Abscond

by Abraham Verghese

He’d read somewhere that an infant could recognize its mother by her scent alone;

To be Indian was to be weighed down by the expectations of students and even a few teachers who thought he should know about magic carpets and harems, or cannibalism and shrunken heads, even if none of these things were Indian.

In her vocabulary, “passion,” 8especially in a child, was the grass fire that had to be stamped out before it destroyed everything the farmer planted.

To be the child of Indian parents meant you also had a secret self. Like having brown skin, you had no choice.

Ravi, beyond exhausted now, retreated to his room, his twin silently behind him. He realized he’d hardly thought about his father from the moment his mother struck herself with her fists. He 18felt anger toward her. Because of her bizarre behavior, she’d robbed him of his opportunity to mourn.

Billy had offered Ravi the thing he most needed: his quiet, silent presence.

He and Amma needed to mourn alone now, he said, if they were to figure out how to go on in Appa’s absence.

“I do go to Mass. But I can’t tell you why. It’s a habit now, and it makes me feel good.

before sipping. After giving the sip its due attention, he said, “You see, Ravi, this world isn’t just all the things we can see and touch. It’s also all the things we can’t see, the things we choose to believe.”

Every arrival was a celebration. And every goodbye was forever.”