Sunny was looking for Tania. He’d messed up his kicks twice already, scanning the rusty gates enclosing the tiny field for her figure. The other players were ruthless. “Worse than usual,” they said, their faces ugly with disgust as his bare foot missed the ball for the third time. Tania was supposed to be there to watch him; if she’d showed up as promised, he would have been calm and he wouldn’t have messed up. Why hadn’t she come?
She was the only one who was allowed to watch. Girls were normally banned from the field. “Too distracting,” Anil said. “Too stupid to get football,” Dheep observed. It was really just the first idea that made the field an all-male zone.
Tania was Sunny’s older sister by six years (cousin, technically, but such a distant term would never be used among Bengalis). He played better when she was around. At fifteen, she stood five feet eleven inches without shoes, and everyone stared at the two of them when they walked down the dusty Calcutta streets. Sunny suspected that the other boys were afraid of her. Not only was she tall, but she also looked very capable, with her big-boned arms and legs, of single-handedly battering the mass of them. Normally, such a girl would have had her femininity crushed with whispered insults. Tania’s pretty face and teasing voice saved her.
Not only that, but she was now the girl who was leaving for America. She would no longer be around to silently protect Sunny from the other boys, but in the time she had left, she was somewhat revered. She was going to the land of Coke, cars, barely-dressed blonde movie stars coveted among the Calcutta bootleggers. She was going to the land of money.
Soon, the brief stretch of sunlight vanished, and Tania had still not shown up. The boys continued to play while the hot ropes of monsoon rain smacked their bare feet and beat the broken mangoes rolling on the ground until their pulp ran into the street like pale orange blood. Sunny missed a goal.
The house was noisy with the sound of slamming suitcases when he went back. Everyone rushed around so much the rooms smelled like sweat. Dust particles released by luggage that had been waiting in the closets for the past few years floated in the air and caught the fluorescent light. His mother and aunt stuffed the last of the boxes that would be sent to America. Neither asked if he had eaten lunch. Sunny grabbed a large, stale Britannia biscuit from the jar on the dining table.
He went out into the verandah and sat on one of the wicker chairs that used to be white before Calcutta’s grime permanently settled into it. Its body was wet in spite of the small roof. The rain punched the ground even harder, and his biscuit got soggy from the soaked air. He nibbled on it anyway. Tania walked over to Sunny, her powder blue dress stained navy with perspiration.
“Get out of the rain! You’ll get sick.”
Sunny didn’t answer her, but stared at the house in front of him. The windows gaped at him, as if shocked.
“You didn’t come to my game,” he finally said.
“In this rain?”
“It wasn’t raining before. You said you’d be there.”
“We’ve got so much to do now. I’ve come to all your other games, haven’t I?”
He didn’t say anything. He threw his cookie out into the street. Let the dogs eat it. Then he looked at Tania. “Why can’t you leave after Rakhi?”
“School starts in September. I need to start getting ready.”
Tania always got him the best rakhi in the neighborhood. She didn’t purchase it from one of the neighborhood market stalls, like everyone else did, but scoured the stores in Gariahat. Just to get him that simple embroidered bracelet that was given, along with sugar-heavy burfis and sandesh, in a small family ceremony as a token of a sister’s affection. Sunny always looked forward to the occasion.
He continued to stare at the house in front of him. Tania came so close he could breathe in the coconut oil she always wore in her long waves. He wondered if she would smell different once she became American. She rested her fingers on his sweat and rain drenched head.
“Sumit. When I go to the States, I’ll send you the best rakhi that I can find.” She always used his real name when she was serious about something.
“They have rakhis there?”
“Better ones. Everything there is better.” He stiffened. If that were true, why would she ever come back to Calcutta?
She leaned down and put an arm around him, relaxing him with her embrace. “I’ll buy you one that will cover your entire wrist. Bright like a peacock. It’ll play music.” Then her face came so close to Sunny’s own that her breath tickled his cheek.
“You’ll be the envy of the other boys,” she promised. Sunny smiled for the first time that day. Envy equaled respect. Then he thought of something. “How will I get it on time?” Everyone in the world knew that a package sent to India in July came in October, if it arrived at all.
“I’ll send it by special delivery,” Tania said. “And I’ll call to make sure you got it.”
“You won’t forget?”
“Why would I forget you?” she replied. She said it casually, almost dismissively, as if the idea were ridiculous.
Sunny was satisfied.
“Oh, hold on a minute,” she said, stepping inside.
“Here.” She slipped him a videocassette when she came out. “The Haunted Lake. Freshly bootlegged just for you.”
“You said no one could get it here!”
She laughed. “Of course I did. It wouldn’t have been a surprise otherwise, would it?” She was too clever for him sometimes.
“Sunny.”
“Huh?”
“You know what they call football in the States? Soccer.”
Soccer. Sunny rolled the word around on his tongue. “I don’t like it,” he decided.
Tania smiled. “Did you eat lunch yet? Come on. Let’s get my mom to make us something.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back into dry air.
It was a tearful scene at the airport a week later. Tania, who rarely cried, practically gasped for breath. Sunny was afraid to talk, knowing very well that the ball of grief in his throat would crack if he opened his mouth. The tears burned his lids with their salt, and he kept blinking to keep his face dry.
Tania leaned forward one last time before the flight was announced. “I’ll mail you the rakhi as soon as we land.” Her voice was warm and sweet, like fresh honey, and a tear finally rolled down Sunny’s left cheek. “Don’t forget,” he yelled after her. But she’d already disappeared into the gate.
Sunny fully expected his playing to get worse with Tania gone. To his surprise, that didn’t happen. Out of habit, he looked for Tania while he played, and when he realized that she would never stand in that space between the tallest mango trees again, his eyes watered. But crying in front of his friends, if that was what they were to be called, was out of the question. So instead he kicked the ball as hard he could, focusing only on the pain stabbing his bare foot. He got blood blisters. And he made goals.
Tania and her parents called them twice a week in the beginning. She sounded happy and sad and excited and lonely all at the same time. But that was only after the first few phone calls. They decreased in number as the days went by, but Sunny still waited for them. In mid-August, Tania began to sound different when she talked to him. As if other things were on her mind. As if, and Sunny didn’t want to admit this to himself, she was being ordered to talk to him.
“She’s overwhelmed, dear,” his mother said. Perhaps she was right. Tania had mentioned the cleanness, the bigness, the convenience of America more than once. “No flies. No beggars. Everyone waits in line.” Sunny had felt insulted when she’d said this, although he hadn’t really been sure why. She’d never mentioned the rakhi, and neither had Sunny. He didn’t think he should have to remind her.
Sunny’s good playing was short-lived as his feet collected bruises from the strength of his kicks. Wearing Keds was not an option since everyone else played without them. So the teasing got worse, especially since Tania was not there anymore. A couple of boys threatened to beat him up, although they thankfully didn’t follow through with this plan. Other than playing with them, Sunny’s only option was to watch television at home alone, a prospect that was even more depressing. Just wait until they see the American rakhi, he thought. She had said that she would mail it the day she arrived. The occasion was only two weeks away, and he kept waiting to be surprised by an explosion of colors, a bracelet that would sing to him. But the mail only brought the usual newspapers and magazines.
He jumped out of bed when the phone rang on the morning before Rakhi. “Is it Tania?” he mouthed to his mother as she spoke. She shook her head, with something like pity in her eyes. “Mrs. Banerjee,” she mouthed back.
A package arrived the next day. “Open it!” he told his mother.
“I am. Just wait a minute.” She pulled out a pair of jeans. “Oh how nice. Boromashi and Mesho sent you these.” Those were Tania’s parents. The jeans had a brown tag with the word “Lee” engraved on it. He estimated that he would be able to wear them in about two years.
“Is there anything else, Ma?”
“No. Wait…yes. There’s a letter.”
“For me.”
“No, dear. To me. From Boromashi.”
Sunny shook the package. Maybe the rakhi had cuddled into a corner. Or maybe Tania had hidden it in one of the jeans’ five pockets, just to throw him off. He dug his finger deep into the cloth but pulled out only stray threads.
The neighborhood boys came over that evening to share some of the sweets they had received. As soon as he saw the thick bright strings sitting on their wrists, he left, telling his mother he didn’t feel well and wanted to go to bed. She sent them away.
The phone rang later that night. Sunny jumped out of bed and ran to pick it up, stubbing his toe on a table leg. He ignored the pain. He needed his energy to yell at Tania for not keeping her promise. “How could you forget?” he’d shout. And he would be so enraged, so reproachful, that she’d cry with shame.
“Tania?” He was surprised at the strength of his own voice.
“Chatterjee residence?”
Sunny sighed. “Wrong number.” He set the receiver down, sat in a kitchen chair, and looked at the bead of blood oozing from his toenail. The clock’s face was shiny with moonlight. 12:01. Rakhi was over.
He limped back to bed and stared at the way his window grills broke the night sky into spidery flowers. Jasmines sprayed the air. And then, Sunny thought he smelled coconut oil coming from an open window somewhere, its heavy, sweet scent overpowering the jasmines. He sniffled and put the pillow over his head.
