Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass (17 page)

Mana
helped me lift him off the ground. “Help me!” Kalpesh yelled at the
crowd. They stared back with wide and frightened eyes, no one making a move.
Holding Kalpesh’s elbow I moved him toward the lip of the roof, back towards
his house. Mana helped me get him across the broken metal roof and then showed
me a shortcut back to Kalpesh’s house. The whole time Shah hollered for help
but the boom of fireworks and the indifference his neighbors left him firmly in
my grasp.

Kalpesh’s
roof was deserted, littered with broken kites and crisscrossed with bright pink
string. The beautiful people had beaten a hasty retreat, apparently indifferent
to their host’s fate.  Kalpesh tried to yank away from me. I punched him hard
in the gut. He doubled over, his breath leaving him in a whoosh.
“Why?” he wheezed. “Who are you?”

I didn’t
answer. Instead I pulled him forward, thinking about our next step. I had the
keys to one of Kalpesh’s cars and Mana and I just needed to get him into the
trunk, then drive to the airport…

“What
am I to you?” he yelled, his voice cracking.

“Shut
the fuck up,” I said.

Above us
two lanterns collided, bursting into flame and plummeting toward the roof in a
plume of jet black smoke. I dodged to avoid the fireball and Kalpesh wrenched
free, taking off back the way we’d come. He stumbled on a kite spool sticking
out from the roof’s spine. For a moment I thought he would regain his balance,
but with his hands locked behind him he couldn’t. His body rolled down the
pitched roof gaining speed as it reached the edge. The string wrapped around
him as he spun. Mana and I raced toward him but Kalpesh fell, a cry of terror
escaping him as he hit the open air. The string tangled around his body snapped
piece by piece, jerking him with each break. Kalpesh glanced off the
bougainvillea clinging to the boundary wall and then smashed onto the ground.
Wrapped in kite string, his legs at odd angles and neck at an unnatural tilt, a
pool of blood spreading around him, Kalpesh
Shah lay dead in the courtyard of his ancestral home. Several kites and a
handful of bright pink petals he’d shaken loose from the bougainvillea floated
down to join him.

M
ana
looked over at me and then turned and bolted across the roof toward the ladder.
I followed him. Blue barked when he saw me. He spun in tight circles as I
descended from the roof. Mana was already gone. I raced down the steps,
past
sleeping security guards, and out the front door. Blue
paused for a moment to sniff Shah’s body but I brushed past it and pulled open
the compound’s gate, entering the street. Blue jogged to keep up with me as I
hurried down the alley, keeping one eye on the lanterns that floated above my
head.

Fireworks
continued to explode and light up the night sky as I headed back toward Anita’s
place. I unlocked the door and before pushing it open I looked around. The lane
was empty. Stepping into the old house I closed the heavy doors behind me and
shut my eyes, releasing a breath. I stood there in the
darkness for a moment sucking in air. Fuck. That was not what was supposed to
happen.

I made
my way up to our room and sat on the bed, resting my head in my hands. Blue sat
next to me, scooting close, placing his head on my knee with a sigh. My phone
chirped and I answered. “Dan,” I said. “Kalpesh is dead.”

“Where
are you?”

“I’m
safe. You need to take off, get Anita to Paris.”

“What?”

“Just
go.”

“Aren’t
you coming?”

“Not
now.”

“Will
you meet me back in Goa?”

“I’m
not sure.” I paused. “I need some time to think.”

“Think?”

“About
your idea, about…” I didn’t know what to say. There was something
holding me here for the moment. I couldn’t imagine going to the airport,
boarding a plane, and leaving this place.

“Really?
About Joyful Justice?” he said, a note of excitement in his voice.

“Don’t
call it that. I just need to think. Don’t get so excited.”

“I’m
not getting too excited,” he said, but I
could almost see the grin on his face.

I
cringed. “Just…” I let my sentence end there and sighed.

“Where
are you going to go?” Dan asked.

“I’m
not sure. I’ll call you. Be safe.”

“You
too, Captain.”

I hung
up and stared at the window. The wind blew the curtains, white against a sky
filled with red, green, and yellow lanterns. The flash of a firework
silhouetted Mana in the window, crouched like a bird on the edge of the sill. I
gasped at his sudden appearance.

“You
are a brave warrior,” he said in his soft voice.

I
laughed. “Funny you should say that since you just scared the shit out of
me.”

He
laughed softly, his voice floating on the same wind that billowed the curtains
around him. “Come in,” I said.

He shook
his head. “No time. Just wanted to say thank you.”

“I’m
the one who should say thank you,” I said. “You saved my life
tonight.”

He
nodded. I thought he’d disappear again, but instead he bowed his head and
mumbled in a language I did not understand. Raising his voice he said, “Do
not lose your way, only the path of the brave will suit you.”

I opened
my mouth to speak but he leaned back and was gone. I ran to the window just in
time to see him swing to the street and flee into the shadows. Watching the
empty alley I felt the breeze on my face and breathed in the night air. It
smelled of sulfur and smoke, acrid and heavy.

I
crossed the room and looked out across the roofs toward Shah’s place, wondering
what was going on over there. Were the police there? I opened the window and
leaned on the edge, watching the parties of people spread over the roofs,
setting off fireworks, reveling in the danger and
brilliance of the flying flames.

I hooked
a leg over the sill and climbed out onto the roof. Blue jumped his front paws
on the ledge and I motioned for him to join me. I crouched, resting on my heels
and wished that Kalpesh hadn’t fallen, that I’d done what I wanted to do. Now
he was just another corpse; another death
on my soul when he could have been so much more.

Blue sat
close to me and I wrapped my arm across his shoulders. He leaned into me and I
almost fell over, putting out my free hand to balance. “You still love me,
huh,
boy?” He licked at my ear in response and I laughed, dodging his tongue.

At least
the kids were safe with Agapito. They had a chance,
I thought. Chloe and Agapito were good people. I wondered what they’d think
when news of Kalpesh’s demise reached them. Would they know I tried? Or think
that I’d bound a man and tossed him to his death? Maybe
they’d know I wouldn’t have bothered with the binding if I planned on killing
him. It didn’t matter. What people thought of me wouldn’t change anything.
Nothing could bring Kalpesh back, take away those kids’
trauma, or allow justice to take its course. It was over and it turned out how
it did. The question was: Where to next?

My phone
rang and I climbed back inside, picking it up off the bed. Checking the screen
I saw it was Darcy, my contact at the jet share company I had hired for the
flight to Paris. “I just spoke with Dan,” she said. “You didn’t
leave?”

“No,
I’m still here.”

“Do
you need me to arrange alternative transportation?”

I walked
over to the window and looked back toward Kalpesh’s. A blue firework exploded
and I thought for a second it was the reflection of a police cruiser’s light,
come to investigate Shah’s death. “Yes,” I said. “I’d like to
leave Ahmedabad tomorrow morning.”

I heard
the clicking of her nails against a keyboard. “We have a lot of planes
available.”

I pictured
flying above the city, leaving it all behind and I didn’t think I was ready to
go so high, so far, so fast. Nor did it seem wise to show my passport at an
airport, given how many people witnessed those rooftop escapades.  “I’d
prefer a car.”

The typing
stopped. “OK, where do you want to go?”

I shook
my head,
watching a lantern’s slow progress as its flame burned out and the red paper
dome headed toward the roof. “I’m not sure. Where would you
recommend?”

The
typing started again as the last flicker of light died in the paper lantern and
it swung side-to-side
picking up speed. Blue barked as it approached, moving toward us quickly.
“What about Udaipur, it’s about three or four
hours north. Supposed to be a really phenomenally beautiful city.”

The lantern
bumped into the roof and slid down the incline, rolling, tumbling, crumpling as
it went. “Is it in Gujarat?”

“No,
Rajasthan.”

“Sounds
perfect,” I said, as the lantern tipped off the
edge and disappeared.

“We
have a relationship with a hotel there.”

“Fine,”
I said.

“How
long do you plan to stay?”

“Not
sure.”

“I’ll
book it for three nights and we can always extend.”

“Great,”
I said, feeling suddenly tired and ready for bed. Patting my palm against my
thigh brought Blue back inside and gripping the phone between my shoulder and
cheek, I closed the window, pulling the curtains shut.

“Where
do you want the car to pick you up?” Darcy asked.  I gave her the name of
a nearby hotel. “The car will be there at 9 a.m.,”
she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,
thanks for calling, Darcy.”

She
cleared her throat. “There is one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Mulberry
called me looking for you,” she continued quickly. “Of course, I
didn’t give him any information but, he asked that you call him.”

“Thanks,
Darcy. Have a good night.”

I hung
up the phone and sat on the bed, staring at it for a moment. I scrolled through
until I got to Mulberry’s number. My finger hovered over his name. But I
clicked the phone off, not ready to talk to him or anyone else that night.

Looking
around the room I realized I didn’t have any clothing, that all my luggage was
on its way to Paris with Anita and Dan. The clothing I wore was filthy and I
peeled it off, heading down the steps, naked, for a bath.

The
crack of fireworks sounded like a dull thud in the bathroom. I filled a copper
bucket from a tap at knee height in the wall, then pulled over the small wooden
stool and sat. The water was boiling and I added some cold before filling a mug
and pouring it over my head. The yellow tiles, with small blue flowers curling
across them, dewed in the closed space.

I used a
bar of soap
on my hair and my body, enjoying the rich fragrance that the suds released. My
feet left dark, dirty prints. I rubbed them clean, pouring more mugs over my
body to keep from feeling a chill. Clean and tired I wrapped myself in a towel
and walked into Anita’s room.

Her desk
was bare, the bed neatly made. I wondered if she’d come back. And if she did,
what would she do? Could she return to reporting after all we’d done? Opening
her closet I found a few sundresses hanging there. Pulling them off the hangers
I took them with me upstairs.

I draped
the towel over a chair before climbing between the sheets. My wet hair tickled
my face and I pulled it up and away. Sleep would not come.

Mana’s
words taunted me as I watched the ceiling fan spin and shake. What should I do?
The path of the brave? What did he mean? It felt like a challenge. Like a call
to action, but maybe that was just Dan’s influence.

I’d
thought maybe working again would help, but I was still left with an emptiness.
Why couldn’t I just love him and we could work on cases together for the rest
of our lives? Couldn’t we be really good together?

I rolled
onto my side and thought about Dan, picturing him smiling down at me, his hair
flopping onto his brow, his grape-green
eyes glittering. He was cute, fun, loyal, smart, good, solid, trustworthy.
Everything that you would look for in a partner. He even challenged me to do
more and be better. We’d only had one fight. What was wrong with me, I
marveled, that I didn’t want to be with him? What was wrong with me that I
didn’t want a ring on my finger? To be bound to someone. To have a partner.

I rolled
onto my back and stared up at the fan again. Maybe it was because I didn’t
believe that Dan understood how fucked up I was. He did not understand what
drove me forward. The man thought I believed most people were good and was
fighting for some kind of balance. But really it’s just some kind of sick urge
that drives me forward. It’s like a high almost. Doing good by doing bad. It’s
what I crave.

Or maybe
it was Mulberry’s kiss. The thought popped into my head unwanted, unwarranted,
and without warning. I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall, trying to
clear my mind by counting, but I could almost hear Mulberry laughing. I felt
heat in my cheeks and rolled again, twisting the sheets around my legs, tying
myself up. There were so many things wrong with him and me. I didn’t trust him.
Oh, I trusted him with my life but he always thought he knew what was best for
me. The man didn’t have faith in my ability to take care of myself.

But… I
shook my head, trying again to clear it of any thoughts, but it didn’t work. I
sat up. Blue raised his head, his collar jingling. Flopping back onto the bed I
counted the ceiling fans rotations until I fell asleep.

I dreamt
of a desert that never ended. I walked through it, the heat like a heavy
blanket. Where was Blue? I wondered, right
before I started sinking into the loose sand. I
woke up choking.

T
he next
day I left for Udaipur, an ancient city to the north. I fell asleep during the
car ride, unburdened of all responsibility but Blue.
I was loose again. I’d felt pure tension for the last couple of weeks, my mind
always churning, my body coiled and ready to attack. Now that it was over my
head lolled on the doily-draped seatback.

There
was still plastic on all the handles and knobs, trying to keep the cab clean
and new looking.  The driver had eyed Blue nervously, but he’d agreed on a
price and that price included a dog. Darcy had just failed to mention how big
the dog was. He didn’t look afraid at least, just wary of his seat cushions.

The
drive was about four hours and I was awake only until we left the city. It was
right as we entered the desert that I drifted off. Its bleak emptiness let the
waves jumping in my brain settle down.

I slept
heavily, awakening only when Blue’s wet nose nudged at my cheek moments before
a uniformed bellboy opened my door. I was swept up into luxury, into the
penthouse suite. It was gorgeous. I stood out on the marble balcony and I could
see the lake and the white marble palace at its sparkling center.

I
wondered at a world where there were so few on top and so many on the bottom.
Is that human nature? That we are not equal? That
there are those who are born with the right, the passion, the luck, the
forbearance, the whatever it takes to get them to the top and then there are
those who are not? Is the too-familiar dynamic of
oppressed and oppressor the natural order of things? Or has that order been
transmuted, destroyed, in some way corrupted by the human mind?

Carrying
my melancholy thoughts to the lobby, I spoke with a woman behind the front desk
about professional mourners. She was young and eager to please. Her uniform
was a pattern of greens, like the jungle looks in kids’
books; bright
and airy, not dense and moist.

With a
nervous smile the clerk sent me over to the concierge, a man with a chicken
neck, Gandhi glasses, a white collared shirt, vest, tie, but no jacket. If he’d
worn black bands on his arms and a green visor he would have looked like an old-
fashioned bank teller. The man sat at a large wooden desk in a discrete corner
of the lobby, waiting for the chance to be useful.

I sat
across from him in a wooden chair, its seat, back and arms upholstered in 
burgundy leather, like a poodle. Blue sat next to me, his vision gliding over
the top of the desk. To our left the receptionist checked in a family of
Swedes, two tall, elegant parents and three chubby blonde kids that reminded me
of beach balls with heads, legs, and arms. Maybe it was
something about the striped shirts they wore.

To our
right the hotel bar had an aristocratic air—paisley carpeting, long thick
drapes, mahogany paneling, and deep couches. A woman leaned on the bar, a
little too drunk, a little too old, clutching a small white dog so tightly that
it choked.

“My
brother was murdered,” I told the man.

He made
a small gasp and reached out for a pen on his desk as though notes might be
necessary with such a claim.

“I
want to hire mourners.”

The man
leaned closer and asked in a polite and crisp accent that I repeat myself.
“I want to hire professional mourners, you know, the women who cry at
funerals,” I said.

“Ah,
yes,” he said quietly. “I see.” But I didn’t think he did
because he just looked confused. Why would a western woman want mourners for
her brother?

“He
was murdered here?” the man asked, his mouth a thin line of regret.

“No…”
I faltered, unwilling or unable to put my reasons into
words.

Seeing
my hesitation he jumped in; after all it was his job to take care of anyone who
sat across from him. Assuming, of course, that they were staying in the hotel.

“How
many would you like to hire?”

“How
many does one usually get?”

He
leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. “It depends on the family’s
wealth, the importance of the individual,” he said quietly.

“What
is the most that any funeral has ever had?”

“I’m
not sure,” he admitted. “I’d be happy to find out for you.”

I sat
back in my chair and thought about it. Now I was suddenly trying to figure out
how many mourners it would take to soak away my grief.

“One
hundred sounds like it might do,” I said.

“Madame,
there are not even a hundred
mourners left in the city. It is a dying tradition.”

“Dying,”
I repeated to myself.

“Perhaps
I could get ten, maybe fifteen.”

“Where
would they do it?”

“Where?”

“Yes,
where would they mourn?”

“Wherever
you told them, Madame.”

I
nodded. “Okay. I’m going out now. See how many you can get and I’ll let
you know where I want them.”

“Yes,
Madame.”

I stood
up, then turned back to the man. “Is there a shop in the hotel?”

He
nodded and directed me deeper into the lobby. I followed the marble hall to a
store that sold exactly what I needed. Decked out in my new running shorts and
T-shirt,
a brand new MP3 player clenched in my fist, and Blue by
my side, I headed out for a run.

The
streets were crowded and loud. There were no sidewalks and I kept getting
stopped by passing traffic. I shook my head trying to clear it. Trying to step
into the flow rather than be stopped by it. I
approached a large temple with tall, narrow steps that led up to the entrance.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched people pouring in and out of
the sacred building, white against a bright blue sky. An old, toothless woman
wearing a bright red sari held wrinkled hands up to her pathetic mouth and
cried at me. I shook my head at the beggar and turned, running past the
intricately carved temple built for the gods that
had forsaken her.

I turned
up the volume on my headphones, drowning out the honking and talking. The only
sound I could here was the steady electronic beat of Miike Snow’s
I’m Still
an Animal.

When
sweat covered my body and the thick smell of smoke and spices became too
much for me, I headed back to the hotel. As I pushed past
a group of men arguing about a turned over cart, its melons spread across the
road being squished by cars and carried away by monkeys, I looked up at the
mountains that ringed the city and something in their steadiness stopped me in
the middle of all that chaos. The perfect reminder of how small and fleeting we
humans are.

Upon my
reentering my hotel lobby the concierge rose from his chair and approached me.
I smiled at him. Gently taking my elbow he led me over to his desk. Settled
back in my chair I told him I wanted the mourners to start at the temple and
then come right under my balcony.

“Yes,
Madame. It will be so.”