Abscond

by Abraham Verghese

He was depressed to think that summer was nearly over. It was like having to leave the theater halfway through a wonderful movie.

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.

He couldn’t do any of these things because his heart had stopped.

He wanted to retreat to a time before he knew his father, a time when he was buffered from the world and its sorrows by his mother, spared any sound but the drumbeat of her heart, a time when memory had not existed, and so loss could not. He wished everyone would leave so he could be alone with his mother. He felt so sorry for her. She’d lost her father when she was much younger than Ravi was. And now this.

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.

mean, Appa’s been dead for less than twenty-four hours! I can barely breathe, barely think. I need time to understand, to believe that this isn’t a nightmare I might wake up from. Then there’s Amma. And now this ceremony.

“If I shaved my head, I’d be saying to the world, Who cares what you think about my looks? I lost my father, and my life will never be the same.

Instead, he felt a profound sadness for the boy his father had once been, a boy who nurtured dreams of being a surgeon and realized his dream, a man who became a caring husband and an enlightened, wonderful father.

Her face was contorted with effort, and she was once again oblivious to her son because she was too caught up in her own selfish grief.

“No, no. Not at all. It was just a moment that was beautiful, that’s all. Most of the time we aren’t paying attention, are we? I looked up that morning, and it just seemed . . . so different. ‘Divine’ is the word.”

“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.”

there’s an old Scottish saying my ma was fond of. What’s for you won’t go by you.

He wondered if laughter and tears had their origins in the same place.

No matter how many times Bala saw me come or go, always it was the same. Every arrival was a celebration. And every goodbye was forever.”

No matter how many times we ate like that together, and for so many years, he always acted as if that day’s visit was special because he might never have another chance.”

For the first time since he’d learned that his father had died, Ravi felt he could survive. The pain would never go away, but he would go on. They would go on.

Yes, he could plan, he must plan, but he had to take into account that fate—or God, or the universe—had its own plans; it was indifferent to his plan. For that reason, and for the first time in his life, he saw that a secret self was so unnecessary. Whatever he chose to do, he’d do it to the best of his ability. It was silly to worry about pleasing or displeasing others with his choices; life was hard enough without such meaningless concerns.