be anxious to return home?”

Was he? Yes and no.

“I’m here for at least another week,” he said. “I want to oversee the job.”

Mummy was too weak to supervise the workers. And there were other obstacles to a quick return to Columbus. Remy had been unable to locate two seats on a flight, even in business class. It was still peak season—thousands returning to the States after visiting family in India over the break.

Also, he was dragging his feet on the arrangements he needed to make with Dina and Pervez. Because for the first time in his adult life, Remy was enjoying his mother’s company. Sometimes, when she’d tell him a story from her own childhood—about her beloved father, say—he felt like she was filling a well of longing that he hadn’t known existed. All four of his grandparents had died either before his birth or while he was young. He was thirsty for family stories.

At lunch two days earlier, Shirin had said, “You know, the other surgeons in town hated my papa.”

“Why?”

“Because he used to let his patients pay whatever fees they could afford. He would say he became a doctor to help people, not fleece them. The other doctors were afraid he was going to bring their prices down.” Shirin smiled. “But they couldn’t say much, because he was the best orthopedic surgeon in the city. He once did hip surgery on a man who had been in a wheelchair for seven years. No other surgeon would touch his case. Papa got the man walking again. The patient was an ordinary bank clerk, but he came to the house with the largest bouquet of flowers I had ever seen. I was seven years old. But I can still smell those roses today.”

“Dad once told me he cried like a baby when Grandpa died,” Remy had said while taking another serving of okra. “He said he cried more than when his own father passed.”

A look had crossed Shirin’s face that Remy couldn’t decipher. “Yes,” she’d said at last. “Papa loved your daddy like his own son. They were close.”

The contractor had been gone an hour when the doorbell rang and Monaz and Shenaz stood, grinning, at the door. They were holding a bottle of hair dye, a footbath, and a brown paper bag.

Shirin’s makeover had been Monaz’s idea, after she’d seen an old picture of Shirin with dark hair. Remy led them to his mother’s bedroom, watched as Monaz gave his mother a hug and explained why they were there. Shirin flashed Remy a startled look,

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