A Walk Across the Sun (45 page)

The silence stretched out until at last Julia spoke. “What's her name?”

“Priya.”

“She is Indian?”

“Yes. But she's lived most of her life in the West.”

Julia digested this. “Do you love her?”

He nodded slowly, knowing it was the truth.

She looked away, a hint of blush on her skin.

“I'm sorry,” he said, finding his voice again. “I should have told you.”

She stood slowly from the bed.

“Yes,” she said. “You should have told me. But I'm not sure it would have made a difference.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It would have been nice,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, steeling himself against the sudden urge to forget all else and take her in his arms again.

“Good night, Julia,” he said, retreating down the hall.

He returned to the couch and covered his head with his pillow, listening to the faint ticking of the clock. He tried again to sleep, but his thoughts were haunted by the memory of her embrace. Minutes turned into hours, and night became morning. When dawn broke, it felt like an emancipation.

He took a quick shower and packed his things while Julia fixed him coffee and fresh croissants with butter. Over breakfast, they talked about inconsequential things. When they finished eating, she walked him three blocks to the Metro station. They paused at the turnstiles and looked at one another. After a moment, Julia broke the spell and gave him a hug.

“I'm sorry about Sita,” she said.

“We did our best. No one could have done better.”

She gave him a brave look. “Maybe Andrew will catch a break.”

“You never know.” He paused. “Take care of yourself, Julia.”

She smiled at him in her easy way. “Go home, Thomas.”

He nodded once and walked away, struck by her choice of words.

He took the PER train to Charles de Gaulle and caught the midmorning Air France flight to Bombay. Exhausted from insomnia during the night, he pulled down the window shade and tried to rest. It didn't work.

When he tired of faking it, he took out Ahalya's photograph. Sita smiled back at him for the hundredth time, a child flirting with womanhood. She was everything he had dreamed Mohini would become. The thought struck him like a revelation. Was that what had driven him to France? Was it the shade of his lost daughter whispering of a life that could be saved?

The plane landed in Bombay half an hour before midnight. The darkened skies above the city were heavy with smog and humidity. Night was only a few degrees cooler than day. He met Priya at the baggage carousel and she surprised him with an embrace.

“Welcome back,” she said, her eyes glistening. “I missed you.”

“You did?” he asked, surprised by the relief he felt in her presence.

She nodded and took his hand. “I have something for you.” She reached into her purse and extracted a pair of Jet Airways tickets.

“Goa,” he said, his voice brighter.

“Tomorrow we are going on holiday. I need to get out of this city.”

She looked at him with such unbridled expectation that he couldn't help but smile.

“It's a good idea.” He felt a sudden rush of affection for her. “You look beautiful,” he said.

Priya blinked at the non sequitur. Then her grin turned radiant. “Let's get out of here,” she said and drew him toward the exit.

They spent the night at Dinesh's flat in Bandra. The young banker was away on business and Thomas stayed in his bedroom. After the affection she had showed at the airport, he was hopeful that Priya would join him. He wasn't so lucky. She left him with a hug and a coy smile and took up residence in the guest room.

For the second night in a row, he slept poorly. Around three in the morning, he woke with the irrational fear that Mohini was suffocating in the next room. He looked around wildly before remembering where he was. Afterward, he lay awake listening to the distant murmur of the city and contemplating the paradoxes of his life. How was it that in seeking honor he had lost it, yet in losing love he had begun to find it again? How was it that the very same pain that once had seemed so destructive now had come bearing gifts? The Jogeshwari case. The rescue of Ahalya. The search for Sita. Priya sleeping peacefully in the next room. The promise of Goa. How was it that he could have spent thirty years on this planet, obtained two advanced degrees, and ended up with more questions than answers?

In the morning he found Priya on the terrace, dressed in a nightshirt and sipping a steaming cup of chai. The sun was hot despite the early hour, but the breeze blowing in from the sea offered a modicum of relief.

“You look tired,” she said, taking a seat on a deck chair.

“I didn't sleep much,” he confessed, rubbing his eyes.

“Was it Sita?”

He nodded, preferring a simple explanation.

“Dinesh has a nice place,” she commented.

“He's done well for himself.”

“He seems at home in Bombay.” Her tone carried a trace of wistfulness.

“You aren't?”

“It depends on the day and my mood.”

“Would you live here permanently?” he asked, trying to gauge the drift of her plans.

“I'm not sure. And you?”

He shrugged, not wanting to lie. “I don't know.”

She stood with a yawn and brushed his hand with her fingertips. “Come along. We need to get ready.”

“There's one thing I need to do before we go,” he said.

She looked at him curiously. “The plane leaves at noon.”

“It's on the way. I just need to make a phone call.”

In the schoolhouse at the ashram, Ahalya sat at her desk, staring into space. It was eight thirty in the morning, and her teacher—Sister Elizabeth—was explaining the sine and cosine functions, much to the consternation of the other girls. Ahalya, however, already knew the material. She had taken basic trigonometry a year ago at St. Mary's. The tutor arranged by CASE had challenged her with advanced coursework, but she came only on Mondays and Wednesdays. Otherwise, the sisters required Ahalya to attend twelfth-standard classes with the rest of the girls.

As was her habit, Ahalya lost herself in the past. She recalled things in meticulous detail, focusing on faces and mannerisms until she could almost see the inhabitants of her memory alive again. She projected personalities into a future that should have been, picturing the lines of her mother's face in old age, imagining her father on her wedding day, envisioning Sita as a grown woman. Her imaginings went on and on, and she lost all sense of time. In fact, so often did Ahalya dissociate that the sisters at the ashram had begun to scold her about it.

“Ahalya,” Sister Elizabeth said, narrowing her eyes, “what is the sine of 90 degrees?”

“One,” she replied.

“And the cosine of 180 degrees?”

“Negative one,” she said, seeing the wave functions in her head.

Sister Elizabeth sighed and turned again to the blackboard.

At eight forty-five, Sister Ruth appeared in the doorway. The students regarded her warily, wondering what had prompted the headmistress to show up unannounced.

“Ahalya,” Sister Ruth said, “please come with me.”

She turned to the nun, surprised by her tone. She stood and followed Sister Ruth out of the school. The nun walked down the path toward the entrance to the ashram without saying a word. Ahalya grew more puzzled with each step. It was not like Sister Ruth to be taciturn. It seemed she always had something to say.

When they reached the pond where Ahalya had planted her lotus, Sister Ruth stopped and pointed to the bench.

“Wait there,” she said. “A visitor is coming.”

“Who?” Ahalya asked, at the same time thrilled and terrified. Anita from CASE came on Tuesdays. It was Thursday. The visitor was someone special.

Sister Ruth didn't answer. Instead, she turned and walked toward the front gate. Ahalya took a seat on the bench, ignoring the persistent sensation of nausea that had been plaguing her for weeks now. She studied her lotus plant. The clay pot was visible beneath the surface of the pond. Above it, two lily pads had formed, but it was still far too early in the year for a flower. She reached down and touched the surface of the water. There was life in the pot. The lotus would bloom. It had to bloom, because Sita's spirit was in it.

Grow!
she commanded.
You are the reason I rise in the morning.

Sister Ruth met Thomas at the gate of the ashram, her countenance unusually grave.

“Mister Jeff called to say you were coming,” she said, glancing at Priya waiting in the taxi. “You have news for Ahalya?”

Thomas nodded.

“Is it about Sita?” Sister Ruth asked.

“Yes,” he confessed.

“If it is bad news, she shouldn't hear it. She is in a fragile state.”

“There is good news mixed in with the bad.” He fingered the rakhi bracelet on his arm. “I owe her the truth. I think she would want to know.”

The nun considered this and then nodded. “She is a strong-willed girl. She talks of nothing but her sister. When she talks, that is.”

“I only need five minutes,” he said.

The nun opened the gate and let him onto the grounds. “She is by the pond.”

They found Ahalya staring into the water. The girl looked up as they approached. She focused on Thomas and her eyes widened. She stood and walked toward him.

“You came back,” she said. “You must have news of Sita.”

Looking into her eyes, Thomas felt the weight of her loss. “Perhaps we should sit down,” he said, gesturing toward the bench.

Ahalya crossed her arms. “She is not with you.”

“No,” he replied.

He took a seat on the bench and looked through the forest. Somewhere in the branches above him, birds were chirping.

“The man who bought her from Suchir took her to France,” he said. “She worked in a restaurant for the last two months. The Bombay police caught the man, but they didn't move fast enough. A few days ago, Sita was taken to the United States. No one knows where or why.”