Season of Sacrifice

by Bharti Kirchner

  ‘Justin’s main girlfriend.’

  ‘What does she do at the clinic?’

  ‘Wish I could tell you, but it has never come up in our conversation. He’s rather close-mouthed about her.’

  Bill departed but that news, some sort of an anchor, lurked in Maya’s mind. Her watch read nearly six o’clock – time to get ready for her date, the butterflies-in-the-stomach moment. In her bedroom, she opened the closet door, spotted a black skirt and a white blouse hanging next to each other on the rod and hastily settled on them.

  Uma appeared. ‘You’re going to wear a job interview outfit on a dinner date in a fancy restaurant? If you want to make it seem to your date you don’t have the slightest clue about him …’

  ‘You’re not suggesting I wear one of your saris?’

  Uma smiled sweetly. ‘Come, let me show you what I have.’

  A half-hour later, wrapped in Uma’s shimmering green silk sari and a pair of her own emerald-studded, gold drop earrings, Maya entered through the mahogany doors of Taj India West. Walking past the marble bar and eyeing the women patrons clothed in skimpy low-cut dresses, she felt overdressed and overburdened. She wrapped the embroidered sari train around her chest and scanned the surroundings: a posh, high-ceilinged room, soft leather chairs and fleet-footed waiters. Each table was laid with a cream-colored tablecloth and lustrous silverware. Yellow roses stood fresh and plump in slender crystal vases at the center of each table. Well-placed candles cast warm amber light throughout the room.

  A tuxedo-clad maître d’ materialized. She mentioned Ivan’s name.

  ‘This way, please.’ He escorted her toward the far end of the room.

  She spotted them at a table for three. Ivan, with his broad face and high cheekbones, sat smiling under a miniature watercolor of a Mughal court scene. Accompanying him was the Bangladeshi man she’d already met, handsome and polished, with brushed-back, stylishly coiffed hair. Both rose to greet her as they saw her approaching the table. Ivan pecked at her cheeks and she smiled widely.

  ‘Oh, it’s you …’ Viktor said, nearly breathless.

  Ivan wore a puzzled expression. ‘You two have already met?’

  ‘Yes, we shared a table at Betty’s.’ Maya put on an expression of surprise as well. ‘Although we were never introduced.’

  ‘Allow me.’ A jovial Ivan made the introductions.

  Viktor grinned a welcome, held her gaze and shook her hand, a strong, warm shake. He held out a chair for Maya and all three took their seats. ‘So glad you could make it.’

  Ordinary words but with high energy behind them, and the voice was silky. And now, once again, Maya measured her date. He was an inch or so shorter than Ivan. Like Ivan, Viktor was virile, personable and forward. The closeness between them was palpable, as though they had a common objective.

  ‘Good choice of a restaurant.’ Viktor gave her a smile of admiration. ‘Great ambience. You’re the first person to suggest this place.’

  What he projected was: I’ll make this evening magical for you. As magical as you’ve made it for me. Voice inclusive, commanding and even trustworthy, he kept talking and gave the impression of a man comfortable with the opposite sex. There was no twitch of shyness in his body and he put her at ease as well. She came up with answers; he listened intently.

  Her gaze settled on Ivan. Eyes sparkling, he watched the two of them. Maya’s attention drifted back to Viktor; he was the brightest light in the room. She found herself observing his gestures more carefully. It was then something drummed at her heart – a reminiscence, an edge of fear, a warning that sent a current through her legs.

  She’d seen him somewhere. Recently. Not just at Betty’s. But where?

  She kept her smile fixed, nodded and murmured at his words, and continued to study him, his littlest gestures.

  A sinking certainty jolted her.

  He was Sunglasses Man.

  Spotted at the self-immolation of Sylvie and Anna. Suspected of aiding them. Now he was without his huge, wraparound sunglasses, his jacket and whatever other disguises he’d worn on that fateful day.

  Maya couldn’t be fooled, however. She recognized the wide sterling silver band on his middle finger and dragged in an uneven breath.

  Viktor, either oblivious or playing a similar game, signaled the waiter with just the right tilt of his chin. The moussed-haired waiter drifted over, bowed graciously and poured red wine into Maya’s glass. She recognized the bottle as a pricy cabernet sauvignon.

  They clinked their glasses. Maya lowered the glass to her lips and inhaled the bouquet. She failed to pay too much attention to the spicy scent and the currant accent, disturbed to be sitting so close to the man who had stood by Sylvie when she’d given her life.

  Ivan announced he had a previous engagement and would have to leave. That was to be expected – Ivan would surely want Maya and Viktor to be alone together – yet she acted as though she was jolted.

  ‘Oh, I thought you’ll …’ Accidentally, she dribbled her sip down onto her sari. Oh, no, this was her mother’s favorite outfit.

  ‘Sorry, something’s come up.’ Ivan made an elaborate goodbye, wished them a pleasant evening and swapped a meaningful look with Viktor, then strolled confidently from the room.

  Maya turned back to her wine and found Viktor admiring her over the golden glow of the candlelight. She was alone in the evening in a gorgeous room with a deadly attractive stranger. She put the wine glass down and reached for her cellphone. She’d changed purses and forgotten to bring it. Drat. She wouldn’t be able to call Uma in case something ugly started to happen. To think she’d be at the mercy of this stranger.

  She could walk out. Or she could stay, play along and see where this led.

  Viktor’s gaze slowly caressed her face over the golden glow of the candlelight. His eyes were large, steady, a deep, rich brown with a gleam that made him seem either like a come-hither hero of a Bollywood extravaganza or a scary dream.

  He bowed toward her. ‘Pardon me for staring so much. I can’t seem to take my eyes off you, Maya.’

  She put the wine glass down. A jaded line, delivered in a deep, intimate tone, one that had probably been whispered to countless other dates. Still, she marveled at the way he pronounced her name, with an elongated ‘ah’ at the end, as though he didn’t want to let go of the sound. She smiled awkwardly and pretended she was enjoying this act.

  He cupped his hand around the candle flame; his eyes softened. ‘Now I can see why my buddy arranged this dinner. I’ve been here six months. Damn shame we didn’t meet sooner.’

  ‘Well, even if we’ve met before,’ Maya said with a smile, ‘I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere else.’

  ‘Maybe someone who looks like me? I hear it quite often. “Didn’t I see you shopping in Renton the other day?” I want to reply: “Do all Bangladeshis – and there are one hundred and fifty-five million of us – look alike?”’

  ‘Please don’t put me in that category. My ancestry is similar to yours.’

  The waiter was hovering over them. He handed them oversized menus and stepped aside. They studied the long list of choices.

  Viktor gave a mischievous smile. ‘I’ll order whatever you suggest.’

  She lowered her voice, bedroom low. ‘Grilled lamb?’

  He seemed enchanted and, when the waiter reappeared, ordered that dish. Maya chose the vegetarian thali dinner, aware that her usually robust appetite had forsaken her. Curious and anxious, she wanted to play the part just right.

  He mumbled something about them having many things in common.

  ‘What do we have in common right off the bat?’ she asked, giving him a seductive look. ‘Perhaps our respective interest in seeing a cure for malaria? I’d love to hear about your work in that field. Nothing would give me more pleasure.’

  ‘More wine?’ Viktor lifted the wine bottle and Maya allowed him to refill her glass. ‘I rarely meet a woman who would mix a good wine with a deathly topic like malaria.’
r />   ‘Unfortunately, my mother caught the disease.’

  ‘Sorry. I lost my sister to it. I can well imagine how much your mother must have suffered. How’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s quite healthy now.’

  ‘MSP, the company I work for in Moscow, will soon offer solutions for certain lethal diseases. Am I boring you?’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s interesting.’

  ‘The pharma industry in Russia is still small and we have to import huge quantities of drugs, but there’s a growing emphasis on developing our own brands. It’s pitiful, the Russian health statistics. Life expectancy is so low that Russians joke they have a “disappearing citizenry.” Hopefully my employer will help remedy that. I handle the R and D for tropical ailments – I’m the king there – malaria being top of the list. I’m determined to find a cure for malaria that could be spread worldwide.’

  More wine flowed into her glass, poured by Viktor. Had she finished her last glassful? Take this next glass a lot slower, Maya. Only now she realized she was holding onto the delicate stem of the goblet. For stability. To touch something. To control her racing mind. What had Viktor said? Something about helping to eradicate a tropical malady like malaria from everywhere?

  ‘Sounds like you’re personally dedicated to that cause?’ she said, not wanting him to think she’d been daydreaming.

  ‘For sure. My interest in malaria started in the Chittagong District of Bangladesh, where I was born and raised. Have you heard of it? It’s in the eastern part of the country, bordering Myanmar, where most of my extended family is settled. The hills there have the highest incidence of malaria in Bangladesh. And … it still makes me terribly sad to go back to the days when my pregnant sister caught malaria. We were close.’ He took a heavy breath, didn’t blink; his mouth softened. ‘She died, my kid sister, the sweetest person I’ve ever known. I couldn’t hear her last words. They were a whisper.’

  Maya watched as the corners of his mouth turned down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and meant it.

  ‘It’s been a few years, and still, not a day goes by … Do you ever get over such heartbreak? I haven’t. Neither has my mother. She was such a vivacious woman. She loved to dance. Loved to crack jokes. Loved to throw parties. Now she rarely smiles, hardly ever goes out of the house. So my life’s goal, if there’s one I’d like to achieve before I die, is to rid my little corner of the world of the disease. I want to be the first, globally. My mother would give me the biggest cheer.’

  Viktor’s eyes burned with intensity, his passion obvious to Maya. He and Cal Chodron shared the same goal. Whereas Cal had an attitude of serving, Viktor went about it in a more aggressive way, spurred on by family pride.

  Her head pulsed and her eyes felt heavy. Still, it pleased her that he’d revealed at least one of his motivations. ‘So I suppose working for MSP, you’re looking for an antimalarial that could be mass-tested in Bangladesh?’

  ‘Yes, in accordance with FDA standards, which we follow, we’ll do a field test there. Foreign clinical trials are increasingly common. With MSP’s blessing, I travel worldwide searching for research labs where malaria “weapons” are being developed and assess their progress. I’ve found nine so far. Often these labs will sell the solution to a pharmaceutical company and collect royalty for years. The lab in New Zealand, which I visited just before coming here six months ago, has been one of the more impressive ones, but they weren’t cooperative.’

  ‘What made you come to Seattle?’

  ‘Ivan – we’re close.’

  ‘Makes me ask you about Sylvie. I’d imagine she was ahead of the other scientists, as far as her malaria research went.’

  If there was a small twitch in his body, he hid it well. ‘It’s most unfortunate, her death.’ Eyes low, he held a neutral expression. ‘And if you ask me, in her absence, her project will be abandoned, if it hasn’t been already. I keep track of these things as part of my job. Sorry to say the local funding for the malaria vaccine initiative has dried up. The foundation responsible for it is moving on.’

  Her stomach soured. ‘You mean to say the decade of work Sylvie put in will be useless despite a successful vaccine trial?’

  A shudder passed across his body. ‘How do you know about the …?’ His tone had shifted. It had an edge, curiosity overlaid with annoyance, dread even.

  The air around her felt dense. ‘Oh, I heard it in passing, from Anna’s friend. You might have known Anna, who worked in the only Indian sweet shop in town.’ She didn’t say the rest: Anna who joined in the trial and didn’t get malaria, but who died. Committed suicide, rather. Under suspicious circumstances.

  He didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Word travels quickly here, doesn’t it? In Moscow, you can keep things more hush-hush. Russians don’t open their mouths quite so easily.’

  She excused herself for the ladies’ room. Upon returning, she found her wine glass full again, a pool of light, as it were.

  She took the tiniest sip.

  Something warned her.

  She pushed away from it, a little giddy and somewhat alarmed.

  You know better, Maya. The drink might have been spiked.

  ‘You work with herbs?’ Viktor reached over and squeezed her hand with his long, tapered fingers, a warm, eloquent touch. ‘You’d appreciate my family’s vacation home, what we call a bagan bari or garden retreat, and where we grow all sorts of flowers, vegetables and herbs.’

  ‘I’d love to hear about it.’

  Chest expanded, gaze vivid with enthusiasm, Viktor took her to a Bangladeshi village. To a timber house, with an orchard, a flowering nook, a vegetable patch and a separate plot for herbs, all surrounded by acres of lush forest. Bordered on one side by a serene blue lake and used for vacation purposes, it was a house filled with Viktor’s love for his mother, sisters and other members of his family, where he felt fortunate to be present.

  Maya listened. A wave of pleasantness passed over her. Her focus narrowed and her peripheral vision became non-existent.

  ‘Although my parents lived in a larger town, my mother went to that little house for my birth.’ He spoke breathily, as though drawing emotions from his heart. ‘My paternal grandmother, who was also born there, came to be with us. A generational bond must have formed – I can’t wait to spend my vacation days there. My family doesn’t live there but we have servants to maintain the house and an expert gardener who keeps the landscape lush and colorful.’

  ‘What kinds of herbs do you grow?’

  He blinked, swallowed visibly, drank and said, ‘Guggul, gotu kola and ashwagandha.’

  Those are common ayurvedic herbs. You want me to believe that’s all you grow? No psychedelic mushrooms?

  ‘When I visit there I rise with the sun and, after a breakfast of fresh fruits and herbal tea, wander in the forest for hours,’ he resumed, his timbre richer now. ‘It’s so tranquil – hiking through the jungle or sitting by the lake, listening to birds and insects and chasing butterflies. I do my best to avoid mosquito bites, of course. Evenings, I stay in the house. I sit in the dark, drink coconut water, read poetry and watch fireflies flash gold like they have a script of their own. “This is where both the sky and the earth greet us and make us whole,” my grandfather used to say. I’m an insomniac but I sleep soundly there. Return a new person. See things more clearly. Sense what life is about.’

  ‘I suppose those are the memories that keep you going in Moscow?’

  ‘Naturally. On nights I’m awake, I look out the window, see snowflakes trembling in the air and picture my green, lush bagan bari. My life in Moscow is as comfortable as it gets but Bangladesh is where I live.’ He focused on her. ‘Of course, Seattle is a nice place, too.’

  Their orders came. Caught by the colors, shapes and appetizing fragrances, they went silent for a moment then picked up their cutlery. Between not-so-hungry bites, she asked, ‘How much longer will you be here?’

  ‘Not much longer.’ His leg brushed against hers, a feathery touch. ‘But I’m so
meone who doesn’t like to let an opportunity slip through his fingers. Whatever time I have left here, if your schedule permits, I’d love to spend it with you.’

  She glanced at her plate; half the food was still there. ‘You’re leaving soon?’

  He sighed. ‘In a week’s time, maybe two – it all depends on my boss. He’ll call me this evening. Will you come visit me in Moscow? Stay with me as long as you like? Mine is a two-bedroom flat with a Euro design. It has plenty of natural light, a balcony with a view of a birch grove and it’s a short walk to the Red Square. I know, Maya, we’ve just met, but it seems like we’ve known each other for ages. Like we’re meant to be together. I knew that when I first spoke with you at Betty’s.’

  A fast move, obviously practiced over time. A play probably used on Anna, aided by wine, dim lighting, a sumptuous dinner, tales and possibly drugs. Not having been out on a date in a while, Maya didn’t have a similar experience to draw from or to be cognizant of when to cut it off. Maybe she shouldn’t cut it off. She could see he was attracted to her and that’d be crucial in getting him to confide in her more. She watched the waiter remove the dishes.

  ‘Russians are friendly in an Eastern sort of a way,’ Viktor began. ‘And if you’re wondering about the winters, oh, you get used to them. And there’s always vodka – and me – to keep you warm.’

  ‘Moscow? I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘I love being with you. You ask intelligent questions and listen to the answers. I like to talk. With you, I feel open. Like I can go on talking forever.’ He patted his napkin against his mouth, leaned over and focused on her face. Speaking breathily, he said, ‘Shall we go to my apartment for a while? I have a cozy flat. You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.’

  Tough decision. It’d help to see the layout of Sunglasses Man’s apartment. So said the investigator in her. Besides, he was drunk. She put her misgivings aside. ‘Oh, cool, maybe for a short time. My mother’s visiting so I’ll have to get back reasonably soon.’

  He gave her an effusive, attagirl smile and settled the bill. They walked to the parking lot, where he recited a set of directions to his place. She got into her Toyota and followed him, finding herself invigorated by the short drive. She was feeling fine, just fine, and sort of expectant and a little scared at the same time.