“I was just looking.”
“Needing chit for passage. Having chit, madam?”
“Who are you?”
“Chowkidar, madam.”
“This fence wasn’t here yesterday.”
“No, madam. Put up today morning.”
Testing him, she said, “What if I want to go to the laundry?”
“Not available.” The man, still holding his truncheon, folded his arms over his chest.
“I gave you money yesterday.”
“No, madam. You gave to Kumar.”
“Where is Kumar?”
“Gone, madam. His willage, madam.” He gestured with the truncheon, then dinged it on the boards of the new gate. “Hanuman Nagar side.”
She could see that the watchman was adamant, that her arguing with him would only give him a greater victory, something he clearly relished. His eyes glittered with defiance, his posture—skinny though he was—that of stubborn authority.
On her way back to the pool, rattled by the encounter—but why should this flunky rattle me? she thought—she passed the spa to get a glimpse into the lobby. Instead of the usual boy in the chair who received people for treatments, she saw three men dressed in white, standing like sentries. Noticing her, one of them came to the door.
“Yes, madam?”
Beth smiled. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“You have booking for treatment?” He hadn’t smiled back.
“Not today.” She peered behind him. “Is that Satish?”
“No, madam.”
“You didn’t even turn around. How are you so sure?”
“Satish is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Charge-sheeted, madam.”
She smiled again, as though she’d understood. “Actually, I was just going to the pool.”
Gone? All that she could think was that he had somehow slipped away, that he was guilty of some sort of thieving. He had asked her for money. With money on his mind he had probably stolen something from the spa’s strongbox—some guests paid for their treatments in cash; she had seen the stacks of rupees.
Beth looked at the big blue pool, remembering the monkeys—how they’d crept around her, snatched her food, frightened her, until Satish had appeared with his stick to scatter them. I have not stopped watching you.
Slipping off her smock, kicking her sandals to the side of a lounge chair, Beth walked to the edge of the pool, the sun on her face.
“Take shower first!”
The voice was so sharp, such a screech, that Beth’s whole body jerked as if pushed. She saw at her feet a floppy bathing cap—rubber, with a mass of pink plastic petals attached to it—enclosing a fierce-faced Indian woman she had never seen before.
“Excuse me?”
“You cannot use pool without shower!”
The force of the woman’s utterance was shocking, even her big teeth were frightening, but she was not just angry. She also seemed panicky, as if fearful of contamination.
“Who said I was using the pool?”
“Foot is in water!”
It was true. Beth was standing in the gutter that ran around the pool to receive and drain the overflow.
The woman was probably insane. Indians could seem mentally unbalanced, especially when they didn’t get their way. Contamination was always on their tiny paranoid minds. Beth kicked at the water in spite and left.
Over lunch, Audie and Beth hardly spoke except to remark on the pleasant weather, the sun-flecked veranda, the flowering trees, the bolder birds raiding the leftovers at just-vacated tables.
“Lovely place,” Audie said.
He was feeling virtuous again for having resisted the girl, virtuous for having given her money. He had assured her safety. He told himself that he had come all this way and done the right thing.
“You look happy,” he said.
Beth nodded, swallowed her mouthful of food, and said, “Never better.”
All her questions had been answered. She had braved the risk. She had nothing to compare it to—she did not want to think that it had been brutal, though Satish had been briefly fierce. Food on his breath, his soapy-smelling skin, his teeth reddened by the betel nut he chewed. I am bad, I am wicious. His harshness. She replayed it all in her mind, until What about present, madam?
“What’s wrong?”
Had she frowned? She said, “Nothing.”
The waiters came and went, refilling the water glasses, using tongs to put warm naan into the basket, and finally slipping the bill to be signed into a plastic wallet and placing it near Audie’s plate.
“So polite,” Audie said.
He found himself whispering, because everyone else was whispering. The angry woman Beth had seen in the pool was hunched over her food, avoiding eye contact, and there were some people eating on the veranda whom Beth and Audie had never seen before at lunchtime.
That large table near the far rail, for example, was occupied by two men in suits and ties, looking out of place, one of them talking to the man Audie knew to be the manager, a man with an unpronounceable name whom he spoke to every Friday to renew their booking for another week. Today was Friday—he’d be seeing the man later.
When the waiter approached Audie to pick up the wallet with the signed lunch bill, Audie put his hand over it to detain him.
“Who’s that?”
“Mr. Shah, sir. Owner of Agni, sir. And his managing partner. Also, as you know, Mr. Rajagalopalachari, manager.”
Audie smiled in the direction of the owner, this Mr. Shah, as businessman to businessman, wishing for eye contact. But the man was still speaking, using the back of his hand, tapping on the table with his gold ring for emphasis.
“I want to tell him he’s got a great little place here,” Audie said. He kept looking. “He’s got things on his mind. He’s working. I recognize that. Taking a meeting.”
“Coffee, sir? Madam?”
“I’m going to do without the toxins,” Beth said.
“Good idea.”
They left the veranda restaurant holding hands, feeling grateful—to have each other, to be in India, to be staying in this wonderful place.
“Another week, Tugar?”
They walked through the gardens and up the slope to the lobby of the main building to signal their intention to stay another week.
The clerk they spoke to stood up at his desk and faced them. “You must see the manager, sir.”
“He’s at the restaurant,” Audie said.
“Yes, sir.”
“So what do we do?”
“Come back later, sir.”
They had a nap by the pool, in the shade of the overhanging trees, and at four, yawning, they made their way back up the slope for the formality of requesting another week.
A man they had never seen before met them on the stairs of the main building, greeting them but also obstructing their way. He was smiling broadly, though his eyes had a glaze of unblinking vigilance.
“You’re not the manager,” Audie said.
“Acting manager.”
“Where’s the manager?”
“He has been put on indefinite leave,” the man said. “How may I help you?”
“It’s just, here we are again. We’re staying another week.”
There was a head-wagging that meant “yes,” a wobble that meant “certainly,” but this man’s head did not move, and he went on staring. Then his mouth tightened. He said, “Sorry, sir.”
Audie said, “What do you mean?”
“Fully booked, sir. From tomorrow, sir.”
“We’ve been doing this week to week. We’ve never had a problem. You can fix us up.”
Beth added, “We’ll take anything you’ve got.”
“Nothing available, sir.” He had begun to smile, which made his intransigence the more baffling.