Abscond

by Abraham Verghese

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.

The parents all wanted their kids to be physicians and weren’t shy about saying so. Dr. Ramanathan was the exception. He never told his son that he hoped he would follow in his footsteps; at times, his son wished that he would.

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

Now, staring at that beloved face for the last time, a face that was so composed and noble in its last repose, Ravi’s thoughts were no longer about his loss, or about his mother. 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. He deserved to have lived many more years, lived long enough to see Ravi achieve his own ambitions, lived to welcome grandchildren, and to retire and take up golf—a game he’d never played because he said it took too much time, though he enjoyed watching it on television. Ravi felt faint with sorrow on his father’s behalf. Only the need to fulfill his own vital role in this last rite for his father kept Ravi from collapsing.

when your father died, you were no longer a son, but a man. He felt he was the next link in a chain that extended back to antiquity.

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.”

“To tell you the truth, Ravi, when things like this happen that shouldn’t happen, your father passing so young, I wonder if there really is a God. At other times, it just suits me to think there is .

“I do go to Mass. But I can’t tell you why. It’s a habit now, and it makes me feel good. And because if my Sue is up there looking down, I know it makes her happy. I need that ritual, even if I came to it late. Just like I need good whiskey. You see, rituals were always what your ma and I had in common, except she has more belief, less doubt. Or she did until yesterday. Now who knows?”

“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. I thought it was daft when I was young. But with every passing year, I see it’s the truth.”

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.”

He’d been dreaming of his future; he thought he had it plotted out, but now such things felt naive and immature. 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.

It was silly to worry about pleasing or displeasing others with his choices; life was hard enough without such meaningless concerns.