aliya took her to the library. like all american buildings, it had lots of dark windows and automatic doors and tall white, spotless walls. her grandson knew his way around it like a book. aliya stopped to browse through a rack that said 'New Books' and manu said, i want to go down!
"alright, go down." she looked at her and said politely, as ever, "would you follow him to the children's section? I'll be down in a minute." so there was the grandmother following the grandson down the wide spiral staircase, her hand on the bannister, his own stretched akimbo as he hopped down the steps. he counted 23 of them. the childrens section was truly beautiful, with books at a toddlers height and red and blue cushioned seats. she wished her grandchildren in India had a library like this one to go to. she sat down, watching manu dart from book to book, filling a basket. aliya strolled in holding some bound books of her own. she smiled kindly at her ml and sat down beside her, and was soon engrossed in her book. molly kept an eye on manu. then he was at her knee, insisting she read him a book. in bangalore, she read to her granddaughter from the malayala manorama. she made up tales of women in sarees going to schools to teach little girls like her Rachel and coming home by auto in the afternoon. she was a good story teller. but this book was in english. it pages were hardboard, like the cover and she read it in her mind, 'the train runs past my house.' manu stared up at her expectantly. molly shook her head. she was aware of aliya right beside, head buried in her own book.
"mamichi! read."
"no" she said as nonchalantly as she could.
the little boy did not understand this. "mamichi! please read."
she kept quiet and looked down at the book. then manu turned to his mother and said, "mummy, you read."
aliya put her book down and looked at her son. suddenly molly knew she must read the book. it was important. "manu," she said. but the boy was already focussed on his mother. aliya looked straight at her son, not reaching for the book.
"manu" she said, louder, "manu, i'll read, mamichi will read for you."
the boy gave her the book. as she read, she could hear nothing but her pounding accent and the silence her voice fell into. when she finished, she looked up. manu smiled, aliya's head was back in her book. but molly knew - if manu had listened with two ears, aliya had, with four.