Page 79 of Mrs. Pandey
Her request caught me off guard. Funny? The word felt foreign in my mouth, like it belonged to a language I'd forgotten.
"I don't have anything funny," I said after a moment. "I think I forgot how to make you laugh."
She smiled anyway, though it was thin. "Then tell me something that doesn't hurt."
"Everything hurts," I admitted, my voice was rough. "Even the good things, especially the good things, happened to me."
She held me tighter, and her silence told me she already knew.
"I used to think," I went on, staring at the wall, "that when the war ended, I'd be free. But the war never ended. It just moved inside me. It's in my bones, my blood. I see it when I close my eyes, and when I open them, I'm here, trying to be a husband, trying to be human but it's still there. And then I hurt you, and I realize you're living on my battlefield."
Her grip on me tightened. "Then I'll fight it with you."
"You don't know how much of me is already gone," I said. "Some days, I think the man you used to know is buried under someone else. Someone you don't know."
She pulled back, searching my face. "Then I'll dig him out even if it takes my whole life."
God, she didn't understand or maybe she did, and that made it worse.
"You think I'm worth that?"
"I know you are."
I kissed her forehead again, closing my eyes. "You remember when I told you I hated cats?"
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Yeah."
"I lied. I loved cats. I had one when I was stationed in the hills. Ugly little stray, half an ear gone, fur like a filthy mop. It sat on my lap whenever I cleaned my rifle, even during firefights. I named him Bullet."
She let out a small laugh. "Bullet? I always wanted to name my cat Bullet."
"Yeah. He died, though." The smile on her face faltered. "See? Even my funny stories end like this."
"You didn't ruin it," she said. "You gave me something real. That's enough."
The sunlight through the window shifted, falling over her face. For a second, I saw her as she was when I first knew her-before all of this, before me and my wreckage. The girl who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, who could cut a man down with a single sentence. The one who danced barefoot in her father's garden. I wanted to believe she was still there somewhere.
"Maybe I can tell you something funny tomorrow," I said finally.
"I'll wait."
Her eyes closed again, and I stayed there, counting her breaths, terrified of the moment she'd wake up and realize I wasn't worth saving. I was terrified of the moment I'd prove her right.
So I sat, and kept my hands still, and prayed to a god I didn't believe in that I could hold myself together for one more day.
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Chapter 37
IRA
Tomorrow, Prashant and I would leave for our duty in Barmer. I was practically buzzing with excitement because I'd have Prashant all to myself. We would have our own spouse quarter, our own furniture, our own kitchen, our own room. Every morning would start with him, and every night would end with him.
The thought alone made my cheeks warm and my stomach flutter with butterflies.
Prashant had been taking care of my every little need-my meals, my clothes. He'd even washed my laundry without me asking. Just this morning, he'd made me my favourite cheese sandwich and presented it like it was a gourmet delicacy.
His mother wasn't too happy about it. She thought he was giving me the "princess treatment" and spoiling me beyond repair. His two sisters were away in Delhi for further studies, so it was just the three of us at home these days, well, for the moment, at least.
