Sita Speaks
“Bad luck?” Judy asked, turning from the corner cupboard where she had
just placed a stack of five plates, the last of the breakfast dishes. Or
were they lunch dishes? Their pancake feast had waited so long that it
was nearly lunchtime before they had finished.
“You don’t believe in it, do you?” Mrs. Riker questioned anxiously. “I
guess you think we make our own luck, good or bad, and maybe you’re
right.”
“But if that’s true,” Judy said, “we can change it. You’ve made a good
start, telling me all about it.”
“I didn’t tell you quite all,” Helen admitted. “I didn’t tell you how we
used to act out the story of Rama and Sita. Do you know it, Judy?”
“Only a little of it,” Judy answered. “I know they are the ideal man and
woman, but was Sita a princess? Penny said the green doll was a
princess, but I guess she got the story mixed up with the Oz books. Did
you read them to her?”
“I read her the Oz books, not the ‘Ramayana.’ There isn’t a translation
of it that a child Penny’s age could understand. We heard the story told
and made up our own play. I would call, ‘Rama! Rama! Rama! I seek thee
within me and my senses are sealed.’”
“Did Rama answer?”
“No, it was always the demon Ravana. He was the many-headed monster who
stole Sita and kept her a prisoner for seven years. The boys would take
turns being Ravana. The other one was always Rama.”
“And you were Sita? Did you take the statues to act out the play?”
“At first,” she said. “Then Uncle Paul discovered us and forbade us to
touch them. After that we thought of him as the many-headed demon. When
he roared at us we’d exchange glances and know each other’s thoughts.
I’ve seen you and Peter do it. I think two people can when they love
each other very much, but it didn’t last with us. When Sita was stolen
everything changed. Paul didn’t want to play any more.”
“How do you mean?” asked Judy. “Was it Philip who took the statue?”
“Yes,” she said. “He gave it to me and told me to keep it for seven
years and then he would bring me its mate. He did find me just seven
years later, but neither of us ever mentioned Rama and Sita. We were
married, I often told myself, without their blessing. Paul didn’t come
to the wedding. None of his family did. My mother and some of my friends
from New York were there. But I never saw Paul again.”
“If you did see him—” Judy began.
But Helen Riker was crying now.
“I’d still love him, I guess. Little Paul is really named for him, not
for Mr. Riker. I was always a little afraid of old Uncle Paul. And now
I’m afraid of meeting either of them. Can you guess why?”
“Because you kept the green goddess?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. I’m afraid of what may have happened
during the years I didn’t know him. If he’s grown up to be bitter and
cruel like his uncle, with no understanding of children— And if he
hasn’t—why, then he’s probably married to someone else. I’d pretend I
didn’t care any more if I found out Paul was happily married.”
“I see,” Judy said, and there were tears in her eyes.
“You really do, don’t you?” Mrs. Riker spoke as if she wasn’t used to
having people understand her feelings. But now that someone did, she was
ready to pour out her heart.
“That was what made it so hard,” she went on with her story. “I loved
the green doll, as I called her, and didn’t want to part with her,
because Philip had given her to me. After he was killed in the accident
two years ago, it seemed even harder to part with her, and I didn’t,
even though we needed money desperately. She reminded me of those happy
days when the three of us played together and took turns and I didn’t
have to choose between them. They were twins—”
“Wait a minute!” Judy stopped her. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you
say they were twins?”
“Identical twins,” she replied. “Some people couldn’t tell one from the
other, but I could. Philip laughed more than Paul did. He was more
reckless, too. When we played follow-the-leader, he would lead us places
that Paul and I were afraid to go.”
“What sort of places?” asked Judy.
“Well, there was a cave in the side of the mountain. I don’t remember
exactly where it was. It was a natural cave,” she remembered. “I don’t
imagine it’s there any more. It seems to me it was about where that
monument stood.”
“Could the monument have been built over it? That might explain the
voice that told the children to go away. It would explain the footstep,
too!”
“Then he was there!” Helen Riker exclaimed.
“Who?” asked Judy.
“Old Uncle Paul,” she replied with a shiver. “He knew about the cave. He
chased us out and took possession of it for himself just as he took
possession of everything he wanted. I hated him for his selfishness. I
wanted to hurt him. I knew it was wrong to keep the statue, but it was
my way of paying him back. He must have turned queer to build a tomb and
hide in a cave underneath it to scare people. I wonder if he knew who we
were.”
“How could he know? Do you think he was peeking out from somewhere? But
how could he know you even if he was? You were a little girl then—”
“I know,” she interrupted, “but I’m like my mother. I thought perhaps I
could keep house for him like my mother did. Our one hope was that he
would welcome us and forgive me when I gave him back the little jade
statue of Sita. But now it’s stolen and he didn’t want to see us.
Philip’s insurance money is all gone. We used the last of it coming
here. I’ll have to go to work, I guess, and put the children in a foster
home. I don’t suppose you’d consider letting them stay on here with you?
I’d pay you out of my wages. Maybe I could wait on tables or find work
in a store. Do you mind looking after the children if I begin hunting
for something tomorrow?”
“Not at all,” Judy replied.
“Judy, you’re kind and thoughtful and understanding—”
“Please,” Judy stopped her. “Peter calls me Angel, and the next thing,
you’ll be doing it. I have a lot of faults. I lose my temper and expect
too much of people and make hasty judgments, and sometimes I’m rude. I
was annoyed with you for not telling the truth—”
“And well you should have been,” Helen Riker said. “For a girl who was
once called Sita, I have fallen far short of the Hindu ideal of perfect
womanhood. Perhaps I was fooled by Ravana, the evil one. I should have
called, ‘Rama! Rama! Rama!’ more often.”
“Do you think he would have answered you?” asked Judy, still a little
baffled by the mystic tale.
“Perhaps,” Helen replied, “but I waited too long. Life does not wait for
indecision, Judy. As the demon said in the story, ‘It is too late!’ Each
of his many heads, pierced by Rama’s arrows, cried it to heaven until
there was only one left to speak and it spoke wisely, ‘Learn by my
example. Do selfless deeds at once. Those that are selfish put them off
till they cease to trouble thy mind.’ But, you see, I put off the deeds
I should have done. I intended to visit Uncle Paul and give him back his
precious Sita and tell him how Philip took it for me when we were both
children and didn’t know its value. I dreaded going there and it was
even worse than I imagined. I don’t ever want to go again.”
“Well, I do,” declared Judy, “more than ever now that you’ve told me.
Peter!” she called. “Where was it you said we were going?”