Matty waited still, searching the grimy, still face before him. “Who are you?” he murmured. But the prisoner had receded far into his inner cell.
"If you don't mind,” Mrs. Sharma's voice was soft behind him, “I think I will return to the hotel, Mr. Mathan."
"Yes, of course. Jain here will take you back. . . .” Matty spoke hurriedly, pointing towards his assistant from the embassy. “You will understand that I still have to speak to some of them.” He couldn't bear to look into her eyes. He had always suspected that sorrow was an infinite well, but the extent of pain in Prisoner Number 351's eyes had shaken him. “You will excuse me, please. I will see you in the evening,” he blurted.
"Yes, of course, thank you,” she murmured, drawing her sari close around her.
* * * *
After Mrs. Sharma left, Matty's job was nearly impossible. Prisoner Number 351 had returned to his catatonic state, staring blankly before him, a secret new smile curving around his chapped lips. The other prisoners seemed terrified, or just bewildered, and spoke garbled words, unable to answer the simplest of questions. With frustration mounting, Matty explained again and again, speaking slowly and patiently in Hindi and English, that he would not be returning the next day. Any and all information that the prisoners wished to share with him had to be given that very afternoon. But the inmates were confused, some refusing to speak at all while others rambled wildly or sang tunelessly.
As the evening approached, defeated by the din, Matty began to pack up, putting away his notes. He was about to close his briefcase when he saw the magazine that had come from Delhi in the diplomatic bag. Later, when he thought of it or even tried to explain to Anita, he could find no explanation for what he did next.
Quickly, in the guise of making some final notes, he scribbled his phone number on an inner page of the magazine. And instead of his name, he wrote, “Sparrow, 22."
Extracting the magazine, he closed his briefcase with a snap. Walking up to the prisoners lined up at the wall, he found Prisoner Number 351. With a smile, he pushed the magazine, now rolled up, between the plaster-covered hand and the painfully thin chest. “Let him keep it,” he told the guards sternly, his officer voice back in place.
"Yes, sir,” one of them saluted. Matty walked back to the rickety table and picked up his briefcase with his right hand and gathered the stack of folders he had made on the prisoners in his left.
At the main exit, Abu stood guard. “Salaam aleikum, Captain sahib,” he saluted cheerfully.
"Could you carry these to the car, Abu miyan?” Matty held out the folders. Abu accepted them with alacrity, marching alongside to the embassy car that waited in the parking lot, beyond the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the prison.
"Some little help would be good, Abu miyan,” Matty muttered. “These men were soldiers, and soldiers should be treated with honour."
Abu nodded in response, smiling widely.
Defeated, Matty reached the car. He turned to receive the folders from Abu and got in. Abu stood aside, waiting to close the door behind him, bending forward slightly.
"Captain sahib, look for your men in the army prison at Muzaffarabad. Here in Multan you will not find them. Except on the other side of the jail and there you can't go. Khuda hafiz, sahib,” he murmured.
Matty stared at the tall Pathan looming over the car. Then he smiled as Abu saluted crisply.
Ignoring his orders from home, his training for his present job, and for the first time in two decades after he had given up his uniform, Matty raised his right hand to his forehead in response. “Khuda hafiz, Abu miyan."
That had been eleven weeks ago. Then the phone call had come, late at night, waking Matty from his nightmares.
"Sparrow Twenty-two, Sialkot sector, right.” The voice had been urgent, hoarse.
"Who is this?” Matty had responded guardedly.
"Squadron Leader Abhayan Sharma; nineteen sixty-three commission; GD pilot; taken POW on fourth December nineteen seventy-one. I am out. Will you help?"
Matty had shot bolt upright with the first words. “Can you get to Islamabad? No, wait, Lahore? Find Hotel Faletti."
"I will try. I will contact you."
"Meet me . . .” Matty began, but the line had gone dead. Either cut off by the men who tapped it or the caller had hung up. With trembling hands, he lit a cigarette. He thought of waking Anita but then how could they talk? And running the shower at three in the morning would be a little ridiculous. No, he would have to wait till the morning.
With a sigh, Matty sank back into the pillows, reaching out under the covers to touch the warmth of his sleeping wife. Drawing comfort just from her silent presence next to him. When the sun came up the next morning, he had finished his second pack of cigarettes. He had also decided not to inform headquarters about the developments. This one—if it came—would be for Matty alone.
* * * *
Days later, on the night of Diwali, as every light in the house blazed, Matty and Anita sat in silence, hand in hand, tense, waiting for the phone to ring again. Hoping to hear again from their unknown caller. Before them, alone on the table, a single oil lamp flickered, glowing even amidst the brightness of electric lights. Glowing in the memory of that night long ago when the warrior had returned home.
And across the border, slumped in the armchair on her veranda, Mrs. Sharma continued her interminable vigil.
Copyright © 2011 by Sunny Singh
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ELLERY QUEEN'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE. Vol. 137, No. 5, Whole Nos. 817, May 2011. ISSN 0013-6328, USPS 523-610. Dell GST# R123054108. Published monthly except for combined March/April and September/October double issues by Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications. 1-year subscription $55.90 in U.S. and possessions, in all other countries $65.90 (GST included in Canada), payable in advance in U.S. funds. Subscription orders and mail regarding subscriptions should be sent to Ellery Queen, 6 Prowitt St., Norwalk, CT 06855, or call. 800-220-7443. Editorial Offices, 475 Park Ave. South, New York, NY 10016. Executive Office, 6 Prowitt St., Norwalk, CT 06855-1220. Periodical postage paid at Norwalk, CT and additional mailing offices. Canadian postage paid at Montreal, Quebec, Canada Post International Publications Mail, Product Sales Agreement No. 40012460. ©2008 Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications, all rights reserved. Dell is a trademark registered in the U.S. Patent Office. Protection secured under the Universal Copyright Convention and the Pan American Copyright convention. ELLERY QUEEN'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE(r) is the registered trademark of Ellery Queen. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, 6 Prowitt St., Norwalk, CT 06855. In Canada return to Quebecor St. Jean, 800 Blvd. Industrial, St. Jean, Quebec J3B 8G4. For back issues, send your check for $5.50 (U.S. funds) to Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Suite SM-100, 6 Prowitt St., Norwalk, CT 06855-1220. Please specify the issue you are ordering. Add $2 per copy for delivery outside the U.S.
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