The Problem with Being Slightly Heroic

by Uma Krishnaswami

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Falling Star

  TARIQ HASAN, PROUD BANGLADESHI AMERICAN, father of twins, and taxi driver with the National Limo & Cab Company, can hardly believe his luck.

  “Hey, Tariq, buddy,” his friend Dave had said through the crackle of the dashboard speaker, “guess who your next fare is? Remember I told you about that movie star, Dolly? . . . Yeah, herself. She needs a ride. . . . Yup, right now. Can you take her to the zoo?”

  Dolly Singh? Herself? Is such coincidence possible? Call it kismet. Call it fate. Call it the improbable becoming gloriously possible, as it does in the finest fillums. So Tariq wends his way through Arlington, Virginia, and hops on 395 into the District. Following the signs to the National Mall, he arrives shortly at the back entrance of the Sackler Gallery to pick up this very important passenger.

  “Dolly-di,” he says now, using the form of address his language employs for a respected sister. “Is it really you? I heard you sing in Dhaka when you did your South Asian tour.”

  Dolly assures him that she is indeed herself. Who else could she be? “Take me to the zoo, my friend,” she says. “I’m looking for an elephant.”

  Dini’s father dodges the cars and trucks and vans on the roads of Washington. He navigates an endless series of traffic lights, all bent on turning red just as he pulls up. But he sticks with it, and soon they are turning into the parking lot at the National Zoo. That is not soon enough for some of his passengers, but that’s how life is, full of missed beats.

  Now they emerge to race to the Elephant House, arriving collectively out of breath. A small group of fans is already keeping Dolly on her toes.

  Mini is there, along with the other elephants, in an enclosure with a high Plexiglas wall separating them from the humans. Her cold now cured, she no longer needs to be alone. She’s up against the Plexiglas, waving her trunk and waffling for attention. People! Mimi likes people.

  Kris is there, looking confused.

  “Chickoo darling,” says Dolly. “Are you okay? Didn’t you get my note?”

  “Oh, Dolly,” says Chickoo weakly, “I was so worried.”

  “Oh, Chickoo,” says Dolly.

  “Oh, Dolly,” says Chickoo.

  Dini knows they can go on this way for quite a while, so she coughs politely to remind them there are steps to be danced.

  Also present is a cabdriver named Tariq Hasan. He, too, is a fan. “I’m so grateful to my friend Dave,” he says to Dolly, “for putting me in touch with you. Such a gift. Truly, meeting you is the aloo in my singara, the macch in my jhol.”

  Dolly, unfazed at being compared to the potato in a pastry or the fish in a curry, declares, “Friendship is an emerald in the necklace of life.” She explains to everyone how she came to have Tariq as her driver—a fan, of all things, in this country so far from India-where-the-fans-all-live. It’s a complicated plotline, full of twists and turns, like one of Dolly’s movies. Tariq’s friend is that same driver in whose taxi Maddie was squished and Dini was knocked breathless by a suitcase. The best dances come from such intersecting movements.

  “And fans are the jewels in a star’s night sky,” concludes Dolly in a poetic burst.

  Maddie gets the connections too, Dini can see. A memory surfaces instantly between them, of flying bags in a crammed taxi. “This whole elephant thing started in Dave’s cab,” Maddie says.

  “I guess so,” says Dini.

  “Great minds follow the same trails through life’s forest,” Dolly says vaguely.

  “Who’s Dave?” says Brenna, confused, so they have to explain the story line to her all over again. She’s not yet used to the twisty story lines of Dolly’s life.

  At the time, Dini wished that she hadn’t put ideas of parades and elephants into Dolly’s head. But now here is an elephant and there is the opening, coming up so very soon. It makes perfect sense to synchronize the two. Why not?

  But in every dance routine there are false steps to correct. Kris’s boss is stepping out of tune. “No elephant of ours is going to be in a parade,” he says. “It’s out of the question. We are a zoo, not a circus.”

  “Elephant rodeo?” Dad mutters.

  “Daddy,” says Dini.

  “Sorry, couldn’t help it,” says Dad.

  “I remember going to the circus as a slip of a boy . . .,” Mr. Dustup begins, rising partially from the bench over which he has draped himself.

  “Not now, Soli,” Dolly hisses. He subsides.

  “It might be fun,” Kris says. “It would cheer Mini up for sure.”

  “She’ll be fine when all this is over,” says her boss, waving his hands at the remains of the construction—unfinished ceilings and piles of boxes and debris outside the building.

  “Oh, must you be so cruel?” Dolly demands, flinging a bangle up in the air.

  The bangle flies over the Plexiglas partition. Mini catches it tidily. She juggles it with glee. She tosses it up, catches it as it comes back down, and ends the routine with a pleased snuffle.

  “Stunning!” the girls chorus. The zoo director, Kris’s boss, glares at them.

  Mr. Dustup awakens suddenly. He stands up from his bench. He stretches. He wiggles his ears. He practically glows around the edges, as if a sudden fire has ignited in his studio executive mind. “What PR,” he murmurs. “Think of it. Everyone will know that your elephant was at a Dolly opening.”

  He says it softly, but the words leave traces of themselves in the high-ceilinged interior of the Elephant House. Dolly-Dolly-Dolly, go the echoes. Opening-ning-ning.

  “You think so?” says the zoo director, snapping to alertness himself.

  “Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!” choruses his audience, Dini and Maddie and Brenna and Chickoo Uncle and Mr. Soli Dustup and Tariq the cabdriver. Mini wiggles her ears.

  “People will flock to your zoo,” says Mr. Dustup, hitting his stride. “You will have donations. Your memberships will rise. Fame.” He throws his arms wide open. Dini throws her arms wide too in that Dolly gesture.

  So do Brenna and Maddie. Three pairs of arms fly up in synchrony. Perfect.

  “Maybe,” says Chickoo Uncle, piping up, “someone will want to make a movie here.”

  The zoo director whips his head around, listening to these suggestions with light dawning all over his face.

  “Why not?” It’s Soli’s turn. “Anything’s possible.”

  “We can tell Filmi Kumpnee,” Dini says. “They’ll be happy.”

  “Who’s that?” says Kris, puzzled.

  Dini explains about the fan magazine and website, whose reporters and editors have been worried about Dolly and have been communicating that worry to fans worldwide.

  “Worldwide?” says the zoo director.

  “Worldwide,” says Mr. Soli Dustup. “Let me tell you, my good man, all about the Bombay fillum business. But first you must understand that the matter of the elephant is really very easily accomplished. Look here, they don’t call me the Visualizer for nothing. . . .”

  The entire troupe then exits to the elephant yard, where Kris lets Mini and the other elephants out into the newly constructed run (now well secured at all exits) for their evening exercise. Meanwhile, Mr. Dustup has the zoo director firmly by the arm. He is walking him through his visualization of Dolly’s grand opening, and Kris’s boss is nodding, nodding. He is mesmerized by Mr. Dustup.

  Is it a filmi thing? Will Dini be able to hold an audience that way someday? What a thrilling thought. It makes her feel slightly heroic.

  Dusk falls. The pleasant landscape blurs gently into darkness. “Oh, look at that!” Dolly points to the sky. “A falling star!”

  “To be precise, a shooting star,” Dad says. “A meteorite.”

  “Mostly I prefer my stars to rise,” says Mr. Soli Dustup, blowing an affectionate kiss at Dolly.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Alert!

  AND SO THIS LONG DAY comes to an end, this day that is three days short of the grand opening, this day f
illed with flags, cakes, rehearsals, elephants, arguments, and missing and shooting stars. Its beat is well timed, its rhythm has slowed and gentled, and all our heroic participants are ready now for a well-earned rest.

  Alas, that is not to be. Even the best-rehearsed dance routine may be brought to disaster by an object left carelessly onstage. In this case, by an object left at the top of the stairs, where a person could easily trip over it and come crashing down.

  The object is a backpack.

  The person is Maddie.

  Having gone to check the Filmi Kumpnee website for updates, and having found a most alarming one, she prints it out and rushes for the stairs, to join her mother and Dini and share this new development with them. But she forgets one thing that the Filmi Kumpnee people keep stressing in all their columns. She forgets to be alert.

  Maddie was not supposed to trip and fall. Tripping and falling was not a part of the choreography for the grand opening dance. But trip Maddie does. She falls. She yowls in agony.

  A couple of hours later in the nearest urgent-care facility, it is established that she has broken a toe. The pinkie toe on her right foot. She is sent home with her toes taped together and her foot encased in an ugly, square orthopedic shoe. No dancing, she has been told. Dancing is not in her immediate future.

  Here is the cause of this tragic event—from the “News ’n’ Views” column of Filmi Kumpnee: Your Magazine of the Stars:

  Faithful fans of our own oh-so-fabulous Dolly Singh, take note. An inside source sends us word from America, where our Dolly is visiting. The word is . . .

  False accusation!

  Yes, we know that is two words, but wait. Unnamed people are accusing us of stealing Dolly’s things to sell on the Internet. Our reputation is at stake, just when we have big plans. Big plans to enhance and enrich a major artistic collection.

  “What?” you cry. We cry too. Our tears are flowing, we can assure you. Copiously.

  But what is the use of crying? We must do something. And we will. We will confront our accuser and clear our good name.

  Meanwhile, Dolly fans, unite to help us gather round our star. Go to Washington, D.C., to support her at the grand opening of KHSV. We, too, will do our best to send our fearless reporter.

  We are ever alert, so you be alert too. Watch this spot for the latest in this thrilling saga of world travel and conquest.

  Dini reads the printout sadly. She wonders, What plans? What collection? Those questions fade because there are so many others that need Dini’s attention. Too many, all at once. To think she imagined herself to be even slightly heroic. The problem with that, she can see, is that heroes get stuck with having to find answers to the tough questions when no one else can. That thought settles inside her like a particularly heavy and uncomfortable rock.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Sleuths

  MADDIE’S MOM UNFOLDS THE FUTON in the family room and makes a bed there so Maddie doesn’t have to walk upstairs.

  “I’ll bring the sleeping bag for me,” Dini says.

  “Maybe I should sleep down here, Dini,” Gretchen says, “in case she needs anything at night.”

  “Mom, no!” Maddie says. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll come get you if she needs anything,” Dini promises.

  Gretchen hovers and hovers for ages before she finally turns the light off and leaves them alone. It is now past midnight, a whole new day, but the awful thing that has just happened is only now beginning to sink in.

  “Does it hurt?” Dini asks as Maddie fixes the pillow under her foot.

  Maddie wrinkles her nose and purses her lips and says, “Nah, not really,” which doesn’t sound very convincing.

  Then she says, “We need to talk to him. That Ollie guy. He knows something. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s got her passport.”

  “I’ll call the restaurant,” says Dini. “Tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Sleuths,” Maddie says, stretching her arms above her head and watching the shadows on the wall. “We need to be sleuths.”

  “We do,” says Dini. “Look, I’ll call him and talk to him or to that woman—Alana. I bet she knows. Maybe she can get him to return the passport to Dolly. If he’s the thief.”

  “I think he is,” Maddie says. “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know. I think we should do this right. Check all the options. Sort of like Dolly does in KHSV, you know what I mean?”

  Maddie gets very quiet.

  “What do you think?” says Dini.

  But Maddie is not listening. The painkillers have done their job and knocked her out. Maddie has fallen asleep.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Breaking News

  NO-NO-NO!

  This is terrible. It is worse than elephants on the loose. Much worse than the little matter of finding a person to bake a cake. Maddie’s falling down the stairs gives new meaning to the phrase “breaking news.” Sleuthing is a whole lot tougher when one of the sleuths is blurry eyed from painkillers.

  The breaking news has kept Dini awake. She couldn’t sleep all night, and now it is early morning. She tries closing her eyes, but patterns circle in her mind like dance steps, looping back on themselves over and over until Dini’s dizzy. She turns over and back and over again. It’s no use. She bunches the sleeping bag around her because she’s cold, then flings it off again because she’s hot.

  She remembers something that she can and should do. Right now. She can’t sleep anyway, so why not? She tiptoes to the computer room, expecting to find it empty, but Gretchen is there already, tidying up.

  “Can I just do one quick thing?” Dini asks. “It’s really important.”

  “Now? It’s not even six a.m.,” says Gretchen, but she turns the computer on before heading to the kitchen in pursuit of her morning coffee.

  Dini pulls up the White House website and clicks her way to the “Contact Us” page.

  She fills in all the required fields, using Maddie’s address and contact information so that the president knows she’s close by and not writing all the way from India. Then she types her message into the box with its warning: “Please limit your message to 2,500 characters.”

  Dear Mr. President,

  My name is Nandini Kumaran, but my friends call me Dini. I am a big fan of the Indian movie star Dolly Singh, and my friends Maddie and Brenna are too. We are having a grand opening of Dolly’s movie at the Smithsonian. Now the caterer has dumped us because they’re going to be doing the White House Easter Egg Roll instead and have to be at a meeting the same time as our grand opening. That is a little unfair. I don’t know what you can do, but I wanted to let you know.

  Sincerely,

  Dini Kumaran

  She pauses to consider how to count the characters in that message. Does 2,500 mean with spaces or without? She counts both ways and breathes easy. That is 407 characters without spaces and 504 with. “Piece of cake,” she whispers, channeling Dad.

  She clicks “Contact me” and types the phrase in the prompt box. It says “from. msSteps,” whatever that means. She checks to make sure her case and punctuation match the prompt. This will prove to the president that she is a human being and not a spambot. Then she hits “Submit” and relaxes as the confirmation page pops up. “Thank you!” it says. It goes on to assure Dini that she can indeed help the president to secure the future of America. She is not sure she’s doing that exactly, but the bold letters and the friendly exclamation point are a comfort.

  “Are you done?” Gretchen says, returning with a bitterly fragrant cup of coffee. “Go back to sleep, you. You don’t need to be up for a while yet.”

  Dini leaps up from the chair and throws her arms around Gretchen’s neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cries.

  “You’re welcome,” says Maddie’s mom, surprised.

  When Dini gets back to her sleeping bag on the floor of the family room, she finds Maddie murmuring, “One, two, three. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-t
wo.”

  Oh no! In her sleep Maddie’s thinking of the one thing that she can’t do—dance. It’s so unfair. Can’t toes be designed better so they don’t just snap when a person loses her balance and falls down a few stairs? Way too many things still need Dini’s attention—cakes and catering and passports. She does not need toes on that list.

  What’s more, Maddie’s trying so hard to be brave. “Does it hurt?” Dini kept asking the night before. To which Maddie scrunched up her face, chewed her lip, and said, “No, not really. Not so badly.” That was clearly not true at all.

  Now, in her sleep, Maddie’s still trying. Dini’s heart feels slightly fractured out of sympathy.

  Another thought tugs at her. Will the dance even work with only two people in it? Brenna’s very good, but still, how do you trace a pattern that’s supposed to go in circles when you have only two dancers onstage? There’s no time now to change the whole thing.

  Maybe it doesn’t matter, she tells herself. Mini and Dolly will steal the show, so maybe no one will pay attention to that opening dance. Fans will come to see Dolly, to hear her sing, to attend the premiere of her latest, greatest movie. They will not come to see two kids putting on an opening dance.

  Which is fine. Isn’t it? Of course it is. Dolly’s the star. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

  And yet, and yet . . . why does that thought jab Dini with its sharp little needles? Why does it deflate her, make her spirits sink and sink some more, until she feels as if she’s falling away from her hopes and dreams and plans, yes, plans? This trip was going to be so much fun, and now it’s become a disaster with broken bones and stolen passports dancing everywhere.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Grimaces

  SUNDAY DAWNS FINE AND MILD, with fluffy clouds drifting happily through a clear blue postcard of a sky. Birds are chirping. Squirrels are scurrying. Azalea bushes have burst forth in scarlet and pink and purple bloom. Nature seems to be busy scattering promises of happiness everywhere.