by Amanda Lees
‘Find out? Find out what?’ Ms Martin’s tone was patient.
Kumari raised a tear-streaked face. ‘Find out who killed her, of course.’
‘Your mother was murdered?’
Solemnly, Kumari nodded her head. Ms Martin studied her for a moment. Kumari could see that she was thinking. Then her teacher pulled out a handkerchief.
‘Here, Kumari, clean yourself up.’
Kumari glanced down at the still smouldering flask and caught sight of her reflection. Her eyes stared out, racoonlike, from her smoke-grimed face. Tear streaks had carved furrows through the soot, adding to the mammalian impression. Kumari grimaced.
‘Ay caramba!’ she said.
‘You speak Spanish?’ enquired Ms Martin.
‘Simpsons,’ said Kumari.
‘Simpsons? Oh, I see,’ Ms Martin began to laugh. ‘You know, it’s quite natural to feel as you do if a parent is . . . ah . . . missing from your life. What about your father? Is he still around?’
‘He’s back in my kingdom. He runs it, you see. He’s a very busy man, my Papa. Sometimes too busy for me.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Ms Martin. ‘My dad, he heads up a pharmaceutical company. He makes big money, but sometimes I think he feels he missed out on us.’
Ms Martin twisted her hands as she said this, the bitten nails belying her bright smile.
‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’ asked Kumari.
‘One of each. And you?’
Kumari shook her head. ‘None. Which means I get to be the only trainee goddess.’
At this, Ms Martin let out a kind of bark of a little laugh. Her earrings waggled as she shook her head. They were shaped like double helixes today.
‘You are quite a conundrum, Kumari. A puzzle,’ she said. ‘I mean, where is this kingdom you come from? I’m not sure I know.’
‘I’m not sure either,’ said Kumari. ‘We just call it our kingdom. Papa told me it’s not marked on any map. It’s a kind of hidden place.’
Ms Martin frowned. ‘You come from some kind of a kingdom without a name? But that’s impossible. And what is with this “World Beyond?”’
‘This is the World Beyond,’ said Kumari. Surely Ms Martin knew that? Imagine coming from somewhere and not knowing what it was called. OK, so she could hardly talk. Maybe she could explain it another way.
‘You see, I’m a goddess,’ she said.
‘A goddess. Right.’
Same reaction as Ma had had. What was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they recognise a divine being when they saw one?
Ms Martin was looking at her with that special smile on her face. The look grown-ups reserved for when they thought you were nuts.
‘And what makes you think you’re a goddess?’ enquired Ms Martin.
‘Well, for one thing, I’m destined to be immortal. Or at least I would have been if I hadn’t come here,’ said Kumari. The thought brought fresh tears flooding down her face. Really, it was all too much. First Mamma. Now her own mortality. It sucked, as Bart Simpson would say. Bart talked a lot of sense.
‘Kumari, no one lives forever.’ Ms Martin’s voice was kind but firm.
‘They do where I come from,’ muttered Kumari. ‘Goddesses don’t die. But they can get stuck.’
‘Stuck?’ Now Ms Martin looked really confused.
‘That’s what happened to my Mamma. She’s stuck in this kind of limbo. She can’t ascend the Holy Mountain and she can’t cross back to be a living goddess.’
‘And why is that?’ asked Ms Martin.
‘It’s because she was murdered. Until I can find out who did it and avenge her death, she can’t move on.’
‘That’s quite a task for a girl like you.’
‘It has to be someone of Mamma’s blood who avenges her. Which means I’m the only person who can do it. I’m the only one with the right blood. Not even Papa can do it, but in any case he’s not well. That’s why he hasn’t come for me. At least, I think that must be the reason. So it’s up to me to get back home and rescue Mamma.’
‘But what about your Mamma’s parents? Or her brothers and sisters?’
Kumari sighed. OK, it was a little complicated. ‘Mamma was not born a goddess. She became one when she married Papa. It’s one of the Gifts of the Gods, being able to bestow eternal life. I’m the only one who’s both related by blood to Mamma and a living goddess. Which means I’m the only one who can save her and that’s what I’m trying to do.’
She looked forlornly at the debris on the lab bench, her gaze drifting to Mamma’s portrait.
‘May I?’ said Ms Martin, picking the picture up for a closer look. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ she said. ‘You look like her, Kumari.’
‘Uh, thank you,’ said Kumari, feeling embarrassed but rather pleased.
‘She does look like a goddess,’ went on Ms Martin. ‘If such a being were to exist.’
‘But they do!’ exclaimed Kumari. ‘We do. I just told you.’
‘Telling is one thing. I’m a science major. I need evidence. What does a god or a goddess actually do, for instance?’
‘Perform wondrous acts and answer prayers. Shoot thunder bolts across the sky’
‘Can you demonstrate that?’ asked Ms Martin.
‘Yes. Well, no. I mean, I can when I pass my Powers. Look, I’ve studied hard to become a goddess. I’ve been trying to learn my Eight Powers for, like, ever. You know, how to move through mountains. Become invisible. Command spirits. Be invincible.’
‘No, I don’t know,’ said Ms Martin. ‘I don’t believe in that kind of thing. I know you’ve been through an awful lot, Kumari. But making up stories does not help.’
Stories? For a second, Kumari thought she might explode with indignation. She’d talked to Ms Martin, trainee goddess to adult. And this was her reaction? The one person in this cesspit of a school she thought might actually help her out. The one grown-up besides Ma in whom she had confided.
‘I’ll show you!’ said Kumari. ‘Watch this. It’s Power No 8.’
She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists and chanted for all she was worth. After a few moments, Ms Martin’s voice cut across her efforts.
‘What exactly are you trying to do, Kumari?’
‘Whip up a whirlwind,’ said Kumari.
‘It doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘It doesn’t? You’re sure?’
Kumari snapped open her eyes.
‘I don’t understand,’ she wailed. ‘It’s the one Power I can almost manage.’
‘Kumari, you have to drop this. It’s bordering on the delusional.’
Delusional? And was that pity in Ms Martin’s eyes?
‘Ms Martin, I really am a trainee living goddess. These men, they kidnapped me and brought me here. They wouldn’t do that to a normal person. My father, he’s the god-king. They probably want something from him. Palace treasures, I don’t know. But I ran away from them and now I’m lost. All I want to do is get back home.’
The look on Ms Martin’s face said it all.
‘You’ve got to believe me,’ blurted Kumari. ‘Someone’s got to help me get out of here.’ She had been so determined not to cry again but, despite herself, her chin wobbled.
‘I do believe you’re someone special, Kumari,’ said Ms Martin. ‘I believe everyone is, in their own way. OK, maybe not everyone. There are exceptions. But you’ve got a good mind, you want to learn. That’s rare in a school like this. I can see you’re really trying. You’re an asset to my class.’
‘I hate this place,’ wailed Kumari. ‘I hate being in school. At least when I was at Ma’s all day I could watch Oprah on TV. Sometimes I’d chat to her, tell her my problems. I know that sounds crazy. But Oprah, she has a nice face. She looks like she really cares. Now I’m home too late to catch her and there’s no one else except Ma. Ma, well, she’s great, but she’s the one that tells me I have to come here. And I so wanted to go to school because, well, I always did. I thought I’d have
fun and make lots of friends but this is bakwas!’
‘Bakwas?’
‘It’s what we say in my country when something really sucks!’
Ms Martin thought for a moment, then sighed and patted Kumari’s arm.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Kumari. Yes, this school does suck in a lot of ways. Between you and me, when I first came I wanted to turn tail and run. But there is a lot of good here. Ms LaMotta, she’s got big plans, but she’s only been here a short while, like me. Things are changing but it takes time. I promise you, in a year you won’t recognise this place.’
‘I don’t have a year,’ sniffed Kumari. ‘In less than a year I’ll be dead.’
‘I thought goddesses didn’t die?’ smiled Ms Martin.
‘OK, so I won’t technically die. But I’ll be stuck, just like Mamma. There are only three ways to kill a living goddess and being here too long counts as one. I had a year and a day from the moment I left the kingdom and now I’ve got 348 left. 348 days measured by those things. Those clocks.’
Ms Martin glanced up at the clock on the wall then back at Kumari.
‘You don’t have clocks back home?’
‘No way.’
‘So how do you measure time?’
‘In the cycle of the moons.’
‘Well, that’s just the same.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ countered Kumari. ‘Moons are eternal. Clocks count your time off, tick, tick, tick. Until you have none left.’
‘Whatever you might think of them, Kumari, clocks are essential. Right now, for instance, I see it’s time for class.’
‘No, no,’ said Kumari, shrinking back. ‘I’m not going in there. The other kids, they all hate me.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Ms Martin. ‘They just don’t know you, that’s all.’
‘I don’t want them to know me,’ said Kumari. ‘I want them to leave me alone.’
‘If I promise they won’t hurt you will you come to class with me?’
‘What about Badmash?’
‘Badmash can come too. So long as he’s quiet and we keep this between ourselves. We wouldn’t want Ms LaMotta to find out, would we, Kumari?’
‘No,’ said Kumari, smiling at her new ally.
The classroom was in chaos, a bunch of kids crowding round something, shouting. Nobody noticed them enter until Ms Martin waded into the group. One boy was pinned to a desk while the others pressed down on his head and arms. Kumari noticed one of the guys who’d shoved her in the locker, practically squishing the boy’s chin into his chest. The guy’s name was Eddie. He considered himself the big classroom cheese. Come to think of it, he probably was. No one messed with his gang.
‘Up, up,’ the crowd was chanting, until they saw Ms Martin.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she demanded. The boy on the desk looked pretty scared.
‘Levitating him, miss,’ said Eddie, winking at his cronies.
Levitation, pah! thought Kumari. They didn’t know what levitation was.
‘I’ll levitate you in a minute,’ said Ms Martin spinning Eddie round in one swift motion so he landed on a chair.
‘You can’t do that!’ whined Eddie. ‘That’s child abuse. I’ll tell my dad.’
‘What are you going to tell him, Eddie? That I helped you sit down?’
At this, the class erupted. Eddie’s face took on a fetching shade of red.
‘Anyone else like to try out my judo skills?’ said Ms Martin. ‘I thought not,’ she smiled. Kumari glanced at Ms Martin in admiration. For a teacher, that was one excellent move.
After that, the class was eerily silent. Even when Ms Martin later announced a written test on what she had just explained, there was not one single moan. Buoyed up by Ms Martin’s earlier words, Kumari went all out to impress, scribbling her answers furiously. So, her spelling was a little erratic. English was not her first language. The Gift of Tongues might be her birthright, but it sometimes skipped on the basics. Even so, when the results were announced, Kumari grinned in jubilation. She had come top out of all the class by a considerable margin.
Beaming, she rose to leave with the rest then felt someone press up against her.
‘Read it,’ muttered a voice in her ear. A piece of paper dropped on to her desk. As her eyes scanned it, her stomach plunged, landing somewhere around her feet.
Do that again and you’re dead, read the note.
Kumari glanced over her shoulder.
Mean eyes stared at her menacingly.
Eddie and his boys were back on her case.
‘Hey’
It was him again, Chico.
‘How you doing?’
‘Uh, pretty good.’
OK, so that was a lie. She could have done without Eddie and the other weasels. Then again, maybe not a total lie. She felt all the better for seeing him.
‘You heading to the cafeteria?’ said Chico.
‘Um . . . I wasn’t planning to.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he laughed. ‘Food’s not so hot, is it?’
Hot. One of her new favourite words. Come to think of it, he’d made a little joke. Hot could mean two things. Excellent chance to show her sense of humour.
‘Oh, hahahaha,’ said Kumari. ‘Funny Not hot. I mean, you know, food can be hot or cold. Or not hot as in not hot.’
Chico looked at her strangely. Embarrassment prickled Kumari’s neck. It crawled up her skull, spreading like a rash towards her face. Her inner thermostat had risen by about ten degrees. She had to get out of here before her cheeks gave it away.
‘I gotta go,’ she mumbled, slinging her bag over one arm.
‘Hey, wait,’ called Chico. ‘Wait a minute, Kumari.’
He was jogging alongside her now.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I, uh, I don’t know,’ said Kumari.
‘You don’t know? Are you lost? This place can be confusing.’
‘I, ah, I have to go to the bathroom.’
Why oh why did she have to say that? It had been the first thing to pop into her head. Now he looked embarrassed.
‘Oh, sure,’ said Chico. ‘It’s down there. Can’t miss it.’
‘Great. Thank you,’ said Kumari.
Neither of them moved.
‘Well, better go,’ said Kumari.
He really did have the most gorgeous eyes. Framed by thick, dark lashes.
‘Yup,’ said Chico, shifting from foot to foot.
‘OK, so see you later.’
‘Sure. Later.’
Great teeth, too, when he smiled. It lit up his whole face. Somehow it was hard to tear herself away. It was so nice talking to him.
‘Want to come with me?’ she blurted.
‘To the bathroom?’
‘Oh, ah, of course not. Just kidding.’
Flashing him a panicky grin, Kumari strode off as fast as she could.
‘Kumari,’ he called after her but she pretended not to hear.
‘Kumari, it’s the other way’
Oh my god. The humiliation.
Well, she wasn’t turning back now. Do that and she’d have to walk past him. Let him think she was crazy. He probably did anyway. Resolutely, she kept going, replaying it all in her mind.
Every excruciating detail.
Over and over again.
CHAPTER 10
The RHM sat on his bed at the West Side YMCA, staring at a headline. Manhattan Mystery Girl Arrest, it read. Beneath it, a photograph. Although blurred, there was no mistaking her. His contacts had been right. Kumari was here.
The RHM could not believe his luck. It was the break he needed. Had he not flicked through a pile of old magazines and newspapers in the YMCA lounge, he would not have seen it. He had no idea why he had even looked at them. The RHM had no time for newspapers. Since his arrival, he had been busy, taking the bus uptown, midtown, downtown. Looking everywhere for Kumari.
Of course, he did not expect to find her just like that. The RHM was searching for i
nformation. Trying to pick up her trail any way he could, sniffing the streets for clues. All he had to go on was the knowledge that she was here, somewhere on the island of Manhattan. The RHM’s sources had been 99% sure. And now here was the proof. He read through the article again slowly, absorbing the information.
Child Protection Services confirm that the Manhattan Mystery Girl was taken into custody by Immigration and Customs Enforcement at the University Avenue hair salon owned by her foster parent. It is understood that she is now back in the care of her foster parent. The authorities will not release the girl’s name.
‘Kumari,’ murmured the RHM. He knew, beyond all doubt. Unfolding his map of Manhattan he pored over it. University Avenue was a very long street in the Bronx district, right up in the north-west corner of the island. The RHM was on a tight budget; Manhattan was far more expensive than he had anticipated. It had been hard enough obtaining dollars from his contacts in the first place. Palace treasures did not cut it as currency. Funds were now running low. With no money for a cab, it appeared he would have to brave the subway. The RHM trembled at the thought. The subway ran underground.
Ordinarily, the RHM was tough. He had to be – ruthless, even. But there was one thing the RHM could not bear and that was being underground. It brought him out in a cold sweat. Gripping the rail tightly, he walked down the stairs into the subway station. His train rattled up to the platform and he got on it, watching as the doors shut tight. Closing his eyes, he began to pray as the train shot towards the tunnel, trying to breathe evenly and deeply, the sweat prickling his brow.
‘Say, man, you OK?’ muttered the man next to him.
‘Yes, yes,’ answered the RHM, keeping his eyelids shut fast.
Emerging at the 183rd Street station, the RHM tried to forget the rigours of his journey and concentrate on the task in hand. Still, his hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled his cloak about him against the cold. Snow only ever settled on the mountains around the hidden kingdom. New York City was freezing in comparison to the temperate valley he now called home.
Map in hand, the RHM strode towards University Avenue, noting that everything here was built on a slightly more human scale. He passed shops that seemed to sell everything under the sun and restaurants that smelt of their exotic provenance. No one so much as glanced at him. Interesting. Up here, it seemed he fitted in. Hardly anybody stared. Downtown it was different. Downtown they all dressed rather similarly. This Bronx area appeared more diverse. People wore a variety of outfits. He passed a lady in a colourful headdress and bowed a courteous ‘good morning.’ The lady glared back at him in suspicion.