After a brief nap, I was surprisingly refreshed and decided to investigate my surroundings. I left by the front door and took a moment to study the sky, still bright with a sun that looked like an egg yolk diluted in a pool of clear gelatin. I circled the building and found myself at the edge of the river over which the house was perched and near where my uncle and I had begun our walk. I pointed myself in the direction opposite to the one we had taken and followed the river's lead. Although seemingly flat, like an endless desert of stone, I soon found that this land was capable of great deception; arctic plain could become dangerously craggy with alarming suddenness where erosion had created strange hidden gullies of dramatic proportion. It was at the bottom of one of these lesser gullies that I discovered a pristine looking basin of water, one of countless I'd glimpsed on our descent into Somerset Island. It looked so inviting, but the weather was hardly warm enough for swimming so I resisted the urge to jump in. However, someone else had not.
I might have missed him had it not been for the pile of clothing I almost tripped over. I scanned the water's surface, shiny and silvery like a fish belly, and after a few seconds witnessed a head, then shoulders rise up from beneath it and make for shore. It was Alex Canyon. As he came closer and the water sluiced off his finely molded body, it became boldly apparent that the man was completely naked. He couldn't help but see me where I stood my ground, protecting his clothes from the possibility of an attack by a marauding bear. (Well, you never know.)
Watching him approach, I felt myself grow weak at the knees. This was a man whose job it was to keep his body in top physical condition, which he'd accomplished with resounding success. As for those physical items over which he'd had no control, well, he just lucked out. This was most readily apparent even after emerging from water that must have been frigidly cold. You see, when it comes to men and their finest of appendages, there are two distinct categories: show-ers and grow-ers. Grow-ers require certain stimulation and a consummate situation to reveal their ultimate potential (I'd been fooled before), whereas show-ers are always already more than halfway there. Alex Canyon was most definitely a show-er.
"Mr. Quant," he addressed me when he arrived, doing nothing to cover himself and showing no signs of consternation at my finding him in the altogether.
"The water looks a little chilly," I commented.
"It was fine," he answered matter-of-factly, probably lying through his chattering teeth.
Now that I knew a little more about Alex Canyon and his role as a security officer for my uncle and Maheesh, I had something to work with in terms of getting a conversation going with the big lug. "Shouldn't you be patrolling the grounds or something?"
"Gauntlus has that well in hand for now."
Ah yes, the Amazon. "She's quite the woman."
"That she is."
"Are you and she...?"
He gave me a look as if he didn't understand my meaning, when of course he did.
"Are you a couple then?" he forced me to ask, every word coming out sounding awkward.
His face broke into a playful grin. It was one of those rare grins that by its mere presence will cause a face to transform. Suddenly granite became clay, impenetrable wall became an open door, Alex Canyon was a beautiful boy when he smiled. "No, Russell," he told me, my name slipping sensually through his lips. "My type falls more into the category of someone like you."
Gulp.
Did I hear right?
He was the one without clothing, yet I was feeling naked.
Alex Canyon bent low to retrieve his underwear which he pulled up over muscular calves and ham hock thighs to where they belonged, sitting low over narrow hips. He worked on his socks, then pants and shirt. Not a stitch of modesty from this guy. As is my habit with direct pronouncements of attraction, I did my best to throw it off track. Don't know why. Just my way. "Why do my uncle and Maheesh Ganesh require protection? Why do they need you and Dauntless Gauntlus?"
'She hates when you call her names," Alex answered with a cocked eyebrow, as if on to my game. He slipped on shoes that had tractor-tire grip. "She knows that you do."
"The question stands," I persisted.
"Mr. Wistonchuk will answer all your questions about that. Is that all? Is there anything else you'd like to say to me?"
"I wished you'd warned me that Grette was your playmate."
"There was no need."
"It would have saved me a heart attack this morning when I arrived at the plane."
"Anything else?"
"Uh, I guess not." What a loser. I could have said something encouraging like, you're my type too, handsome.
"Dinner's at eight," he said to me over a well-rounded shoulder as he walked away. "Don't be late."
Chapter 13
Dinner was served in an octagonal room that jutted out from the east side of the house with a splendid, panoramic view of the seemingly endless plateau that surrounded us. When I walked in, Uncle Lawrence and Maheesh were standing arm in arm at the window, their backs to me, Uncle Lawrence's head resting on the ledge of Maheesh's narrow shoulder. It was to be the three of us. No Alex Canyon and, thankfully, no Grette Gauntlus. Well the three of us, two serving staff, a kitchen person and a many-titled, much-sought-after chef, all of whom were flown in at the owner's pleasure. Fortunately his pleasure was to host us in style.
When they heard me behind them, they turned and greeted me warmly, as if we were simply three men on holiday together, meeting for dinner after a happy day at the beach. Although the sun still shone bright, at the touch of a pad Maheesh dimmed its intensity by half as the windows frosted over, throwing the room into a pleasant dusk. Then, like a family, we took our seats around a spectacularly set round table in the centre of the room. We began with fresh Arctic char sushi, followed by a creamy French Canadian pea soup served with fresh-baked breads, then grilled musk ox accompanied by fantastically flavoured, oven-roasted vegetables mixed with semi-sweet local berries. Each course was paired with a magnificent wine.
It wasn't until we were savouring the last of the musk ox that Uncle Lawrence finally seemed prepared to continue with his tale. He was the type of man who felt that the conversation during a meal affected its taste as much as the seasoning used in its preparation and the wine you imbibed with it. I tend to agree, and, by that point, I'd learned not to push either man into telling a tale they weren't yet ready to tell.
"Maheesh has told you about the night Akhilesh Batten was killed," he began.
I nodded. "I know that he was there that night, and that Sereena killed her husband in a fit of rage after learning he'd abused and killed their daughter."
"I cannot dwell on this part of the story too long," Uncle Lawrence said quickly. I guessed he'd used the time since our walk to have a rest; he looked better than he had earlier, refreshed. "But I will say that I too was there that night. I must tell you that, because it was the cause of my own 'death.' You see, Maheesh and I were staying with the Batten's at their house near Delhi after our ski trip." The infamous ski trip. "We'd had a pleasant evening together, dinner, conversation, a few laughs, perhaps too much to drink. Maheesh and I were in our bedroom when we heard the commotion. It was horrid, the screaming, wailing...almost...inhuman. But, just as Sereena was too late to stop Akhilesh, we were too late to stop her. By the time we arrived at that hideous scene, it was all done. Sangita was dead, and so was Akkie."
Maheesh laid a comforting hand on his lover's shaking one and continued for him. "Fortunately I know much of life in India, and how things work in this country, Russell, particularly in matters concerning the police and matters concerning the Batten family, both powerful authorities in their own ways, you understand?"
"There was, of course, every chance the police would demonstrate a certain amount of leniency towards Sereena. She had obviously been driven insane by the transgressions of her husband against their own daughter, but the same could not reasonably be expected from Akhilesh's family."
My face reflected
my disdain at what I'd just heard. "Are you saying they would have neglected the fact that their son was a child molester who killed their own grandchild, and blamed Sereena for what happened?" I asked, stunned at the thought.
"They simply would not have believed her, you see. Akhilesh had told his lies well. He'd been hinting for ages that Sereena was the unstable one, and he said he worried that she would harm Sangita. Akhilesh was their golden son. In their eyes, he could do no wrong. Regardless of how the facts appeared, they would believe Sereena was somehow responsible, and that with her actions she had murdered their future, their reputation, their very livelihood. They would seek revenge. And possibly, I must admit to you, the authorities would turn a blind eye."
"What are you saying?"
"They would shame her, humiliate her, and then, Russell," he added after a pause, "they would have her killed."
He said the words so calmly I found them doubly wretched. Finding words of my own to express the outrage I felt escaped me. I sensed the gentle eyes of my uncle on me. I turned to face him.
"It's true, Russell," he said. "Of course we don't agree with it. We knew we had to do something."
"But...but what can we do?" I was reacting as if the horror of it all were unfolding as we spoke, not something that had already happened, six years ago. My God, I thought to myself, what a tragedy it was. Sereena...my uncle...it was...it was nearly too much to take in.
"We had to act," Maheesh continued. "Quickly. We talked about a plan. Poor Cand...Sereena was in such a state she barely knew what was happening. The best we could do was finally separate her from the body of her child, and when we finally told her of our plan, she was compliant, I'm sure without really knowing to what she had agreed."
"The police were called," Uncle Lawrence kept on after a sustaining gulp of red wine. "We complained and caused much ruckus over the phone, saying we'd called earlier and had no response."
I shook my head, in a daze. "I don't understand. Why did you do that?"
"Two reasons. First, it took us some time to concoct our final plan and we did not want to arouse suspicion as to why we hadn't called the police immediately. They would know that sort of thing when they examined the bodies. And secondly, we needed to give my body time to disappear."
We kept quiet as one of the servers entered the room, cleared plates and refilled wine glasses.
Maheesh went on. "The police were told that the three of us together, Sereena, your uncle Lawrence and I, discovered Sangita defiled and dead, obviously at Akkie's hands. Lawrence, driven by an understandable rage, attacked and killed Akkie. Then, in a fit of remorse and guilt at taking another's life, Lawrence threw himself off the balcony into the river below.
"Of course, the police immediately dispatched a crew to find Lawrence's body but because of their unexplainable lack of response to our first emergency call it was certain the body was long gone and might never be found. Which, indeed, would be the case. When the police processed the scene, we made sure that Lawrence's fingerprints and DNA were in ample evidence. Sereena's were no problem as it was her home."
I turned to my uncle in disbelief and horror. What kind of madness was this? "You...you took the blame for the murder? You faked the murder and your own death? But...?" The questions in my mind were coming so fast they threatened to overcome me.
"Oh my boy," he answered. "The most important thing was to save Sereena's life. Too many had already been lost that night. The only way we could be assured of doing that was if the police- and the Batten family-believed that it was not she who killed Akkie. And if it wasn't she...it had to be me or Maheesh."
I swung a heavy-lidded gaze to Maheesh with one thing on my mind: Why not Maheesh? This monster, Akhilesh, had been his friend, they were in his country, wouldn't he have had a better chance of surviving this...this execrable, ridiculous plan? And by the look on Maheesh's face, he knew exactly what I was thinking: he had thought it himself.
"Russell," my uncle said sternly, even though I had not opened my mouth. "It had to be me. Maheesh begged me not to do it, but it made the most sense. You see, I simply had the least to lose. If Maheesh had faked his death, he would have lost all his wealth and prestigious position in Indian society."
I made a face as if to balk at that. Who cared about Maheesh's place in society?
"Don't judge what you don't yet understand. If Maheesh did this thing, he would, without doubt, lose everything. If I did it, it was possible that I could lose nothing. At the time, we thought that, with Maheesh's help of course, I would stay in hiding for a while..."
"That was when we were told you had died in a skiing accident?"
He nodded. "Yes. Even the authorities agreed to that. They wanted to make as little a deal of things as possible, to save the Batten family the international controversy. And they were told my family would be devastated by a suicide. We wanted the story of my death-leap from the balcony to be as sound as possible. It was a horrible thing to have to do, I know, but it was necessary. And, we thought eventually I would be able to sneak back to Canada and take my life...or something like it...back."
"But you never did," I countered, as if it was I who'd been denied the rest of my life. "Why?"
"Several things happened we did not expect, and, most importantly, Maheesh and I were in love. Even if we had to live in secret, it was better than to be torn apart with no hope of ever seeing each other again." At this Uncle Lawrence gazed fondly into his lover's eyes and his face reflected the great love he saw there. "As time went on, it became disturbingly apparent that certain members of the Batten family were not buying our ruse, or if they were, they still felt some inclination to make life for Sereena as miserable as they could. The loss of Akhilesh was a heavy burden for them."
"So," Maheesh added, "it was decided that it would be Sereena who would go away, not run, just leave behind an uncomfortable situation with as few clues as possible as to where she was going. Enough time had passed, you see, that to most, the idea of Sereena wanting to leave the home and country that held such miserable memories for her would not raise much suspicion. For us it was a sad day, especially for dear Lawrence, for you see, Sereena was his only companion, she was the only one, besides me of course, who knew he was alive."
"And that's when she came back to Saskatoon?"
The two men nodded and Maheesh said, "After Candace legally became Sereena Orion Smith."
"She chose the name herself," Uncle Lawrence told me. "Using the initials of SOS was her idea, an allegorical reference; she felt in desperate need of help...emotionally, physically, every way possible."
"And, more so, it was an homage to Lawrence, her savior," Maheesh pointed out with pride.
Uncle Lawrence shook it off and mumbled something about the foolishness of such sentimentality. I sat there in dumbfounded awe; of the story, of the nearly impossible-to-believe circumstances these people had found themselves in, and the incredible way in which they had decided to extricate themselves from it. My uncle's ultimate sacrifice-his life...or if not his real life, certainly his livelihood and lifestyle. That Sereena would go along with it.. .did it really make sense? But I knew it had been too much information to take in at once to even consider whether any of it made sense, or was it all just another fantastic deception? Deep down, I knew it wasn't.
"You are wondering about Sereena," my uncle said, still, after all these years, reading me so well.
I nodded solemnly. "Yes."
"She never wanted any of this. In the state she was in at the time, she would have more than gladly thrown herself off that balcony, for real, and might have done so on several occasions, that night and for months afterwards, if it wasn't for Maheesh."
"In many ways," Maheesh said contemplatively, deflecting any credit for himself, "I think Lawrence saved her life. Knowing what he'd done for her, that he'd made such an extreme sacrifice to save her, made her beholden to him. She owed him her life...she owed it to him to keep herself alive. Because for her to hav
e killed herself-as she so much wanted to do in the unimaginable depths of her agonizing grief over her lost child-would have been to slap Lawrence's face. It would have been to say that all he'd done, all he'd gone through, was still going through, meant nothing. That alone, kept her alive, kept her going."
"There was no reason for her to stay in India; what was done was done," Uncle Lawrence insisted. "I couldn't free myself from hiding unless I too went away from India, and I was unwilling to do that because I would not leave Maheesh. And Sereena's life was misery there. There was nothing for her there, whereas I had everything."
"Except freedom," I said.
"Bah," he retorted as if it meant nothing. "When she finally relented and agreed to leave the country, I demanded one favour, which she gladly granted." He leaned into me and said, "To return to her home, my home, and keep watch over you. Of all the people I'd left behind, my boy, it was you who I felt most guilty about leaving. I had abandoned you, unhappy with your work, with a family who did not understand you, and no one to see to it that you were all right. So I sent you my dearest friend."
Anthony Bidulka Page 20