The Covenant of Water

1935, Madras

Four days after they become lovers, Celeste rides to Digby’s quarters once more. She crosses the railway tracks to Kilpauk, bypassing the heart of the city. She dodges a cow, overtakes a laborer struggling with a cart piled high with scrap metal. She is seeing Madras through a new lens, no longer the Celeste she was five days ago.

A group of unsmiling Indian men stare at her. They stand outside Satkar Lodge, a tall, narrow building on Miller Road. They are probably clerks or students, attired in the “modern” outfit: a white dhoti pulled through the legs, paired with a tweed jacket—an absurd choice for the weather, but no more absurd than the linen suits and ties of ICS officers. Their Gandhi side caps, the ends pointed fore and aft, symbolize the desire for self-rule. One of them calls out “Vande Mataram”—Hail to thee, Motherland—the slogan on the lips of the whole country. The sleeping giant is waking.

Vande Mataram to you, she wants to scream. I was born here. It’s my motherland too. But is that a lie? Does it matter that she feels more Indian than British when she has all the privileges of the latter? Living with Claude is the biggest lie of all. The fear of losing her children paralyzed her, kept her from leaving. It made her something other than who she really is, and she can no longer abide that. Yet somehow, Claude’s craven, despicable lie to save his skin has become true—she is having an affair with Digby. Why? Can the body explain? Can the mind come up with reasons after the fact? She’s grateful to Digby for awakening the part of her that lay dormant, the truest part of her. He did it by adoring her in his portraits, by making her feel human again, by loving her. Does she need his validation, or the validation of anyone, for that matter, in order to exist? If she had to start all over again and if she were younger, Digby could well be the one she would seek. But now? Love?

She pedals faster. Racing from, or racing to? When she reaches Digby’s quarters, perspiration soaks her blouse. Minutes later, sinking into his body, moving as one with him, she wonders how she survived so long in a marriage that only briefly knew this intimacy. Digby’s touch is a drug; his freshness, his eagerness make it all the more potent. Their escalating need for each other is a sand sculpture that they shape together. She doesn’t recognize the brazen, demanding woman who commands her young lover, rolling him this way and that, even biting him in her passion.

But in the aftermath of lovemaking the sculpture collapses. The world and its agonies recall themselves. Sooner or later, she must sit down to the meal of consequences. On rubber legs, she rises and dresses. Digby lies on the bed, watching her, his eyes begging her to never leave, to stay forever. They don’t utter her husband’s name. They hardly speak. He doesn’t ask when he will see her again.

Soon, they become reckless. On the days she cannot come, he thinks he’ll go mad. His restlessness drives him to the Adyar Club to play tennis, a recent obsession. The Madras Club is Claude’s hangout. It is in the Adyar Club, after returning from the courts, that he finds the letter someone placed in the trousers he left in the locker room.

Kilgour: Please forgive this method of conveying certain information to you. You can make of this what you will. It is common knowledge that your testimony could damn Claude Arnold, and this writer will shed no tears for him. But you should know that Arnold plans to file for divorce and name you as a co-respondent. It is of course absurd. Nevertheless, by naming you, Arnold makes your testimony suspect. There is no reason to believe Mrs. Arnold is a party to this. The woman is a gem. My guess is she has no idea he is doing this. It shows you what a cad the man is. Arnold’s intent is to get you to back down. If you don’t, the man may be low enough to go through with it. Be warned that he’s the sort who would happily manufacture evidence. If you are found guilty, the court can order you to pay substantial damages. Praemonitus, praemunitus.

One who thought you should know

Forewarned is forearmed, yes. But what is he to do with such a warning? And why an anonymous letter? Which of the casual acquaintances he’s made in the club penned this note?

He folds the paper and returns it to his pocket. His indignation, his rage is gelded by the fact that Arnold’s accusation is true. As he motors home, he considers the letter from every angle. For the briefest moment he wonders if Claude wrote it and had it delivered. No. That would be too farfetched.

As he nears home, he says aloud, addressing the letter writer: “I intend to testify. I have no choice. I saw what I saw. I could care less about my name or my career or what people think.” And if Claude divorces Celeste, she’ll be all mine.