The Weight of Heaven (43 page)

week, Nan. That first morning when his hair went gray overnight, I

was so scared.” She made a rueful face. “I had really hoped his hair

would revert back to its original color.”

Nandita squeezed her arm. “That’s okay. I say he still looks like

a stud muffin, even with the gray.”

Ellie smiled. “You’re shameless. I’m so glad you came with me

today. I think shopping therapy is what I desperately need.” She

peered into a store. “Can we go in here for a minute?”

They entered together, trying to ignore the clamorous, aggressive sales pitch of the rival shopkeepers. The proprietor raced up to

them, bowing and nodding. “Come in, come in, madams,” he said.

He snapped his fingers, and a teenage boy appeared. “
Arre
, can’t you

see we have two guests?” he cried. “Go get two cold Coca-Colas,

quickly.”

Ellie opened her mouth to refuse and then thought better of it.

Experience had taught her that she was no match for the famed

Indian hospitality—or the aggressive Indian sales pitch. “Can I see

that turquoise ring?” she asked.

“Of course, madam, of course.” The shop owner turned to Nandita. “And for you, madam? Nice-nice gold silver jewelry we’re

having.”

They wandered from the jewelry counters to the cloth section.

3 2 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

Two men deftly unfolded spool after spool of brightly colored silks

for them to inspect. “Enough,” Ellie protested, surrounded by a

multicolored sea of fabrics. “Please don’t go through the trouble.”

“No trouble, madam,” one of the men grinned. “If you don’t see,

how you buy?”

“Now, don’t buy anything out of guilt,” Nandita whispered to

her as they sipped their Cokes. “These people are
pucca
businessmen.”

In the end, she purchased the turquoise ring for herself, insisted

on buying a silver chain for Nandita, and got talked into getting a

men’s silk kurta for Frank, despite knowing that he would never

wear it.

The other vendors were thrown into a frenzy as the two women

emerged with their shopping bags. “Madam, nice American products we are having,” they yelled after her, not understanding that

that was the last thing that would hold her interest.

“Ignore them,” Nandita instructed her. “Don’t make eye contact. Otherwise you’ll emerge carrying ten bars of Hershey’s chocolates.” She shuddered visibly.

“Oh, you are such a snob.”

“Guilty as charged.” Like most upper-class Indians, Nandita

thought American chocolates were awful.

“Like Cadbury’s is any better. Or Lindt, for that matter.”

“Careful. You’re trampling on hallowed ground.” Nandita pretended to look offended. “Next thing you know, you’ll be insulting

the queen,” she sniffed.

Ellie grabbed Nandita’s hand. “You’re nuts. Now come on. Let’s

find an auto rickshaw. I need to get home.”

“Hey, before I forget,” Nandita said after they were in the rickshaw. “You know my cousin Divya? The one who lives in Australia? She’s going to be in Delhi on the twenty-first. Will you go with

me to see her for a few days? Shashi can’t get away. So I thought it

could be an all-girls outing.”

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 3 2 3

“I’ll have to look at my calendar,” Ellie said.

“Ae
, screw your calendar. Just say yes, why don’t you? I’ve been

wanting for eons for her to meet you.”

Ellie laughed. “I want to meet her too. How long will it take to

get there?”

“We can take the overnight train. I’ll have you back home in six

days, I promise.”

“Well, it sounds lovely.” Ellie sighed. “And I’d like to get away

for a few days, Nan. The mood at home—I dunno, it’s too heavy at

times.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll buy the train tickets.”

Chapter 32

Somehow, he managed to shake Ramesh off. Told the boy he

couldn’t jog with him this morning. He made himself ignore the

hurt puzzlement he saw in the boy’s eye. It’s for his own sake, Frank

told himself.

And now he was sitting on one of the large boulders that were

submerged in the water, the waves nipping at his bare feet. Staring

at the sun rising from the water. Trying to talk himself out of the

plan he was hatching even while he knew that he had come here to

this lonely spot to put on the finishing touches. To work it all out, so

that it would unfold like a play, like a poem, when the time came.

There would be violence. There would be blood. This he had to

accept. He had come here to take his own measure, to take measure

of his love for this boy. To ask himself if he was willing to pay any

price, in order to have Ramesh. To weigh the joy of having Ramesh

against the tarnishing of his soul.

There was no other way. He had to keep reminding himself of

that. Lord, if there were another way, he’d take it. If he could’ve

legally adopted Ramesh, for instance. But they—Prakash, Edna,

Pete, Ellie—they had all blocked his way. Until there was no way

but this. And
this
was what he had to work out. Work out every last

detail, like writing up a business plan.

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 3 2 5

But that wasn’t why he’d come here. The details of the plan he

could work out in any setting—while Satish drove him to work, while

eating breakfast, while lying awake in bed, Ellie breathing quietly

beside him. No, he had come to this quiet spot for the reckoning. To

hold his greedy human heart in one hand and his immortal soul in the

other. To see which one he would favor, which way the balance would

tip. To mark this moment, this precise spot where he stood between

the Frank that he had been and the Frank he would become. To see

what he would value—the sweet, turn-the-other-cheek religion he

had been raised on or the liberating, amoral theology that had appeared to him when he was sick with the pneumonia. To ask what

was fueling him—the thick, gelatinous hate that gripped him at the

thought of Prakash or the light, effervescent love that filled him at the

thought of Ramesh. To resolve the paradox that both his hate and his

love were leading him to the same dark, bloody place.

Above all, he had come here to tax his imagination—to see

whether he could imagine a life in America without Ramesh in it.

He tried. He sat on the boulder with his eyes closed, the sweat

dripping down his face. And all he saw was emptiness. Darkness.

Ellie and him growing old in Michigan, running out of things to

say to each other, occasional words dripping out of them like drops

of water from a faucet. Ellie and him not turning on the porch light

during trick-or-treating, afraid of the flocks of happy, rambunctious

children skipping down their street. Ellie and him staring hungrily

at other people’s kids at the mall, at parties, at the playground, until

their parents, sensing that hunger, pulled them away.

He opened his eyes. The world looked hazy for a moment and then

came back into focus with such sharp clarity that Frank gasped. He

pushed himself off the boulder and hurried out of the water, shaking

off the seaweed that had wrapped around his foot. He had wasted

enough time already. And he knew exactly what he had to do next.

Chapter 33

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Frank told the man sitting across from him. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment the man who was built like a building—tall, wide,

impenetrable, his face a blank facade—did not stir. Then, Gulab

nodded slightly. “Of course, sir. My pleasure.”

Frank looked away to escape Gulab’s dark, reptilian eyes. His

gaze caught on and followed the slow descent of a green leaf from a

tree outside his window.

“Sir?” Gulab said. “You were saying.”

“Ah, yes.” Frank’s voice shook a bit as he spoke. “Listen, Gulab.

I wish to talk to you in confidence. Can I expect you to—”

“Sir. Everything you ever say to me is in absolute confidence. I

am a trained army man, sir. I was taught to keep my mouth closed.”

Frank nodded. He eyed Gulab’s large, thick hands, remembered

what he had once said—
I have killed men with my bare hands.
A long

time ago, he had been repulsed by the brute force they represented.

But ever since Gulab had helped him in his search for Prakash, he

had come to see him as a trustworthy, capable ally. Today, he saw

these hands as helping him carry Ramesh safely ashore to America.

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Frank said. “But many

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 3 2 7

months ago when you were at my house you said something about

coming to you if I ever needed to take Ramesh back with us to

America. What did you mean?”

Gulab’s face was unreadable. “I said only to ask me if you

were truly ready, sir.” He looked deep into Frank’s eyes. “Are you

ready?”

“I am,” he said, his voice firm. But his hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he was glad that his desk hid the fact from Gulab.

“Then it will be my pleasure to assist you.”

“I want Prakash gone.” The words came out in a rush. “I want

you to—take care of him. For me.”

Gulab’s face was impassive. “Done, sir.”

He had to make sure. “Do you understand what I am saying?

What—what I’m asking you for?”

Gulab did not skip a beat. “Of course, sir. No problem.”

Frank’s left eye began to twitch, and he hoped Gulab couldn’t see

this. He felt the sweat bead up on his forehead and fought the urge to

wipe it off. This was no time to act like a schoolboy. He struggled to

recapture some of the clarity he had felt after coming to his decision at

the waterfront two mornings ago. “What about Edna?” he asked.

Gulab shrugged. “I’ll take care of her, also.”

Frank permitted himself a pang of regret. He remembered Edna’s

eager, upturned face, her sincere pride in the interest Frank took

in her son. But it couldn’t be helped. Edna would cling even more

strongly to Ramesh if her husband was dead. She had to be—dealt

with—also.

“Are there any other relatives who could come forward to claim

the boy?”

“Who, sir? You heard what Edna’s parents said when the
chootia

dragged the boy to Goa. And Prakash has no kin.” Gulab smiled.

“Even if someone shows up, I will . . . convince them.”

With nobody to claim Ramesh, he and Ellie could begin adoption procedures. Ellie was too softhearted to abandon Ramesh, he

3 2 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

knew. And under the circumstances, he was sure that Tom Andrews

would help them jump through the immigration hoops. Hell, he

might have Ramesh with him in America by Memorial Day.

Frank realized he had been holding his breath. “If I were to consider this, where—how—would you carry this out?”

Gulab thought for a moment. “Best to do this late at night, sir.

When they’re sleeping. Easy to access their shack directly from the

street. Still, better if you and your missus are out of the main house

when it happens.”

Frank nodded. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking. Ellie’s taking a

trip to Delhi with a friend on the twenty-first. What if I take Ramesh

out of town that same weekend? Can you do it then?”

“That will be perfect, sir. Will give me enough time to make

preparations. You will leave Saturday morning, yes?”

He nodded, his mind racing. He had already decided that he

would tell Prakash he wanted to take Ramesh to Bombay to see the

All-India Soccer tournament. Frank’s jaw tightened with anger at

the thought of kissing up to Prakash. But it’s only for a few more

weeks, he reminded himself.

Gulab cleared his throat. “Sir, one other thing. You needn’t

worry about coming home and finding the . . . bodies. After the job

is done, I will place an anonymous call to the police, saying I heard

gunshots. They will check out the house and then will call you, sir.

So your vacation will be interrupted. Unfortunately.”

It’s like we’re planning a picnic instead of a murder, Frank

thought. He imagined the stricken look on his mother’s face if she

overheard this conversation, imagined her dismay at how far her

son, the altar boy who had sung at St. Anne’s every Sunday, had

fallen. But there is no other way, he reminded himself. Between

Prakash’s obstinacy and Pete’s ultimatum, he was left with no options. Besides, he had to think about Ramesh’s future. God knows

nobody else was thinking of him.

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 3 2 9

“There’s another thing, Gulab,” he said. “You have to do this

yourself. I don’t want anyone else involved, no one. And this—this

can never be traced back to me, you understand? I—believe me, if

I could think of another way to settle this, I would. But under no

circumstances—”

“Frank sahib,” Gulab interrupted. “Don’t worry so much.” His

tone had changed and was more relaxed, jocular. “This is nothing.”

He flicked his wrist. “Like killing off a mosquito.”

Frank didn’t like this flippancy, this carelessness. He wanted

Gulab to understand the gravity of the situation, to give it the

weight it deserved. “Listen, Gulab,” he said. “This—what I’m