MY  ADOPTED   GRANDFATHER   AND  ME                                                                                  Part III
A Short Story... By Ravi Anbil  

And as  she aged, things only got worse. She became a tyrant although my family loved  the ground she toddled on. If she cried and pointed to a bulb, my father would  unscrew it from the ceiling and let her play with it. If she cried and pointed  to her wet underwear, my grandmother would praise her and reward her with a  slice of papaya. If she cried and pointed at me, my mother would take me to task  as if I had done something wrong. So, as you can imagine, a distance grew  between me and everyone. My status in my own house was reduced from that of a  confirmed citizen to a migrant worker. What a calamity, I thought!

There were  times when I wanted to slap my baby sister for always grabbing attention with  her silly temper tantrums. When she began to teethe, she was gnawing on  everything from the doormat to dirty sandals. It disgusted me that she never  paused to smell an object before putting it in her mouth. She even ate a  cigarette butt once. I felt sorry for my retarded sister. Instead of scolding  her for biting my pencil in half, I simply moved all my belongings to a higher  plateau. However, when she sank her sharp new teeth on my left arm while I was  dozing, I was beside myself with rage and belted her with a ripe slap on the  bottom. The very next second, she brought the entire household down with her  hysteria. She pointed her little finger at me, then to the red area on her  bottom. I was immediately sentenced to spend a whole Sunday indoors to memorize  multiplication tables with which I was having difficulty. Even my loving  grandmother hurled two Sanskrit curses at me. "Take her side, take the crybaby's  side!"I shrieked at all of them as I memorized 14 times 13 was 182 and 14 times  14 was 196. And when my father came home, he yanked my ear for spanking my  sister and tested me on my knowledge of math, boasting he could do  multiplications up to 22. I knew right then I hated him. He was sending me on a  guilt trip from here to the moon--all for a simple slap, not even that hard, on  the bottom of a baby that had bitten me much harder, the proof of which remained  as a scab on my arm for an entire week in the shape of a turtle. What a  calamity, I thought!         

The public  grammar school I attended was not that far, only two furlongs away although at  that time it seemed like a mile owing to my short strides. I had to cross two  busy streets to reach school. A servant woman was sent to accompany me on these  trips back and forth. She was a wrinkly woman with protruding teeth who had a  chewing habit and spat betel juice every few minutes which hit the ground like  wet blood. Because she was never allowed to chew around my house, she looked  forward to my school trips more than I did. The minute I left home with a slate  in hand and chalks in my pocket, she would unwrap a fold in her sari to produce  shiny green leafage to which she would add a paste of calcium and some tobacco  shavings. It never failed to amaze me how her mouth turned red when she applied  her choppers.

But the  amazement suddenly vanished one day when she picked me up from school carrying a  bulky burlap bag. She said it was an errand she was running for some house along  the way. The bag had a tinge of red which I presumed was from her sloppy  spittle. As we were crossing a busy street, a bus swerved by madly almost  hitting us. She dropped the bag. Only then did I notice what fell and rolled out  her bag. It was the head of Maymay. I saw the black face, the white ears and the  red eyes!




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