“Because Charlie’s dead,” I hear myself say in an unaccustomed, unwavering tone. Somehow saying it out loud makes it feel real. “He killed himself.”
“No shit.” Anand laughs again. He sets the plate of fish on a lowlying bench with a clatter and paces in front of the door frame, gripping his hair in his fists as his laughter grows louder and manic. Lena and I watch him, stunned. This guy is way off. “Shit, shit, shit,” Anand mutters to himself as he spins. Then he’s yelling “Shit” and “Motherfucker,” moving around the bedroom and punching the walls, the furniture, anything he can reach. For the first time, the door is exposed.
I nudge Lena with my shoulder and motion with my chin toward the door. She’s closer, so she begins inching out slowly. Anand is too caught in his rage to notice at first. We’re nearly there when he refocuses and closes the gap between us in two strides.
“Do you know how much money he owes me?” Anand demands to know. “Over eighty thousand rupees.” I gasp. Granted I don’t know the exact conversion, but it sounds like a lot of money.
“That’s only, like, thirteen hundred dollars,” Lena informs me, seeing my face. “But Jesus, that’s a hell of a lot of . . . what, hash?”
Anand nods, eyeing us closely. He’s wearing a little smirk, and I realize Lena’s fatal error. Only thirteen hundred. I don’t know much about India, but I do know a little goes a long way. Even to most Americans, thirteen hundred bucks isn’t paltry. Here it must be a fortune.
“Jesus.” Lena is still reeling. “What is that, like, forty dollars per gram . . . Holy shit.” She stops, her mouth open. “Three hundred grams?” she whispers. “Is that right? That can’t be right. What, this is over a long span of time?”
“How well did you know your boyfriend, honey?” Anand says in this patronizing tone. “Not very well, I’m guessing. Since you’re both here.”
“Don’t call me ‘honey,’” Lena says, getting right up in his face. Anand glares back, and moves closer until he’s just an inch or two away from her, but Lena doesn’t falter. I feel my grip tighten around the pocketknife. Hoping I don’t have to use it. Lena and Anand are locked in a stare-down. Something passes through Anand’s eyes, and then his face softens and he backs off, holding his hands high in an indication of peace.
“Listen,” he starts. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I try to read his facial expression, staring hard into his murky brown eyes, but his face is impassive. All the hatred of a minute ago is gone, vanished or maybe pushed down just below his skin. “Come.” He gestures toward the doorway. “Sit down and let’s talk like civilized people.”
Now that he is calm, his mode of expression is interesting; older-sounding, I think, than his twenty-some years. Maybe born of a more formal study of English than most Americans are used to. He directs us to the wooden table that’s on the main deck just behind the bedroom cabin and still partially concealed in the shade of the upper level. We’ve missed most of the late-afternoon sun, but a blend of purples and pinks decorates the sky as the sun sets. Now that Anand is being nice to us, my breathing has slowed to what feels like a normal pace. Lena’s back is still rigid, I note, as she selects a spot at the end of the bench and settles in across from Anand, who’s come over wielding the tray he had set down on the bench just inside the bedroom. A couple of mosquitos buzz around, and I’m grateful I remembered to pick up bug spray in Mumbai; it’s high deet and technically toxic, but it’s better than risking malaria.
“Mind putting that someplace else?” Lena wrinkles her nose in the direction of the tray of fish. “No offense, but it’s an eyesore.” Her tone is guarded, and I can tell by the way her eyes pull down at the corners that she still doesn’t trust Anand. I don’t either . . . but it seems like he’s at least backed down from attack mode. He gives her a nod and walks back toward the kitchen with the tray.
“I should fry up the rest anyway,” he calls over his shoulder. “I hope you like whitefish and squid. I’m making some curry with the fish, and some paratha. Maybe it’ll be easier to talk over dinner, once we’ve had more time to cool down.” Lena stares after him with her lips pursed.