Where the Lotus Flowers Grow

by MK Schiller

  “Maybe he needs family, too, Liam. He had to go through a lot when he found out he had a brother.”

  “This is really none of your business, is it?”

  I flinched against his cold stare. I’d opened up an old wound that hadn’t healed properly. “I’m sorry.”

  The hard ridges of Liam’s face softened. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He put his arm around me. His body was so tense he might have been in pain. We were quiet for a long time, watching the high noon sun shed light on the decay and decadence that was Bombay.

  Liam’s voice was low. “A few months after I arrived, Stephen invited me to a bonfire with his friends. Foolishly, I thought it was some kind of peace offering. I felt like a complete outcast as it was. I drank a few beers, flirted with a couple of girls, and was having a fairly good time. The fire was already high, burning with intensity. I hadn’t noticed at first, but then I saw what he’d used for kindling. I realized it was just some revolting prank. A rage took hold of me that night. A rage that still exists.”

  “What did he use?”

  “My mum’s books.”

  The rage Liam spoke about had to be contagious, because I felt it, too.

  “My God.”

  “I became possessed when I saw that. I broke his jaw. If there hadn’t been people to pull me off him, I might have killed him.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “He said he was high. But it’s more than that. There’s something evil lurking inside of Stephen. That night, it got inside of me, too. Our father’s solution was to send us both packing. I went to a military school to learn discipline. Stephen went to his first rehab. Military school was good for me, though. Better than that cold mansion. I learned how to use physical activity to calm myself. They had elective classes in art. I’d always enjoyed drawing, but I developed a passion for it there.”

  “So you didn’t interact with him after that?”

  “I avoided Stephen for two whole years. Then he came to my failed exhibition with our father.”

  “To make amends?”

  “Probably to gloat. One look at him, and I knew the rehab hadn’t changed him. He was still bitter. I tried, Mary. I tried to put myself in his place. At least I had a caring Mum. My stepmother is a cold woman, and our father wasn’t much better. So I put my own prejudices aside, but again, I realized how fucking naïve I was.”

  “What happened?”

  “You remember the girl? The one who lived with me in that loft?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t want to discuss girlfriends past, but I also wanted to hear the whole story.

  “Melanie and I had been together for a few months. She wanted to be an actress. I honestly thought we could have this great bohemian life together. Even though we were young, I was sure she was the one. But I was wrong about us. About her. In a really fucked-up way, Stephen made me realize that.”

  “How?”

  “He slept with her. He told her he knew people and could get her an audition. After that, I had a hard time trusting anyone. I’ve never had another relationship since. It’s always casual, no strings attached.”

  I wondered if he considered us casual. Although we were temporary, casual was the last word I’d use to describe us. It shocked me how cruel his brother was. I had seen cruelty in its purest forms. I could understand Liam’s hatred. I had forgiven more than my fair share, but I was angry again. Angry at this stranger I’d never met. Angry he hurt the man I cared about.

  “You’re right, Liam. Some things are unforgiveable. I can’t imagine how difficult it has to be to work with him.”

  “We both do our level best to avoid drama. I hate my brother, but we share the same goal, to make the company successful. Sometimes I think our inheritance is our father’s version of a cruel prank on me…or maybe on Stephen.”

  “You’ve never talked about all the things that happened?”

  “Just once. He apologized to me at our father’s funeral. He said there were many regrets in his life, and three of the biggest involved me. How he treated me when I arrived. Burning my mum’s books, the only thing I had left of her. And sleeping with Melanie. I told him to shut the fuck up or I’d break his jaw again.”

  “I’m sorry I pried.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I kissed the corner of his mouth and said a little prayer for him. We both struggled with our past. Although we came from completely different walks of life, we carried the same heavy burdens.

  “I’ve never told that story to anyone. I don’t know what it is about you, Miss Costa. You disarm me of my shield.”

  “Don’t look to me for answers, Mr. Montgomery. I’m facing the same dilemma myself.”

  Chapter 22

  Mary

  Liam suggested we spend his first free day at Elephanta Island. I’d never been there either. I gripped the railing of the ferry as the ship jostled against the choppy waters of the Arabian Sea. It carried us away from the bustling crowded city that was Bombay. The humid day created a smoky haze, concealing the island.

  “Are you seasick, love?”

  “A little bit, but I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “Why don’t you sit for a while?”

  All the benches lining the boat were full, but Liam narrowed his eyes at a group of men taking up an entire bench. “The lady requires a seat.”

  I didn’t know if it was chivalry or Liam’s sharp gaze, but several of them rose to offer me their seats. Liam remained standing. He took a bottle of water from his backpack and handed it to me. I made an exaggerated show of checking the cap. He shook his head, his shoulders trembling with laughter.

  A herd of tour guides gathered around us once we reached the island. Rather around Liam. They sensed a rich American tourist and used all the guile of snake-oil salesmen to win his attention.

  “No guides. We can see it on our own.”

  Their insistence grew as they warned of mischievous monkeys and the dangerous perils of going into the caves on our own. They ushered us toward the toy train, insisting we should avoid climbing the steep steps.

  Liam tilted his head at me, a challenge sparking in his emerald eyes. “The decision is yours, Miss Costa.”

  “I think we should go for the stairs.”

  “Excellent choice.” Liam waived away the man’s insistent warnings. “I have very good sunscreen.”

  He stopped before we began the climb, pulling me to the side of the stone steps.

  “What are you doing?”

  He reached into his backpack and pulled out the bottle of sunscreen, the one I’d gotten for him. “You didn’t put any on, did you?”

  “I forgot.”

  He squeezed a generous portion on his palm. “Come here.”

  It was such a little act, the way he covered my exposed skin, yet it caused the heat swelling inside me to match the rays of the scorching sun. Tourists milled around us, but I barely noticed.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m happy you’ve never been here, either. We get to do this together.” He took off his navy blue cap and placed it on my head, adjusting it until it was snug. “There now. I think we’re set for our journey.”

  He allowed me to set the pace. Gone was the commanding businesslike Liam who made me squirm with heat. This boyish version, in ripped jeans and a faded v-neck T-shirt, stole my breath. We held hands climbing over a hundred stone steps, passing by the chair taxis, where four men hoisted a traveler by painted chair. By the time we reached the top, we were drenched in sweat.

  Why me, I wanted to ask. Why do you want me? Why do I want you? What crazy primal desire made us find each other? Was it fate, magic, lust…or a combination of all three?

  “Why here?” I asked instead.

  “I wanted to see the caves. It’s an artistic marvel of sorts.”

  I’d grown up in Bombay and heard of them, but it was one of those tourist attractions locals didn
’t pay much attention to. The slabs of stone reflecting the point of the right through my sandals and burned the bottom of my feet. I let out a sigh of relief when we entered the cooling shadows of the caves.

  “Wow,” I whispered, afraid if I said it any louder I’d disturb the moment.

  “Bloody amazing,” he agreed, running his hand over one of the massive stone pillars at the entrance. He turned to me, his smile full of excitement. “It reminds me of the pillars in Rome. Funny how architecture crosses borders.”

  “Yes.” I wanted to ask him more about Rome, but he was yanking my hand, itching to get inside.

  The caves were a labyrinth of chambers, where Hindu gods and goddesses were intricately etched into the hard rock. Liam squeezed my hand. “Can you believe someone made this? Carved it into hard rock centuries ago using the most rudimentary tools? I can’t even imagine it.”

  The guidebook said they dated back to the seventh century. Unfortunately, many of the formations were ruined by the Portuguese, who used the sculptures for target practice. We stood, a moment of silence passing between us as we mourned the damaged sculptures. “Do you think they saw the figure in the rock first, or created the figure from the rock?” I asked.

  “Both. Isn’t that what a true artist does? Sees the image within the blank space.”

  We stopped at the three-headed rock-cut statue of Shiva. It was perfectly intact, unmarred by Portuguese bullets, preserved through the perils of time and natural disaster. Liam was in his element, a mixture of appreciation and awe on his face.

  “Shiva,” I whispered. “The destructor. I never understood why destruction was worshipped.” I shivered against the image.

  “I do,” Liam said. “How can you create something new without destroying the old?”

  “I suppose.”

  Liam’s eyes widened at the nude of Parvati. “Who is this beautiful girl?”

  “Parvati, the second wife of Shiva.”

  “For a Catholic, you sure know a great deal about Hinduism.”

  “My grandmother was Hindu. She taught me all about the deities. It always fascinated me. Parvati and Shiva had a fierce love. Her love for Shiva transcended everything because she was, for all purposes, Shiva’s other half. They were incomplete without each other. She was his strength, his power, and his calm.”

  “Every man should be so lucky.”

  His expression reflected appreciation as he took in the intricate statue, all the while his fingers twitched.

  I unzipped his backpack, searching for the items I’d put inside that morning.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Here,” I said, holding them out to him.

  He stared at the sketch pad and artist’s pencils. “Where did these come from?”

  “You said I could buy whatever I wanted at the bookstore. I figured they were a bit better than a legal pad and mechanical pencil.” I held them higher, pushing them into his chest. “I know you want to draw her.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  He held me with his gaze, and the answer tumbled out before I could analyze the words. “I like to see you happy, Liam.”

  A look of gratitude flickered across his face. It flashed quickly, but it spoke volumes. He cupped my cheek and pressed his lips against my forehead.

  “Come on,” I said, clasping his elbow. I pulled him toward a stone step opposite the statue. While the other visitors snapped pictures, Liam captured the image on paper.

  “You sure you don’t mind me sketching? Maybe you’d care to go shopping while I do this?”

  “I’d rather sit with you. Although I am a bit jealous you’ve found a new subject.”

  He pulled me close. His lips brushed against my hair. “I appreciate her beauty, but you, Mary Costa, are my one and only muse.”

  I had no response. I sat, almost as still as the statue, watching him fill the blank paper. Lines turned into shapes and shapes into a figure. As he shaded, the two dimensional form turned into three.

  “It’s beautiful, Liam.”

  He kissed my forehead. “You’re beautiful.”

  He stood, brushing off his jeans before holding a hand out to me.

  After we’d had our fill of the humbling magnificence of Elephanta caves, we dashed down the stone steps.

  “I should buy a souvenir for my secretary,” he said, jerking his head toward the market stalls.

  Under tarps of blue and gold, we walked along the vendor’s stalls, each salesperson aggressively begging for Liam’s attention. A white man was a rare and lucrative sight. He stopped to examine a few miniature replicas of the cave carvings.

  “How much?” he asked the old woman running the stall.

  She quoted a price much too high. I moved in front of him, switched into Hindi and haggled on his behalf. At first she refused to yield. I took Liam’s hand, leading him away.

  “What are you doing? I wanted to purchase that.”

  “Just wait,” I said, pulling him along.

  “Wait for what?”

  “Come back, come back,” the women said, standing from her stall. If we’d given her another minute, she would have chased after us.

  “Impressive, Mary. I could use someone with your talent for negotiation.”

  “Liam, most prices in India are suggestions, and they are three times higher for you because you’re a foreigner. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “I shall try my best.”

  We walked back to the table. As he paid her, something caught my eye. I touched the cool, smooth beads of the necklace. I held it up to see the stones against the light.

  “You fancy that, Mary?”

  “No.”

  “It’s similar to a pearl, isn’t it?” he asked, taking it from me.

  “They are moonstones. I had one when I was little, but I lost it.”

  The lady clucked her tongue. “Very bad luck to lose a moonstone.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Mine was similar to this, but much larger. It was flat on one side with flecks of blue and yellow in it. It had an M engraved on the flat side.”

  “M for Mary?” he asked.

  “M for Marco. It originally belonged to my grandfather. My dadima gave it to me on my sixth birthday when she came to visit us in England.”

  “Dadima?”

  “My granny.”

  He held up the necklace. “It’s a little plain, but it will look beautiful on you. Let me buy it to make up for the one you lost.”

  “You buy this for her and the lady’s luck go up, up, up,” the woman said, her thumb pointed to the sky. “Way way up.”

  I took it from him and handed it back to the vendor, wishing I’d never picked it up. “I don’t want it. I was only looking.”

  “Stop being silly.”

  I shook my head. “No really, I don’t want you to buy it.”

  “I insist. Allow me to make you happy.”

  “Not this, okay?”

  “Why not this? It’s the only thing that’s caught your interest since we’ve been here.”

  “We should head back. The ferry’s leaving.”

  The woman chimed in, not missing an opportunity to make another sale. “Yes, yes, rare and expensive, but I give discount. Special stone to”—she clasped her hands together—“join as one forever.”

  Exactly why he shouldn’t buy it. He took out a bill from his wallet. I pushed his hand away before they made the exchange. “I don’t want it, Liam!” It came out hysterical and high-pitched, causing the other vendors and tourists to stop in their tracks.

  I hurried toward the dock. His longer strides caught up to me quickly. The back of his hand brushed mine.

  “Do you always overreact when a man wants to buy you jewelry, or is it just me?”

  “No other man has ever tried to buy me jewelry.”

  The ferry wasn’t as crowded on the way back, and we sat together on a bench. The sea was calm, the sun setti
ng over Mumbai Harbor.

  “Was it the expense? Because I promise you, it was nothing for me. Or is it your pride again?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Are you planning to ignore me?”

  “It wasn’t the expense or my pride.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “Didn’t you hear what the lady said to us?” Did he not understand we were a fortnight, not a forever? “Do you really want to tempt fate?”

  His deep rumbling laugh mocked me. “Seriously, that’s your reason? I don’t believe in charms, or talismans, or any of that rubbish.”

  “I believe in them.” My feelings for Liam were tangled and messy. I could barely understand them, and I had no desire to invite fate into the convoluted equation.

  “It’s a stone mined from the ground. It has no special powers.”

  “Those carvings chiseled into rock had no meanings either then?”

  “That’s different.”

  “I disagree. And I know how powerful the moonstone is.”

  He placed his hand under my chin and tilted my face toward his. “Convince me then. Why is it powerful?”

  “Originally, the moonstone I had belonged to my dadaji. He gave it to my grandmother.”

  “Forgive me. I’m still confused how that explains anything.”

  I sighed. “There’s more to the story, but it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

  “You’ve never been more wrong, Mary. I am very interested in everything when it comes to you. Tell me.”

  His long fingers threaded through mine. His face looked so earnest, I found myself telling him the story my grandmother had told me years ago in a chilly flat in London.

  “He was on leave from the army and in Bombay for just one day. Dadaji…Marco decided to go for a walk on the beach before the night of debauchery he’d planned with his pals. He stumbled upon the saddest, most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her name was Savitri. You see, her parents had arranged for her to marry a man twenty years her senior, a man with a reputation for cruelty.”

  I stopped the story, a small surge of emotion welling up for my dadima. He tightened his arm around me.