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Автор Thrity Umrigar

the

space

between

THRITY UMRIGAR

For the real Bhima

and the millions like her

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

The thin woman in the green sari stood on the…

BOOK ONE

Although it is dawn, inside Bhima’s heart it is dusk.

Sera Dubash glances at the basket of onions hanging near…

Bhima is in the kitchen, washing the dishes from last…

They are sitting in the dining room, sipping tea, Sera…

As Sera waits for the elevator, she wonders if it…

Shyam, the pockmark-faced neighbor who lives on the other side…

It is Saturday morning and Bhima is late again. Despite…

Riding next to Viraf in his air-conditioned car, Bhima smiles.

Sera wakes up with a groan. She peers at the…

At least she is not picking them up at the…

Dr. Mehta is a tall, stooped man with droopy, sad eyes…

BOOK TWO

Two months have gone by, Bhima thinks, and still the…

The telegram that came from Delhi said only Pooja and…

Sera! Dinu! Welcome, welcome, welcome into our humble home,” Aban…

Four years into her marriage, Sera had woken up one…

The salty sea air smells good, and the ocean tickles…

Gopal came home after ten days in the hospital, and…

Bhima entered the dark slum and wondered where the past…

As she stops at the baniya to pick up some…

Bhelpuri.

Bhima spins around. Her face lights up with genuine pleasure…

Maya was in Banubai’s kitchen making tea for the old…

Bhima had never known that hate could have such a…

It has been a long day, and the house is…

It is dusk when Bhima emerges from the apartment building.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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PROLOGUE

The thin woman in the green sari stood on the slippery rocks and gazed at the dark waters around her. The warm wind loosened strands of her scanty hair, pulling them out of her bun. Behind her, the sounds of the city were muted, shushed into silence by the steady lapping of the water around her bare feet.

Other than the crabs that she heard and felt scuttling around the rocks, she was all alone here—alone with the murmuring sea and the distant moon, stretched thin as a smile in the nighttime sky. Even her hands were empty, now that she had unclenched them and released her helium-filled cargo, watching until the last of the balloons had been swallowed up by the darkness of the Bombay night. Her hands were empty now, as empty as her heart, which itself was a coconut shell with its meat scooped out.

Balancing gingerly on the rocks, feeling the rising water tonguing her feet, the woman raised her face to the inky sky for an answer. Behind her was the lost city and a life that at this very moment felt fictitious and unreal. Ahead of her was the barely visible seam where the sea met the sky. She could scramble over these rocks, climb over the cement wall, and reenter the world; partake again of the mad, throbbing, erratic pulse of the city. Or she could walk into the waiting sea, let it seduce her, overwhelm her with its intimate whisperings.