LMT100 Unit 6 notes

A Question Of Dowry
by Siew Yue Killingley

There was much excitement in Mrs Ramachandran’s household. The daughter of

the house, Sivasothie, was going to be engaged. The festive air was laden with*
the spicy smell of curries and wades* sizzled* in the kwali saucepan. The young
lady of the house, as befitted her present condition, assumed a calm pose amidst the
general bustle and noise. Mrs Ramachandran flew here and there, as fast as her
160 pounds would allow her, and helped with her commanding suggestions.
‘Don’t put too much coconut-milk in at once, Ayah! It’s got to go in by stages. The
last bit – the richest part, must be kept to the last! Now, Tamby, go out and play –
but don’t dirty your shirt. What will Uncle Thiruchelvam think if you’re dirty?’
Just then, Mr Ramachandran came into the kitchen and beckoned* to his wife. She
went out dutifully, for she managed her husband well – obeying him in the little
things with such readiness that he thought himself lord of everything else as well. In
their room, Mr Ramachandran asked his wife where she had the chain which they
were giving their daughter as a personal present. Mrs Ramachandran
went up to her cupboard and unlocked an iron casket in which were many
glittering trinkets. From the mess of glitter she extracted a heavy gold chain
carved rather much in detail. She sighed with contentment.
‘Thirulcelvam’s mother and his double-tongued sister can’t possibly mistake the
value of this necklace. I’m glad we decided to give this. It can be kept for her
daughter when she gets married. Thirulchelvam’s mother! What a grasping
woman she is – so surprising that she should be one, because her husband
earns so much a month. Her son is more like his father, thank goodness! I’m sure
she takes most of his salary now – but then, doctors always have a lot – though
he’d better think twice before giving too much to his mother now, since he is going to
have a family of his own soon. O Ramachandran! You must have a talk with that
young man some time and give him a few helping hints on how to save for his future
family. You see, he’s got to realize that his sons must have a good education, and
that his daughters must have enough dowry. These young men never realize what
they should do for their future and for their families.’
‘Well, Ramachandran, I leave all this to you – you can handle everything so well,
especially young people, I always say! Anyway, you have done well by our daughter!
Twenty thousand dollars is not to be scoffed at* – that’s more than I can say for
what Thangathurai gave his daughter when our son married her – and she had
only passed her Form IV too! I was never for that match – but Arul has always been
a stubborn and unfilial boy – how could he insist on choosing his own wife? Well,
that’s past. Now, I really must leave you. There’s so much work to see to.’
Mr Ramachandran had been trying to get a word in, and when his wife paused for
breath (for she was really going to continue) he grabbed his chance.

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 ‘We have to return the necklace.’
‘Return it? Why, what will Thirulchelvam’s mother and _’
Mr Ramachandran raised his hand.
‘There’s something which I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, but I didn’t
want to worry you. We can’t pay for the necklace. Do you remember the land
we were going to sell to get the dowry and money for the necklace?’
‘Oh, be careful, you old man! Do you want people to think that we have no
money for our daughter?’ Mrs Ramachandran hissed in fierce whispers. Then,
continuing in a more normal tone, she inquired loudly, ‘Which piece of land do
you mean? My father gave us four for my dowry, and our second son received
three as his wife’s dowry.’
‘Come on, wife!’ remonstrated Mr Ramachandran. ‘Don’t you remember? We
have only one piece of land left from your dowry – we sold the other two for our
third and fourth sons’ weddings. You asked me to do it yourself. As for
Anandakrishna’s land, that belongs to him and he’s already rented it out to some
households in order to get cash for his eternal drinks.’
Afraid of further secrets being revealed to prying ears, and being anxious to
save her family’s face, Mrs Ramachandran motioned to her husband to drop the
subject. However, Mr Ramachandran continued.
‘About the land, I’m afraid it is impossible to sell it at a quarter of its former
price. You see, water has been seeping out from some well for about ten years
and so the land is now too marshy for house-holding. Unless we were to drain it,
no one would buy it for our sum.’
‘Are you insulting my poor father?’ He gives me a piece of sodden* land?
Impossible! Oh, if he were to know what sort of a son-in-law he was getting, he
would have made a wiser decision. But I shall have a better son-in-law who’ll not
depend on his wife’s dowry. He’s a doctor, and he has his own income!’
With that she stalked out, after having locked the gold chain securely in its
container again. Mr Ramachandran looked worried, but resigned. He always
found himself at a loss for words when his wife was most eloquent*.
Mrs Ramachandran called to her daughter, and the latter came dutifully from
the chaste quiet of her bedroom.
‘Sivasothie, you are a very lucky girl. You’ll have a doctor for your husband –
and Mrs Muthu will have a fit from envy. But you are so much better than her
daughter. Now, Thirulchelvam is coming in half and hour, and – well, you’re
nicely dressed, I see. Do pin up the jasmine flowers – they’re too drooping on
your left side – there! That’s better – oh why did you move? Look what you’ve
made me do? You’ve made me knock two off – no matter! This looks better –
not so crowded. He loves you very much – his father told your father so.’
Sivasothie looked shy and glanced away with a modest droop of the head.
Tamby yelled:
‘Peria akka!* Uncle Thirulchelvam has come to see you. Peria akka! He’s
waiting for you in the hall! I’ve told him you were waiting for the last two hours.’
The two women were horrified. Mrs Ramachandran snatched the happy
Tamby as he danced into the room and spanked him hard.

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 ‘Silly boy! Don’t shout those fibs*. Why, your sister has been hard at work in the
kitchen’ (this very loudly). ‘Just because she looks so fresh and tidy, it doesn’t
mean she wasn’t working. Do you think she’s so lazy as to sit and not do anything? Go
out and play.’
Tamby hurried off, surprised and unbelieving. Sivasothie and her mother went out
into the hall, where the former, permitting herself the most modest of glances at her
ardent pursuer, and permitting him to receive from her the merest minimum of
shy smiles, shuffled discreetly and retiringly into the kitchen.
‘Good morning, Auntie,’ said Thirulchelvam, ‘I’ve come to see Uncle
Ramachandran. He rang me up this morning.’
‘Please sit down and I’ll get Sivasothie to fetch you a drink. Do taste some
muruku. They’re newly-made and crisp – Sivasothie is so clever – but of course,’ she
added coyly and slyly, ‘you know that! Sit down! Sit down! Make this your home,
though it’s not comparable to yours, of course. And how is your dear mother? I
must go and see her soon – we’ll have so much to talk about. But that’s not
surprising – we have the same interest – and that, of course, is your happiness.
Now do sit down and I’ll ask –‘
‘No, no, please don’t bother. I’m very busy, and I must see Uncle
Ramachandran and go. Do call him out please.’
Mrs Ramachandran knew when not to cross a person and she gave in with good
grace.
‘Well, I’m sure you have a lot to discuss; so I’ll fetch him for you.’ Thirulchelvam
sat down awkwardly, attempting not to show his annoyance. What a silly mother –
her daughter’s modest airs – did Mrs Ramachandran have them when she was
young too? Well, a man had to have a wife, so why not have one with a
reasonable dowry?
Mr Ramachandran came in with his wife, and after further pleasantries on the
latter’s part, she departed for the kitchen. Mr Ramachandran then proceeded to tell
his future son-in-law what he had already told his wife earlier. Thirulchelvam, having
less faith in Mrs Ramachandran’s father, believed the news about the devalued land.
After Thirulchelvam had left for his dispensary, Mr Ramachandran had to let his wife
and daughter know about the changed situation.
‘Well,’ commented Mrs Ramachandran stoically, ‘there’s more than one doctor in our
community, and it’s up to you, Ramachandran, do your duty as a father.’
Sivasothie went into the kitchen, her head bowed modestly.

Glossary
1. wades round, savoury, deep-fried lentil cakes
2. laden with full of, or filled with
3. sizzled sound of food frying in hot oil
4. beckoned gave a signal with the hand to tell someone to move nearer or to
follow him/her
5. scoffed at talk about something in such a way that shows one thinks it is stupid
or ridiculous
6. sodden extremely wet
7. eloquent able to express one’s opinions well in public
8. Peria akka elder sister in Tamil
9. fibs lie
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LMT100 Unit 6 notes

About the author

Ernest Hemingway

Hemingway was born in 1899 into the family of a respectable

doctor who lived in Chicago suburb. During the First World War he
volunteered as an ambulance driver in Italy, but he was soon
wounded, and hospitalized there. After the War he returned to
America and first married in 1921.
During the following years he worked as a newspaper correspondent
in Europe and met a number of famous writers including James Joyce
and the poet Ezra Pound, and his first poems and short stories were
published in Paris in 1923. In 1954 Hemingway was awarded the
Nobel Prize for literature. He spent much of the later part of his life in
Cuba, where he died in 1961. Hemingway became a famous writer
within his own lifetime, particularly being known for his very distinctive
style of writing – deceptively simple and direct – which many other
writers have tried to follow with little of his success. Above all he was
known for his very tough, typically American style which often
mirrored his own keen interest in sports like bull-fighting, big-
game hunting and deep-sea fishing – all of which provided themes
for his fiction.
Cat in the Rain is a very short story which is apparently simple in its
plot. In fact behind the very realistic surface there is a wealth of
symbolism and possible meanings for the reader to supply for himself,
and it is not surprising that this very brief story has given rise to so
much contradictory criticism on the part of literary critics and
academics.

Cat in the Rain

There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the
people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room
was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and the war
monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In
the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the
palms grew and the bright colours of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea.
Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of
bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dropped from the palm trees.
Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The sea broke in a long line in the rain and
slipped back down the beach to come up and break again in a long line in the rain.
The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square
in the doorway of the café a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.

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 The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat
was crouched* under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so
compact* that she would not be dripped on. ‘
I’m going down to get that kitty,’ the American wife said.
‘I’ll do it,’ her husband offered from the bed.
‘No, I’ll get it. The poor kitty out there is trying to keep dry under a table.’
The husband went on reading, lying propped up with the two pillows at the foot of the bed.
‘Don’t get wet,’ he said.
The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed
the office. His desk was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall.
‘Il piove,’* the wife said. She liked the hotel-keeper.
‘Si, si Signora, bruto tempo*. It is very bad weather.’
He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him.
She liked the deadly serious way he received any complaints. She liked his dignity. She
liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper.
She liked his old, heavy face and bid hands.
Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber
cape was crossing the empty square to the café. The cat would be around to the right.
Perhaps she could go along under the eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella
opened behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room.
‘You must not get wet,’ she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel-keeper had sent
her.
With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she
was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat
was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.
‘Ha perduto qulque cosa, Signora?’*
‘There was a cat,’ said the American girl.
‘A cat?’
‘Si, il gatto.’
‘A cat?’ the maid laughed. ‘A cat in the rain?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘under the table.’ Then, ‘Oh, I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty.’
When she talked English the maid’s face tightened.
‘Come, Signora,’ she said. ‘We must get back inside. You will be wet.’
‘I suppose so,’ said the American girl.
They went back along the gravel path to go back to the hotel. When they reached the door,
the American girl went in. The maid stayed outside to close the umbrella. As the American
girl passed the office, the padrone* bowed from the desk. Something felt very small and tight
inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important.
She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs.
She opened the door of the room. George was on the bed, reading.
‘Did you get the cat?’ he asked, putting the book down.
‘It was gone.’
‘Wonder where it went to,’ he said, resting his eyes from reading.
She sat down on the bed.
‘I wanted it so much,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor
kitty. It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.’

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 LMT100 Unit 6 notes

George was reading again.

She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with
the hand glass. She studies her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied
the back of her head and her neck.
‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out?’* she asked, looking at
her profile again.
George looked up and saw the back of her neck, clipped close like a boy’s.
‘I like it the way it is.’
‘I get so tired of it,’ she said. ‘I get so tired of looking like a boy.’
George shifted his position in the bed. He hadn’t looked away from her since she started to
speak.
‘You look pretty darn nice,’* he said.
She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It
was getting dark.
‘I want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can
feel,’ she said. ‘I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her.’
‘Yeah?’ George said from the bed.
‘And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be
spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some
new clothes.’
‘Oh, shut up and get something to read,’ George said. He was reading again. His wife
was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm trees.
‘Anyway, I want a cat,’ she said. ‘I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can’t have long hair
or any fun, I can have a cat.’
George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window
where the light had come on in the square.
Someone knocked at the door.
‘Avanti,’* George said. He looked up from his book.
In the doorway stood the maid. She held a big tortoise-shell* cat pressed tight against her
and swung down against her body.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘the padrone asked me to being this for the Signora.’

Glossary
crouched lying close to the ground, protecting itself from the rain
compact fitting into a small space
'il piove Italian for 'It's raining.'
'Ha perduto qulque cosa, Italian for 'Hove you lost something, Madam?'
Signora?
padrone hotel-keeper
to grow out to grow longer and fuller
to get tired of to become bored with the same thing all the time
pretty darn nice an American way of saying 'very nice'
'Avanti' Italian for 'Come in'
tortoise-shell yellow and brown coloured