Scared of the Dark

by Easton Vaughn

  Screw you, Bunyan.

  Aiden had made it through organic chemistry, physics, and biology in undergrad. Forty-five thousand students applied to medical school each year, only sixteen thousand positions available. And he’d been one of the chosen few. Three Marches ago, he’d received the thin letter in the mail, from Harvard no less. Not only was he a survivor, he was an achiever. No reason to give up or become desperate.

  He thought of FEAT, the First-Year Education Adventure Trip, a five-day orientation hike in those early Harvard days when the medical students needed a unique diversion from the many challenges that lay ahead of them. Aiden had forged a relationship with Saina during those five days in the woods. From the outset he felt a level of comfort with her that he’d never experienced with another woman. A calm that masked his inner delinquent and brought out a suave and charismatic side that didn’t normally exist.

  He was secured now so that he couldn’t touch Saina’s locket, but that didn’t prevent him from picturing her, dressed in an oversized camouflage jacket and an olive drab wool hat. She was prepared for not only the FEAT hike but all of the challenges of medical school at Harvard. He imagined Saina’s brown skin and dark eyes and the hint of an accent that made him pay particular attention to everything she said. A gift from God, that’s how he considered that need to listen to Saina so closely.

  “It’s the largest galvanized iron manufacturing city,” she’d said of her home. “They call it the City of Steel.”

  “Hisar,” Aiden had replied, trying it on his tongue as they climbed a steep slope that made his legs ache. To Aiden’s chagrin, Saina seemed untroubled by the climb. She’d allowed herself to fall behind the rest of the pack not because of a struggle with the wilderness but because her greater energy was devoted to the nice conversation taking shape with Aiden. That more than made up for his burning lungs.

  “Right, Hisar.” Saina’s smile kindled a quiet fire he’d never before experienced. One of the definitions of romantic was “fanciful, impractical, unrealistic,” he knew, and so he couldn’t have argued with anyone who would accuse him of it in the moment. He’d stood there in the heat of Saina’s smile and considered not only what her flesh would feel like on his fingertips and how warm her breath would be on his neck, but also the hue of their future children’s skin. Fanciful, for sure, because their conversation at that point had lived for less than an hour.

  “I can already tell you’re a good listener,” she’d said.

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Then tell me more about your home.”

  She laughed. A laugh to rival her smile. “Massachusetts is home,” she said playfully. “For some strange reason, Harvard would not allow me to get my medical degree online from Hisar.”

  Aiden frowned and clucked his tongue. “Come on. I’m trying to save myself some reading, Saina. Last thing I need added to my plate is Fodor’s Essential India. Tell me more about home.”

  “Are you planning on a visit?” she asked, still smiling.

  Aiden looked at her, deeply, for the first of many times. “I’m hoping more so than planning. And I know who I want as my tour guide.”

  The silence lasted just a beat, enough time for Saina to study Aiden’s face. Apparently she saw something in it that she liked because she began ticking off details with her lovely, slender fingers. “Hisar’s over one hundred and sixty kilometers west of New Delhi. The people speak Hindi and English. I know both of the most common dialects: Bagri and Haryanvi.”

  Aiden moved aside a web of tree branches so she could pass through, and quickly caught up with her. “How do you say ‘I love you’ in Haryanvi?”

  She turned and faced him, completely still. “Why?”

  “I have a feeling,” he said, shrugging, “that I’ll need to know someday.”

  “I’m focused on becoming a doctor,” she told him. “Dating someone is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Guess I have my work cut out for me then.”

  “We’ve had two brief conversations,” she reminded him.

  Orientation day at Holmes when she’d shown Aiden her mother’s precious locket, and now here on the climb.

  “I tend to get a little ahead of myself. Hopefully, you’ll learn to deal with that.”

  “Is that so?” she said, stumbling over the words.

  He nodded, and took on a serious expression. “I’ve thought it over and you can drive the Spartan gray Odyssey. The hatch makes it easier to haul groceries. I’ll sacrifice and take the Candy apple-red Mustang.”

  “Oh, Dr. Dunleavy,” she tsked. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a chauvinist.” Then, getting no reply, and observing the look on his face, she asked: “What?”

  “Dr. Dunleavy,” he said. “You’re the first person to call me that. It sounds…powerful. I couldn’t have imagined it growing up.”

  “I tend to get ahead of myself,” she told him, and touched his arm and sizzled the inner parts of him, rendering both them and him useless.

  “Okay,” he whispered, her slender fingers still on his arm. “You get the Mustang.”

  The delight made it all the way to her eyes. “And foot massages every Sunday night?”

  “Sure.”

  “Carte blanche with our credit cards?”

  “I won’t even look at the monthly statements.”

  “You won’t bother me during March Madness?”

  “Go…” He didn’t even know where she’d gotten her undergrad degree. So much to learn. “…University of Hisar.”

  She fell into a loud but exotic fit of laughter. Some of the others up ahead looked back, sweaty and completely disapproving of anyone enjoying the uphill hike. “The rumors are going to be swirling,” Saina said, settling down. “We’re a couple now.”

  “You might as well answer my question then.”

  “Your question?”

  “How do you say ‘I love you’ in Haryanvi?”

  “Mai tere tai pyaar karoon soo,” she said quickly, smiling behind the words. “Did you get all of that?”

  “Mai tere tai pyaar karoon soo,” he said back.

  Saina’s smile faded, but appreciation was in her eyes. “You’re amazing.”

  Aiden looked at her the way a man looks at a woman. “Not nearly as amazing as you.”

  “I think something’s happening here, Aiden.”

  “One can only hope.”

  Saina cleared her throat. “If they don’t ostracize me for enjoying Survivor: Harvard Medical School edition so much, some of the others invited me to Somerville for dinner once FEAT is over. That place, Journeyman, which everyone raves about. You should come too.”

  Aiden smiled. “That’s perfect, because I happen to eat food.”

  That initial conversation lead to Thursday nights with a group of the other students, unwinding with Grey’s Anatomy. They rotated apartments, the one constant being a pitcher of Saina’s famous faluda—rose syrup, vermicelli, jelly chunks, tapioca pearls, and milk mixed together to create a drink Aiden found almost as intoxicating as its creator. In fact, his breath smelled of rose syrup and his mustache was painted white with milk when he’d first leaned in to taste Saina’s lips.

  And then a year in, both of them lying on their backs, wet with sweat, Aiden had rolled to his side and looked into Saina’s dark eyes.

  “What?” she’d asked, barely able to meet his gaze.

  “If you want to live happily in this state, then just say yes to every lie, even when someone says an ant has eaten an elephant.”

  Saina’s dark eyes held an intensity that turned Aiden’s core to water. “That’s an old saying back home,” she said.

  Aiden nodded. “Jay is gam main sukhi rehna. Chinti kha gi hathi nay, hanji hanji kehna.”

  “A translation, as well? Someone has done his homework.” She inched closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, touched her lips to his. “What else do you know how to say?”

  “
Mere te byaah karegi ke?” he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

  Saina’s dark eyes had watered at once. She trembled as she looked at Aiden with love, her lips parted, but a response, Aiden supposed, trapped in her throat. “Just nod once if your answer is yes,” he’d said, smiling.

  Perhaps the tide was turning, because Aiden didn’t have to reflect on the pain he’d caused her after that perfect moment. The door of wherever they had him caged screeched open, interrupting his reverie. Sunshine darted into the small prison, and Aiden had to turn his head and close his eyes to avoid being blinded by it. When he turned back, blinking against the glare, the man he’d encountered last night was standing over him. The light of day offered Aiden a glimpse of the man’s features that he hadn’t been able to make out in the dark; enough of a glimpse to make Aiden long for the return of night.

  “You have good taste, boy.”

  And before Aiden could respond, could ask what that meant, the man opened the fingers of his mitt-sized hand to reveal a chain and heart-shaped locket in his palm. Aiden rocked and twisted, cursed and threatened, as he tried to break free of the ties that bound him. A futile effort that drained what little strength he had.

  “I think it’s time we had ourselves a little talk,” the man said.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Merritt exhaled and let the chain and locket fall into the recess of his pocket. He dropped down to his haunches, right beside the white boy. The close proximity made him frown. “Damn. You fouled yourself, boy?”

  “Who are you people?”

  “People?” Merritt’s frown deepened. “My name is James Merritt.”

  “You’re a soldier?”

  Merritt was impressed and nodded several times to show it. “Good pickup. Yes, sir, I spent some time in the desert shooting at other brown men who’d never done me any harm. Our government has a way of convincing black men that that’s okay. I can’t deny being bitter about it now.”

  “I—”

  “I don’t blame you,” Merritt said, “despite your privileged pink skin.”

  “Please, let me go.”

  “You met Will,” Merritt said. “Willard. I don’t even know his last name.”

  “Did you hear me? Please, let me go.”

  “Don’t know much about Will other than he got himself into some trouble, like all of us, and that he comes highly recommended.”

  “Trouble?”

  Merritt continued to ignore him. “Then there’s Ruck. Stupid nickname, I know. I can’t remember how he picked it up, and I’ve known him since we were either four or five. His birth name’s Charles, but if you call him that he’ll pretend his hearing’s bad. He’s been a loyal friend so I give him that respect. He’s here solely because of me. He isn’t like the rest of us.”

  The white boy swallowed. “How many of you are there?”

  Merritt smiled and said in a singsong, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “People will be looking for me.”

  “Wish them luck. They’re going to need lots of it.”

  “I…”

  Merritt pressed on. “Sheldon’s the one I’m sure you’ve labeled the ‘big dumb nigger’ in your mind. You haven’t met the others yet, so no sense in me mentioning them. That would just confuse you. I’m sure you think all black people look alike.”

  “I don’t...”

  Merritt snickered, said, “Shit, boy, you strike me as intelligent, but you’ve been downright laconic,” studying the white boy’s eyes to see if a light flickered behind them after hearing a black man speak with higher level vocabulary.

  “I’ve never used that word,” the white boy said a beat later.

  “Laconic?”

  “The N-word.”

  Merritt half smiled. “Sure you haven’t.”

  “Where am I?”

  “See that? Nice bit of redirection. No point in you debating with me about what racial epithets you’ve used in the past. Let’s let bygones be bygones. See, I knew you were smart.”

  “Look,” the white boy said. “I don’t mean you any harm.”

  Merritt laughed. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. Seeing you all tied up and such I was beginning to worry about my personal safety.”

  The white boy squeezed his eyes shut, started to tremble; he didn’t open his eyes even as Merritt broke the quiet of the shed with the distinctive plink of buttons on a cell phone.

  “Six-one-seven,” Merritt said. “What area code is that?”

  The white boy didn’t open his eyes or answer.

  “Come on, just tell me,” Merritt said. “We don’t have Google out here.”

  Nothing.

  “Come on, Aiden.”

  Aiden finally opened his eyes.

  Merritt flashed a sheepish grin and shrugged. “I’m nosy. I looked through your wallet and read through your old texts.”

  “This isn’t right.”

  Merritt nodded. “I can see how you’d feel that way.” And then he turned his focus back to the phone.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  “A few texts and a lot of missed calls from someone named Saina,” he said. “I’m taking it she’s the girl in the locket.”

  “That’s actually Saina’s mother,” Aiden said quietly.

  “Hush your mouth. You’re one of those freaky white boys then? Dip in the whole family, maybe even at the same time?”

  “Her mother’s dead. It’s a memento.”

  Merritt sighed. “I liked the freaky angle much better. Oh, well.”

  Aiden said nothing.

  “Mama’s fine as frog’s hair,” Merritt continued after a moment. “Did she pass any of that on to your girl?”

  “Saina looks just like her.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I want to be untied.”

  “We’ll get to that, Aiden. Don’t interrupt again. I was enjoying the nice smooth flow of our conversation. It humanizes us both. Now, tell me more about Saina.”

  Aiden closed his eyes once again and fell silent.

  “How’d you meet her?” Merritt asked. “Did her mother work for your family or something?”

  Eyes still closed, teeth gritted, Aiden said, “Saina and I are in med school together. Harvard.”

  Merritt whistled. “Harvard. Damn, I was right. You are smart.”

  Aiden’s eyes opened once again. “And wealthy as well, correct? That’s what you’re figuring? That’s what this is all about. You can stop acting as if we’re friends by some strange circumstance. You people want money, correct? Isn’t that right?”

  Merritt drifted away and sat down heavily on the floor, his back pressed up against the shed wall. He purposely positioned himself so that he was in Aiden’s blind spot. He reached into his pocket, eased out the locket again and loudly snapped it open so Aiden could hear. “It’s her eyes does it for me, I have to admit. Dark, seductive, knowing. As if she can see right into your soul. And you’re telling me that Saina has these same eyes?”

  “Can I have that back, please?” Aiden said. “We’ll figure out the money. Just let me have that back.”

  “I can’t give it back to you right now, Aiden. But if you just turn your head a bit to the right you can see it…A little more…Just a tad more. Shit. You’re so close.” Laughing at Aiden’s struggle.

  After a moment, Merritt snapped the locket closed and pocketed it for the second time, returning to Aiden’s phone. “Why a Blackberry? Guy like you, doctor-to-be, Harvard-educated, I’d figure an iPhone.”

  Aiden started to breathe like a wounded animal.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  “Arnold Bos, Brendan Boutot, David Kawasaki”—Merritt scrolling through the cell phone contacts—“Uh-oh, does Saina know about this one, Aiden? Eileen Kinsey? I tell you, that name makes her sound like she comes from white money. You wouldn’t be snuggling up to Eileen, too, would you? No, don’t answer; you might incrimina
te yourself. Let’s see…Felix can’t-pronounce-his-last-name. Not the only one in your phone I could say that about. You’re the Secretary-General of the United Nations here, Aiden. Culturally open-minded. One of those bleeding heart Liberals you hear tell of. Even went out and got some brown sugar for you to sample. I wonder if it’s sincere, though. That’s the question of the hour. Is it sincere, Aiden?”

  “Twenty thousand,” Aiden managed between wild breaths. “My father could probably handle that.”

  Plink.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  “Ford Lamont; another rich white money name. Hmm, and Gus Murray. This Gus black? I knew a Gus back in the day. Nasty dude. Seen him go nuts on his foreman once with a nail gun. Gus worked construction with me for a time, you see. Get a few beers in him and in zero-to-sixty ol’ Gus went from nasty to downright evil. People confused us for brothers all the time. I never saw the connection, myself. We hardly resembled. And why hurt a man with a nail gun when you got your bare hands?”

  “I won’t mention anything I’ve seen,” Aiden said. “I won’t mention any of you people. Take the money and, and…”

  Plink.

  Plink.

  Plink.

  “Jacob McGinnes.”

  “…do whatever you want with it.”

  “Lucas Perrigan. Lot of texts from him. Syntax makes me think you guys are a couple of tough Irish kids from South Boston, Aiden.”

  Aiden looked over at Merritt, nostrils flaring, but he didn’t speak.

  Merritt smiled. “I nailed it, didn’t I? Only thing is, Aiden, South Boston ain’t the tough South Boston of Whitey Bulger anymore, is it? Southie done gone and went SoBo, its own little rip-off of New York. No more street hockey and hanging on the corners. Now you have condominiums springing up everywhere and instead of the hockey, organized Frisbee leagues in the street. Irish pubs being replaced by yah wine drink-ahs.” A perfect South Boston accent.

  “Exactly who the fuck are you?” Aiden asked.

  Merritt chuckled and returned to the cell phone contacts. “Malcolm Stephenson. John Twohy. Professor Wilson.” He stopped at that last contact. “No doubt part of the esteemed faculty at Harvard. This professor worth the tuition?”