The Story Hour by Thrity Umrigar

moving them. I am no more Lakshmi. I am tall and green and plant. I growing from this earth that belong to my dada and his dada.
    And then I do some jadoo. I close my eyes and become Shilpa. I is no longer smart but ugly. I become smart and beautiful. Everyone happy to put their eyes on my face. When they looking at me, their eye become soft and peaceful. They smile without knowing they smile.
    Lakshmi gone, taken away by the last bird of the evening, who looking for its tree. Here in Lakshmi’s dada’s field stand Shilpa, saying the poetry, not feeling shy, not feeling like she dying when other peoples looking at her. Shilpa is finishing the poem, “Into that heaven of freedom, Father, let my country awake.”
    And when I open my eyes on Talent Show Day, people is clapping for me. Dada looking prideful as a bandmaster and Ma is wiping her eyes with her sari. Menon sahib show all his teeth and smile. And when they gives me second prize in Talent Show, same people clapping again. And when later, I say thank you to Shilpa, she look surprise because she not knowing how she help me.
    And this same way, by leaving Lakshmi in the store and becoming Shilpa, is how I manage to take two buses to Cedarville and find madam’s house.

12
    M AGGIE STRAIGHTENED A cushion on the couch, glanced again at the living room clock, and emitted an exasperated sigh. There was no denying that every second that passed without a knock on her door increased her anxiety about Lakshmi’s safety and whereabouts.
    Finally, in order to shake off visions of Lakshmi on a bus headed in the opposite direction, she threw on her clogs, walked down the driveway, and stood in the front yard, scanning the street for any sign of her client, who, her rational mind told her, was running only a few minutes late. There was no need whatsoever to panic or worry yet. Still, there was no refuting the lift she felt when she saw Lakshmi’s distant figure as she slowly but steadily climbed toward the house, located on one of the steepest streets in town. Maggie felt a pang of regret at not having had the decency to pick the poor woman up at the bus stop. Then she caught herself. You can’t do this, she thought. You won’t be doing either of you any favors if you don’t maintain your boundaries. Lakshmi is healthy, young—how old is she, anyway? Maggie tried to remember. Thirty-one? Thirty-two? And the exercise is good for her. Don’t make this too easy for her—in fact, you’ve already made a mistake in not charging her even a nominal fee. A case of your emotions clouding your judgment. Maggie had heard it from other therapists a million times: Clients didn’t value what they got for free. It was human nature to devalue what came too cheap or easy. Lakshmi’s husband would’ve probably taken you more seriously if you’d made them pay something, even if it was a lousy ten bucks a visit, she told herself.
    Lakshmi was close enough now for Maggie to make out that she was carrying a large bag that was weighing her down. Maggie felt a flash of irritation. What was it about immigrants that they always had to carry around half their possessions? No wonder she was struggling to get up the hill. Maggie moved in the direction of the other woman. No point in changing two buses to come for an hour-long session if you were going to be ten minutes late. Luckily, she didn’t have a client coming in after Lakshmi. So they could go over a bit, she supposed. Still, she was going to have a frank talk with Lakshmi about the value of her time.
    Lakshmi smiled shyly as she came up to Maggie, and seeing that tentative smile, some of Maggie’s anger dissipated. “Hello, madam,” Lakshmi said. “How are you?”
    â€œI’m fine. And you? Any trouble finding the place?”
    â€œNo problem, madam.” Maggie could hear the younger woman breathing hard in between her words. She really is out of shape, she