Matters only got worse at the reception. The Western fashions for evening wear tended to run toward body suits with strategic swirls. Only the young and fit usually wore them, but that did not make it easier for Pala. It took more and more effort to concentrate on what people were saying to him. It took more and more effort not to stare. His responses grew ever more disjointed, and he felt ever more conspicuous in his need. He finally went to sit on a couch by himself with a plateful of appetizers, to pretend he was eating.
“So,” Karen Springer suddenly plopped down on the couch beside him, “how’s it been going?”
“Ah, very well, thank you. Very well.”
She looked at him narrowly. “I’d say you need to relax. What are you worried about anyway? I’ve heard several people comment how we could learn something from India with regard to gracious manners.”
“You-you are very good.” He swallowed some kind of appetizer with difficulty.
“Well, then, relax,” she commanded him confidently.
“I-ah-would not like to damage India’s current good reputation by relaxing,” he managed to say.
She eyed him narrowly again as understanding gradually dawned. “I see.” She paused. “Well, even as to that, I don’t think you’d have much to worry about. Not only do you have charming manners, but you’re exotic. And handsome,” she added as an afterthought. “I bet three out of four unattached women in this room would be quite curious to give you a try.”
He stared at her, speechless. He completely forgot to chew his last bite of appetizer. He did not begin to recognize himself in her description. He couldn’t believe anyone, certainly not a woman, could calmly sit there saying such things. And the notion that anyone could give anyone “a try.”… He sat there, dumbfounded.
“Oh, go on,” she laughed at him, “don’t even try to tell me you never thought of it.”
He blinked and gulped and started chewing again. He wasn’t sure he liked her ability to share these particular feelings of his. “Um,” he finally said. “Thinking is one thing. I would never say anything. Probably not even to myself.”
“Well, it’s been said. So go for it.”
There was a directness about her, a matter-of-factness that was appalling. How did she expect him, after thirty years, to race off and pick up some woman? So many thoughts, so many longings, so many wakeful nights couldn’t simply be wrapped up in an offhand, “Well, I’ll see you upstairs then, shall I?”
Slowly, he shook his head, staring at the floor. “I come from a more dream-heavy land,” he murmured to himself.
His symposium was on the morning of the fifth day. The months he’d spent preparing paid off wonderfully, the discussion following the talks, including his, was animated, and before he knew it he’d been corralled into having lunch with the chairman of the philosophy department at a large Canadian university, discussing the ethics of selection. (And of anti-selection, thought Pala heavily. Soon he would have to discuss it with Saira.) The lunch stretched out over three hours, and Pala missed most of the afternoon talks. Shaving hurriedly before dinner, he checked his commlinker as an afterthought. There was a message.
“Identify,” he spoke at the machine lying next to the washbasin.
“Saira Satnam, Ganjapur, India, 555-10-357-”
His heart skipped a beat. “Stop,” he cut the machine off. Saira… sending him a message…. Why… ?
“Read text,” he ordered the commlinker.
“Pala, just a short note to say that I hope your talk this morning went well. My cousin and her family came for a visit. Have I ever mentioned what conceited, helpless, silly asses rich children can be? All the best. Saira.”
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub, half his face still unshaved. A strange, wild joy shot through him that he scarcely dared to let himself feel. She had sent him an unexpected message. Just like that. His heart didn’t seem to care if she took justice in her own hands. It was then he realized how much he loved her.
Suddenly he leaped up and finished dressing for dinner in a frenzy of activity. It was impossible to contain his excitement. He wanted to run and jump and shout. He vaulted over the bed to get his dhoti, and laughed out loud. He made a valiant effort to settle down.
He e-mailed back. “Dearest Saira. Overjoyed that you agree. However, we need to talk as soon as I return. About—”
He stopped himself just in time. If Veerapatram really was monitoring her mail, it wouldn’t do to tip him off. He sent the message without any explanatory sentence.
The air of Ganjapur enveloped him like a warm blanket on a summer day. How could he have forgotten the heat here so quickly?
Looking about rapidly, he didn’t see anyone suspicious-looking, but neither did he see the three family servants he’d asked to meet him. Someone bumped into him, someone he hadn’t even noticed, and gave a sharp tug on his cabin bag. He whirled, clutching it more tightly than ever. What would have happened next if he’d remained unaccompanied, Pala did not like to think, but suddenly the huge Punjabi guard from Siva appeared, towering over the lesser men scurrying around below.
“Ji Satnam hoped it might be convenient for you to come directly to Siva,” he murmured, bowing as he approached.
Pala stared about wildly, but the would-be robber had vanished. Pala’s breathing gradually returned to normal.
Pulling up at the Settlement, for once without dread, Pala was glad but surprised to see Saira waiting at the door. There wasn’t a chaperone in sight. She had clearly made her mind up, money or no money. However, they hadn’t actually said anything, and he didn’t quite know how to say hello to her. In the time it took him to get out of the car he decided that if she was bold enough to stand at the door and wait for him, he could be bold enough hug her. She seemed surprised and pleased at that.
He was wondering when his arms and chest would stop tingling.
Pulling him along she said, “So, you want to discuss involuntary gender balance, I suppose?”
“Uh, yes,” he said, feeling inexpressibly relieved that she understood the problem.
“Well, Pala, I’m afraid my feeling is that a disaster has been created through stupidity and prejudice, and that waiting to do anything about it until people are less stupid is just asking for more. We can’t afford any more.”
“Are you going to tell them that when they want an explanation?”
“Gladly,” she said. She looked eager to start.
“No, Saira, listen. You’re taking a choice away from people. The end does not justify the means.”
“Pala, if the gender-balance problem isn’t fixed, and soon, there won’t be anyone around to appreciate your ethical restraint,” said Saira, kindly but firmly, as they reached a little shed apparently made of screens, inside and out. When they stepped inside, Pala saw why. It was an insectary, quite a large one.
“As soon as I get the regulatory approval—which should be quite soon now because all the simulations have checked out and the process has been fast-tracked—I’ll get my gene copies into these beasties, and away they go.” Saira smiled happily, and her army of mosquitoes sang back in their thin, high whine.
More and more of them landed on the screens enclosing the internal passage, smelling the blood in their midst. Pala frowned at the thought that in a very few days, their bites could be changing his life. And what was next? After Saira did this for a good cause, would someone else, the government, the criminals, do it for a bad one?
“Won’t Veerapatram try to block it?” he suddenly objected.