“I have to go,” I tell her, gathering my jacket and walking to the door.
She calls out to me and I stop to listen but don’t turn around.
“Thank you,” she says.
As I descend the marble stairs, I’m rolling down the cuffs of my shirtsleeves. Ravi rushes in through the front door and runs directly into the drawing room. He calls out, “I heard about the—”
He comes back out of the drawing room and sees me coming down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”
The sight of him—disheveled, frightened, in a panic—fills me with disgust. Where was he when we were taking care of people injured in the building he built, the project he’s been boasting about?
“Taking care of your wife.” I button the sodden cuffs of my shirt as I come near him. “You can take over now.”
His mouth twists into an ugly frown. “You! You stay away from Sheela,” he says. “Think I haven’t seen how you look at her?”
Now I’m standing right in front of him, putting on my damp coat. Ravi smells of alcohol and cigarettes. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair, usually slicked back with Brylcreem, falls in tendrils across his forehead.
I take the cotton handkerchief from my pants pocket and dab the wet patches on my coat. I take my time, letting him wonder why my coat is damp. Then I raise my chin. He’s taller than I am, but that doesn’t stop me looking him in the eye.
“You should look at her more often, Ravi.” I push his chest lightly.
He stumbles back, as if I’ve slapped him.
I step around him. When I reach the front door, I turn. “Sheela helped a lot of people at the cinema tonight. Now it’s your turn.”
The sedan is waiting for me when I walk outside. When I step inside the car, I realize I’ve brought the scent of Sheela’s gardenia soap with me.
AFTER THE COLLAPSE
All India Radio Bulletin
May 13, 1969
Last night, a balcony at the newly constructed Royal Jewel Cinema in Jaipur collapsed, killing two and injuring forty-three others. Over a thousand people were in attendance for the grand opening of the much-anticipated building, a wholly modern theater with a screen to rival Mumbai’s biggest cinema house and surround-sound technology straight from the United States. In the opening remarks, Maharani Latika of Jaipur, who initiated the four-thousand-lakh project built by the renowned Singh-Sharma Construction, called the Royal Jewel Cinema “an historic occasion for Jaipur, home to world-renowned architecture, dazzling textiles and jewels, and, of course, Rajasthani dal batti.” Rumors of cost overruns and construction delays have been circulating for the past year. The palace expressed tremendous sadness at the loss of lives, one of whom was beloved veteran actor Rohit Seth. Mourners have laid flowers for him at the site of the tragedy. The other victim has yet to be identified. A formal statement is expected from the Jaipur Palace later today about possible reasons for the catastrophe and anticipated remedies. The actors Dev Anand and Vyjayanthimala, who were present for the showing of Jewel Thief, the first film to premiere at the cinema, were unharmed, having left at the beginning of intermission. It’s not clear how soon the Royal Jewel Cinema will reopen for business. We will bring you further developments throughout the day.
18
MALIK
Jaipur
It’s the morning after the Royal Jewel Cinema tragedy; the street sweepers have not yet started swiping at the dust with their long-whiskered jharus. After only a half hour of exhausted, numbing sleep, I wake with a start, the images of horror that I’d witnessed coming back to me: a man’s leg bent in an unnatural angle; the fleshy arm of a matron pierced with rebar, gushing blood; a gaping wound on a child’s forehead. In the night, I got up several times to pace my room, drink another glass of water, look out the window at the street—deserted but for stray dogs settling to sleep in the cool night dust.
Then the images of Sheela Singh’s naked hip, her brown nipple, float through my mind. What will Ravi say the next time he sees me? Will he tell Manu I was trying to seduce his wife? It isn’t true, but Ravi wouldn’t hesitate to stir up trouble—for Manu or for me—if it took the heat off him. Another thought: Does she know something about Ravi’s role in the construction? Is that why she was defending him to me? Or was she pardoning him for something he’d done?
It’s six o’clock, but what’s the use of trying to sleep in when sleep won’t come? I’ve been home three hours. I meant to call Auntie-Boss to tell her I’m all right, but the guesthouse has no phone. I’m sure Kanta would have called Lakshmi the moment she got home last night. I worry about Nimmi. She can’t read the Hindustani Times, but she’ll surely hear about what happened from the Aroras or from vendors at Shimla Mall, or from Lakshmi the moment Auntie-Boss finds out.
I bathe, then head off to the office just before eight. Employees usually traipse in between nine and nine thirty, but today, almost all of them are at their desks when I arrive.
Last night was a big occasion for the palace, and most of the facilities staff were present at the event. As I pass through, I nod to colleagues here and there. Engineers and secretaries huddle in clusters, talking quietly among themselves. The mood is somber, thick with uncertainty. Like me, they’re probably assuming Manu will call for an all-hands meeting about last night’s events to find out what went so wrong that the balcony could fail. Will there be an investigation, or an inquiry? Who pays for the injuries? Who among us is responsible in some way or another for the accident?
I settle at my desk and ask the operator to dial Auntie-Boss. It’s long-distance, but I don’t think Hakeem or Manu would object. I let the phone ring several times, but no one answers. So I call Kanta Auntie, who picks up at the first ring. She sounds drained, as if she, too, has not slept well, but she’s relieved to hear from me. She tells me that she spoke to Lakshmi last night, who promised to take the first train out from Shimla. I’m to pick her up at the train station this evening.
The news that Auntie-Boss is coming down floods me with relief. She’s someone I can always count on to keep a level head during a crisis.
As Kanta chatters on, I see the Maharani Latika leaving the conference room on the far side of the floor. Her eyebrows are drawn in a frown. On either side of her are gentlemen in suits. My guess is they’re her lawyers. Her Highness’s face is slightly flushed, as if she’s angry. Samir Singh and Ravi, shoulders slumped, follow her out of the conference room, and after them come Manu and two of his engineers. I interrupt Kanta to tell her I’ll stop by later and hang up.
Neither of the Singhs looks my way, which is just as well; I’m still irritated by Ravi’s late appearance last night and his callous disregard of Sheela’s feelings. He must have known she’d figure out where he’d been. Did he even bother to make up some excuse or just ask for her forgiveness?
At the front doors of the facilities offices, Her Highness stops and turns to shake the hand of everybody behind her. She’s as tall as every man, and her presence is commanding. A turbaned attendant dressed in white holds open the double doors while she goes through; he must be from the palace. Manu and his engineers watch everybody leave, then Manu says a few words to them before releasing them to return to their desks. When he catches my eye, he gestures with a pointed finger toward his office.
I step outside the office to buy two small glasses of tea from the chai-walla across the street. Then I bring the tea to Manu’s office as he’s draping his suit on a coatrack in the corner.
“Close the door,” he says.