by James Hornor
“You may choose one of your fellow inmates to be released, but not both. We’ll give you an hour to decide.”
I was returned to the barracks. I had less than forty-five minutes to decide between Ramesh and Jonathan. I knew that there was a possibility that Melissa had arranged my release, but if she had the wherewithal to do so, why would she have chosen me over Jonathan? There was a slight possibility that the Bank had procured my freedom, but they would not want the potential press release that one of their own had attempted to bribe an Indian judge, and they certainly would not consider paying for an additional prisoner to be released.
I thought of Ramesh, still faithfully wearing his Yankees hat several years from now and still incarcerated. Who would care for him when he again became sick? Who would regale him with stories about New York? At the same time I realized that if I chose Jonathan I would be able to complete my original mission to Bombay. There was a chance that Melissa was still unattached in Nairobi, and my return with a freed Jonathan would have the same effect I had envisioned months before. There was at least a possibility that I could be reinstated at the Bank and return to the life I had left behind. I thought of Melissa welcoming me with open arms and the nights we would spend together upon my return to Nairobi. For a moment, all the intoxication, all the physicality of her came rushing back, and I couldn’t imagine not choosing Jonathan. It was at that moment that one of the wardens came to get me, and as I walked to the superintendent’s office, I was still uncertain who I would choose.
When I arrived, both the superintendent and Mr. Alexis were standing, and there was a formality in the room that had not been there earlier. It was clear that they wanted to get on with it.
“We need your decision.”
I looked around the room. Through the superintendent’s window, I could see the prison yard, and beyond that, the street where I had arrived ten months ago. I knew that in a matter of minutes I would be out of prison forever. I would return to freedom; they needed my answer.
“I choose Ramesh Jariwala.”
The superintendent and Mr. Alexis looked at one another, and then the superintendent directed the warden to bring Ramesh to the office.
When he walked into the office a few minutes later, the superintendent said something to Ramesh in Hindi. Whatever the superintendent said to him produced a large smile. For a moment, the four of us just stood there as if no one knew quite what to do. Ramesh was accompanied back to the barracks to gather his few belongings. The two of us then signed several release forms, and Mr. Alexis, Ramesh, and I were escorted to the entrance by one of the wardens.
It was an early spring day in Bombay, warm but with low humidity. There was a crowd outside the entrance, similar to the day when I first arrived. Because of the bright sunshine, both Ramesh and I shielded our eyes for a moment to allow them to adjust, and as I gazed beyond the crowd and across the street, there was Teresa Benjamin standing next to a car with an infant in her arms.
Of course she was impeccably dressed, and as our eyes met, she gave me a wave as if we had just seen each other yesterday. Teresa Benjamin had come to Bombay to rescue me from prison! She was delivering on the promise she had made during my departure at Victoria Falls. I grabbed Ramesh’s hand and pulled him with me through the crowd.
I hadn’t kissed a woman in almost a year, but I kissed Teresa several times as we embraced. As we put our heads together, I whispered “thank you” several times into her ear.
Ramesh was completely amazed. I hadn’t mentioned any woman to him, and now he was out of prison and seeing me embrace a beautiful American woman. I introduced Ramesh to Teresa, and they started to shake hands, but then also embraced.
“I’ve brought you a little surprise, James. This is Charlie Benjamin, but his last name should really be Monroe. He’s our baby!”
The baby in her arms now looked up and gave me a smile. Teresa had come to Bombay to get me out of prison and to bring me our baby!
She handed him to me and I carefully shielded his eyes from the sun.
“He’s beautiful, Teresa. He’s beautiful and handsome all at the same time.”
Teresa, Charlie, Ramesh, and I all piled into the back of the town car Teresa had hired to make the trip across town. I then heard Teresa say to the driver, “Taj Hotel.”
“You’re looking a little haggard, James. I bought you some clothes, but you look like you could also use a cocktail.”
Ramesh and I were still in our prison clothes, and we must have appeared to our driver as a strange juxtaposition: two convicts, a stylish American woman and a baby. We represented a backstory that he could not have begun to imagine. He must have been equally amazed when we asked him to take a detour to Ramesh’s neighborhood, and we all watched his mother’s reaction when he suddenly appeared at her front door. As he and his mother embraced, he paused and gave me a quick glance of gratitude. In just six months I had come to think of him as my son. Teresa squeezed my hand as we headed for the hotel. I kept thinking I was still in prison, and this was only a late night dream. But now we were returning to the exact spot where my nightmare in Bombay had begun.
As we boarded the elevator it occurred to me that it was the same elevator I had taken ten months ago for my fateful meeting with the Indian judge. Now I was looking forward to a hot shower and dinner with Teresa and Charlie. I was elated to find that my passport was still in the hotel safe along with my wallet. I wouldn’t be needing my World Bank credentials, but they were there as well.
After showering, I collapsed on the bed and awakened to find that it was already early evening. Instead of going immediately to meet Teresa, I decided to take a walk in the direction of the water, and so I headed over to the Gateway of India, built in the 1920s to commemorate British sovereignty in the region and an earlier visit to India by King George V.
The sun was setting on the Arabian Sea and beyond that the Indian Ocean stretched all the way to Africa. I would probably never return to Zimbabwe or Kenya, and yet I thought of the day I had first met Teresa at Victoria Falls. Little did I know that our brief interlude would form the basis of life’s promise for decades to come.
I had grown up believing that some moments, some places are where the sacred lies, and that others—even everything else—is a reality left untouched by the face of God. But that perception is a lie. It all is sacred; it all is holy: a woman’s exquisite beauty, the pain of loss, the despair of incarceration are all sanctified parts of life that are forever intertwined. The mighty Zambezi will continue to be flung headlong into the gorge of Victoria Falls. The mist of rainbows will continue to rise. Our children will continue as our final legacy of what we had hoped life would be.
EPILOGUE
AS I FELL BACK ASLEEP, I SAW MYSELF STANDING UNDER the same boughs of snow-filled pine at the edge of Lake Moraine. As the snow continued to fall, I stood there in the complete quiet, allowing the snow to settle on my face and hands until I became numb and completely immobilized. Still standing in my skis, I began to dream of dying, of drifting into oblivion. The cold, the tall pines, the distant view of the lake made the idea irresistible. They would find me days later, still preserved by the cold and the snow, having returned to the natural world in a remote section of western Canada. I was almost there when I heard a voice calling my name way up the trail. As the figure drew closer, I recognized my father. He looked much younger, like the pictures I had seen of him when he was in Africa.
He greeted me by saying my name, and as he drew closer, he gave me a broad smile. Instead of continuing to speak, he began to brush away the snow from my face and hands. As he did so, the cold and numbness began to subside and feeling returned to my limbs. He did this several times, much in the way a sculptor would put the finishing touches on a statue. He was incredibly precise, even brushing away snow that had accumulated in my collar and around my eyes. As he brought me back to life I wanted to thank him, but I was still unable to speak. It was as if the cold had permeated my throat and lungs
, so that I was now mobile but still without a voice.
Satisfied that I was ready for the journey home, he glided back onto the trail and made a motion for me to follow. I was able to perfectly mimic the strides of his forward progress, and soon I was matching him in both speed and technique as we effortlessly traversed towards the trailhead. As we neared the clearing that leads up to the house, I saw Jenny standing in the driveway. She was smiling, and she waved to both of us as we drew closer. I looked to my left, but now my father was gone. He had evaporated in mid-stride. Finding my voice, I shouted to Jenny.
“I’ve been with Father. He found me on the trail.”
At that moment, I was awakened by another voice; it was the guard’s voice on the other side of the prison bars.
“Pipe down in there. You’re calling for your father, but he’s no longer here. He left hours ago.”
I was startled and disoriented. I had been talking in my sleep. I suddenly realized that no one was there—not James, not Jenny, not even Teresa. I couldn’t blame the mishaps of my life on Richard or Heather or anyone else. Whatever I had done or not done up to that point could only be resolved by my own resilience, my own determination. I remembered what James had said about the importance of every interaction with humanity, of finding life in every moment.
As I lay there trembling, I wondered if the appearance of Jenny in my dream meant that she had somehow been found. I knew that her reappearance was the last chance I had of being exonerated, but I didn’t want to live on that hope if she was gone forever, or worse, if she was now dead. For all we knew, the mechanic had taken her to another Canadian province or even sold her in Vancouver. I couldn’t imagine the degradation she might be experiencing at this very moment, so I attempted to put it out of my mind. So much negative apprehension was swirling in my psyche that I was unable to bring clarity to any part of it.
After breakfast that morning, I was summoned to the superintendent’s office. I thought I was going to be moved to yet another Canadian prison. Perhaps they were anticipating that I would be accused of murder, and they planned to move me to a maximum security facility. Whatever it was, they took me to a small anteroom and told me to wait.
After about thirty minutes, a guard appeared with a clipboard and several papers covered in small print. My glasses were back in my cell, but I assumed that the release forms I signed were a formality whenever a prisoner is moved from one facility to another. After signing, I waited for an hour, until another guard appeared with my civilian clothes. He went with me to my cell where I changed and gathered my things. I carefully placed the letter from James in my right pocket, and other inmates watched as I was led away.
Outside there was an RCMP sedan waiting in the driveway and my handcuffs were removed as they motioned for me to sit in the rear seat. About twenty miles from the prison, I noticed that we were heading north. I assumed that I was being taken to a larger prison in Calgary, but even with the little I knew about Canadian geography, we seemed to be headed in the wrong direction. Soon some of the landmarks became more familiar, and I suddenly realized that we were headed toward Lake Louise. For reasons that I could not begin to fathom, it appeared that they were taking me back to Jenny’s.
When we pulled into the driveway, Jenny’s car was there, along with James’s truck. It had started to snow, and both cars were lightly covered in white. There was another RCMP sedan as well, and next to the sedan, Inspector Macpherson was standing, watching us pull up the drive. As our car pulled up next to his and he reached over to open my door, I climbed out, and both of us just stood there looking at each other. I could tell that he was about to offer some sort of explanation, but whatever he had rehearsed had suddenly escaped him. It was the first time I had noticed any awkwardness in his otherwise unflappable demeanor.
“Charlie, quite a bit has happened in the past eighteen hours.”
It was the first time he had ever addressed me by my first name, and I quickly jumped to the conclusion that they had found Jenny and she was dead.
“We went down the wrong rabbit hole on this one, and I apologize that you so quickly became our chief suspect. Obviously we got it all wrong.”
I looked beyond him and into the windows of the house. It was mostly dark and the falling snow had begun to cover it like a shroud.
“Is Jenny dead?”
Macpherson paused, allowing the weight of what he was about to say to settle into my late morning arrival.
“Jenny isn’t dead. In fact she is inside waiting. She has some very unfortunate news to share with you.”
I glanced over at James’s truck. His cowboy hat was missing from the dash, and now the unthinkable came crashing in. I walked slowly towards the house. Even before I reached the front door, I knew that James was dead, that he had died in some tragic encounter as he had attempted to save Jenny. I pushed the door open and looked across the hallway and into the darkened stairwell. There was Jenny sitting halfway up the stairs, her face red and swollen, her hair knotted and off to one side. She had on sweatpants and a sweater that was too big for her. It must have belonged to James. For the first time we looked at each other as brother and sister.
I walked up and sat next to her. As I put my arm around her, she began to shudder and weep.
“This is all my fault, Charlie. I should have been more careful how I dressed around that monster. Papa would still be alive. It’s my fault that Papa had to die.”
“It isn’t anyone’s fault, Jenny. What happened isn’t anyone’s fault. Our father died doing what he did best.”
We sat there like that well into the afternoon as it continued to snow. By not moving, we both wanted to stop time, to retreat back into the past, to stall James’s full departure. Finally, I made tea and we sat in front of the fire. Jenny told me everything that had happened. When she got to the part about cradling James in her lap as he passed away, each phrase was interrupted by a sob from the back of her throat. That moment helped me to understand fully the depth of their relationship—father, mentor, confidante, and friend. I envied her for all the years they had spent together, and I realized that my relationship with Richard had been a charade of what is supposed to occur between a parent and a child. Suddenly, I wanted to talk to Heather and Ryan. Whatever fantasy I had been chasing by coming to Alberta had been replaced by a new fervor to make things right for my own family.
“Hello?” Heather’s voice sounded distant and exhausted.
“I’m out of prison.”
Neither of us spoke for about thirty seconds.
“Charlie, what happened?”
“My father found Jenny, but he was killed trying to free her.”
Heather again paused before responding.
“Oh my God, Charlie. I am so sorry. What an ordeal.”
“The funeral is this weekend in Vancouver, but I’m not going.”
“After all of this, don’t you need to be there?”
“My father would understand. He would want me to be with you and Ryan.”
“What about your sister? Doesn’t she need you there for support?”
“My father’s friend, Rob Curtin, is arriving here tomorrow morning. He and Jenny will return to Vancouver together. He will be with her at the funeral.”
“Ryan wants to say hello.”
“Are you coming home, Dad?”
“Ryan, I love you, and I’m coming home.”
“I’ve missed you, Dad, and I love you too.”
As Ryan handed the phone back to Heather, I wanted my goodbye to be as reassuring as possible.
“Heather, I know that talk is cheap, but this time I am coming home for good.”
Heather’s voice was flat, but there was a thread of hope in her goodbye.
“Drive safely, Charlie. It will be good to see you.”
After dinner that evening, Jenny showed me several pictures that she had found in James’s wallet. The first was one of the two of them downhill skiing somewhere in western Canada. They both looke
d happy and fully alive. The second was a much younger Teresa holding an infant.
“The background looks like Africa.”
“Or India. Your mother is wearing a sari with a sash. It may well be the same sash that hangs above Papa’s desk in his bedroom. This third picture is a young man from India, probably in his early twenties. He has on a Yankees baseball cap and the woman he is standing next to is probably his mother. Whoever he is, he was important enough to Papa that he carried his picture.”
Before going up to James’s room to spend my last night in Alberta, I wandered outside, just as I had done the first night I arrived in Lake Louise. The snow had finally blown off to the east and the sky was a cascade of brilliant starlight. I wondered about my father and his brief time with my mother in Africa. Both of them were now dead, and whatever secrets they had together were forever sealed. I thought of my father, just a few years older than I, deep in the African continent and under the night sky. How even at middle age he still had his whole life before him, much as I have mine.
Entering his bedroom, I saw that Jenny had placed his cowboy hat on a small hook next to the door. As I looked around the room, I again wondered how much any of us can know about another person’s life. There may be pictures or even diaries, but all the vagaries of a person’s existence are forever a mystery once they are gone.
From talking to Jenny and from spending a few days with him, I knew that he had been married and divorced. I knew that he had slept with my mother in Africa. But at some point the pursuit of women had been replaced by a stronger allegiance. I wondered what had been the catalyst for that change. I guessed that it was prison, but it was unlikely that incarceration alone would produce such a transformation.
What was obvious to me was that my father was a private person and within that privacy there existed an insatiable curiosity for life’s meaning. That pursuit eventually eclipsed everything else—his career, his relationships with women, and even the insecurities that had plagued him as a young man. He was insistent on exploring matters of the heart, the elements of compassion, no matter how unconventional or outrageous that journey might become. The constant striving for fame or advantage that had once dominated him had been supplanted by a quiet confidence. It took courage to pursue that path, and once there, he undoubtedly discovered the presence of God.
