I’m not shocked to find, upon reaching the bottom deck, that I’m starving. Emotion does that to me.
Anand has lit small lanterns all around the deck of the boat—a safe decision, I’m sure—and there are steaming platters lined up on the table, piled high with food. He’s standing there with his creepy, placid grin; and yet somehow, it does nothing to ruin my appetite. It hits me that Aubrey and I haven’t eaten all day, other than some mini tropical bananas at the hotel in Bombay this morning. I can’t help but dig in with both hands—literally, since Anand has provided no silverware and seems to expect us to manhandle our food in the traditional way. I’m ravenous. It’s been almost a day since I’ve eaten anything substantial. I use paratha to scoop the curry and biryani, ignoring the scowls Aubrey’s shooting me from where she sits, arms crossed over her chest, her cheeks still a little mottled from crying. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m full that eating Anand’s food could have been a mistake.
“I feel bad about the way we started,” offers Anand, wiping his mouth with a stained cloth napkin. “You seem like nice girls. Let me make amends.”
“There’s no need,” Aubrey breaks in. “Anyone would have been upset in your position.”
“Tell me, what is my ‘position’?” he asks. I’m wondering the same thing, but I feel too exhausted to do much but watch them volley. Beneath us, the boat bobs against the shore where we’ve docked so Anand can eat. We could run now, I think. But where would we run to? My phone doesn’t work all the way out here; I have no idea how far we are from Kerala or how to get there or even if there are people living nearby who could help us if we needed it. Beyond just that, it’s pitch black out. I can’t even see the neighboring huts from where we sit.
“I just mean, you had a bad experience with Charlie, and then we show up—” Aubrey catches herself and stops.
“Yes,” Anand agrees, leaning forward, his eyes alight with something I can’t identify. Everything about Anand now feels aggressive, I realize: his posture is tense and poised; his expression is blank but his eyes are sharp. “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? What are the chances you’d show up—with no knowledge of the money your dead boyfriend owed me? Why would you choose my boat of all the possibilities? I think,” he says softly, while Aubrey’s cheeks begin to flush, “that there’s something you two aren’t telling me.”
“We don’t have any money for you,” I assure him, the veins in my temples throbbing. “And we’re not trying to take anything of yours. We didn’t even know about you until a day ago. Charlie lied to us, just like he did to you. We’re just out here to figure out the truth, same as you.”
“I see,” Anand says, breaking into a grin. “Okay then, I can tell you what I know. After all, you’re paying guests. Speaking of which, is anything wrong with the food?” He directs this at Aubrey, who gives him a tight shake of her head. But her plate remains untouched. I glare at her until she meets my eyes, and she reluctantly twists off a piece of paratha. She uses the soft, chewy bread to mop up a tiny bit of curry sauce and tentatively brings the food to her mouth. Anand watches her in silence while she swallows.
“Trust is important,” he tells us both. “It’s something I value. You come here, you want me to open up to you about your Charlie, and yet you don’t place any trust in me. Trust is symbiotic.” He grins. “I learned that word from an American, a professor who stayed on my boat with his wife. You think I’m this bad guy, this drug dealer. You think, How does Anand make his way, own five boats, and he’s only twenty-three? Through drugs. You’re right about that, but I’m not a man without morals. There’s a difference between a bad man and a smart man. I’m a smart man. Your Charlie, he was bad. Anyone could see it, just to look at him.”
“The Charlie I knew wasn’t bad,” I observe. “At least not at first.”
“People aren’t born bad; they become that way,” says Anand, and for the first time I’m impressed by the clarity of his thoughts. “It happens through a series of bad decisions . . . missteps over time. And a lack of balance. Me, I sell hashish. Finest quality. I have almost a hundred regular customers. Some people may say that’s bad—but I have balance. I’m good to my wife, I run a good business, I’m kind to my neighbors. I don’t deceive.”