That morning a new page inserted itself into the play. The sound of get your milk! had energy
and edge to it. The milkman must’ve sent his son instead, thought Kamla reclining on her
bed. She didn’t have much reason to ponder; the thought by itself didn’t carry much charm:
if the father couldn’t come, so the son did. What difference did it make? Earlier in the day she
normally didn’t wander outside. Even if she was awake she’d prefer resting.
The boy came again in the evening to deliver milk. The maidservant wasn’t home. “Get your milk,”
announced the boy. Kamla responded to the call with her presence. The boy's quite effeminate
looking, his haircut reminiscent of the city boys, and he had as if consciously parted them with a
comb. His eyes were the kind that stared far afield; yet they darted all over the place. How different
are today’s boys from the fathers, considered Kamla as she placed the container on the ground for
the milk. The boy soon left and Kamla forgot all about him.
The boy, however, returned the next morning. The maidservant was there. Lying in bed, Kamla
suspected the boy and the woman talking to each other. What are they talking about? Kamla felt
an urge to investigate.
One should keep everything in the house under the scanner. Rising, she stationed herself behind
a door adjacent to the one that opened into the kitchen.
“Here, another quarter. Two seers now,” said the boy, pouring the last quarter.
“Give me more,” she said coquettishly.
They seem intimate.
“Here, this one . . . for you.” She heard the sound of more milk sloshing as it poured.
Then he whispered something to her. In response she said quietly, “Can’t do that; that’ll mess up
the clothes.”
Fearing their whispering might make the mistress of the house suspicious, she raised the volume
of her voice, “Come a little early in the morning. The children need their milk.” Her voice suggested
she might have been smiling along with the reprimand.
Kamla retreated to her bed. “Either the maidservant will have to go or the milkman. How can she
let it happen under her roof? Who'd stop the maidservant if she were to will everything in
the house away to the boy!” she agitated.
Pacing back and forth in her room, she kept on thinking. “These folks have so much fun,” she
concluded as she plopped down on bed. The boy was no doubt good looking.
She saw him when the maidservant was away.
She’s not any less in any regard than the maidservant. Although her helper was younger than
Kamla, the latter was prettier and after all she was the owner of the house. Only if she wanted she
could give the boy a tour of the rooms, have him sit on the sofas, right next to her, make him sleep
on her bed with mirrorwork on it. Ah, how pretty and innocent the boy looked! She lay on her side.
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