"You gonna let me go now?" Patch said, rising to his feet.
His left hand was a dusky, mottled blue now, swollen to nearly twice its normal size He cradled it gingerly against his chest.
Jack held up the necklace. "This is what you beat up an old lady for?" he said in a low voice, feeling the rage pushing toward the surface. "She's all busted up in a hospital bed now because you wanted to rip this off, and then you threw it away."
"Look, man!" Patch said, pointing his good hand at Jack. "You've got it wrong—"
Jack saw the hand gesturing in the air two feet in front of him and the rage suddenly exploded. Without warning, he swung the sap hard against Patch's right hand. As before, crunch and a howl of pain.
As Patch sank to his knees, moaning, Jack walked past him back toward West End Avenue.
"Let's see you roll an old lady now, tough guy."
The darkness within him began to retreat. Without looking back, he started toward the more populated sections of town. The necklace tingled uncomfortably against the inside of his palm.
He wasn't far from the hospital. He broke into a run. He wanted to be rid of this thing as soon as possible.
20
The end was near.
Kusum had sent the private duty nurse out into the hall and now stood alone at the head of the bed holding the withered hand in his. Anger had receded, as had frustration and bitterness. Not gone, simply tucked away until they would be needed, leaving a void within him.
The futility of it all. All those years of life canceled by a moment of viciousness.
He could not dredge up a shred of hope of seeing the necklace returned before the end. No one could find it in time, not even the highly recommended Repairman Jack. If it was in her karma to die without the necklace, then Kusum would have to accept it. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he had done everything in his power to retrieve it.
A knock at the door. The private duty nurse stuck her head in. "Mr. Bahkti?"
He repressed the urge to scream. It would feel so good to scream at someone.
"I told you I wished to be alone in here."
"I know. But there's a man out here. He insisted I give you this." She held out her hand. "Said you were expecting it."
Kusum stepped toward the door. He could not imagine...
Something dangled from her hand. It looked like—it wasn't possible!
He snatched the necklace from her fingers.
It's true! It's real! He found it!
Kusum wanted to sing out his joy, to dance with the startled nurse. Instead, he pushed her out the door and rushed to the bedside. The clasp was broken, so he wrapped the necklace about the throat of the nearly lifeless form there.
"It's all right now!" he whispered in their native tongue.
"You're going to be all right!"
He stepped into the hall and saw the private duty nurse.
"Where is he?"
She pointed down the hall. "At the nursing station. He's not even supposed to be on the floor, but he was very insistent. "
I'm sure he was. Kusum pointed toward the room. "See to her."
Then he hurried down the hall.
He found Jack dressed in ragged shorts and mismatched shirts—he had seen better dressed stall attendants at the Calcutta bazaar—leaning against the counter at the nursing station, arguing with a burly head nurse who turned to Kusum as he approached.
"Mr. Bahkti, you are allowed on the floor because of your grandmother's critical condition. But that doesn't mean you can have your friends wandering in and out at all hours of the night!"
Kusum barely looked at her. "We will be but a minute. Go on about your business."
He turned to Jack. He looked hot and tired and sweaty. Oh, for two arms to properly embrace this man, even though he probably smells like everyone else in this country of beef eaters. Certainly an extraordinary man. Thank Kali for extraordinary men, no matter what their race or dietary habits.
"I assume I made it in time?" Jack said.
"Yes. Just in time. She will be well now."
The American's brow furrowed. "It's going to patch her up?"
"No, of course not. But knowing it has been returned will help her up here." He tapped his forefinger against his temple. "For here is where all healing resides."
"Sure," Jack said, his expression hiding none of his skepticism. "Anything you say."
"I suppose you wish the rest of your fee."
Jack nodded. "Sounds good to me."
He pulled the thick envelope from his tunic and thrust it at Jack. Despite his prior conviction of the impossibility of his ever seeing the stolen necklace again, Kusum had kept the packet with him as a gesture of hope and of faith in the goddess he prayed to.
"I wish it were more. I don't know how to thank you enough. Words cannot express how much—"
"It's okay," Jack said quickly. Kusum's outpouring of gratitude seemed to embarrass him.
Kusum, too, was taken aback by the intensity of the emotions within him. He had given up hope. He had asked this man, a stranger, to perform an impossible task, and it had been done! He detested emotional displays, but his customary control over his feelings had slipped since the nurse placed the necklace in his hand.
"Where did you find it?"
"I found the guy who stole it and convinced him to take me to it."
Kusum felt his fist clench and the muscles at the back of his neck bunch involuntarily. "Did you kill him as I asked?"
Jack shook his head. "Nope. Told you I wouldn't. But he won't be punching out old ladies for some time. Don't worry. He's been paid back in kind. I fixed it."
Kusum nodded silently, hiding the storm of hatred raging across his mind. Mere pain was not enough—not nearly enough. The man responsible here must pay with his life.
"Very well, Mr. Jack. My family and I owe you a debt of gratitude. If there is ever anything you need that is in my power to secure for you, any goal that is in my power to achieve, you have merely to ask. All efforts within the realm of human possibility" —he could not repress a smile here— “and perhaps even beyond, will be expended on your behalf.”
"Thank you," Jack said with a smile and a slight bow. "I hope that won't be necessary. I think: I'll be heading home now."
"Yes. You look tired."
But as Kusum studied him, he sensed more than mere physical fatigue. There was an inner pain that hadn't been present this morning...a spiritual exhaustion. Was something fragmenting this man? He hoped not. That would be tragic. He wished he could ask, but did not feel he had the right.
"Rest well."
He watched until the American had been swallowed by the elevator, then he returned to the room. The private duty nurse met him at the door.
"She seems to be rallying, Mr. Bahkti! Respirations are deeper, and her blood pressure's up!"
"Excellent!" Nearly twenty-four hours of constant tension began to unravel within him. She would live. He was sure of it now. "Have you a safety pin?"
The nurse looked at him quizzically but went to her purse on the windowsill and produced one. Kusum used it as a clasp for the necklace, then turned to the nurse.
"This necklace is not to be removed for any reason whatsoever. Is that clear?"
The nurse nodded timidly. "Yes, sir. Quite clear."
"I will be elsewhere in the hospital for a while," he said, starting for the door. "If you should need me, have me paged.”
Kusum took the elevator down to the first floor and followed signs to the emergency room. He had learned that this was the only hospital serving the midtown West Side. Jack had hinted that he had injured the mugger's hands. If he should seek medical care, it would be here.
He took a seat in the crowded waiting area of the emergency department. People of all sizes and colors brushed against him on their way in and out of the examining rooms, back and forth to the receptionist counter. He found the odors and the company distasteful, but intended to wait a few hours here. He was vaguely aware of the attention he drew but was used to it. A one-armed man dressing as he did in the company of westerners soon became immune to curious stares. He ignored them. They were not worthy of his concern.