She nodded.
They walked on to the villa, Sunny shining the torch on the ground, sweeping the path before her. He unlatched a gate at the side, led her down an alley to another. Outside that gate he opened a fuse box and snapped on several switches. Lights burst into life just out of view, and when they rounded the corner a swimming pool was glowing in the rear. By the poolside there was a bar, its many fridges jerked to life as Sunny flicked yet more switches. He led her to one of the deck chairs, sat her there with her leg up.
“I’ll find something.”
He got to work searching through some cupboards below the bar. She stared into the water of the pool. A few dead leaves floated in it.
He lifted his head from the cupboards.
“I don’t bring anyone here,” he said.
She turned back to the water. By the long edge of the pool toward the darkness, high, flowering bushes and palms peeked over the wall. An empty watchtower stood dormant in the night. Sunny straightened, placed a half bottle of whisky on the counter, and progressed to one of the deep freezers. “The assholes turned this off.” He looked for a switch but couldn’t find one. “Let me see inside.”
He disappeared through an entrance hidden from view.
Some lights went on inside the villa.
She slid off the deck chair and hobbled to the pool. Her foot was bleeding quite badly. When she turned it toward her eyes, the cut throbbed, dripping onto the warm concrete. She hitched up her kaftan, slid her legs into the water, up to the knee. Bats flitted overhead. The faint roar of Delhi. She watched the blood leaking from her foot into the water.
“Madam,” a new voice reached her ears. Ajay carried a large tray, its contents hidden beneath a white cloth. He looked at her with such an earnest expression.
“Sir is?”
She pointed inside the villa. He hurried in and emerged ten seconds later and hurried away again. Another minute passed before Sunny appeared carrying the same tray, now uncovered, revealing a bottle of vodka, an ice bucket, two rocks glasses, some lemon slices, a clean dish towel.
He set it down on the bar, carried the bottle over.
“You shouldn’t put it in there. Show me.”
She pulled her foot out. He took the clean towel to her skin, dabbed it dry around the cut.
“It’s pretty deep.”
She watched him closely.
“I don’t feel it.”
“You will in a second. Are you ready?” He tipped the bottle and poured vodka over her foot. “Stoli,” he smiled. “Nothing but the best.”
She laughed, then she started to cry.
“What’s wrong with us!”
He tied the towel tight around her foot, placed it on his shoulder.
“You have to keep it elevated,” he said.
But she was still sobbing.
“I’m serious. What the fuck is wrong with us?”
She pushed herself off him. Lay on the side of the pool staring into the trees. He walked back to the bar with the bottle, washed his hands in the sink, began to fix their drinks.
“Why are you doing this?” she said.
He squeezed the lemon, threw away the husks, added fresh slices, tossed in the ice, poured the vodka freely, carried the drinks over.
“What kind of host would I be if I let you bleed?”
He put the drinks down, removed his shoes and socks, rolled up his trouser legs, and sat next to her with both his feet in the pool.
“My blood’s in there.”
“I know.”
She looked at the towel, red beginning to seep.
“It’s still bleeding.”
“I like what you’re wearing,” he said.
“Don’t change the subject.”
She considered the kaftan all the same.
“My mother got it from Jaipur,” she said. “They used to export them.” She pinched the material roughly between her left thumb and forefinger, let it fall. “This would sell for three hundred dollars in New York. So I’m told.” She tilted her head toward the sky. “It might rain.” The clouds had obscured the moon. “I hope it rains.” She closed her eyes and felt wretched again. She drank her whole drink down. “I don’t feel anything.” She rolled the tumbler slowly toward the pool. It plopped in and sank.
He gave no reaction, just removed his cigarettes from his trousers and lit one.
“Is this what life’s meant to be?” she said.
“You’ve had a rough day. You’ll feel different tomorrow when you’ve slept.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I’m trying to help,” he said.
“We’re fucking beyond help.”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.
She said, “Get me another drink.”
As soon as he got up she untied her foot, tossed the towel to the side, lifted the kaftan over her head and slipped into the water naked. She disappeared underneath. The sounds of the world softened and distorted in the warmth of the monsoon night. She held her breath as long as she could.
By the bar, he stood and watched.
Eventually she let herself rise.
She made no sound as she breached the surface. Just floated, facedown, limbs spread, still holding her breath, letting out small bubbles. When she could hold it no longer, she rose and breathed deeply.
He was standing back at the side of the pool with her fresh drink.
She regained her breath. “I was imagining when I came up you wouldn’t be here.”
“You’d have trouble getting home.”
“No, I’d be fine.”
She began to swim lengths, front crawl.
“You’re a good swimmer,” he said.
“My dad taught me,” she replied when she reached the end. Her hair fanned out around her shoulders. She swam into the middle of the pool and hung there, treading water. “I watched two children die today,” she said. “Crushed to death in their miserable home. You could fit fifty of those huts into this pool, I swear. Their bodies were covered in this fine dust. There wasn’t any blood. But they must have been broken up inside. I thought I was immune. I never heard anything like that woman’s scream. I’d say it wasn’t human, but that’s not true. It was too human. I don’t remember anything about myself at the time. But I saw myself crying on TV. I feel ashamed. I didn’t deserve to cry. And after all that, I’m here with you like this. I have no courage, no heart.”
“There’s nothing you could have done.”