“Please. Even if you refuse my request, please don’t be angry at me. I mean no disrespect. I would sooner disrespect my ammi than to disrespect you. Please believe me.”
I held my silence and kept walking. I walked past the little road where he had asked me to turn right. Soon, I thought, he would give up and I would make my way home alone.
Home. I saw the four of us at dinner later that night: Radha, angry because she had been stuck at home all day. Arvind, drunk as always. Govind, complaining nonstop about this and that. I saw us in that sad house, eating food that Radha and I provided, having to endure Govind’s insults and abuse. Govind, who would never forgive Radha and me for defying his orders. I felt the full weight of his darkness.
I stopped. I turned around and walked back until I reached the small side road that led to the river. Abdul made a small, joyful noise, but I ignored him.
And then, without looking at him, I turned onto that dusty road and walked into my rise and fall.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mohan had suggested that they drive to the seaside. Walking barefoot in the sand, the wind steady in her face, Smita felt free, as though she had more in common with the birds on this beach than with the woman who had sobbed in her bathroom a couple of hours earlier. “Thank you for this,” she said.
“Of course,” Mohan said.
“How come it’s so quiet here?” Smita asked, looking around the beach. “I thought it would be teeming with people, like every other place in India.”
“Oh, they will come when it gets dark,” Mohan said. “All the couples wanting to do hanky-panky.”
She laughed, watching Mohan’s face, translucent in the orange light. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his feet were as brown as the sand. “Can we sit for a moment?” she said.
“Sure.” They climbed up away from the water and sat on their haunches, staring at the sun setting into the sea, listening to the mesmerizing sound of the waves washing away the memories of the day.
Smita gave a start of surprise as pellets hit her back. She spun around. Three young urchins were perched behind a boulder, giggling and snickering as they threw small stones at her. “Kissy-kissy,” one said, contorting his face, wiggling his hips and pursing his lips. He lifted his arms in an exaggerated pantomime of an embrace. His performance was so hyperbolic that despite her annoyance, Smita laughed. But this only emboldened the youngest child, who stooped to pick up another stone. Mohan rose to his feet and raised his hand in a mock threat. “Saala idiot!” he roared. “You want me to call the police?”
The boys scattered almost immediately, but their laughter signaled how lightly they took Mohan’s threat. When they were a safe distance away, they looked back and made a kissing sound. But when Mohan took a step toward them, they fled.
He turned to her. “Sorry,” he said. “They meant no harm.”
“Mohan,” Smita said, “you don’t have to apologize for everything that happens in India, you know?”
He stood uncertainly for a moment, then sat back down. They continued looking at the slow descent of the sun into the water, turning the waves orange and gold. There were more people at the beach, couples and children appearing, the women in their saris squealing as the water tickled their bare feet.
“It never gets old,” Smita said. “No matter how many times one sees a sunset, it’s always as beautiful as the first time. Why do you suppose that is?”
Mohan began to give her a laborious, detailed explanation about human evolutionary genetics and other subjects she barely understood. She turned her head to hide her smile. He really was a science nerd.
Her stomach growled without warning, and he stopped midsentence. “Sorry,” she said, making a rueful face. “Go on.”
“No, it’s okay. I forgot that we didn’t have lunch today. We should head back.”
“That sounds good, actually,” she said. “I want to get to bed early tonight so I can be ready tomorrow morning when Anjali calls to tell us what time to be in court.”
Mohan held out his hand to help Smita up. His skin felt warm and slightly damp. They made their way to the car and just before getting in, Smita looked back at the sea one last time. And as she did so, she had a strange thought—I will never see this beach again.
Three families had arrived earlier in the day, so the dining room at the motel was noisier than the previous two nights. Which was why Smita didn’t know that Anjali had called until she reached for her phone after dinner. “Oh shit,” she said. “I have a missed call from Anjali.” She gestured toward Mohan’s glass. “You stay and finish your beer.”
Smita stepped outside to phone Anjali. “You got my message?” Anjali said in greeting.
“What? No. I haven’t listened to my messages yet.”
“Well, there won’t be a verdict this week. You may as well go back to Mumbai for a long weekend.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Smita said, her irritation rising. “I thought you said . . .”
“I said I’d let you know when we knew something.” Anjali’s tone was sharp. “I can’t be responsible for the entire criminal justice system in this country.”
“But what happened?”
“Who the hell knows? They just announced that the judge is going to be out of town until next week.”
Smita pulled at her hair in frustration. She had spent a small fortune to get an expedited visa, left Shannon at the hospital in Mumbai, and there was yet another setback. She’d be stuck in India for at least another week. How long did Cliff expect her to stay? Surely, one of the Delhi-based correspondents was free to take over? At the same time, her heart sank at the thought of someone else writing this story. Not after what she’d sacrificed to get to India. Not after the connection she’d established with Meena.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
“I’m sorry.” Smita forced herself to focus. “Can you repeat that?”
“I said I will phone as soon as I know something next week.”
Smita hung up and stood peering into the darkness, taking in the half moon and the silhouettes of the trees. It was a still, humid night, and the heat made her blouse stick to her back. She pulled it away from her skin, airing her body. Okay, she thought, trying to regroup, they would drive back to the Taj the next morning, and she would spend some time with Shannon, now that her surgery was behind her. Maybe she could catch a ferry from the Gateway and go to the Elephanta Caves for a few hours on Saturday morning. She hadn’t been there since she was nine years old.
She turned and walked back into the dining room. Mohan was reading on his phone, but he looked up as she approached. “What time tomorrow?” he asked as Smita sat down.
“There’s no verdict yet. The judge is apparently out of town. So no decision until next week.”
“What?”
“Anjali advises we return to Mumbai and await her phone call.”
Mohan was shaking his head before she was even finished. “That makes no sense. How can we be sure that we will reach the courthouse in time? It’s at least a five-to six-hour drive. What if they call us that same morning?”
“I don’t know,” she said, irritably. “I can’t think anymore. I—I don’t want to be here for three days if there’s no need. I mean, this place ain’t exactly the French Rivera. I’d rather go back to Mumbai.”
Mohan swore softly under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He was silent for a minute. “It’s just that I told Zarine Auntie I won’t be back for a few days.”
“So? You changed your mind. What’s the big deal?”
“She has an old college friend visiting. The woman is staying in my room.”
Smita sighed in exasperation. One more complication. This week had been nothing but a series of complications.
Mohan appeared to be oblivious to her annoyance. “Also, I was hoping we could check on my parents’ house in Surat while we were here, yaar. After you were done with your interviews, of course. We are close enough.”
“I thought they were in Hyderabad,” she snapped.
“Kerala,” he corrected absently. “And I said I wanted to visit the house, not them.”