“Namaste!” Raj answered him with the same audible and visual gestures of his new acquaintance and with beaming eyes and a large smile. “You are from India?”
“No. I have been there on travels. I heard you.”
“Yes. Yes. You have been to India?”
“Calcutta, Madras, Bombay, Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, up to Hill Stations. A lot of places.”
Raj extended his hand. “My name is Raj Bhavnani. You have seen more of my home country than I have!”
They shook hands while Raj’s new acquaintance said, “It is good to meet you, Mister Bhavnani. My name is Christopher Straw.”
“It is good to meet you, Mister Straw! A British name, isn’t it?”
“Yes; a couple generations back.”
“But now an American through and through?”
Christopher smiled. “Through and through.”
“Then the Brits lost—” and he paused for a moment. “Then the Brits lost four times, didn’t they?”
“What do you mean?”
“They lost to America’s Revolution. Yes, yes. Then they lost you. Then they lost what they thought was their colony forever—of my country—India—when we won our independence. Then they lost me! Four losses! Which one do you suppose they regret the most?”
Christopher laughed. “Losing you, Mr. Bhavnani. That is for sure. Queen Elizabeth has told me that many times.”
Raj Bhavnani gave a wide smile. Then he nodded. “I like your pretending. You, Sa’ab, are American through and through!”
THEME NINE
TOO MANY TIGERS
“IM MENSE! IM MENSE!” RAJ SAID as he sat across from Christopher at a dinner table in the very crowded Mamma Leone’s West 48th Street restaurant. Absorbed by the fact that this morning he had already seen another world, he now said, “Another another world!” That was because in front of both of them were the usual Mamma Leone’s massive portions of welcome appetizers: Salade Leone including separate clusters of celery and olives and tomatoes and scallions and pastas and cheeses and Italian breads with no room on the table left; not even for an elbow or additional silverware. All of this for no reason except that Christopher Straw and Raj Bahvnani walked in and got a table, ordering nothing yet.
“Mama Leone’s portions here are a lot bigger than you ever found in Old Delhi’s Mati Mahal, aren’t they?” Christopher asked his companion in a clear New York vs. Delhi unfair but proud competition.
“I have never been to Mati Mahal,” Raj proudly admitted as though not having ever been there was a medal of honor. “Tourists. It’s for tourists in Delhi. But this has more food for customers than any restaurant anywhere in the world! Do we have to eat all of this?”
“All of it. If you don’t—then Mama Leone shoots you.”
“She does?”
“Oh, yes. She sweeps the bodies into the alley before they close up for the night here.”
“That is not good, Sa’ab.”
“No it isn’t. It’s why people come here only if they are very hungry.”
“In my country people are starving. There is no place like this where people can go if they are poor and very hungry.”
“Oh I know! I know that. I just said that as a joke. I’m sorry. I have seen people starving in India. I saw them every day and every night I was there. I’m sorry. It was meant as a joke about this place. It was thoughtless.”
Now it was a competition in thoughtfulness of all things. “No apologies, Sa’ab, my friend. I know American humor. I know India and I know of America.”
“And never the twain shall meet.”
“I do not know what ‘twain’ means.”
“Neither do I,” Christopher admitted.
“What took you to India, Sa’ab?”
“I was on a long around-the-world trip for Western Electric here in New York where I work on their contract with NASA; the National Aeronautics and Space Administration so it’s called NASA; an abbreviation. When we start orbital flights with Astronauts we have to track them. So, in preparation I go to different areas of the world in which we’re going to build satellite tracking stations in our network for Project Mercury. I make sure that everything in those sites work so that every piece of information and data are in sync between the Project Mercury Astronaut in flight or in orbit and the Capsule Communicator on earth at Cape Canaveral and all the ground crews around the world. Do you know what Project Mercury is?”
“No, Sa’ab” he said softly with some boredom in hope Christopher would not explain it to him. He already heard enough.
“Seven Astronauts—people—men. They’re going to go into space from Florida—from Cape Canaveral there. That’s what I crave to do—go into space.”
“Yes, Sa’ab. That’s good. Then you go into space. Why wait? Go now, Sa’ab!”
“I can’t go now. I’m too hungry.”
“Too hungry! Let us eat!”
“Although India probably won’t be in our tracking network, I had to go from Zanzibar to our next tracking sites planned in Australia. It’s a long distance between Zanzibar and Australia so I wanted to stop in some logical but good and interesting place between them. That worked out to be India since there’s likely to be a tracking ship in the Indian Ocean.”
Raj still had absolutely no idea what Christopher was talking about.
“I had the time to stay in India for a while and I did it because I always wanted to see it for myself.”
“Yes, yes. A good choice. Yes, yes. That was very good.” “Very good, very good,” Raj repeated.
“Absorbing. That’s what I did in India. I wanted to absorb it. Now, you were born there; you lived there; you grew up there; you worked there so you know more about it than I’ll ever know. What was your career in India, Raj?”
“Philosophy. I am a philosopher, Sa’ab.”
“A philosopher? That’s what you did in India?”
“Yes, Sa’ab.”
“Where?”
“The University of India.”
“Is that in Delhi?”
“No, no. Close by. Close by.”
“And that’s what you did?”
“Philosophizing.”
“You made money at it?”
“Many rupees.”
“What do you do here in the States?”
“Philosophizing.”
“Does that—are you doing well here?”
“Oh, yes. Now, tell me, where else did you go on this spaceman’s trip? Cities around the word?”
“A lot of places. All over. My father once told me I should travel the United States to learn—and then to travel the world to learn. In the U.S. I’ve traveled to every state except North Dakota. I don’t know how, but I missed it. Just not ever got there. But for me the best was Hawaii. There’s going to be a Mercury Tracking Site in Kauai and I spent some vacation time in Honolulu. I was looking for a girl—a beautiful girl I met many years ago. A wonderful girl. Beautiful. It’s a long time ago. Gorgeous. Hawaiian.”
“Ahhh. Did you find her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Good? Why is that good? I said I didn’t find her.”
“That’s very good. You had a good time with her many years back. Is that not accurate?”
“Yes. Wonderful memories.”
“That’s enough then. Don’t try to recreate memories, Sa’ab. You will only destroy the memory because it will be confused with the new visit. It won’t work. She’s probably married by now anyway. Leave good memories alone. Appreciate them and let them be. Each memory is not only a person and a place; it is a time so you cannot have it again, Sa’ab. It’s gone. Appreciate what it was.”
“I don’t think she’s married.”
“Of course you don’t. She’s married. Maybe divorced but maybe not yet. Now, let us get to your new President Kennedy,” he said in an obvious move to be done with Christopher’s incoherent biography and obsessions. “Your Kennedy seems like a fine man. Did you hear him when h
e said that those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside the tiger? He was right. Don’t sit on a tiger. You have too many tigers, Mr. Straw. He was so right. I see that in you. I have seen tigers eat those who sat on their backs.”
“You have? In India?”
“Oh, yes. They don’t eat the whole thing. They kill the man, eat some of him and the rest of him is eaten by vultures.”
“My God.”
“So Mr. Kennedy said not to sit on a tiger. I never have. And what did you like hearing from your new President?”
“From John Kennedy, you mean. He’s now President John Kennedy.”
“Yes, yes.”
“He said, ‘Together let us explore the stars.’”
“Rhe-tore-ic. That’s all it is. Rhe-tore-ic.”
“You mean rhetoric.”
“Rhetoric. Rhetoric. Thank you, Sa’ab.”
“And ‘no.’ It was more than rhetoric. He meant it—I hope.”
“I missed that.”
Christopher ate for a while since his dinner companion was taking issue with the subjects. “Good food, huh?” Christopher asked.
“Yes, yes!”
“Do you live here in New York now?”
“At the Algonquin Hotel. In Bombay I lived at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Hotel living is the only way. They make your bed for you every morning. There is always food at the restaurant. All things are done for you. And at the Taj, we who used to live there met very important people.”
“Of course you did. But not just those in a hotel. All people are important.”
“Really?”
“Really. Who did you meet?”
“Churchill.”
“You met him?”
“Oh, yes. A fine man.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“He’s British, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He told me about Taylor Woodrow.”
“Who?”
“Taylor Woodrow.”
“Who’s that?”
“It’s an organization. They build things. Taylor Woodrow built Heathrow Airport. Taylor Woodrow builds everything.”
“Churchill told you that?”
Raj nodded. “Yes, yes. I am going to ask Taylor Woodrow to do some renovations at the Algonquin.”
Christopher nodded. There was something about what Raj had said that Christopher couldn’t quite lock down but the name of Taylor Woodrow was familiar to him. “Tell me more about Mr. Woodrow or his organization.”
“He builds everything! Everything, Sa’ab! Churchill told me he and his company builds everything. Heathrow. Everything.”
Christopher’s attention was being diverted by someone who probably never met Churchill or Taylor Woodrow. The diversion was a very pretty young woman with a group of people at a table just across from Christopher and Raj, and there was no question but that she had cast a glance at Christopher and he spotted that glance; the glance probably less than a few seconds but what a wonderful less-than-a-few seconds that Christopher saw. He had actually taken some of her time. That, in itself was a victory. “Look at that girl. She is something, isn’t she?”
“Where?”
“There. There at that table” and he gestured with his head toward her. “The one eating spaghetti and cutting it up into small pieces so it doesn’t slurp from her lips.”
Raj looked over at the table and then back at Christopher and then Raj rolled his head in the Hindu motion that meant a somewhat “yes” but without enthusiasm.
Christopher said, “She is something!” He wasn’t giving up.
“Don’t go over there, Sa’ab. She is nothing.”
“I’m not going over there. What do you mean she is nothing?”
“Nothing. She is nothing. Leave her be. She is trouble. And I know you are planning to go over there because you moved your chair back with enough room for you to leave the table.”
“Did I?”
“What for? She is ugly.”
“Ugly!? She isn’t ugly. She’s gorgeous.”
“Believe me, Sa’ab. She is ugly. Look at her. Ugly.”
Christopher laughed. “In that case I have just become the world’s greatest advocate of ugliness.”
This time it was Raj who gave a smile and then he gave another roll of his head. “She, Mr. Straw, is no good for you.”
“Why do you say that? What do you mean?”
“Do you mind if I discourage you from ruining your life? Mr. Straw, do you mind if I philosophize to prevent you from making a serious error?”
“An error from what?”
Raj gave a quick look at the young woman at the table and gave a nod; this time an American nod. No rolling of the head. “In the beginning God created two sexes. And He called them Men and Critics. And for some, God made the Critics so alluring, so tempting, so desirable, so intoxicating that Men ignored all the criticism longing to get out of that pretty thing. But God gave the Critics nearly infinite patience that He took from Men, leaving Men with practically none.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My friend, I will save you from her.” And with that Raj pulled back his chair and headed over to the table with the young woman sitting there eating spaghetti after she cut it into small pieces.
And that was the beginning of Christopher Straw’s twenty minute stomach problem as it got twisted into knots no surgeon could untie. His stomach problem came from his brain problem that came from his jealousy problem that came from his Raj Bhavnani problem.
The twenty minutes problem was finally done when Christopher saw her glance at him with a longing expression as though she was trying to silently tell him she wanted to be with him and not with this Raj-guy who came over to her. But then the pain came back in Christopher’s stomach when Raj grabbed her hand, kissed the back of it, and her face turned red and she laughed. Was this the ultimate of fickleness? She did this act of incivility just seconds after she flirted with Christopher with her making eyes at him. Was there not an iota of faithfulness in the moral code of this thoughtless woman? Was his philosophizing dinner companion right about her? That incident at the neighboring table was followed by conversation between Raj and the young woman and some laughter and then Raj started writing something on the yellow edge of the menu of Mamma Leone’s while the young woman dictated something to him. He then ripped that piece off the menu, folded it and put it tightly in his left hand. He took his right hand and once again took her closest hand to him, the left one, and kissed the back of it and the thoughtless wench appeared to be delighted. Christopher Straw’s statement of that young woman being gorgeous was not an exaggeration but an understatement. Her blonde hair was full and went below her shoulders in waves as if God was her hairdresser. She was near to looking angelic except that angels don’t have glimmers of mischief in their eyes and she had even more than such glimmers.
Then Raj almost ran from that table back to the table where Christopher had been sitting alone since Raj’s earlier sudden departure in the pursuit of saving Christopher from making an error with such a woman.
“You must come with Savannah and me, Christopher! Savannah told me about a wonderful place she believes that I would love too. From what she said I would love it because there is real Indian dancing there. It is just blocks away. You would love it too! I know you will! You know India! You must come with us!”
Now there was practically no part of Christopher’s anatomy that was free of pain.
“Christopher? Christopher, are you listening to me?”
As though in a hurry, Christopher asked, “What? What? What?”
“You must join us! You must join us! It is called Ceylon India Inn.” And he unfolded the piece of paper he had been holding in his left hand. “Savannah told me the directions. I wrote them down. It is one block up to 49th and then across Seventh Avenue. It will be on the north side of 49th. She told me. You will be there?”
Christopher stared at Raj until
it became very uncomfortable for Raj. Then, totally unhurried but with soft and measured words Christopher said, “I know how you heard of Taylor Woodrow.”
Raj was confused. For a while he said nothing and then he said, “Taylor Woodrow?”
Christopher’s soft, measured words were now said even more softly and they were said with increased measurement. “Taylor Woodrow. You didn’t hear about him from Churchill. And you didn’t know him.”
Now Raj smiled but his smile was a nervous one with his closed-mouth grin giving some twitches. “What do you mean?”
This time Christopher had an added almost maniacal rhythm to his words accented by a new device: whispering: “At Heathrow I saw what you saw there. Walking from the plane that just landed and walking to customs and the transit lounge—during that walk there was a sign that read, ‘Taylor Woodrow Built This Airport. Taylor Woodrow Builds Everything.’ That’s where you got it.”
Raj nodded. He was caught. He nodded again. Usually those who lie attempt to protect the lie told by telling a second lie in support of the first one. Not Raj. No attempt. Instead he reverted to his habit of accepting the fact that he was found out before digging deeper. And so with Raj’s nod having acted as a surrender, he chose to go on with life as though being caught was done and forgotten and the capture was of no consequence.
Raj shrugged and asked Christopher again, “Will you go with Savannah and me to the Ceylon India Inn?” And he added, “You know; it is named after the country, Ceylon, that is just south of India. Savannah told me there is real Indian dancing there.”
Christopher shook his head from side to side and in case the visual response was not enough he softly answered. “No. I will not go with you” and he hesitantly added, “—and Savannah.”
“Savanah Lane; that’s her name. It describes her perfectly. Unique! It’s Savanah Lane,” he said as he injected an added insult to Christopher’s lack of knowledge about her.
Rejection of Raj’s invitation proved to be a stroke of prophetic wisdom because had Christopher accepted the invitation he would then have severely injured his self-confidence in the evening’s unexpected rivalry with Raj Bhavnani. Although Raj left the bill at Mamma Leone’s to be paid by Christopher, at least Christopher Straw saying “no” to the new invitation saved him from being a witness to the small dance-floor of the Ceylon India Inn that would be vacated by others when Raj would take its center.
Raising the Baton Page 8