Forward Me Back to You

by Mitali Perkins

  Sure, the twins gave up their beds so she and Gracie can have a private room, but the front door was unlocked when Kat checked and locked it at midnight. She still feels grimy from travel because she couldn’t bring herself to take a shower in that bathroom. And constipated, because it’s hard to relax your sphincter with one heel pressed against the door.

  What in the world is she going to do? Stupid, stupid me. Thought I was ready for this but I’m not. Staying in that flat is like sending a purple belter into a black belt match. Someday she might get there, but that day isn’t this one.

  The Asha House director’s a Bobcat, fierce and feisty. Kat’s not sure if she’s the one to approach about moving somewhere else but Kat’s going to have to figure something out.

  And soon.

  Before tonight.

  “Can you teach me how to say ‘son’ and ‘mother’?” Ravi is asking, making Kat tune in.

  “Puth-row and Ma,” the Tiger says. “Is your ma Bengali? Do you wish to write her a letter? I can show you how to spell it with the letters if you like.”

  Ravi shrugs. “No, thanks. I just want to be able to say the words.”

  Gracie and Kat look at each other. They both know what this is about. He’s visiting the orphanage on Thursday. Probably picturing some fantasy movie reunion that isn’t going to happen. And now he’s reminding Kat of a novice, stepping onto the mat for the first time. She’s watched little ones get flattened. A lot of them leave crying.

  * * *

  During lunch break, Gopal leads them to the computer they’ll be able to use to send and receive email.

  “Mom’s been going to church more often,” Kat tells Gracie and Ravi, after checking her email. “They offer some kind of course on managing personal finances. Plus she’s thinking about night school for her nursing degree. She’s finally ‘adulting,’ she says.”

  “That’s good,” says Gracie. “Meanwhile, my mother says the toddlers keep asking why she’s so fat.”

  Reading notes of encouragement from Mom, Saundra, and Grandma Vee makes Kat feel better. She answers them all—without confessing how awful it was to sleep in the Bose flat. Gracie and Ravi take turns at the computer, too.

  Another staff member comes in—a young woman not much older than they are. “Ravi, Mr. Bose has instructed me to train you on data entry before you leave for your appointment at the police training center. Come with me, please.”

  “See you guys back at the flat,” Ravi says, and follows her out the door.

  Gracie’s scowling.

  “What’s wrong?” Kat asks.

  “Does that data-entry person have to be so pretty?”

  “Ravi didn’t seem impressed. Not like he did when he was watching you. Come on; we’d better get going ourselves.”

  INT./EXT. RICKSHAW—DAY—TRAVELING

  Gopal hails a rickshaw for them and gives the driver the street address of Asha House. It’s raining again, so the driver yanks up the flowery, decorated canopy to cover their heads. It’s private and cozy back here on this leather seat built for two. Two Katinas, Kat thinks. Probably three Gracies.

  “You look tired, Kat,” Gracie says. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Not much.”

  “Was the bed uncomfortable? Mine seemed fine. We can switch if you want.”

  Kat glances over at her seatmate. Maybe Grandma Vee’s right, and she can risk a bit of her story with Gracie. “That’s not why I couldn’t sleep. It’s … that I’m not used to having so many guy things around.” Feeble effort.

  “Oh,” Gracie says. “It feels weird to me, too. Six women in our house. We ‘out-stuff’ Dad, that’s for sure.”

  Kat tries again. “It’s just that … well, I’ve never spent the night with a man.” That sounds even more awkward. “I mean, I’ve never slept in the same place where a man is sleeping. I’ve only shared a roof with Mom, Saundra, and Grandma Vee.”

  Gracie pats her hand. “I know. But we’ll get used to it.”

  She’s still not getting it. “It’s just that … well, if you’ve gone through something … violent in the past, it’s harder to ‘get used to’ … stuff that’s easier for other people to ‘get used to.’”

  Gracie’s quiet for a long minute as the rickshaw rattles along. Kat can tell she’s processing what she heard. And what she didn’t hear. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Kat. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? Nobody does. That’s why I left school mid-semester.”

  “Does Ms. Vee know?”

  “Yep. That’s why she encouraged me to come. She thought it might help me … move forward.”

  “Men suck,” Gracie says. “At least, gross men do. Like that sleazy no-relative ‘tío’ who follows me around and ruins every family gathering. He’s so scary. Twice my size almost. Maybe that’s why I prefer guys who are more … compact.”

  “Like Ravi?”

  “Exactly. Although it’s going to take me a while to get used to calling him that. I’m so worried about him, Kat. What if he gets crushed on Thursday?”

  “I know. I’m worried, too.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do for him except be there.” Gracie pauses, then turns back to Kat. “But what we can do is fix our own housing situation. We’ll ask them to move us right away.”

  “What? You don’t have to move! Just me.”

  “I’m coming with you. I’m happy to ask Arjun Uncle if you want me to. Or Miss Shireen.”

  “Really? You’d do that?” Kat’s throat gets a little tight. Immediate support. Even if it means Gracie giving up being with Ravi.

  “We’ll talk to Miss Shireen,” Gracie says. “And don’t worry, I won’t say anything about why.”

  “Thanks, Gracie,” Kat says. “Thanks.”

  The rickshaw stops in front of a peach-colored three-story building behind a high wall. Kat’s heart skips a beat. This is the building that was in the background of the password-protected film.

  Instantly her focus returns. Golden-Ruling, Plan A.

  RAVI

  INT./EXT. KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER—DAY

  “I’m sorry I can’t go inside and introduce you to Shen,” Arjun says on the way to the police training center. “But our lawyer asked for a meeting. We may be able to bring a nasty brothel owner to trial if one more girl decides to testify against him. Say a prayer for that to happen, will you? It takes these children great courage to speak up.”

  “No problem,” Ravi says. “Why do you want me to meet this man anyway?”

  “It’s more that I want him to know you. He told me recently he’s agreed to train a nephew of his this summer. The boy’s quite unmotivated, but Shen’s brother wants his son to qualify as a police officer. Shen has to dedicate his entire afternoon break for this task, but of course, he can’t refuse an older brother’s request.” Arjun pauses, as though trying to word what he’s about to say next a bit more delicately. “As soon as I saw you, Ravi, the idea that Shen might also include you in that training came to mind.”

  Saw my unfit body, you mean? Ravi’s never been good at PE or sports. His dad never worked out much, so neither did he. But he’s had bulging-muscle superhero dreams ever since he can remember. He throws a sideways glance at Arjun, who’s built along the lines of PG. “Do you work out, Arjun Uncle?”

  “Not much; too busy. But believe me, if I had the chance to train with Shen, I would. He’s the best of the best. There’s something about him—maybe self-denial, courage, discipline—that inspires others. The young people he trains emerge head and shoulders above others. Ready to face anything.” He pauses again. “I know you’re here to search for your birth family, Ravi. My hope for you is that two hours of hard exercise with Shen might bring some order into your day. And some courage, as well.”

  Ravi’s heard Kat say that working out is a good stress reliever. But is he up for the task? He takes stock of his thin upper arms and sighs. “He’ll probably take one look at the shape I’m in and send me straight back t
o the office.”

  “I don’t think so,” Arjun says. “Shen reads people quite well. He sees potential where others may not. Anyway, he owes me a favor. It was our data that won his anti-trafficking unit that big grant. To tell you the truth, I’m also asking you a favor. Shen doesn’t think highly of American volunteers. We used to send them and potential donors to see his top-notch operation firsthand, but he refused to have any more come after one of them insulted an older officer. I’m hoping this is my chance to prove him wrong about Americans.”

  They pull to a stop outside a freshly painted, circular building with a sign that reads KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER, and Arjun hands Ravi a letter and a slip of paper. “Show this clearance letter to the guard. And here is our address; I wrote it in Bangla and English. Give it to any auto-rickshaw driver and he’ll transport you back to the flat. I will see you there for dinner. Give this a good try, okay, Ravi?”

  Ravi jumps out of the Maruti. “Thanks, Arjun Uncle. I’ll see what I can do.”

  * * *

  And now he’s alone. For the first time. In the city of his birth. He pauses outside the gate and looks around. Motorcycles, auto-rickshaws, trucks, and cars whiz by. People on foot hurry to their destinations. Nobody pays attention to the Bengali young man on the sidewalk.

  Ravi imagines himself in this moment as if he grew up with his first mother. He might not be able to afford American-made blue jeans and tennis shoes. Maybe he’d be a rickshaw puller or one of those hawkers selling bananas and mangoes on the corner. And he’d be thinking in Bangla instead of in English.

  How much of himself would remain if he could press REWIND and start life again?

  He feels a pang as he pictures his parents’ faces. They’d have to be erased in that alternate reality.

  Missing them, missing her.

  One or the other, that’s his life.

  All he can do now is press PLAY.

  Thunder booms, jump-starting his feet into motion.

  “Visiting Sergeant Shen,” he tells the guard sitting inside the gate, handing him Arjun’s letter.

  The guard scans it quickly and returns it. “Inside,” he grunts.

  Another clap of thunder. This one switches on a torrent of rain.

  Ravi bounds through the downpour and bursts into the Kolkata Police Training Center.

  KAT

  INT./EXT. ASHA HOUSE—DAY

  There’s a door in the high wall around Asha House, but it’s locked from the inside. Gracie rings the bell, and a woman opens it, smiling and saying things in Bangla that the girls can’t understand. She locks the door again once they’re inside.

  Safe and secure, Kat thinks.

  They walk into a small garden full of roses and a few trees laden with limes, papayas, bananas. Bushes with glossy green leaves and tiny white flowers are scattered around; Kat recognizes them from the video, too. And there, at the end of the curved pathway, rocking in the same chair on the same veranda that she saw on-screen so many times, the Bobcat is waiting.

  Kat’s already realized that this woman’s the one to convince if she wants to implement Plan A. But she’ll have to do it carefully. It takes most people a while to believe that a martial art like jiu-jitsu isn’t violent. And that’s in California. She’s not sure at all how they’ll view it here in India.

  “What a beautiful garden,” Gracie says as they reach the Bobcat.

  “My favorite is the night-blooming jasmine. We call them ‘Shi-oo-lee phool.’ Their white flowers release the most gorgeous smell once the sun sets. They grow right outside the windows of my cottage, also. Come. Leave your shoes on the veranda. I have some guidelines to review before you meet my girls.”

  She leads Kat and Gracie into a small office, sits in a desk chair, and gestures at the two empty chairs facing her. “Sit, please.”

  “We have a question for you, Miss Shireen,” Gracie says. “We were wondering if—”

  An upraised hand interrupts her. “Let me review the guidelines first, please.”

  “Of course,” says Gracie. “Sorry.”

  The older woman puts on a pair of reading glasses and glances at a notepad on her desk. “Visitors like you should never probe the girls about their past or ask intrusive questions. Yes?” She looks over her glasses at their faces, waiting for a verbal assent.

  “Yes,” says Gracie.

  As if I would, Kat thinks. “Yes,” she says aloud.

  “Never talk about the girls by name in public places or mention the location of the house in case you are overheard. Yes?”

  “Yes,” says Gracie.

  Kat nods. Sounds good; she likes that safety’s a high priority. The Bobcat looks at her. “Yes,” Kat says.

  “No mobiles allowed. That rule applies to visitors, housemothers, and the girls.” She double taps hers, which is sitting on the desk in front of her. “I keep mine with me, but that is only to be in communication with the office and also for emergencies.”

  “Ours are already locked in the office,” Gracie says.

  “Good. The girls go to school in the mornings but return here for training in the afternoons. Your task will be caring for two babies so their mothers may attend a sewing class. Yes?”

  Gracie’s jaw drops. Literally drops so that her mouth forms a big round O. Poor Gracie has been free of her baby-filled home for just two days and now this. Kat’s not excited, either. She’s never held a baby in her life. Nor does she want to.

  “Isn’t there anything else we can do to help the girls?” she asks. Like teach them jiu-jitsu, for example?

  “You don’t like babies?” the Bobcat asks, taking off her glasses and giving Kat a stern look. “This is our biggest need for the summer. You will be doing a good service for those two young women, and giving our housemothers a much-needed rest as well. So, yes?”

  Gracie closes her mouth. “Yes,” she says wearily.

  “Yes,” says Kat. “But why are the girls learning to sew? How will that help them?”

  “They may get hired in textile factories, or in sari shops.”

  “Here in the city? What if the men who sold them find them again?”

  The Bobcat sighs and leans back in her chair. “That is a worry. Our goal for rescued children is to send them home to their villages, restored to the protection of their families, but my girls have families who didn’t welcome them back. We do our best to get their traffickers behind bars, but I would be lying if I told you these girls are not in danger of being caught and sold again.”

  Kat can see how much she cares about keeping the girls safe. Somehow she has to win this woman’s trust.

  “Are you finished with your guidelines, Miss Shireen?” Gracie asks.

  “For now. I can see you’re burning to ask me your question, so proceed.”

  “The girls all sleep in this building, right?” Kat thought she knew what Gracie was about to say, but the question is surprising. Gracie gives her a trust-me-I’ve-got-this kind of look.

  “Yes, they do,” answers Miss Shireen “All twenty-five. With three housemothers. And two babies, for now. Soon, we’ll have three.”

  “Does Asha House have any open beds? If so, maybe Kat and I can stay here. Then we can help with the babies at night, too.”

  Brilliant, Kat thinks, even though the thought of nighttime baby care is daunting. At least she’ll be with Graciela Rivera, Baby Expert. Plus, nobody’s feelings will get hurt if they move here to be on baby duty 24-7. No explanations needed. She leans forward, hoping Miss Shireen will say yes.

  But the older woman’s head is moving in that Indian figure eight that means no. And sometimes yes. Which is it? Kat wonders. “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow outsiders to sleep in the house overnight.”

  Kat bites her lip. So disappointing. She gets the reasoning, and supports it, but staying here would have been perfect.

  “Isn’t there anywhere else we can stay?” Gracie’s not giving up. “You said girls and boys aren’t supposed to mix here like they
do in the States. It’s kind of odd to be sleeping in the same flat as Ravi, isn’t it? What will the girls think?”

  “You have a point there, although everyone knows you’re under the eyes of Arjun and Mira.” She peers at Gracie over her glasses and takes stock of Kat’s expression, too, and then: “From time to time, I have had female guests stay with me in the director’s flat. It is a small cottage in the back corner of the property. And I am listed as a ‘vetted host family,’ too, even though I am on my own.”

  Kat sits up. “Can we do that, Miss Shireen? I’ll clean, cook, do whatever you need.”

  “We’ll keep things so neat and tidy, you won’t even know we’re there,” Gracie adds.

  “No need to clean or cook,” Miss Shireen says. “But Gracie makes a good point. If you stay with me, you might be able to offer even more service. The little ones will know you since you’ll be taking care of them in the afternoons, so perhaps the babies can sleep in my cottage with you for three or so nights a week. At least for the ten weeks that you’re with us. That way, our girls and the housemothers can catch up on sleep. And I have good quality earplugs, so the crying won’t hinder my rest.”

  Gracie shoots Kat a what-do-you-think eyebrow raise. This arrangement still means more time with babies. Wailing babies, at night. But if it’s a way to get out of that testosterone-filled apartment, Kat will take it. “Perfect!” she says. “You okay with this, Gracie?”

  “Guess diapers are my destiny,” Gracie says. “I’m in. Thanks, Miss Shireen.”

  Suddenly, they hear the voices of girls laughing, singing, chatting outside the office door.

  “Let me talk it over with Arjun and your pastor,” Miss Shireen says. “I think they’ll easily give permission for you to shift to my place. Now shall we go and meet the girls? I see them peering through the windows, and I’m certain they are gossiping about you already.”

  RAVI