A Walk Across the Sun (28 page)

One morning when Anita was scheduled to make her weekly visit, Thomas asked Rachel Pandolkar, CASE's director of rehabilitation, if he could go along. Rachel gave him permission on the condition that he refrain from asking Ahalya any questions about Suchir's brothel. Thomas accepted the condition without hesitation.

Three weeks after the raid, he caught a rick to Andheri with Anita. The ride from Khar took the better part of an hour, and they arrived just before four in the afternoon. The gate to the ashram was unlocked, and Anita led the way into the grounds. They walked toward the fishpond situated in a stand of pink acacias.

“This place must feel like paradise after what the girls have been through,” Thomas said, looking around in appreciation.

“You'd be surprised,” Anita replied. “Most of them want nothing more than to go home. One girl tried to escape last week.”

“Really?”

“The sisters caught her and brought her back. She was trafficked by her uncle from Haryana in the north. Her parents probably consented to it. For obvious reasons, we don't believe her home is safe, and the CWC agrees with us. It's hard to explain that to her, though.”

Anita stopped at the pond and gestured for Thomas to take a seat on a stone bench.

“Ahalya will be along as soon as her tutoring lesson ends. This is where she comes during free time.”

“Why?”

Anita pointed to a clay pot visible beneath the surface of the water. “In that pot are lotus seeds she planted. The lotus is the most prized flower in India. It is for her sister.”

“She's still holding out hope that we'll find Sita?”

“Of course. Wouldn't you?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “I suppose the question was cynical.”

“Cynicism is the curse of the West. In India, we still have faith.” Anita turned around with a warm smile. “There she is.”

Ahalya walked along the path toward the pond, her arms full of books. She glanced at Anita and focused on Thomas. She took a seat and continued to stare at him. The intensity of her gaze made him uncomfortable. He looked at the pond, hoping Anita would intervene.

Ahalya spoke first. “Have you found out where they took Sita?”

“Still no news,” Anita replied. “The police are doing their best.”

Ahalya turned to Thomas, and he saw the sadness in her eyes. “You were on the raid,” she said quietly. “What is your name?”

“Thomas.”

“You are British?”

“American.”

She thought about this. “Why are you in India?”

“I'm a lawyer. And my wife is from Bombay.”

“You practice law here?” Ahalya seemed confused.

“In a way. I'm interning at CASE.”

“Your wife is Indian?”

He nodded.

“Do you have children?”

The question took Thomas by surprise and triggered a cascade of emotions.

“No,” he said after a pause.

“Why not? Do you not like children?”

Thomas was unprepared for the girl's directness. He tried to think of a proper response.

“It's not that,” he said finally. “We had a child, but she died.”

Ahalya fidgeted with her schoolbooks. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice trailing off. Then she thought of something. “Do you know anyone at the American FBI?”

He smiled. “No. But I have a friend at the Justice Department. Why?”

“Maybe your friend could help find my sister.”

He shook his head. “I don't see how he could. The Justice Department has no jurisdiction in India.”

“But America and India are friends,” she countered. “My father always said so.”

“It's true. But the American government doesn't track girls who go missing in India unless they end up in the U.S.”

At once a thought came to him. The United States was a member state of Interpol. In his research on trafficking, he had run across an article that mentioned Interpol's Child Abuse Image Database. The database collected pictures of missing children from around the world. If Ahalya had a photograph of her sister, perhaps Interpol would post it on ICAID.

“Do you have a picture of Sita?” he asked.

Ahalya's eyes brightened. “Wait here,” she said. She dropped her books on the ground and walked briskly up the path to the recovery center.

“I bet you didn't expect to get interrogated,” Anita said.

“No, but she has a right to her questions. I'm a strange sight in this place.”

Anita didn't have time to reply. Ahalya returned to the pond holding a dog-eared four-by-six-inch photograph. She placed it in Thomas's hands and stood back, watching his expression. Thomas couldn't believe his eyes. It was a Christmas portrait of an Indian family. Ahalya was clearly recognizable in the foreground.

“Is that your sister?” he asked, pointing at the younger girl beside Ahalya.

“That is Sita,” she confirmed.

“Where did you get that?” Anita asked, sounding astonished.

“I saved it from our house after the waves came,” Ahalya replied.

“You carried it all this way?” Thomas asked.

“I hid it in my clothing,” she said simply.

Thomas studied the image. Ahalya's father had a countenance that easily balanced affability and intelligence, and her mother was doe-eyed and lovely. Their affection for one another was obvious in the way they leaned toward one another and drew their daughters into the center of the frame. The sisters held one another's hands and looked as if they had been laughing.

“Do you mind if I take this with me?” Thomas said.

Ahalya nodded. “If you promise to return it.”

“Of course.”

“Will it help you find Sita?”

Thomas waggled his head, then laughed at himself.

“You're picking up our mannerisms,” Anita said.

“I'll be Indian before long.” He looked at Ahalya. “I'm going to e-mail the photograph to my friend in Washington. There is an international database for missing children. I'm going to ask that he submit the photograph with Sita's name.”

“You will do that?” Ahalya asked in mild disbelief.

“It's nothing,” he said.

Ahalya studied him for a long moment. Then she did something that Thomas could never have predicted. On her wrist was a bracelet woven of rainbow-colored thread. She untied the band and knelt before him.

“Sita made this for me,” she said, wrapping the bracelet around his arm. “Please give it to her when you find her.”

Thomas was stunned. He wanted to shake his head and refuse the responsibility the bracelet implied. Girls who went missing in the underworld were almost never found, and when they were, they were usually too damaged to lead a normal life. Yet the band was on his wrist. He hadn't chosen it, but he saw no path of retreat.

“I'll do what I can,” he said. “But I can't make any promises.”

“Promise only that you will try,” Ahalya said.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it. “I will try,” he replied.

For the first time that afternoon, Ahalya smiled.

After work, Thomas took a rick back to Dinesh's place. His friend wasn't home yet. He set his laptop to the kitchen table and retrieved a compact digital camera from his suitcase. He placed Ahalya's photograph on the table, took a picture of it, and uploaded the digital file to his computer. Opening Photoshop, he cropped the image until only Sita was captured in the frame. Then he typed a message to Andrew Porter and attached the cropped photograph. When he sent the message into cyberspace, he felt a tangible sense of relief. The ball was now in the hands of the professionals. There was nothing more he could do.

He checked his inbox, hoping that Priya had replied to one of the three e-mails he had sent her since the debacle at her cousin's mendhi ceremony. It had been two weeks and still he hadn't heard from her. He scrolled through the list of messages and didn't see her name. He felt anger and impotence in equal doses. The Professor's dismissal had been rampantly unjust.

He perused a few messages from friends in the District. He had disappeared suddenly, and people were starting to wonder. He typed cursory replies and divulged almost nothing about his whereabouts. There would come a time for a more thorough accounting, but that time wasn't now.

He was about to shut down his computer when a new message appeared at the top of the screen. He couldn't believe his eyes. She simply would not give up. He clicked on the message. Tera had written:

Thomas, it's been over a month and no one at the firm has heard from you. I'm starting to worry. I keep telling myself that I should just let you go and lump you in with all the bastards who take a girl for a spin in bed and then cut them loose. But you're not like that. Something happened. Please don't leave me in suspense.

He walked onto the terrace, looking north toward Juhu Beach. Why was it that the woman he wanted seemed paralyzed by ambivalence, but the woman he had rejected wouldn't let him go? He hadn't wanted to use Tera. He hadn't seduced her. If anything, the opposite had happened. He considered sending her a terse reply but decided against it. He had no desire to reopen the connection between them.

Instead, he took matters with Priya into his own hands. He dialed her mobile number on his BlackBerry. He had no idea what he was doing, but it felt better than waiting around for her to figure out that her father had no intention of changing his mind. He listened as the phone rang. He expected the voicemail to pick up, but then he heard her voice.

“Thomas?” she said.

He heard indistinct noises in the background, like she was in a public place.

He took a deep breath. “Priya, I'm sorry to do this, but I couldn't wait any longer.”

“I got your e-mails,” she replied, her tone hesitant. “I've been meaning to call you.”

“Can I see you?”

“Right now?”

“Anytime. Now or later.”

She thought for a moment. “There's a place called Toto's in Pali Hill. Meet me there at nine o'clock. Ask Dinesh if you need directions.” He heard voices on the other end of the line.

“Gotta run,” she said. “Nine o'clock. Toto's.”

“I'll be there,” he replied, but she had already hung up.

At five minutes after nine, Thomas sat at the bar at Toto's, sipping a beer. The place was incongruous. It was in the heart of Bombay's swankiest suburb, yet it had the look and feel of a Boston pub. The decor was urban retro—chain links and old automobile parts adorned the walls, and the shell of a VW Beetle hung from the ceiling. Every seat was taken when he arrived, almost all by young Indians dressed in Western clothing.

Priya arrived a few minutes later and shoved her way to the bar. She was wearing jeans, ballet flats, and a form-fitting oxford shirt. She looked every inch the
desi
girl.

“Remind you of home?” she asked, sitting down next to him. Her face was impassive, but she gave him the searching look she used when she was uncomfortable.

“Bizarrely so,” Thomas replied. “They're even playing Bon Jovi.”

Priya mustered a smile. “I never understood your fascination with rock music.”

“I could say the same thing about the sitar. Who wants to play twenty-three strings?”

She laughed and signaled the bartender to bring her a beer.

“How's your grandmother?” he asked, making conversation.

Priya shrugged. “She's hanging on, but the doctors say it could be any day.”

“I'm sorry.”

An awkward silence followed. He could tell that she wanted to say something but couldn't figure out how to put it into words. The bartender set a bottle of Kingfisher in front of her, and she took a drink.

“How's your father?” he asked, preempting her.

She took a sharp breath. “Do you really care?”

He took a swig of his beer. “I care about you. I'm not sure if I care about him.”

“At least you're honest.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing else would work right now.”