by Bapsy Jain
Lucky frowned. Her ex-husband, Viki, was a descendant of the Raj who allowed the Parsis to settle in India. His Aunt Geeta—practically Lucky’s mother-in-law (since Viki’s real mother was dead)—had been adamantly opposed to their relationship. Opposed to the point of sabotaging their marriage.
I wonder how he is? she thought. She hadn’t thought about him in ages.
She returned to her computer. The more she knew the less Lucky felt she really understood India, even though it was the land of her birth. What was it they used to say? It takes thirteen lifetimes to know India? But the more she read, the more one thing became clear. Like China, India had been for thousands of years a swirling mosaic of languages and religions and kingdoms and customs. No individual piece represented the whole, nor could India be understood without placing the minute pieces in perspective with the entirety.
At the end of the day, she felt she understood China, Lobsang, and Tibet even less than before. All she really knew about the man was that he refused to follow modern rules—but he was in a land with a million rules and a thousand conflicting interpretations of whatever rules there were. The Monty Hall problem. Dys-logic. Her head swarmed with ideas, none of which made any sense.
Finally, she started e-mailing her old friends in India. Six degrees of separation. Even if she didn’t know the key, perhaps she might get lucky. Behind door number three: Lobsang. A prize. A job in Washington. More money than she could spend. Freedom from Amay. And then what?
She turned off the monitor, went to the window, looked out over the Capitol and the Mall. In the end, Shanti had said a good life was simple, but difficult. How true, Lucky thought, how true.
Amay was waiting for Lucky at the hotel. He had brought her a stunning new sky-blue dress from Urban Chic. As usual, he had forgotten to take off the tag, and when Lucky saw the price, she went through the roof. “Twelve hundred dollars for a freaking dress? Are you out of your mind? I could have flown to India and bought one just like it in the Crawford Market for less money!”
Amay looked down. “Sweetie, it’s just money, and you’re worth every cent. Do you remember when I was too poor to take you out for Chinese? If I want to buy you a dress, let me buy you a dress. The money doesn’t matter.”
In the end, Lucky wore the dress just to humor Amay. Then, of course, they had to go somewhere, and Lucky had to cut short her evening call to Sean so they could make the reservation. They followed up dinner with a long walk along the Mall, eventually coming to the Lincoln Memorial. It was late and it was still warm, but there were only a few tourists around. The white marble statue practically glowed in the light. On the south walls were murals depicting Freedom, Liberty, Immortality, Justice, and the Law. They walked to the north wall, where Lucky stared at Unity, Fraternity, and Charity.
Amay touched the small of her back, turning her toward him, then dipped his head in for a kiss, but Lucky pushed him away. “I’m not on vacation,” she reminded him.
“But do you have to work tonight?”
Lucky shook her head. “I just can’t get it out of my head. It’s pretty intimidating stuff.”
Amay took Lucky by the hand. “At least you could let me in?” he asked, “Maybe I could share the burden.”
“I can’t talk about it,” Lucky said. “And besides, you wouldn’t understand. How did the opening go?”
“Good,” Amay said. “Good. I think I talked Berber into coming to New York.”
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
“No, I like him very much. I don’t like the gallery, but then, neither did he. He was excited about coming to New York. Perhaps you’ll get to meet him.”
“I’d like that,” Lucky said, but her mind was far from artists and gallery openings. Lucky looked at the mural. It was dominated by a giant angel with outstretched wings. She held her hands high in a gesture of… of…Hell, Lucky thought, it looks like she’s signaling a touchdown. The idea was so absurd that she burst out laughing.
Amay stared at her. There were other tourists around. Really, the place, all the heavy stone, the Greek temple architecture, it was all so solemn. And here Lucky was laughing so hard she had to sit down on the cold marble floor in her $1200 dress.
Amay bent down and held her hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Between peals of laughter Lucky managed to say, “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was of Lebanese descent?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
Lucky wiped a tear from her cheek. “What has anything got to do with anything?”
Later, at the hotel, they made love, more because Lucky knew Amay would never sleep if she didn’t than because she felt amorous. And fall asleep he did, in her arms. She gazed at him long after he had dozed off. He was sweet, but so clueless. Or was it Lucky who was so clueless? Why couldn’t she be happy with a man like Amay? It wasn’t like he didn’t have options. She could tell at openings and concerts how other women looked at him. He wasn’t handsome—not like Viki had been—but he took good care of himself. He dressed well. He was intelligent. He was nice. He was…he was… he was just like the mural at the Lincoln Memorial: Liberty, Immortality, Justice, Law, Unity, Fraternity, and Charity, and all that. He was a real Boy Scout. Touchdown.
But at the end of the day, Lucky wasn’t sure she wanted rock steady. She let go of Amay and lay on her back, looking up at the little rainbows of reflected light playing across the ceiling, wondering vaguely what was acting as a prism. As she looked at the light, she realized two things. First, there was something not right about Coleman, and she didn’t want him to be a world leader. There was nothing in Coleman that likened him to men like Lincoln. Second, the only man she’d met recently who made her tingle with excitement was that damn Buddhist monk. What was his name? Usko? I’m such a fool, she thought. Why do I always want what is out of reach? For a long time, she lay awake thinking about that.
Chapter 10
Lucky woke early, dressed quietly, kissed Amay while he was sleeping, then slipped into the hallway and made her way to her room, looking around carefully once inside. Nothing appeared disturbed, but she had the uncomfortable intuition that someone had been there. It wasn’t a thing she could put her finger on. A scent, perhaps? The subconscious smell of a stranger or strangers? Does air smell different after somebody else breathes it?
She showered quickly and changed, then walked briskly to the office, stopping at Starbucks along the way for a latte. Upon checking her e-mail, she stared at the screen in disbelief. She got up, walked around the room, and then sat down and stared at her computer again. Before her coffee was cold, she was on the phone with Coleman. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said.
“What? Has Wonder Woman found him already?”
Lucky frowned and paused. If she could have told Coleman to ‘piss off’ right then and there, she would have. Instead she said, “Not quite, but I have a clue about where he is. That’s a start.” In the silence that followed, she could almost hear Coleman grin.
“I’ll be there in half-an-hour,” he said.
Twenty minutes later, Coleman walked through the door. He was wearing a white IZOD tee shirt and khaki pants. He looked like he was headed to the tennis club; Lucky half-expected him to be carrying a racket. “Tell me everything,” he said, coming around the desk and looking over Lucky’s shoulder.
Lucky looked at the e-mail. Six degrees of separation might be the average, but in the right circles, that number could be cut. In the end, that’s what so many things came down to—connections. Whom you know. And in India, Lucky still knew a lot of people. She had sent e-mails to her friends, especially anyone connected to medicine. All she had asked was for was a contact in Dharamshala—the name of someone—anyone—who had practiced medicine there and might know somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody. And her mother’s doctor, Dr. Vakil, had replied: “The man with a magic cure? I’m not 100% sure, but I believe I’ve met him.” Of course, there were thousands of men
in India and hundreds in Mumbai who claimed to have magic cures. But this reply was, well, just plain lucky. Dr Vakil had written, “I’m reasonably certain. He’s not someone you meet and forget.”
“Looks like he’s in Dharavi,” Lucky said. “That’s a slum in the heart of Mumbai — perhaps the largest in the world. It is spread over 500 acres and houses about 400,000 people. He runs a few makeshift charitable clinics there. Makes sense, if you think about it. It gives him a job and makeshift covers too. It also gives him a wide network of people who can shelter him, as there’s a huge refugee population in and around there.”
“Is this information reliable?”
“I think it is.”
“How reliable?”
“An old friend, nobody with any particular political agenda. I was asking for contacts to Dharamshala. Somebody who might know somebody who knows Lobsang.”
“You’re a genius.”
“Thank you.” Lucky blushed. “I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve said about me.”
“And it might be the last. So you say this friend met Lobsang? He knows him? As in he can give us an address?”
“I wouldn’t say he knows him, but he met him—a long time ago, in London, actually, when Lobsang was in medical school. But he recognized him right away when he saw him in Mumbai. He knew him well enough to remember him but he thinks his name is no longer Lobsang. And, again, he said ‘reasonably certain.’ That doesn’t mean 100%.”
Coleman tapped his fingers on the desk. He seemed to be counting. “It’s the first new intelligence we’ve had in months,” he said. “If it’s accurate. That’s what we need to know next.”
“He may know people who know where Lobsang is. I mean, if Lobsang is in Dharavi, it’s a place to start.”
Coleman was leaning over the desk now, knuckles down, looking at the e-mail. “How recent, Lucky, how recent? Is this current?”
“I didn’t ask how long ago, but he says recently—look here, he’s used the word, ‘recently.’ I take that to mean in the past few weeks. Months at the outside.”
“Hmmmm,” Coleman said. He walked to the window, looked outside. He seemed to be counting, adding numbers in his mind. He mouthed something soundlessly. “But he doesn’t know where Lobsang is?”
“Not exactly.”
“You said he did.”
“I said he ran into him. They chatted. He thinks that Lobsang was in Dharavi.”
“Thinks or knows?”
“Thinks.”
“But he’s in touch with him now?”
“They’ve had some correspondence.”
“About what?”
“He helped Lobsang obtain some surgical supplies and such. I think it was charitable work. He made a donation. Not money, just some supplies.”
“But no address? A home? The clinic?”
“No, he’s checking on it.” Lucky watched as Coleman stared at the computer.
“Look, he says Lobsang’s working in the slums, so there might not be a proper address. But he says here,” Lucky ran her finger again to the lines on her computer, “that he’ll ask around.”
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“An address?”
“Have you been to Mumbai? Did you visit the slums?”
“I’ve been, but I had no business in the slums.”
“If you’d seen Dharavi, you’d understand.”
Coleman seemed to be thinking about this. Lucky thought he might be trying to recall the slums. At the very least, he may have seen Dharavi from the overpasses while driving through the area.
“Okay,” Coleman said. “I think we could have a general location. That narrows things down. One more thing — this friend’s name?”
“Dr. Vakil, why?”
“Just curious. I wondered if perhaps he was someone we already made contact with.”
“Have you?”
“Not that I know of. But you can bet we’ll talk to him now.” Coleman walked across the room and sat down at the edge of Lucky’s desk. “You trust this man?”
“Implicitly. He was our family physician.”
“Nice work, Lucky.” Coleman paused and looked at Lucky with something like surprise. “I can’t believe I said that. Don’t repeat that to anyone, you’ll ruin my reputation. And don’t count on hearing anything like that again. Now, go back to your hotel and get packing.”
“Packing?”
“Packing. As in your things.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to India to work with my team there. I can’t be seen in India.”
“Why am I going to India? I don’t think I want to go to India.”
Coleman stood up abruptly and shouted, “What is this, Twenty Questions? This isn’t reality TV, we’re hunting a miracle cure that might prevent the second coming of the Black Death! I recruited you to be on my team because you speak the lingo.” He paused, looked around, then lowered his voice to almost a growl. “Look, Lucky, We’ve got people on the ground there—people I can trust. But you know the city, and you know this doctor—this Vakil man—and you might be the most intuitive person I’ve ever had in my employ.”
“That’s all well and good,” Lucky said, “but this was always meant to be a test drive, right? What was it you said, ‘Just for a little while’? Well, it’s been a little while, and while I’ve enjoyed it, this isn’t my field. What I know now is that I want to go home to my son. You can find this monk without my help.”
“But —” Coleman sputtered, his face reddened. “I thought you liked it here?”
“Like it?” Now Lucky was taken aback.
“I mean immunology. Health Services.”
“No. That’s not what I mean,” she said. She looked up at Coleman, staring down at her with the veins pulsing in his neck. “It’s politics I don’t like. Or maybe I do like it, but I don’t believe in it. I’m a people-person, Mr. Coleman —“
“Clevis.”
“Clevis. I teach yoga. I do some stuff with the Department of Corrections. Last night, I realized that I just work better with people one-on-one. I’m not saying politics isn’t important—it is. And we need honest politicians who can play the game, get things done. I’m not putting you down or arguing with you. I just realized that I’m not what you want me to be, and I can’t be what you want me to be. And if I tried, I’d only be letting us both down. I have a little boy waiting at home, and I don’t intend to raise him the way some people I know raised their daughter. I made a promise to Sean’s father and I have to keep it. I’m sure you have good people in India who can get done what you need to do. People better than me. Why, I haven’t been to Mumbai in years, and from what my friends say, I’d hardly recognize the place.”
Coleman eyed Lucky carefully, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s how you feel about things.”
“It’s not about feelings,” Lucky said. “It’s about knowing what I can and can’t do. You need to know that honestly from me, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Coleman said. “And thank you. I’ll see that arrangements are made.” He turned and left the office, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
When he was gone, Lucky slumped in her chair and closed her eyes. “Wow,” she said. “Wow.” In the quiet, she could hear the air whirring in the ventilation system. She sat up and looked at her laptop, then drummed her fingers on the desk and looked around the room. She sat for almost five full minutes, just taking in the morning sun shining in the window, the cooing of pigeons on the ledge outside her windows, the sound of the traffic outside. Then she called Barkley. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she said.
Barkley replied, “You sound cheerful. I assume this is good news?”
“It is — I suppose.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Did it work out?”
“Mission accomplished. Why? You sound concerned?”
/>
“Concerned? I was wondering if perhaps you and Coleman weren’t too… too much alike.”
“Alike?” Lucky thought about this. “I couldn’t imagine two people less alike.”
“I mean you’re strong people, both of you. I wondered if you might clash. No, not if you might. More like when.”
“We got along okay,” Lucky said. “But I get the feeling that his ambitions might lead me places I don’t want to go. I’ll be home this afternoon.”
“And we’ll be glad to have you back at your desk.”
Lucky looked around at the office and sighed. Her desk. This office was nice. The Feds certainly had more money to squander on amenities than the State of New York. Maybe she’d still get an upgrade and a promotion with the Department of Corrections. After all, she still had that presentation pending — the one that had been sidelined when Coleman burst onto the scene.
The phone rang a few minutes later. It was Amay. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked.
“You looked so peaceful. I’m the one who had to work today.”
“I would have gotten up with you.”
“I know.”
Silence. Then, “I’m on my way to the airport. When will I see you again?”
Lucky sucked on her lip. “I’m going home today, too. I’m not sure exactly when, so please don’t wait for me.”
“I would have, but I have a lunch meeting. You’ll pick Sean up when you get home?”