Grantville Gazette 43 Read online

  Back in the real world, Sumitra replied casually, "I have no idea who sent me a telegram. Soon I'll find out."

  By the time that Sumitra was dressed and was brushing her black hair, Frau Witterin was handing Polyxena the telegram in its envelope. Polyxena thanked Frau Witterin, shut the door, then rushed across the room to present the envelope to Sumitra. Polyxena didn't say words, but her expression screamed, Open it! Open it NOW!

  Seconds later, Sumitra was reading the telegram aloud, translating as needed:

  MISS SUMITRA PATEL (AUS INDIEN)

  HEILIGE ELISABETH VON THÜRINGEN FRAUENHOCHSCHULE

  BAMBERG

  TILDA AND I ON TRAIN TODAY TO SEE YOU.

  ARRIVE 12 20.

  PLEASE PLEASE WEAR JEANS.

  STEPHANIE.

  "This is strange," Sumitra remarked.

  "Who is Tilda?" Polyxena asked. Sumitra had already told Polyxena who Stephanie Turski was, and most of how Stephanie had helped Sumitra. Namely, Sumitra and Stephanie sent letters back and forth; Stephanie in person had touted Sumitra's admission to Saint Liz College; and in the last few months, Stephanie had sent Sumitra bank drafts in small amounts.

  Now Sumitra said, "Tilda? She's Stephanie's partner in Up & Down Clothing."

  Polyxena said, "Really?" A pause. "Um, Sumitra?" A pause. "The radio says the train has a new locomotive-thingy. I'll bet it's something great to see."

  Sumitra hid a smile. Polyxena's fascination with Grantville wonders did not include machinery.

  Sumitra asked with fake casualness, "Would you like to come with me and see the new locomotive, Xena? You also could meet Stephanie in person, if you want. I'll also invite Samantha and Jacobäa to go with me too, I think."

  Sumitra worked to keep her voice as casual as she could make it, when she mentioned Jacobäa's name.

  "Go with you to the train station?" Polyxena said. "Great!" Then her face fell. "Um, Sumitra, I would really like to wear a nice dress to meet—"

  "Xena, don't worry, we'll work something out. After all, we've worked out one deal already."

  Sumitra was referring to the day that she and Polyxena had met. They'd struck a deal then: Once a week, Sumitra played personal maid and dressed Polyxena up in a fancy gown, later to help Polyxena undress—and in return, Polyxena gave a full week's tutoring in Latin, church history, and church doctrine.

  Now Sumitra continued, "How about we discuss this later? Right now, I need to talk to Dean DiCastro. Otherwise, as soon as I leave the campus wearing those jeans that Stephanie begged for, I'll get demerits. I don't think Stephanie intends for me to scrub a floor!"

  ****

  Dean DiCastro didn't even pause to think. "Request approved," she said in English.

  "Thank you," Sumitra said.

  Instead of handing the telegram back to Sumitra, Dean DiCastro kept it in her left hand. "Come, walk with me," she said.

  Both women walked out of the inn's common room and into cool sunlight.

  "Have you given any more thought to baptism and confirmation?" Dean DiCastro asked. Though Sumitra was attending a Catholic women's college, she was still officially Hindu.

  "I have thought about this. Always I think about this, because of I am here," Sumitra said. "But I am not ready now, to take the confirmation class and do the baptism."

  Actually, Sumitra was lying by understatement. Up-time, she'd attended Saint Vincent's a few times with the Salerno family. But within a week of learning she was living in the seventeenth century, she'd decided she could never be Catholic; the Goa Inquisition offended her. Sumitra had never shared her true feelings on this subject with anyone, not even Stephanie or Samantha.

  "I see," Dean DiCastro said now. She waved the telegram. "You know that Stephanie Turski would love to sponsor you. The Salernos too."

  "Are you catching the shit for to admit the Hindu student?" Sumitra said. "You knew this when you invited me."

  "Language, young lady," Dean DiCastro said, then continued, "Many of us believe that His Eminence"—Cardinal Mazzare—"is a future saint, and it's by his request that you're here. You staying Hindu is awkward for him."

  "Maybe he requested me because I am the woman, and I am good at the college. I graduated from Grantville High School one year early, remember, with high marks. Do you know how many women here I tutor in the maths and the science, and I ask for no dosh? I am not the charity victim."

  "Actually, you are a charity case. After all, Saint Mary's took up a collection for you last year, and Cardinal Mazzare is paying church money toward your tuition."

  "But most of my tuition is paid by the Chehabs," Sumitra pointed out. "Or is this the next thing on your list, my adoptive family is the Disciples of Christ?"

  Dean DiCastro said, "I'm saying this badly. We're a family here, we Catholics at Saint Elisabeth College. You'll feel more like a part of our family when you're Catholic too. Besides, extra ecclesiam nulla salus." Outside the Church, there is no salvation.

  Annoyed, Sumitra replied, "I do not want the salvation, but reincarnation to the better life. I wonder, right now Annalise Richter attends Katharina von Bora"—the Lutheran women's college in Quedlinburg. "Do they say to her, 'Stop being Catholic' like you say to me, 'Stop being Hindu'?"

  "If you don't intend to become Catholic soon, then why have you come here?"

  "Because I am the Hindu, so this is the coin flip, whether I attend Saint Liz College or Katharina College. But Bamberg is closer to Grantville than is Quedlinburg."

  "So you didn't choose even a little bit to come here, because Samantha Salerno came here to attend college?"

  Sumitra still loved Samantha, and Sumitra had come here mainly because Samantha would be here too. But now Sumitra had to pretend otherwise. "Samantha here is the frosting on the cake for me."

  Then Sumitra thought, What an odd question for Dean DiCastro to ask. Aloud, she said, "Why do you ask to me about Samantha?"

  Instead of answering, Dean DiCastro sighed, then fell silent.

  After ten seconds, Sumitra said, "I listen."

  Dean DiCastro sighed again. "Some women here don't like how you look at them. They say you look at Samantha Salerno the same way, but more so."

  "What do you say now, that I am the lesbian?"

  "I didn't use that word. How interesting that you did," Dean DiCastro said.

  "I study now church doctrine, remember? I learn this is what you Catholics do: You split the hairs and you play the games with words and notions! You are the coward if you ask to me if I am the lesbian, but you never say the word!"

  "How dare you! I can expel you right now for what you just said."

  "News flash, memsahib. I am the Hindu, you do not need any excuse to expel me. But if I am 'sent down' for no good reason, I shan't leave quietly. Where from I come, the rabbit chases the dog." Sumitra referred to a legend about the founding of Ahmedabad.

  Dean DiCastro glared. "I am not a coward. So, Sumitra Patel, I ask you: Are you a lesbian?"

  "I am the complete virgin," Sumitra replied with affronted voice. She didn't mention that she was a "complete virgin" if she didn't count breast-stroking and snogging episodes with Jacobäa Hänsler. "Yes, I followed Samantha Salerno to here, but now she has the boyfriend," Sumitra said, keeping her voice calm and steady.

  Sumitra really didn't want to think about the truth, that she'd lost all hope with Samantha. Sumitra moved quickly to step in front of Dean DiCastro, then to turn and face the older woman.

  Sumitra put her hand out. "May I please take back to me my telegram?"

  Bamberg Train Station

  12:25 p.m.

  The train from Grantville was pulling into the station.

  "Now the questions will be answered!" Polyxena exclaimed. "Why did up-timer Stephanie Turski suddenly decide to visit my roommate Sumitra? Why did Stephanie Turski beg my roommate to wear her blue jeans?"

  "Why is Xena dressed to greet Maria Anna, queen in the Low Countries?" Samantha asked, matching Polyxena's melodramatic
tone.

  Sumitra said, "Be nice to Xena. Because I'm playing her maid for the second time in a week, she'll be taking all four of us out to eat, sometime this weekend."

  "Change of food, hooray!" Jacobäa said.

  Before anyone else got a chance to reply, Samantha started waving her arms. Sumitra ran suddenly-damp palms down the thighs of her jeans.

  A minute later, introductions were being made. Sumitra was saying, " . . . Stephanie, this is Polyxena, Gräfin von Leiningen-Dagsburg-Falkenburg, my crazy Pfälzerin roommate."

  "Sehr erfreut," Polyxena said, curtsying.

  Tilda said, "I hear the Pfälzerin part. But why is she 'crazy'?"

  Sumitra smiled at Polyxena, then turned back to Tilda. "Because she sees all this as a big adventure! She's the only down-timer to accept assignment to a bunk-bed dorm room. She even volunteered to take the top bunk."

  Jacobäa said, "She's welcome to it. Those so-called beds aren't much wider than a man's shoulders. Plus in winter, they're cold! Give me body heat!"

  "Yuck!" Samantha replied. "Yeah, my own bunk bed is narrow, but at least it has privacy."

  Continuing the introductions, Sumitra said, "The woman who loves her wide bed is Jacobäa Hänsler, who is a close friend."

  Stephanie cocked an eyebrow. "I hope you and Jacobäa are happy in your friendship," Stephanie said with a straight face.

  Seconds later

  Stephanie said, "Signor Moretti, this is Sumitra Patel, from up-time India."

  Sumitra figured out that this was why Stephanie had insisted that Sumitra wear her jeans: They proved she was an up-timer.

  Sumitra put her palms and fingertips together in front of her heart, and bowed her head for three seconds. "Namaste," she said, speaking the word for the first time in years.

  Moretti's eyes went wide. In Hindi he asked, "Where are you from?"

  "Ahmedabad."

  "I've been there! I've bought cotton there," he said, excited.

  "I'm sure our memories of Ahmedabad are very different," Sumitra said in Hindi, smiling sadly.

  In the brief time that Sumitra had been around the Venetian, he'd struck her as abrasive. But now he looked sympathetic. He asked her, "If I may ask, Sumitra-ben, why are . . . why are you here in the Germanies, and not at home?"

  "Ahmedabad is not my home anymore," she said, again with sad voice. "I have no mother there, no father, no aunts or uncles or cousins. No friends."

  Switching to German, Sumitra turned to smile at Stephanie, Samantha, Polyxena, and Jacobäa. Sumitra said, "In Grantville I have adoptive family, and here I have friends."

  Sumitra looked at Samantha again, and smiled at her again. But inside, Sumitra longed anew for the relationship she could never have.

  Seconds later

  Stephanie was finishing the introductions: "Everyone, this is Tilda Gundlachin, my business partner in Up & Down Clothing."

  "Enchanté," Polyxena said, and curtsied. Then she gushed, "You are so lucky, to make brand-new clothes by a brand-new way."

  Sumitra smiled at Tilda. "You look so pretty in that dress. Did you make it yourself? And at thirty-two, you'll look good in dresses for many years to come."

  "Ahem!" said Jacobäa.

  Tilda was blushing. "Yes, I sewed this myself, with my sewing machine. I'm not thirty-two; I'm older."

  "I agree, you look older than thirty-two," said Jacobäa in an annoyed voice.

  Stephanie looked at Sumitra and mouthed in English, Thirty-nine.

  Two minutes later

  Moretti's grey cloth was being examined closely by Sumitra's Saint Liz College friends, who found it fascinating. But Sumitra was nowhere near that cloth. Its gray color brought back so many memories—

  Sumitra at sixteen, weaving grey cloth at Thar Textiles;

  Bhaskar Patel giving awestruck, six-year-old Sumitra a tour of Thar Textiles;

  Bhaskar Patel at home, during various years of his daughter's life;

  Sumitra's mother Ahimsa, at home, during many years of Sumitra's life.

  In the train station, Sumitra had shoved the grey cloth at Polyxena. "Please, take it, I can't stand to see it!"

  After that, Sumitra had moved to the side of the train platform that was in sunlight, and now she draped Signor Moretti's white cotton cloth over a bench. Sumitra bent down to look closely at the cloth. Nearby, Stephanie and Tilda were attentive, whilst Moretti acted nervous.

  Sumitra smiled at Moretti. In German, she said, "Here is good news: This cloth looks better than hand-made cotton cloth I've seen at the Calico Museum." Sumitra's part of India had been making cotton cloth since 3000 BC, so naturally up-time Ahmedabad had a local museum devoted to cloth-making in India. Thus Sumitra had seen a lot of old cotton cloth during various school field trips.

  Now Stephanie asked Sumitra the expert, "If that's the good news, is there bad news?"

  Sumitra said, "The bad news is, it's not as good as up-time cloth. See these little black dots in the threads? They shouldn't be there."

  "I saw them, but I thought they were flyspecks," Stephanie said.

  "What you see is what shouldn't be here. Dirt from the field, dried cow dung, ground-up parts of the cotton plant. In English, it's called trash."

  "Abfall," Stephanie translated for the onlookers.

  Tilda asked, "Will dyeing the cloth make the trash disappear?"

  Sumitra said, "You might not see the trash then, but you won't fix the problem it makes. Wherever the trash shows up, it makes the thread fat. If you lay this cloth flat on something, then get your eye slightly above the flat cloth, you'll see it's bumpy in places. If you hold this cloth up to the light, you'll see bright lines, because there are gaps between the weft threads that the weaver couldn't close up. Compare this cloth to the cotton cloth in my blue jeans."

  As Stephanie and then Tilda took turns looking at the afternoon sun through the white cloth, Sumitra looked over at Signor Moretti. He was looking back at her, his expression mixing amazement and fear.

  By now, Tilda was letting the Saint Elisabeth girls sun-test the cloth, as she walked over to Stephanie and Sumitra. Tilda murmured, "Why is there trash in this cloth? Is he lazy, or is cleaning the cotton harder than I think?"

  "Frau Gundlachin, be glad you'll never need to clean cotton by hand. By the way, India invented the cotton gin, no matter what Americans tell you."

  Speaking loudly enough that Signor Moretti could hear, Tilda asked in a formal voice, "Do you recommend this cloth as well made?"

  "Yes, I recommend it," Sumitra said, in the same formal tone.

  "Yippee, let's party!" Samantha said.

  "We'll do that," said Tilda, "after Herr Moretti and I haggle over the price of his cloth."

  Which meant, Thanks to Sumitra pointing out things wrong with Moretti's cloth, I'm about to skin him alive.

  Signor Moretti figured that out, too. "Poco momento, per favore," he said.

  He turned to Sumitra and asked in German, "Sumitra-ji, will you please come to Venice and work for me? Help me make better cloth?"

  All four of the Saint Elisabeth College women, especially Sumitra, gasped at his words.

  Sumitra thought, If I accept his offer, I can't see Samantha anymore!

  Then Sumitra realized, That would actually be a good thing.

  Sumitra looked at Samantha and thought, Now is the time to tell her. But Samantha, guessing wrongly about why Sumitra was looking at her, was shaking her head: Tell him no, tell him no.

  Sumitra did indeed tell Moretti no—at first. She pretended unwillingness to leave Bamberg. After ten minutes, and after she'd been offered a lot more salary, she finally told Signor Moretti, "I'll go with you."

  "No-o-o!" Samantha said.

  Tilda Gundlach stepped forward then, to begin her own negotiations with Moretti. Meanwhile, Sumitra took Samantha's hand, and Stephanie's hand, and walked her two Catholic friends far away from everyone else.

  "I lied to the both you," Sumitra said in English. "I am not Catholic,
and never I will be Catholic."

  "You're not Catholic now," Samantha said, "but I think sooner or later, you'll—"

  "No. Go to Grantville, read about India of now. Read about the Goa Inquisition. G-O-A. Right now, the Catholics torture the Hindus. You other Catholics say 'This is right,' or you say nothing. I never will be Catholic, I am sorry."

  Samantha was crying. "Please, Sumitra, don't tell me that. I've said novenas for you converting."

  Stephanie said, "I haven't done that, Sumitra sweetie, but I've also prayed for you."

  Now Sumitra took a deep breath, as she wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. "Samantha, I love you."

  "I love you too, Sumitra, you're my best . . . friend . . . ." Samantha stopped talking then, because Sumitra was looking at her very differently from how a BFF would eye her.

  Sumitra took another deep breath. "I love you, Samantha Rosa Salerno. I am the lesbian, and I love you. I have loved you since the day in 1999 when I fell on the ice and you tried to help my elbow. But now you have the boyfriend, and I hurt, so I go away now."

  Samantha shook her head. "This isn't some story? This is true?"

  It was Stephanie who answered the question: "Sweetie, Sumitra loves you more than she loves any man alive."

  ****

  Hours later, Stephanie, Tilda, and Signor Moretti caught the train back to Grantville. Sumitra left Bamberg with them.

  Before Sumitra left, she and Samantha held hands and cried at the Bamberg train station. Sumitra inhaled deeply, smelling Samantha for the very last time.

  ****

  GLOSSARY

  INDIA

  Gujarati—an Indo-Aryan language evolved from Sanskrit, and the chief language spoken in the Indian state of Gujarat. This language has 66 million speakers worldwide. It was the native language of Mohandas Gandhi. Gujarati is one of the twenty-two official languages, and one of the fourteen regional languages, of India.

  Ahimsa (Sumitra's mother's name)—means nonviolence in Hindi

  rajah—Indian prince

  rupee—in January 1999, the exchange rate was roughly 42.5 rupees per US dollar.