Maplewood Online

June 01, 2009
Chapter 9: Is There a Cricket Pitch in Orange Heights?

   Across the street, Rohit stared at his parents, turning from his father to his mother and back again. His mother smiled, as if expecting him to smile back. His father looked from his son, to his in-laws, and to his nephew and back again.
   After what Rohit now thought of as “the toilet paper episode,” he returned home to find his mother asleep on the couch. Silently, so as not to wake her, he and his father ate tuna sandwiches and replaced the empty toilet paper holders in each bathroom.
   “I’m going to work late,” his father said in a low voice. “And I will take you to school late in the morning, after you have a chance to see your grandparents and your mother’s surprise.”
   Rohit thought that his father looked less excited about the surprise than he had a day earlier. He nodded, and lifted his backpack from the living room floor.
   “I have PE first period,” he said. “And then band.   I’ll go in as late as you want.” Walking to his room to begin his English homework, a summary and analysis of Catcher in the Rye, he heard the familiar noises of his father locking up the house.
   I am happy that my mother is here, Rohit thought. And I want my grandparents to be proud of me, too.   But I want Baba to tell Mammi about changing schools when I’m not around.

   In the morning, after his grandparents had hugged him and measured him against his father’s height and resemblance to his mother, Rohit heard the sound of a bathroom door closing. He looked around the small kitchen and mentally checked off: Mammi, Baba, Nana, Nanima. Yet the sound of the upstairs bathroom door, its hesitation as it scraped over the wooden doorframe and made contact with the metal latch, was unmistakable.
   Before he could ask the question, it was answered. His cousin Arjuna appeared in the doorway. When Rohit watched “Seinfeld” on television and watched the characters Jerry and Newman greet one another with a snarled acknowledgement, he had always been reminded of himself and Arjuna.   His maternal cousin, Arjuna and Rohit shared a striking resemblance, having inherited from their mothers, who were sisters, dark straight hair that fell to their eyebrows. They were both tall and thin, though Arjuna was beginning to fill out and develop a bit more poise. He stood now framed by the doorway waiting to be recognized and greeted.
   “Hey,” said Rohit, raising a hand in greeting. “How’s it going?”
   Arjuna strode across the kitchen to embrace his cousin in what felt to Rohit like an hour-long hug. He had time enough to see his grandparents beaming at their two grandsons, his grandmother dabbing at her eyes with – could this get worse? – pink toilet paper.
   “Arjuna is here to visit,” said his mother. “He’ll be here for the year, so he came this summer to get used to us, to become adjusted to the school.”
   Rohit stepped away from his cousin and studied him. Dressed in a red striped robe with his straight hair and loafers, Arjuna looked like a character from Brideshead Revisited.   Arjuna returned the stare, reminding Rohit that he had slept in yesterday’s shirt and gym shorts from a pile he kept under his bed. His feet were bare and he needed a shower. By contrast, Arjuna looked shiny, almost glossy, as their grandmother handed him a glass of orange juice.
   “What do you mean, to the school?” Rohit asked.
   “Arjuna will attend Columba High School next year,” replied his mother. “And he will live here like a brother to you. You have always wanted a brother,” she said. “He has always wanted a brother,” she repeated in Hindi to her parents.
   “Their English is better than mine,” snapped Rohit. “Why are you speaking in Hindi?”
   “Your Hindi could use some work,” said his father. “Arjuna will help you with your language skills.”
   The group of adults surrounding Rohit nodded.
   “I’ll help you with anything,” said Arjuna, waving his arms. “English, Higher Maths, Computer Science, French, Hindi, even History.”
   “Yes, that’s so,” answered Rohit’s mother. “Rohit has a project due in Ancient History. You can assist and perhaps you can help make the presentation.” She turned to Rohit. “Arjuna writes plays, you know.”
   It was only the presence of his grandparents that kept Rohit from retorting, but his mother read his face.
   “I know how happy you must be that your cousin is here this year,” she said in a voice that told Rohit to manufacture some pleasure.
   “Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “So, Arjuna, what’s your sport?”
   “I watch WWF,” answered Arjuna. “And I am on the first team, all-school cricket. Do you have cricket teams around here?”
   I actually know the answer to this, thought Rohit, and that’s scary. “There’s a club at my school,” he mumbled. “And there’s women’s cricket in Orange, the town near here. But I don’t think you can get cricket stuff here, like those helmets.”
   Arjuna bounced up and down while Rohit’s mother clapped.   “This is part of the surprise,” she said. “I brought everything you will need to play cricket in the front yard. It’s in the garage, in the yellow suitcase.”
   Rohit felt his stomach sink. “I’m hungry, I think,” he said. “Maybe later, okay?”
   “No problem,” said Arjuna. “I have rested well, so I’ll set up the pitch.”
   Rohit was saved from replying by the sound of a siren passing close to the house. His grandfather, who couldn’t resist a gadget or a machine, especially one that made noise, rushed to the front door, followed closely by his grandmother.
   Arjuna went downstairs to gather the cricket equipment followed closely by Rohit’s mother.
   Rohit stared at his father. “Some surprise,” he muttered. “Hey, Baba, don’t tell her about changing schools yet. I changed my mind.

   But his father was already following his in-laws to see the second fire engine charge down Orange Heights Avenue. From downstairs, Rohit heard Arjuna explaining cricket scoring to his mother.   Sighing extravagantly, he gave up on breakfast and went back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

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