A Woman Like Her

by Levy, Marc

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call Mumbai right away and get the numbers. I’ll have a team design an interface for the American market, and in a few hours, we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night in India right now.”

  Sanji suddenly noticed a smell and began to sniff the air like a dog following a trail.

  “What now, for Pete’s sake?”

  “Mumbai never sleeps. Follow me.”

  “What is this?” Sam asked uneasily when the street vendor handed him an unusual-looking hamburger.

  Instead of a meat patty, in between the two slices of bread was a mysterious object fried in orange dough.

  “If you want to live in India someday, you might as well get used to our cuisine.”

  Sam bit into the bun cautiously but soon began to enjoy the taste of vada pav. However, a few seconds later, tears streamed from his eyes and his face turned bright red. He bought a bottle of water and drank it in one gulp.

  “You’ll pay for this,” he said, gasping for air.

  The owner of Claudette’s welcomed the Bronsteins with open arms.

  He leaned over to give Chloe a kiss and placed himself behind her. Mr. Bronstein never understood why Claude was the only one allowed to push her wheelchair.

  “Your table is ready,” he said, “and the bouillabaisse is exceptional tonight, by the way.”

  “Two orders of bouillabaisse, then,” replied the professor.

  Chloe told her father about Lali’s visit and admitted that she didn’t know how to prevent Groomlat from carrying out his plan.

  “There’s certainly no excuse for him to buy this equipment behind our backs. On the other hand, modernizing the elevator would restore your freedom.”

  “You don’t mean that! What about Deepak, and Mr. Rivera?”

  “Well, that’s how our neighbors feel about it. I’ll vote against it, of course, but we only have one vote out of eight.”

  “No, Mrs. Collins will be on our side, and she owns the offices on the second floor, so that’s three votes already. We just have to get one more owner on our side to keep the status quo.”

  “We could try to convince Mr. Morrison, but then it all depends on his blood alcohol level at the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “I didn’t want to make you more upset, but Mr. Groomlat called an emergency meeting. He sent out an e-mail saying he’d found a solution to the elevator problem—now I understand what he meant.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow at five.”

  After dinner, Chloe asked for the check, but Claude refused to take their money, as always, and escorted them to the door.

  “Why are you so generous to us?” Chloe protested.

  “I’m not generous, I’m grateful. Hasn’t your father ever told you? When I opened my restaurant in this posh neighborhood, everyone gave me three months, tops. They weren’t wrong. People came in to check it out for the first few weeks, but they didn’t come back. If you knew how many nights we only served a handful of customers. But Mr. Bronstein was faithful. He said the food was good and encouraged me to hang in there, and he had a brilliant idea.”

  “I simply suggested that he consider the law of supply and demand,” the professor jumped in. “For one week, I told him he ought to refuse any reservation requests and claim that the restaurant was booked until the next Monday.”

  “And next Monday, the restaurant was three-quarters full, which is not bad for a Monday. Rumor had it that it was impossible to get a table at Claudette’s. That’s all it took for everyone to want to eat here. Ten years later, we’re always full, except on Mondays. So you’ll always be my guests.”

  That night, no one could sleep. Maybe it was the full moon.

  Chloe practiced her lines until the early morning, occasionally going to the window to look at the street. Earlier, she had been interrupted by a call from Julius, who wanted to see how she was doing.

  Mr. Williams stayed up late working on a news story. Mrs. Williams had to finish the last illustrations for her book by the end of the week, so she was drawing in her office.

  The Clercs were recovering in front of the television after a session of lovemaking.

  Mrs. Collins was reading a detective novel out loud to her parrot in the kitchen. She burst into tears when the police officer twisted his ankle while chasing a thief.

  Mr. Morrison enjoyed a Mozart opera with a bottle of Macallan single malt until five a.m., when he collapsed onto his Persian rug.

  The Zeldoffs had quarreled. Mr. Zeldoff was brooding on the couch in the living room, since the street was too noisy for him to get any rest. His wife was reciting Psalms in her bed to atone for having used some choice swear words.

  Mr. Rivera read for most of the night. He was in pain but reluctant to ring for the nurse, since the nurse in the novel he was reading had poisoned her patient.

  At 225 East 118th Street, Sanji, seated at the makeshift desk his aunt had placed in the blue room, was Skyping with his team in Mumbai, entering forecasts and figures into his laptop.

  Nestled against his wife, Deepak was the only one who paid the full moon no heed. He was sleeping like a log, but he wouldn’t be for much longer.

  9

  “What time is it?” Deepak mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  “Time to tell your wife what an amazing woman she is.”

  Deepak picked up his glasses and sat up.

  “You couldn’t wait for my alarm to go off?”

  “I’m tired of tossing and turning in this bed. Get up, we need to talk. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Deepak wondered if his wife was losing it.

  “It’s four a.m. and I don’t want any tea,” he protested. “I’ve known for a long time that you’re an exceptional woman. I’m eternally grateful that you made me your husband. So now that that’s clear, can I go back to bed while there’s still a little bit of nighttime left?”

  “Not a chance. You’re going to listen to me now. I found a solution to our problems.”

  “You’re not going to start again with that crazy idea of you filling in for Mr. Rivera?”

  “Not me, but I know who can.”

  Deepak leaned over to look underneath the bed, then lifted his pillow, then went and opened and closed the curtains.

  “What are you doing?” Lali asked.

  “Since you found our savior by tossing and turning in our bed, I figure he can’t be far away, so I’m looking for him.”

  “Oh, this is a great time to behave like an idiot!”

  “You told me a hundred times that you fell in love with me because of my sense of humor, even though I thought it was my batting skills in cricket.”

  “Fine, so you want to be a smart aleck? Keep looking! You’re right, he’s not far!”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Deepak sighed. “You’re losing it.”

  “You said the problem is finding a qualified union elevator operator to meet the insurance company’s requirements, right?”

  “That’s right, but I never told you that!”

  “Proves I’m even smarter than you think.”

  “And I’m an idiot, because I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “Sanji!”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “You can tell your friends in the union that your nephew is an experienced elevator operator from Mumbai, and they can sign him on as a trainee. All the union dues you’ve paid could be useful for once. And that blasted accountant won’t be able to find any fault with it.”

  “Now I see what you were doing on the ninth floor. It was very kind of you, and I’m very grateful, but there’s just one little problem with your plan.”

  “My plan is absolutely perfect!”

  “No, it isn’t. Your nephew isn’t qualified at all!”

  “He works in the tech world—don’t you think he’s got the skills to operate an elevator? Or mayb
e you’re worried you don’t have the skills to teach him? Teaching others is a duty you should have taken on a long time ago; then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Duty. Lali had hit the nail on the head. Deepak got very annoyed, which didn’t bother her in the least, because it was the exact reaction she had been counting on.

  “Let’s say I train him,” he said with a pompous air. “Let’s say the union falls for it. How do you know he’ll agree to do it? Unless you’ve already been plotting with him behind my back.”

  “I know how to convince him.”

  “I bet you can’t. And we’ll talk about it again when you fail,” replied Deepak.

  He took off his glasses, turned off the light, and buried his head under his pillow.

  Sanji opened his eyes and grabbed his phone. He had worked so late into the night that the daylight hadn’t woken him. He jumped up, rushed into the bathroom, and came out a few moments later wearing a nice suit. To make Sam happy, he had even put on a tie.

  “So this is what status depends on in this country. And I’m the one who’s supposed to be crazy,” he grumbled to the mirror.

  He called for a car and headed for the door.

  “What a nice suit!” Lali exclaimed. “You look like a banker.”

  “I am meeting a banker, actually.”

  “Do you want to get together for a meal today?”

  “I’m very busy today, maybe another day?”

  “It’s urgent, I have to talk to you.”

  Sanji looked at his aunt. Refusing her would be disrespectful.

  “All right, I can swing it. I’ve got to run—meet me around five at Washington Square Park, on one of the benches near the guy who plays the trumpet.”

  “Which guy?”

  “You’ll know who he is,” called Sanji as he ran down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

  Sam was on pins and needles. Sanji apologized as he entered his office.

  “Is it a tradition in India to always be late?”

  “In Mumbai, it is. With all the traffic, being on time means getting there within an hour of the scheduled appointment,” Sanji replied.

  “This is New York!”

  “And since, in India, we never sleep, I have your numbers. I spent all night working on them.”

  “So let’s hurry, then—our client is waiting for us, and he’s the one you have to convince.”

  Sanji spent all day advocating for his project. The sun climbed above the East River, shone over 5th Avenue, and sank down toward the Hudson River.

  At 4:45, Mr. Bronstein, who had let his students out early, was heading home across Washington Square Park.

  At the same time, Lali entered the park on the opposite side, led by the music.

  At 5:00, Sanji said goodbye to Sam, who was exhausted but feeling optimistic for the first time. It was not a done deal, but Sam could already see himself directing the finances of an Indo-American empire that would make Sanji’s uncles green with jealousy.

  At 5:05, Deepak took Mr. Bronstein to the second floor. All the residents were waiting for him in Mr. Groomlat’s office to begin the meeting, except for Mrs. Collins, who had given him permission to use her votes against the accountant’s plan.

  At 5:10, Sanji walked through Washington Square Park. He tossed his tie into the first trash can he saw.

  Lali was waiting for him on a bench.

  “Here I am,” he said breathlessly, sitting down next to her. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Lali was looking at the trumpet player’s hat, which was lying on the ground.

  “Did my brother keep up with the clarinet?”

  “All his life.”

  “He used to go on about jazz when we were young. Now, when I hear jazz music, it brings back memories.”

  “Good memories?”

  “I see my reflection in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself. I’m still the girl who would skip down the streets of Mumbai. I so loved to break the rules, to be free.”

  “Was life really that hard?”

  “It was difficult. It always is when you feel different.”

  “Did you ever think of going back?”

  “I dreamed about it every day, and I still sometimes dream about it, but there was a time when it was too risky for Deepak.”

  “You could’ve come back for a vacation.”

  “And find what? Doors slammed in our faces? A family that refused to see me and get to know the man I love? Losing your parents is terrible, but it’s the natural order of things. When they reject you . . . that’s truly cruel. How can respect for traditions be stronger than a parent’s love? My youth was filled with lies and silence. My family’s backward attitude was hateful, all under the pretext of religion.”

  “I think I know what you mean.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about it. You’re a man, and from an upper caste—you’re completely free. My father sent me away because he was ashamed of his own daughter, and my brothers let him do it. All the same, we do have one thing in common: you and I are the only family we have left.”

  “A few days ago, we didn’t even know each other.”

  “Oh, I think you knew me a lot better than you realize. It’s no coincidence that we met. When you needed support from your family, you turned to me, because you knew that I was the only one who would help you, didn’t you?”

  “Probably . . .”

  “I’m glad to hear that, because now I need you to do a little favor for me.”

  “Sure, what do you need?”

  “Wait until you know what you’re agreeing to! You know that Deepak’s colleague broke his leg. Well, his accident has also had repercussions for us. His employers want to exploit this situation to modernize the elevator.”

  Sanji could not see what it had to do with him.

  “I hope that, after all his years of service, they will compensate Deepak fairly,” he replied.

  “The richer people are, the cheaper they seem to be. Maybe that’s why they’re rich. But for Deepak, it’s not an issue of money, it’s his pride and his life that are at stake.”

  “But what does his honor have to do with it? It’s not his fault.”

  “Deepak was an exceptional cricket player. The national team had its eye on him. He could’ve turned pro, and it would have been a gateway to overcoming social barriers and being admired by all. But we had to leave. Instead of becoming an elite athlete, he became an elevator operator in a foreign city. Can you imagine what that was like for him? So, to keep his dignity, your uncle got the idea of achieving something extraordinary.”

  “At cricket?”

  “More like mountain climbing. Going three thousand times the height of Mount Nanda Devi on his confounded elevator. He’s been hanging on to this dream for thirty-nine years, but his employers want to take it away from him, when he’s so close to reaching his goal. I can’t let them do it.”

  “Why three thousand times?”

  “Why not?”

  Sanji looked at his aunt with amusement, then surprise, as he realized that she was completely serious.

  “And how can I help him cover three thousand times the height of the Nanda Devi? I get dizzy going up a ladder.”

  “By replacing Mr. Rivera for a while.”

  The trumpet player finished his song, put away his instrument, and gathered the coins that passersby had tossed into his hat.

  “Lali, I haven’t told you everything. I have my own company in Mumbai. I’m responsible for over a hundred employees. I came to New York to expand my business.”

  “So you’re too important to play elevator operator for a little while, is that it?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “That’s what you said.”

  “I’m not too important, I’m too busy.”

  “Your work matters more to you than helping your family?”

  “Don’t twist my words. Put yourself in my shoes. How can I manage my business while wo
rking an elevator at night?”

  “Let me ask you a question. What do you know about your employees? Do you know their wives, their children’s names, their birthdays, their habits, their joys, their pains?”

  “How could I? I told you, there are over a hundred of them.”

  “So from up on your pedestal, you can’t see very much. Deepak knows everything about the lives of the people in his building. Most of them think of him just as the hired help, but he makes their day-to-day lives possible. He probably knows them better than they know themselves. He protects them. Deepak brings people together. What about you?”

  “I’m not trying to belittle your husband’s human qualities, and if I gave you that impression, I’m sorry.”

  “Give me one more minute,” said Lali, digging around in her purse.

  She took a quarter from her wallet and put it in the palm of Sanji’s hand. Then she closed his fingers around it.

  “Turn your hand over and open it,” she ordered.

  Sanji did as she asked, and the coin fell at his feet.

  “That’s what will happen to your wealth the day you die.”

  With these words, she left.

  Troubled, Sanji picked up the coin. He looked up at the leaves of the large Chinese elm, and feeling even more troubled, he ran after his aunt.

  “How many nights?” he asked.

  “A few weeks.”

  “I hadn’t planned on staying in New York that long.”

  “If you want to, you can, unless a man as important as you isn’t free to do what he wants.”

  “I don’t mean you any disrespect, but you are incredibly manipulative.”

  “Thanks for the compliment. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you know. So what’s your answer, yes or no?”

  “Ten nights, and after that, you’ll have to find someone else.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

  “You’ll be the one thanking me. I’m sure you’ll benefit from this experience.”

  “I really don’t see how.”

  “Didn’t you invent a system for connecting people?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I did a Google on you.”