The Sleeping Dictionary by Sujata Massey

Author:Sujata Massey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2013-08-19T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

23

A well-known Brahmin doesn’t need to wear a sacred thread.

Bengali proverb

When Mr. Lewes returned, he was pleased that I’d saved some money overseeing the household expenses; and even happier about the flat’s redecoration. He walked around the drawing room’s wide-open spaces, admired the flowers, the polished silver, and Indian prints that I’d had framed and hung.

“Kamala, you have made it a home! I can’t imagine how you did so well, but I don’t want it to stop. Please don’t go back to your hotel.” His blue eyes looked deeply in mine.

In truth, I was relieved by the invitation, because I hated the idea of ever returning to unsafe lodgings. And with free housing, I could save much more for my future and contribute to Kabita’s upbringing.

After accepting Mr. Lewes’s generous proposal, I felt shy offering up the pocket-size Bengali-English dictionary I’d bought as his gift. I handed it over, anyway, with a gilt-edged card offering him wishes for a Happy New Year. He read the card with a smile, but when he opened the book, it faded.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, paging through the book. From his odd expression, I realized he might not like it. After all, he owned a mint 1827 edition of William Carey’s Bengali-English dictionary, and the 1868 edition of Hobson-Jobson. He’d once shown me an essay he was working on about English words that had been invented because of the experience in India: kedgeree, box-wallah, and the like.

“I chose it for you because it’s different from the antiquarian dictionaries,” I said. “The pages are strong enough to be turned and in the back are cross-translations of Bengali proverbs and English ones, too. You may want to write about Indian proverbs someday.”

Mr. Lewes looked strange; I realized, after examining the way he was working his hands, that he was flustered. “Thank you. It’s most considerate. But, Kamala, you mustn’t spend money on me again. I can’t pay what you’re worth.”

The dismissive apology fell away from my ears. Thinking about his vast collection, most of which were first editions, I realized he might be someone who cared more about dust jackets and copyrights than contents. Maybe that was why he’d praised the way I arranged his rooms; he cared for the look of things, not substance. And perhaps I’d acted above my station by giving him something. He was not a friend, but a saheb.

As I stood, regretting my choice of the gift, Mr. Lewes closed the dictionary and said, “I know you’ve made a section for all the dictionaries. Why don’t you catalog this and add it to the collection?”

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