Meeting Max (9 page)

For various reasons that I don’t want to talk about now, I’m living in India with my best friend, Bill, and am actually moving to another city shortly and will be travelling so I won’t get any forwarded mail. I keep my life as private as possible. You can e-mail me. I’m truly glad our paths have crossed. I’m so sorry that Julie died and I do want to know more about my beginnings.

All of my information is below and maybe we can talk about Maxwell, my son.

Until then, I am

Very truly yours,

Eric Anderson

P.S. Thank you for the pictures and background information.

At the bottom of the letter was his phone number and e-mail address. Rick sent an e-mail to Eric just to touch base with him, but it was returned as undeliverable. He called Cheryl and asked if she had an address for him, but she only had his home address in New York and mail was being returned from that address. Rick knew something was not right, but he still had his phone number. He called him without any sense of anxiety, just a desire to finally hear his voice.

“Hey Eric, it’s Rick. It’s been a while. How are you?” he said cheerfully.

“Oh, wow.” He spoke slowly. “I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you for calling me. I’m fine, thanks. Our paths cross at last.”

“Yes,” Rick said, grinning. “A lot of years have gone by. Tell me about you.”

“First, thanks again for calling. I was a little unsure about contacting you. I talked it over with my friend, Jane, who told me I’d be crazy not to. She was right.

“Let’s see…about me? I’m divorced and have a wonderful son named Maxwell. I had problems with custody, so when I got your letter I didn’t get back to you right away because things were hectic. I was practically living in court, trying to work things out so I could spend more time with Max. I didn’t want to contact you while all that was going on. I wanted to wait until things got better.”

“And did they?” Rick asked anxiously.

“Not much, but a little.”

“Sorry to hear that. Time changes things and maybe, when the situation cools down, it will get better for you. I’ve never been married. I had the chance years ago with your birth mom, but there were some things I was afraid of. Looking back, I made a mistake. You only get one shot at life and mistakes can be game changers.”

“I’m still overwhelmed that I’m talking to you, and I’m grateful. You gave me life!”

“Cheryl brought us together. She’s a wonderful person.”

“We have to go see her. That would make Cheryl happy, and maybe you can see Max too. He’s a great kid, full of energy and questions and so good-hearted. He’s seven and the love of my life.

“Let’s see, what else can I tell you? I have a degree in chemistry, but the only good jobs out there are for somebody with a PhD. To tell you the truth, Rick, I’m really not interested in chemistry anymore. I loved it when I was in high school and the first few years at NYU, but I decided—”

“NYU?”

“Yeah, NYU, but I always loved music and became a master sound engineer. I did the mixing for a lot of groups and made tons of money, but the groups are drifting toward less expensive engineers. I’m good at what I do, really good, but the money is drying up for quality work. There are much better opportunities overseas. Besides, in all honesty, when you’re in the music business, you do end up getting involved with drugs, and I had my share.”

“You over it?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m done.”

“That’s good. You know, being out of the country for a while may not be a good thing for Max. You have a family, Eric.”

“Yeah, my wife is no help, but we’ll get to that. I’m just glad we’re talking. I have such good feelings about it.”

“Me too. I can tell you whatever you want to know about your beginnings, like I mentioned in my letter.”

“And I want to hear it all!”

“You will.” Rick smiled to himself.

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Tell me, were you ever curious about your birth parents and what we were like?”

“Yes, but my adoptive parents were very good to me. I had a lot of friends and played sports, so it passed through my mind from time to time, but I never thought about it too much. My parents told me I was adopted early on, and I was a happy kid. Tell me about you, and thanks for your letter! I feel so sad hearing about Julie. Seeing her would have been so great for both of us.”

“Yes, it was sad for me too. You were conceived out of pure love. We always wondered how you were and felt the emptiness of not having you in our lives. I guess we thought we had a lifetime to find you and kept putting it off. Julie and I even thought of getting back together again, but I think we were a little afraid. She was the one and only love of my life. What are your parents like?”

“My father is an engineer with German immigrant parents, and my mother was born in Oneonta, in upstate New York. I grew up in Buffalo. I think I mentioned that in my letter.”

“Get’s really cold up there.”

“Very cold, but when you’re a kid you don’t know any different. Tell me about you and Julie.”

“You mentioned NYU, right?”

“Yes.”

“Remember the library?”

“Absolutely. I spent a lot of time there.”

“In a way, that’s where you got your start.”

“No, you mean…is it what I’m thinking?”

“No,” Rick said, laughing, “No, nothing like that. It was where I met your birth mom.”

“I’ve been to the NYU library many times, Rick, and if she was studying nursing, it was probably in the medical library.”

“Yes, it was. I was sitting at the same table as your mother. She was busy studying and very serious looking. She must have known I was looking at her because she raised her eyes, looked at me, and we both smiled.

“Julie had me from the start. We fell in love and lived in our own dream world. We had Washington Square Park and all the streets of Greenwich Village in our backyard. Well, you know. You’ve lived there too.

“Yes, I know the area well. So, why did you guys split?”

Rick explained as best he could over the phone, emphasizing the family pressures and religious differences.

“Ah, so I’m half Jewish. What a revelation. I was never religious, but there was always something about Judaism that attracted me.”

“When we found out Julie was pregnant, we sat down in Washington Square Park in the late afternoon and talked things through.”

“Washington Square Park. Wow! I can’t believe it. We probably sat on the same bench, you never know. My eyes are beginning to fill up.”

“I felt the same way when you mentioned NYU.”

“Go on.”

“We thought adoption would give you a better life than we could provide. Julie cried the whole time we talked. It was not an easy choice and it was a decision that eventually tore us apart, but I loved her more than anything.”

“How do you feel about your choice now?” Eric asked.

“To be honest, I regretted that decision all my life. It was a big mistake, and if I could go back in time, you would have grown up with us. I was selfish, only thinking about myself, my education, and nothing else. I said I loved your mother, but how could I have truly loved her if I broke her heart? I felt I was so right, but I was wrong. I gave up the woman I loved and the son I could have had.

“Yes, I was young, but that was no excuse. Your mother was a beautiful, sensitive woman. For us, being together was always enough. I had everything and didn’t realize it. You’re a wonderful young man, Eric, a gift to Maxwell and to the world of music. Maybe I can make it up to both of you by meeting Max and being a grandfather to him?”

Eric was silent for a moment. “You would love Max and he would love you. He’s energetic and full of questions, a professor’s delight.” They both laughed. “I think it would be a good idea, Dad.”

Eric said he had a friend who was an audio engineer, now living in India and earning nine-hundred dollars a day for a growing record company. Eric needed that kind of money, which was was a big reason why he decided to live in India.

After their first call, Rick lost touch with Eric. He tried calling several times, but the phone had been disconnected. Rick knew nothing could be done from the States. He took an emergency leave of absence from school and booked a flight to Delhi. There was no other choice. He was driven to find Eric.

Chapter 10

Elena was pretty much out of Rick’s mind. He still had glimpses of her in his imagination, but he gave up the idea of ever seeing her again. His search for Eric continued, as well as his fascination with India. it was an unexpected love affair.

Permanand remained Rick’s private, full-time auto rickshaw driver. Permanand was also totally and irrevocably in love with India, especially Delhi, and he couldn’t resist making stops at places of interest while he helped Rick search for Eric.

He had strong connections and could be useful to anyone who needed anything—a forged driver’s license, a passport, a fake Rolex, or a girl for the night, and he even knew the best place to find paratha bread, or an almond-flavored milkshake laced with cannabis.

Rick took Permanand into his confidence and told him about Eric. To help Permanand understand his reasoning, Rick explained to him that the groups who made CDs needed a sound engineer to set up the microphones, equalizers, amplifiers, and speakers around the stage, as well as supervise the entire audio experience.

During an internet search while still in the States, Rick had discovered that Eric was much sought after by performers. He had contacted many of them who were impressed with the high quality of Eric’s work, but none of them knew his location.

Rick and Permanand met the next day in the afternoon and went to several record shops to see if they could find Eric’s name on album labels, but they found nothing.

When they passed the Red Fort, Permanand showed him the exact spot where the prime minister announced India’s independence in 1947. It was a thrill for Rick to be there. He had read about it in
Freedom at Midnight
. Later, they stopped for dinner at a street stand and talked about music.

“I’m sure you like music, Permanand.”

“Very certainly, Mr. Rick, sir. I like all kinds of music and dancing.”

“All kinds of music? More than just rock and jazz?”

“Yes, Mr. Rick, classical too. It has many chants about our gods,” he said, moving his head from side to side in customary Indian fashion.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean by ‘many chants.’ Maybe I have to hear it. Take me to clubs popular with young people so I can listen to groups singing those chants and other music, especially those who make their own CDs. Someone in the music business might know Eric.”

“
Achchaa
, I see.
Chalo.
We go, sir. I know many places. I am trading in all of the jacks.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, Permanand. I think we understand each other.”

“Mr. Rick likes sexes?”

“Sexes?”

“Yes, Mr. Rick. Sexes with lady? Permanand can do. Don’t you feel big desire?”

“No sexes, no big desire. Just take me to places where young people dance and listen to music.”

“Yes, Mr. Rick. Going.”

Permanand took off and weaved in and out of traffic like a snake in a hurry. Watching him drive became Rick’s private entertainment. Following traffic laws in India appeared to be optional, and Permanand drove as if there were no rules. He steered his way through traffic as if he were maneuvering inside a pinball machine, but Rick felt safe with him.

Horns blared erratically, especially if there were more than a few inches of space between cars. Brakes screeched and motorcycles revved their engines, all adding to the sounds of the night.

They stopped at a light. A beggar lady came to the open rickshaw with a baby nestled in her arms. Rick was always torn between giving something or not, but he had learned that begging was controlled by the criminal world. He looked at her sad face and said
Nah-he,
‘goodbye,’ as they drove off.

“You did very right, Mr. Rick. Never give to beggar lady. Do not trust your feelings in these matters. Same baby is passed to many women for begging. People feeling sorry for baby. It is a big business. If people not give, begging will be no more in India.

“Sometimes bad people, they kidnap small children, cut off legs, Oh my God! Then they make them beg sitting on street. People feel sad, give many rupees. If you give only five rupees to that beggar lady, all of it go to beggar master.

“Tourists always give, but certainly, Mr. Rick, I quiet about it. Not nice to tell them what to do. But you different, Mr. Rick, sir. Good for you to know these things.”

“You’re a good man. Thank you for telling me that. You’ve made your point several times.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, kind sir. Why you go rock group music place?”

“I know my son’s somewhere in India, but I don’t know where. It’s a long shot, but he has worked with rock groups and other musicians as a sound engineer in my country, and he is probably doing it here.”

“Long shot, sir?”

“Uh, long shot means doing something that might not work, but is worth trying.”

“Oh, long shot. It is called
sambhavana nahim
. Meeting nice girl, try sexes is long shot. Like that?”

“That would work. Also, you could say
sex,
Permanand.
Sexes
means something different.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Rick. I am learning so much. What is good name of person you are looking?”

“My son’s name is Eric.”

“Yes, Eric. I know him. He play sitar, I think,” Permanand said with assurance.

Rick rolled his eyes and smiled. “Just take me to a place where rock groups play music and sell their CDs.”

“Okay, you go Indianic Ocean. It is good sahib. You will be liking it. My friend, Vijay, works there.
Chalo
.”

“Maybe you don’t understand. Why would I want to go to the Indianic Ocean? I’m here in Delhi. There is no ocean here. I just want to go to a place that plays some rock music, not go to an ocean.”

“Nooo, not Indianic Ocean like water. No sir,” he said with his usual broad smile. “Indianic Ocean is name of popular singing music group.
Chalo
, we go. They play much music never tried.”

“I think you mean experimental. Is it far?”

“Not far.”

They pulled up to a large nightclub. A large, red neon sign flashed dramatically in Hindi script, as if to say
this is the place
. Crowds of people pushed their way toward the entrance. Rick couldn’t help but notice how provocatively the girls were dressed. He didn’t see them showing too much, but their bodies just screamed
sexy
, especially with the red neon sign splashing its color off and on.

Rick’s eyes were drawn to one girl in particular. She had glossy jet-black hair, which streamed down to her lower back. Her full lips were tinted deep red, and she wore a tight white top that stopped above her navel, showing tan, well-toned flesh between her low cut blue jeans and her top. An Indian man pressed his body against her from behind with his hands in front of her. He tucked half of his fingers into her jeans. She was one of many waiting to get in.

Permanand had known the right place to take Rick. He parked the auto rickshaw in an alleyway on a dark side street near the club, and they walked to the front entrance. A stocky Indian man with black curly hair, probably Vijay, was in charge. He noticed Permanand immediately and waved to him to come closer. They talked for a few seconds and shook hands. Permanand passed money to Vijay. Rick and Permanand stepped inside.

“You seem to know many people here,” Rick said

“Yes, very fine fellows they are,” he said, wagging his head from side to side.

After Permanand shook hands with a man in charge of the tables, they sat in front of the band. A man was singing in English about desert rain. The song had a nice beat to it courtesy of traditional Indian strings and a percussion instrument, which Permanand explained was a Tabla. The tabla consisted of two small wooden drums and a large metal drum. Played together, they produced bell-like sounds and were a perfect accompaniment to the singer’s wailing tone.

“Mr. Rick, I am hoping you like the music. Tell me, is there something I can do? Get you something or…”

“Yes, I’d like to talk to the guy who is singing.”

“That is certainly no problem. He is my friend from many years, and most probably he will help you. I will introduce him to you when they have a break. His name is Kaushal Patel.”

At the end of the set, Permanand came back to their table with a burly man. He had light tan skin and wore a tattered, sweaty, red band around his forehead. A full black beard with traces of gray added to his persona. He spoke perfect English.

“
Namaste, Ap kaise haim.
How are you?” The man looked Rick straight in the eye.

“Your friend tells me you would like to talk to me. I hope you liked our music. It is fusion. Lots of improvisation along the way so the audience never hears the same thing twice. My name is Kaushal. It is my pleasure to meet you.”

Rick held his hands together in front of him as if in prayer and said, “
Namaste.
I loved your music and your singing. It was beautiful and different from anything I’ve ever heard. Would you like to sit and join me for a drink?”

“It would be my honor, sir. You are very kind, but we only have twenty minutes between sets and…”

“Oh, of course. I understand.”

“Did you want to ask me something special about our music?” Kaushal asked. “I can tell you are an American and our music may seem different to you. We sing in Hindi, Urdu, Malalayem, and English. We have also performed in California.”

“Well, it’s not about the music, although I thoroughly enjoyed it. You see, I have someone I’m looking for. It’s my son who was given up for adoption when he was a baby. His mother died, and I began a search to find him. I know he’s living in India.”

“My good sir, it is a terrible thing to lose your child,” Kaushal said, shaking his head. “You must find him, but we have more than one billion people living here. It would be difficult. I think you have taken on too much of a burden.”

“Yes, difficult, except there is one unique difference which may narrow things down a bit.”

“Ah, he’s a musician, so you came here?”

“Not quite. He’s a sound engineer. I know he has done work for many groups in the United State, and came to India to work with a friend.”

“I see. What is his good name?”

“Eric, Eric Anderson.”

“I don’t know that name. I can ask my friend, Ahshan, to see if he knows of him, but he is not here now. He works as an audio recorder when he can. His regular job is teaching a music class for girl students at Delhi University.

“If you give me your mobile number, I will give it to him and see if he can help you. I’m sorry I cannot sit with you, but I promise you will hear from Ahshan. He is a very good man and an excellent recording engineer. He makes my CD performances sound seamless. He is a perfectionist, as you say.”

“Thank you, Kaushal, thank you.
Namaste
.”

“
Namaste
,” he answered as he returned to the stage.