She slipped into the suite with all the stealth of a burglar, called out “Audie?” But there was no reply. The suite was empty.
•
In the darkness outside the Agni enclosure, the smell was more apparent. Audie had stood just at nightfall watching the sun drop, dissolving into the depths of dust and haze that lay in thick bars above the horizon, obliterating the mountains—and the mountains were the Himalayas. Rising around him in the gathering dusk was the sharpness of dry trees, the stray grit in the air, the dander of grubby monkey fur—and the smell of boiled beans, burned meat, woodsmoke, and foul water—until the darkness itself seemed to stifle him.
Had Beth not announced that she was getting an evening treatment, he would not have come. But impulsively he had called Anna’s cell phone and, as though expecting his call, she’d given him explicit directions, saying that she would meet him at six-thirty. She’d chosen sundown, but even at sundown there was leftover light, and this was the reason he gave for her being late.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Her voice came out of the darkness. She was walking toward him, and she emerged as though materializing before him like a phantom.
“I didn’t see you coming. Don’t you have a flashlight?”
“A torch, sir, yes. But not necessary now.”
She did not want to be seen. That was a sign of her seriousness. And so Audie summed her up quickly: She is meeting me secretly. She thinks she knows what I want. She is willing to cooperate—all this was obvious in her unwillingness to use a light. Artful, he thought, but even I don’t know what I want.
“Your cell phone works pretty well on the hill.”
“My mobile, sir. Guest Services provides. Sometimes we are on call for night treatments.”
“Is that what this is?”
Anna laughed, snuffling nervously. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Where’s your flashlight, honey?”
“Here, sir.”
He groped for it, found her warm hand, took the flashlight and switched it on, hoping that the light would drive away the smells. It seemed to work; as soon as he could see the stony path, the whiffy shadow dispersed, and he could breathe more easily.
“Where are we going?”
“My friend’s flat, sir.”
“In the woods?”
“Not woods, sir. Residential Civil Lines.”
“Where do you live, Anna?”
“Staff block, sir. Hostel, sir.”
“You keep saying ‘sir.’”
“Yes, sir,” and she giggled, her hand over her mouth.
Only the path just ahead was lit, but farther down the hill there was the glow that he now knew was the town of Hanuman Nagar and from that distant glow came chattering and shouting.
“What’s that noise?”
“Temple, sir.”
“Monkey temple?”
“Hanuman temple, sir.”
Audie was careful not to touch her, though she was walking just in front of him on the steep downward path toward the sound of a coughing vehicle and the glare of sulfurous lights. He saw a three-story squarish building, a smell of rotting clothes lingering near it.
“Is that it?”
“It is, sir.”
But he had stopped. He’d lost the momentum he’d had in the darkness on the path above.
“In here, sir.”
He took a step toward her. He reached and put his arm around her, and he could tell in his embrace that she was breathing hard. She was tense, she seemed to quail, holding her face away from him yet presenting her hips to him. Her bare belly was soft like a cushion of bread dough in his hand.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, sir. I am all right, sir.” He could tell she was willing; he could also tell she was terrified. “Let we go inside, sir?”
Audie took a deep breath and, expelling it, slackened his grip on her. Aware that he was holding her lightly, he became self-conscious and let go. He felt in his pocket for his wallet that was fat with rupees, and without looking at the denominations—he carried only five-hundred-rupee notes—he took out a thickness of them and pressed them into her hand.
“This is for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Not only did she accept them, she seemed relieved. Her whole body relaxed as she breathed more easily.
“You’re a good girl. I want you to stay that way.”
“Thank you, sir. Bless you, sir.”
She giggled a bit in relief and drew another deep breath as she watched him back away, up the path.
Beth was in the room when Audie returned. He was so sheepish from his errand he did not notice how Beth held the book to shield her face, did not see her apprehension. He was himself so apprehensive.
“I wasn’t very hungry,” he said.
“I just had a snack.”
“Love ya,” he said.
Waiting in the woods, standing in the lowering darkness, had tired him; walking all that way down the path to the isolated apartment block had wearied him too. He thought, I don’t have the energy anymore to walk in darkness. And he was ashamed of himself—of the power he had over the girl to make her obey. She had been afraid. He hated himself for putting her in that position, her obvious horror at the prospect of sex, yet willing to sacrifice herself to him for the money. In the exhaustion brought on by his shame he fell asleep, his mouth open, his harsh breath rising and falling.
He did not hear Beth slip out of her bed and dress quickly; did not hear her pad to her room, carrying her sandals in her hand; did not hear the door click shut.
Beth hurried from their suite to the stairwell, moving carefully out the front door, past the porte-cochère, and across the night-damp lawn to the grove of bamboo. Guided by the risen moon, she found the path to the laundry, and behind it the path to Hanuman Nagar.
“Modom! Chowkidar, modom.”
The night watchman was on his feet, saluting with one hand, his flashlight in the other, showing her the way.
Everything seemed easier now that it was an exercise of her will and not a stumbling in the darkness. The downward path lit by the fluorescence of the moon seemed much shorter, and ahead the main street of the town was empty. Two or three men hunkered on their heels, warming their hands at a flaring brazier. Some others she passed slept on the sagging rope beds they’d been squatting on earlier in the evening. The monkey temple at the curve in the road was silent, just a few torches burning.
She had been this way before; it was simpler the second time. She found the alley, stepped over the monsoon drain, smiled at the doorway where the little girl had been and was no more, and at the latched door in the whitewashed wall she tapped lightly.
A murmur came from inside, a word—but not an English word. She was aware of the twitching of curtains at the window next to the door. Then the sliding of a rusty bolt, the door snatched open, the now familiar smell of food.
“Oh, thank you,” he said.
6
They were up early for yoga, seated on their mats on the shelf of the pavilion before anyone else had arrived, even Vikram, the instructor; seated with their legs stiffly folded, an almost-achieved lotus position. Their eyes were closed. They were listening to the slight breeze brushing at the willow boughs, the twitter of birds, distant voices, feeling—as Vikram had urged every morning—the peaceful vibrations.
Hearing “Namaskar,” they opened their eyes and saw that Vikram had already taken his place on the pavilion and was holding his hands clasped. They were surrounded by other people sitting on mats. Without their realizing—for no one had spoken—the rest of the yoga class had gathered on the platform, eyes closed, waiting to begin.