All You Can Eat - Chapter One

An Invited Guest

My family owned an all you can eat Indian restaurant. I worked there with my parents, my uncle and my cousins Avi and Sanjay. For the first six months after opening, business was pretty slow.

Pretty slow was an understatement. Business was non-existent.

Our restaurant was in a rural farming town in Indiana, a place straight out of the movie Hoosiers. The kind of town where the only local restaurant is a mom and pop diner that existed since the town’s founding, a place where old men in mesh hats sit at the counter drinking black coffee and complaining about how the world is going to shit while a sassy waitress with fire engine red lipstick smacks her gum and tops off their mugs.

My uncle Samir moved here first, purchasing the old town laundromat on the opposite end of Main street from the town diner. Uncle Samir convinced my mother and father that the restaurant was a golden opportunity, no way it could fail. In theory, his logic made sense; we’d be the only other restaurant for twenty miles, and people love having choices. But as it turns out, old men in mesh hats don’t take their political discussions with a side of naan.

The people were nice enough, every morning we’d get a tip of the hat and a “good morning” as we walked from the Main Street parking lot to the restaurant. Avi and Sanjay both enrolled in the local high school and were quick to make friends. I commuted twice a week for class at the regional IU branch campus, but I still managed to make a couple friends in town.

It wasn’t that the townspeople were backward or unwelcoming in any way. They were just comfortable in their routine, and our restaurant was a break in that routine. Change comes slowly to these parts of the country. Whether or not we’d still be in business by the time the townsfolk were ready to embrace it was a bigger question.

Over the first couple months, we managed to attract the occasional local wanting to step out of their comfort zone of burgers and fries, and we’d get business from the agricultural sales reps from Indianapolis looking for something different after checking in with their clients. But from the look on my mother’s face, I could tell that this experiment was not the golden opportunity she expected.

That’s when the customer arrived. And she changed everything.

I was at the hostess station up front with my laptop on the counter, working on my Calculus homework when the bell on the front door clanged against the frame, announcing we had a customer.

It was our first customer since the Dupont sales rep left over an hour ago, so the bell caught everyone’s attention. Mom and Dad poked their heads from the kitchen. Avi and Sanjay hopped up from the booth and shoved their phones in their pockets. Uncle Samir looked up from wiping down the buffet.

She was a small, thin woman, her white hair pulled back in a tight bun, dressed in a blue pantsuit. She looked like she had just stepped out of one of the three Baptist churches we had in town. Maybe not the Southern Baptist church; she wasn’t in a dress.

Her skin was almost transparent over her hands, reminding me of the sheets of rice paper they use to wrap spring rolls. The veins on the back of her hand were vibrant blue as she patted the head of the statue of Ganesha on the counter.

“I love elephants,” she said. Her voice was so dainty, almost frail. I found myself leaning forward so I could hear her. She smiled and looked around the host station, taking in the traditional decorations we had tacked up on the walls. “What’s good here?”

“All of it,” my uncle Samir said before I could answer. I didn’t even see him step up beside me.

He straightened his clip-on bow tie and smoothed out his cheap black suit as if he were the maitre d’ at a fancy French restaurant. “If you’ll follow me I will give you an overview of the buffet and the amazing dishes we have to offer this evening.”

“Oh my, such attentive service!” she beamed.

He offered her his arm as he led her to the buffet, explaining what all of the dishes were. It was a little odd that he was being so attentive to her, but she was our only customer so perhaps it was his desperation of wanting to find a regular customer in town to bring in more business. At this point, anything would help.

She selected all vegetarian items, the paneer tikka masala, malai kofta, vegetable korma, and finished her plate with a side of biryani rice and a couple slices of naan.

After filling her plate, my uncle led her to the first table across from the buffet, then swatted at his sons to tend to the guest. Sanjay brought her water, Avi brought her a napkin and silverware, and I went back to my homework.

Her booth was visible just over the top of my laptop as I sat at the host station powering through the calculus homework assignment. But every now and then my eyes would glance up and catch her looking at me, smiling. I tried ignoring it until she waved, so I smiled back politely. She nodded as she grinned. There was something odd about her smile, it felt forced, too wide to be genuine. She lowered her head as she ripped a piece of naan between her fingers. I shifted my laptop to avoid further incidental eye contact.

It wasn’t until I heard the bells clacking against the door that I looked up and saw my uncle at the door, holding it open for our lone customer. I was so into my homework I didn’t realize it was already 9 o’clock. Closing time. Had she really stayed that long?

“I hope everything was to your satisfaction today?” my uncle asked, holding his hand out to her. He wasn’t this cordial to the pesticide rep from Dupont, who called him by name every time he dined with us.

“It was all quite wonderful,” she said, clasping her hand in his. Her Cheshire cat grin had grown even wider than before.

She gestured for him to lean down. He obliged, and the lady whispered something into his ear. I didn’t hear what she said, but I saw the look on my uncle’s face. It did not look like the face of good news, but he held his smile anyway. He stood back up to full height, bowing back to her as she nodded to him before walking out onto the sidewalk. He watched her until she turned the corner then let the door close, wiping the sweat that had beaded on his forehead. He tugged at his tie, unclipping it and stuffing it into his pocket. As he headed to the kitchen, I grabbed his arm.

“Samirchinnana, she didn’t pay,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he said, giving my arm a pat as he smiled.

“But-”

He cut me off with the wave of his hand.

“Siya, it is taken care of,” he said. He smiled, but there was still worry in his eyes. He put his hands on my shoulders. “Everything is going to be fine now. Please, help the boys clean up.”

Sanjay and Avi were back in their booth playing Fortnite on their phones. I closed my laptop and headed to our only table that needed bussing. Uncle Samir disappeared into the kitchen where he and my father got into a heated argument. I tried listening in but Mom snapped at them to lower their voices.

At the lady’s table, there was only a single plate that had been mopped clean and a half drank glass of water, not much there to clean up. One thing seemed odd, however. Her silverware was still tightly wrapped in her napkin. I dumped it in the wash bin anyways.

I had class the next day so I didn’t get to the restaurant until after five. When I arrived, there were ten customers. Ten. We were lucky to have five customers on a good day, ten was ridiculous!

I stepped to the host station as a couple came up to pay. As I took their money, my eyes glanced over to see the lady from yesterday. Blue pantsuit, white hair pulled back in a bun, sitting at the same table. She stared at me, grinning. I watched as she ripped a piece of naan and used it to scoop up some of Dad’s favorite recipe of palak paneer. She shoveled it into her mouth, her eyes never leaving me.

I heard a cough, looking up to see the man in front of me holding out his credit card, still waiting to pay.

“I’m so sorry,” I replied, smiling.

Even with my zoning out they still dropped a five in the tip jar before leaving. Also, we had a tip jar. With tips in it. The bell clanged as a party of three entered. Uncle Samir gave me an excited thumbs up as he guided them to a booth.

“Can you help take care of table four?” he asked as he whisked them to their table.

I walked over as Sanjay stacked the dirty dishes into the washbin. I cleared the napkins and paper trash.

“How long has it been like this?” I asked.

“All day,” he replied. “It’s crazy, we haven’t had a break yet.”

“What about her?” I gestured my head towards the lady. Sanjay shook his head.

“Avi said she was there when he got here at three,” he replied. “Dad won’t talk about it, just says to stay busy. I think she’s been here all day. She only gets up to go to the buffet, the rest of the time, she’s eating.”

“She doesn’t use silverware, either,” Avi said as he walked behind us, replacing the place settings on the table. “She eats in the traditional style.”

All three of us looked over to her table and watched as she ripped off a corner of her naan and used it to scoop up a bite of food. Rip, scoop, chew. We watched her do this a couple times, but on the third time she stopped mid rip and turned toward her head slowly in our direction. We quickly returned to bussing the table.

“She’s the same way with the rice,” Avi added, talking low. “Balls it up like Tāta used to do.”

The door clanged. Sanjay nodded as if to say ‘we got this’ so I could take care of the couple that walked in the door. I never even opened my laptop that night, which really sucked because I had a paper due the next day I was planning on finishing during my shift. But we stayed busy, right up until closing. By nine o’clock the tip jar was full of bills as the last customer added another couple bucks to the pile.

Well, not the last customer. She was still here.

After all of the other customers had left, my uncle guided her to the door, his arm on the small of her back. The front of her pantsuit was splotched with orange and yellow drops of sauce from the curry and masala she had eaten.

“I hope everything was to your liking,” he said as he led her to the door.

“Samirchinnana,” I said. “Is she going to pay?”

His head snapped back to me, his eyes wide.

“What?” I asked. “All of the other customers paid, why doesn’t she?”

It felt like all of the sound sucked out of the room. I looked back to the kitchen where my parents both were watching, their eyes as wide as my uncle’s. Sanjay and Avi’s faces were as confused as mine.

The woman turned her head to me. Her smile was still as wide as ever as her eyes narrowed.

“Does this am’māyi speak for you?” she said as she stared at me. Am’māyi is the Telugu word for girl. How did she know that?

My parents rushed from the back, flanking me on either side. My father bowed to the woman.

“Many apologies,” he said, his voice pleading. “She was born here, she does not know.”

He added, “Dayacēsi.”

He bowed his head. Mom did the same, but not before putting her hand on the back of my head, bowing mine with theirs.

“Mom!” I said, still confused by all this.

“Be quiet, Siya!” she snapped back.

An uncomfortable silence followed, only broken by the shuddering breaths of my mother and father. They were afraid of this woman, more afraid than I’d ever seen them. We bowed like that for minutes, but they felt like hours.

The woman stepped in front of me. I looked down and saw her matching blue pumps sticking out from the bottom of her pantsuit. Beside me, my father whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. My heart pounded in my chest. Who was this woman that made my grown father cry?

I felt the thin, spidery fingers of her hand slide under my chin. They were cold but strong. Stronger than they should’ve been. The tips of her nails dug into my face as she lifted my head up. They were sharp like talons, and it almost felt like they were growing.

“Look into my eyes, am’māyi,” she said.

My mother whimpered beside me. In my peripheral vision, I saw my uncle holding the hands of my cousins, his sons, their faces bewildered and afraid.

The woman’s eyes shifted from a mottled blue-grey to fiery red as I stared into them. I dared not blink.

“You don’t know of the old ways?” The woman asked.

My breath stuttered in my mouth, unable to speak. I shook my head.

She let go of my chin and patted the side of my face.

“It is not your failing, am’māyi,” she said. “It is on your parents to teach you these things. The failure is on them.”

“I have failed my family,” Dad said. “I am the one you should punish.”

My father held out his hand. The woman held it, rubbing her thumb over his palm.

“These are the hands that made the palak paneer I had today,” she said.

Dad nodded but kept his head bowed.

She let go of his hand. “I need you to make it again, tomorrow,” she said. Then she stepped in front of my mother.

Shaking, my mother raised her hand. The woman took it, holding it the same as she held my father’s.

Mom was crying. I reached over and held her other hand.

“Mom? What’s happening?” I asked. Tears filled my eyes as she looked at me.

“It’ll be okay, Siya,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound like she believed it.

I felt the spidery fingers of the woman on my chin again, lifting my face up.

“You must watch, am’māyi,” the woman said.

Massive fangs grew from the old woman’s upper jaw, ripping through the skin of her bottom lip. She let out a shriek as her body transformed, tripling in size as her blue pantsuit stretched, ripping at the seams as it clung to her hulking frame.

The tiny woman was gone. In her place was a monster over seven feet tall. Her wrinkled, almost transparent skin was stretched taut over her muscled frame, taking on a bluish hue.

The air was filled with the sound of bones cracking and reforming as two horns grew from the back of her head. Her lips hung like shredded curtains of pink and red, serrated by the rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth that filled her even wider smile.

Her eyes stayed fiery red like they had been when she stared into mine. Which she was still doing.

Her forked tongue flicked at my Mom’s fingertips. Then, she bit down.

My mother screamed as the bones in her hand snapped in the creature’s mouth, crunching like fresh carrots. Blood spurt from the wound, and through its shredded lips the monster slurped, long slow gulps as it drank my mother’s blood. Not a single drop hit the floor.

Mom’s knees buckled, and her brown skin had taken a grayish hue. Dad moved behind me to hold her up. But I did as I was instructed. I watched. I watched this thing drink my mother’s blood. And it watched me, making sure I did.

My mother begged the creature to stop, babbling in a mix of English and Telugu as the pain became too much.

The creature released my mother’s hand from its jaws. It was still held together by shreds of flesh, but the top half of her hand flopped backward and fell flat against the back of her wrist. Dad caught her as she fell unconscious against him. There was no telling how much blood she lost.

When I looked back at the creature, the old woman was back, her dress ripped and torn, showing the distress from her earlier transformation. She changed in an instant. The earlier transformation was a show, just for me.

Just for me.

The realization sunk in my stomach like a brick. This was all my fault. My mother was dying because of me.

“Now, now, am’māyi,” it said. “She will live. But the question is, did you learn your lesson?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She patted me on the head.

She walked past my uncle, who held his boys tight to his body as he held open the door. Sanjay was blubbering into his father’s arm. Avi’s jaw was slack as his head lulled to the side, catatonic. Uncle Samir bowed, leaning forward so his boys did the same.

The creature bowed as well, then turned back to me. She put her hands together and bowed to me.

“Namaste,” she said.

I mirrored her pose and bowed in return. “Namaste.”

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The story continues here:

All You Can Eat - Chapter 2