Chapter Thirty-Eight
I was early, and so were the stars arriving at the Taj in limousines for a gala to promote a new movie. I parked the bike beneath a palm tree, across from the hotel, waiting for snail minutes to make the long creep to eight and my appointment with Karla.
Through the wide doors of the lobby I saw the sponsor wall, with special guests posing for photographs in front of brand names that had paid them by the second. Flash, flash, turn this way, turn that way: the mug shots of the privileged, caught in the act.
The limousines stopped, the photographers hurried to other headlines, and the sponsor wall was dismantled. The spacious, gracious lobby, where great thinkers had discussed great ideas on rainy Bombay afternoons, for rainy decades, was barren and businesslike again.
To hell with early. I walked around the hotel to a back door, guarded by a man I knew, and climbed the promenade stairs to Karla’s door. I knocked, and she opened it.
Her feet were bare. She wore a black silk lounging suit. It was trousers and top all in one, sleeveless, with zip pockets, and a zip front.
Her hair was tied up in a knot behind her head. There was a thin, silver letter opener, in the shape of a Damascan sword keeping the knot together. Karla.
‘You’re early,’ she said, smiling but not inviting me in.
‘I’m always early, or late.’
‘That’s a talent, for a man in your line of not-working. You wanna come in?’
‘Sure.’
‘Rish!’ she called, over her shoulder. ‘Our interview is over.’
She pushed the door wide, and I saw Rish, one of Lisa’s partners at the gallery. He rushed forward.
‘I’m so sorry, Lin,’ he said, holding my hand in both of his. ‘It’s a terrible shock. Dear Lisa. A terrible loss. I’m . . . I’m just beside myself with grief.’
He squeezed past Karla, sidestepped me and scuttled away down the corridor. It was a long corridor.
‘A man who’s beside himself,’ Karla said, as Rish scuttled, ‘usually has a fool for company. Come in, Shantaram. It’s been a long day.’
She walked back into the suite and sat on the window-seat couch.
‘Make me a drink, please,’ she said, when I’d closed and locked the door. ‘I love it when I don’t make the drink.’
‘What’ll it be?’
‘I’ll have a Happy Mary.’
‘A Happy Mary?’
‘It’s a Bloody Mary, without the red corpuscles. And rocks. Lots of rocks.’
I made the drinks and brought them to sit with her.
‘Shall we toast?’ she asked.
‘To running away angry?’ I suggested.
She laughed.
‘How about to old times, Shantaram?’
‘To fallen friends,’ I countered.
‘To fallen friends,’ she agreed, clashing glasses with me.
‘You’ve gotta snap out of it,’ she said, taking a long sip of her drink, before putting it down.
‘I’m okay.’
‘Bullshit. I just gave you four leads – fool, happy, blood, and rock – and you didn’t go for any of them. That’s not you. That’s not you and me.’
‘You and me?’
She saw my mind working, and smiled.
‘Why are you so determined to find out who gave Lisa the dope?’
‘Aren’t you?’
She picked up her glass again, studied it for a while, drank off a coalminer’s finger, and turned all the queens on me.
‘If I find out who did it, or if you do, I’ll probably want to kill whoever it is. It’s the kind of true that makes people kill people. You really wanna go there?’
‘I just want to find out what happened to Lisa, that’s all. I owe her that, Karla.’
She put her palms on her thighs, let out a gasp of air, and quickly stood up.
She crossed the room to the escritoire, opened her handbag, and took out a brass cigarette case exactly like Didier’s.
With her back to me she lit a joint, and smoked it doggedly.
‘I didn’t think I’d need this, tonight,’ she muttered, between deep breaths.
My eyes moved down her body, bowing to her. Her silhouette, wrapped in black: love was shouting inside me.
‘It was either this,’ Karla said, her back still turned to me, ‘or breaking a bottle over your head.’
‘Right . . . what was that?’
She stubbed out the joint, took two more joints from the case, snapped it shut, dropped it into her handbag and returned to the couch.
‘Here,’ she said, shoving the two joints at me. ‘Catch up.’
‘I’m kinda high already.’
‘Fuck you, Shantaram. Smoke the fucking joints.’
‘O . . . kay.’
I smoked. Every time I made to say something, she pushed the joint at me again gently.
‘You know,’ I said, when she let me, ‘that’s twice you’ve said Fuck you to me, in the same day.’
‘If it’ll make you feel any better,’ she drawled, ‘say Fuck you to me, right now.’
‘No, I –’
‘Come on, get it off your chest. You’ll feel better. Say Fuck you, Karla. Say Stop fucking with me, Karla. Go on. Try it. Fuck . . . you . . . Karla.’
I looked at her.
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘I bet you can, if you try.’
‘Can I say Fuck you to a sunset? Can I say Fuck you to a galaxy?’
She smiled at me again, but her eyes were fierce. I had no idea what she was thinking.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘let’s get something straight. I just want to know what happened to Lisa. I want some kind of resolution, for Lisa, and for us. Don’t you see that?’
‘It’s a steep slide from resolution to retribution,’ she said. ‘And a lotta people rush off that cliff.’
‘I’m not the cliff-rusher type.’
She laughed. ‘I know everything about you, Lin.’
‘Everything?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘You do, huh?’
‘Test me,’ she purred.
I laughed, and then realised that she wasn’t kidding.
‘Really?’
‘Smoke the fucking joint,’ she said.
I smoked.
‘Favourite colour,’ she began, ‘blue, with green: leaves against the sky.’
‘Damn. Okay, favourite season?’
‘Monsoon.’
‘Favourite –’
‘Hollywood movie, Casablanca, favourite Bollywood movie, Prem Qaidi, favourite food, gelato, favourite Hindi song, “Yeh Duniya Yeh Mehfil”, favourite motorcycle . . . your current motorcycle, blessings be upon her, your favourite perfume –’
‘Yours,’ I said, holding up my hands in surrender. ‘My favourite perfume is yours. You’re damn good.’
‘Of course I am. I’m born for you, and you’re born for me. We both know that.’
A breeze from the sea ruffled through the room, announcing itself with a flourish of sheer, silk curtains. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d been in the neighbouring suite, years before, visiting Lisa.
Am I mad? Or was it just stupid not to say the words, not to tell Karla the truth: that I didn’t understand her relationship with Ranjit, that I hadn’t found the way to open the fist my life had closed over memories of Lisa living, and thoughts of her dead? I didn’t want to be with Karla wreathed in grief. I wanted to be free, to be hers alone. And that wasn’t going to be soon.
‘Lisa was –’ I began.
‘Shut up,’ she said.
I shut up. She lit the second joint, and passed it to me. She padded over to the small bar, grabbed a chunk of cubes from the bucket, and three-quarters filled a new glass.
‘You’re supposed to put the ice in first,’ she said, pouring vodka slowly over the cubes, ‘and add the Happy Mary with attention.’
She took a sip.
‘Ah,’ she sighed. ‘That’s better.’
She thought about things for a while.
‘It’s been a damn long day,’ she said to the ceiling.
‘What happened with Ranjit, Karla?’
She flashed a look from the angry part of the feminine divine. My heart got colder in my chest. She was magnificent.
‘What did I say?’
She grit her teeth, as if putting them on display.
‘You finally peer through your shawl of sorrows to ask about me, and what I’m going through? It’s moments like these, Lin, that give Fuck you such long legs.’
‘Wait a minute. I didn’t ask you about Ranjit before, and about why you left him, because I thought it was obvious. He’s a prick. I just wanted to know if there was anything specific. Did he threaten you?’
She laughed, pretty hard, and put the glass down. She came to stand in front of me.
‘Stand up, Shantaram,’ she said.
I stood up. She put her fingers into the front of my jeans, and curled them around my belt. She pulled me toward her.
‘Sometimes,’ she said, not smiling, ‘I just don’t know what to do with you.’
I had a few suggestions, but I didn’t get to make them. She shoved me back on the window seat, and sat down beside me.
‘It’s a week, for us, since Lisa died,’ she said, ‘but it’s only yesterday, for you. I get that. We all get that. And it’s freaking you out that we don’t seem to be getting how important this is to you.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Shut up. Kiss me.’
‘What?’
‘Kiss me.’
She put her hand behind my neck and drew our lips into a soft, brief kiss, then pushed me away again.
‘Look, this isn’t about Ranjit, and it isn’t about Lisa. I know your heart can’t let go of this, because I know you, and I love you. That’s –’
‘You love me?’
‘Didn’t I just say it, before? I’m born for you, and you’re born for me. I knew it the first second I saw you again, on the mountain.’
‘I . . . ’
‘But I also know all your weaknesses. We’ve got a couple of them in common, which is always a good start to any relationship. But I –’
‘Relationship?’
‘What are we talking about here, Shantaram, if it isn’t us?’
‘I –’
‘Back to your weaknesses. We’ve gotta –’
‘You’re my only weakness, Karla.’
‘I’m your strength. More than half of it at the moment, it seems to me. Your weaknesses are that you whip yourself with guilt and smear yourself with shame. I’ve been waiting for you to evolve, grow up, and grow out of it.’
‘Well –’
‘You’ve made progress,’ she said, stopping me with a raised hand. ‘No doubt about that. But you’re not there yet. You’ve got self-esteem issues –’
‘Well deserved.’
‘Funny. But it’s okay. Self-esteem issues? Lightweight stuff. Nothing we can’t fix. I’m homicidal. Nobody’s perfect. But Lisa’s gone, and no amount of self-flagellation will bring her back. If it would, I’d save you the trouble, and flog you myself. I might anyway, if you don’t snap out of it.’
‘Okay, so I lost the thread, there.’
‘Let Lisa go. At least around me. I just told you that I love you. I’ve never said that to any other man. If you weren’t so numb with guilt, you’d react.’
I kissed her with everything I had, everything I was, and everything I wanted.
‘That’s better,’ she said, pushing me away again gently. ‘Right now, I can wait for my lover, but I need my friend while I wait. There’s too much happening. I need you to catch up, Shantaram, and get with the faith. I need you to trust me, because I can’t tell you anything. Not until it’s over.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s why,’ she smiled. ‘Because you’re curious, and you’re loyal. And some of the things you hear about me, until I get this done, might sound crazy, or worse, so I need your faith.’
She meant it. She was completely sincere: no games or tricks. It was compelling, beautiful and scary. I loved it. Imagine this, I thought, all the time.
She grabbed my shirt, and pulled my face close to hers.
‘Look me in the queens, and tell me you’ve got all this,’ she commanded. ‘Because, you know what, I love you, but I’ve got too much happening, at the moment, to put up with drama from the guy I love. So, you know, tell me you got this.’
‘I got this,’ I said, diving into that pool, that green lagoon so close, so deep.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now get out.’
‘You say that like you mean it,’ I said, standing there, kind of floppy.
‘No, I’m just saying it while I can.’
‘But, I . . . ’
We walked to the door and she shoved me through, no kiss, hug or handshake. The door closed, and I walked the marble halls of the hotel alone.
What was happening? It was wrong. It was all wrong.
I sprinted back to her door and rang the bell. She answered immediately, startling me.
‘Look,’ I said, trying to get the words out quickly. ‘It’s you. It’s always been you, since the first time I –’
‘– saw you on the street,’ she interrupted me, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Smiling, and about to walk in front of a bus. I remember you were smiling at a kid on the pavement. And there was a leaping dog at your feet. Do you know anything about the Tarot?’
‘It’s that Chinese mafia gang, isn’t it?’
She laughed happily. I heard a temple bell inside.
‘I knew it, the minute I yanked you back from in front of the bus,’ she said. ‘When I looked into your eyes, all the lights went on. And time –’
‘– slowed down,’ I continued. ‘For really long seconds. And the effect –’
‘– lasted for days,’ she said, straightening up to face me. ‘Lin, I just want you to be in this with me, by believing in me, but I can’t involve you in it. Do you see?’
‘Favourite colour,’ I said, ticking an imaginary list in my hand, ‘corpuscle red.’
She relaxed against the doorway again, the too-smart smile beginning.
‘Favourite season, winter. In Basel, to be exact. Favourite movie, Key Largo, favourite food, barbecued steak, favourite song, “The Internationale”, favourite car, because you’re not into motorcycles yet, the Chevy Camaro, 1967, matt black with blood-red interior –’
She kissed me. I closed my eyes. A light hovered in my mind. The light faded in waves, falling beneath the world. Love like water, searching for the sea. Love like Time, searching for meaning. Love like all that was, and ever will be.
‘Stop it!’ she said, pushing me away.
She put the back of her hand to her lips, and wiped away the sea. I opened my mouth to speak, but she slapped me, pretty hard.
‘Don’t get killed,’ she said. ‘I want to do that again.’
‘The kiss, or the slap?’
‘Both, but maybe in a different order.’
She slammed the door in my face.
Love. Love like a marble echo in an empty hotel corridor.
Didier was waiting for me in the lobby.
‘I was rather hoping you would stay the night with Karla,’ he said as we left the hotel.
I stopped, and stared at him.
‘I only mean,’ he said, ‘that I have dangerous news. I know, now, where Concannon is making his dope business.’
The night was looking up. And I was in just the right mood.
‘How reliable is your information?’
‘He was seen there today, at three in the afternoon.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In a house owned by the Scorpions.’
‘On Marine Lines road?’
‘Yes. How do you know?’
‘I followed Vishnu and his guys there, after they slapped me around. It’s one of their hangouts.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m gonna walk up to the door, and ring the bell.’
‘With a hand grenade?’ Didier asked, pondering.
‘No. You’re going to call Vishnu, and tell him that I’ll visit him, at ten tonight.’
‘What makes you think I have this Vishnu’s telephone number?’
‘Didier,’ I sighed.
‘Oh, very well, Didier has every number, of course, or can find it. But do you think it wise, to walk into the den of lions?’
‘I think he’ll want to talk. He’s a talkative guy.’
‘What makes you think he wants to talk to you, no offence?’
‘None taken. I quit the Sanjay Company, and I’m still alive. He’ll want to talk to me.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will make the call.’
I watched him walk back into the hotel, and signalled one of the Sikh doormen. The man walked across the courtyard to join me at the bike.
‘Yes, baba?’ he asked, offering his hand.
I passed him some money in the handshake, as I’d done many times before.
‘For the boys, when the shift is over.’
‘Thank you, baba. There were several big functions tonight, with many distinguished guests, so not many tips. Anything I can do for you?’
‘Keep an eye on Miss Karla. If you hear anything I should know, I’m staying at the Amritsar, on Metro.’
‘Thik,’ he said, rushing to rejoin his colleagues. ‘No problem!’
Didier returned, his expression thoughtful, a fisherman studying the rain.
‘It is established,’ he said. ‘Vishnu is expecting you. We do not have much time. We need more guns, and more cartridges.’
He began to look around for a taxi.
‘I’m not taking a gun. And you’re not coming, Didier.’
‘Lin!’ he said, stamping his foot. ‘If you deny me this adventure, I will spit on your grave. And when Didier says such a thing, it is written on stone.’
‘My grave? Why am I always dying before you do?’
‘And dance on it, like Nureyev.’
‘You’d dance on my grave?’
‘Like Nureyev.’
‘Okay. You’re coming.’
‘Should we not get some others with us?’
‘Who would go?’ I asked, starting the bike.
‘Good point,’ he conceded, still looking for a taxi.
‘Get on.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Get on the bike, Didier. I don’t want to rely on a taxi, if we have to leave that place in a hurry. Get on.’
‘But, Lin, you know about my motorcycle hysteria.’
‘Get on the bike, Didier.’
‘If cars fell over, when we got out of them, I wouldn’t ride in cars, either. It is hysteria and physics combined, you see.’
‘You don’t have motorcycle hysteria, Didier. You’re motophobic.’
‘I am?’ he asked, intrigued.
‘No doubt.’
‘Motophobic. Are you sure?’
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of my friends are motophobic. But it’s okay. There’s a treatment for it.’
‘There is?’
‘Get on the bike, Didier.’