And all of a sudden, he knew, knew that that was exactly what Prakash had planned. He felt physically ill, unable to stand up, as weak as he’d felt while recovering from the pneumonia. “Frank, what is it?” he heard Ellie say, and he saw that the two women had noticed.
“He’s gone,” he blurted out, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s taken the boy and run. Forever.”
He didn’t hear Edna cry out or see her hand flying to her open mouth. He didn’t see the disbelieving look on Ellie’s face. “Whoa, whoa,” Ellie said. “Let’s not get carried away here. Just because Prakash has decided to take his son on a trip…”
He felt as if he was looking down on Ellie from some great height, felt as if he was really seeing her for the first time. What he’d always thought of as kindness and compassion, he now saw for what it really was—silliness. A dangerous naïveté.
“Has he ever taken the boy on a—trip?” he asked Edna, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“No, sir. Never. Prakash has hardly left Girbaug except one-two times.”
“And how has he been since—since the day, y’know, we exchanged words?”
“He been acting very strangely, sir. One minute he all quiet and serious and then he’s smiling at me. Like he knowing something I’m not knowing.”
Frank turned to Ellie triumphantly. “There. You heard that.”
“Well, so damn what? Prakash always acts a little strange.”
He was suddenly tired of both women and their hazardous stupidity. Of their inability to look clear-eyed into the unyielding core of the universe. Of their failure to recognize malice even when it lived up close to them. Ellie was a psychologist, had been trained to look inside people’s heads. And here she was, deceived by an illiterate cook.
He read the letter again. And suddenly realized that it was meant for him. Prakash had known Edna would bring the note to him. It was designed to throw him, Frank, off their scent while Prakash disappeared with the boy. He felt an urgent need to find Ramesh, to reassure him, to rescue him from whatever fate Prakash had in store for him.
“Well, nothing we can do tonight,” he lied. “In any case, I have some phone calls to make.”
Edna looked unconvinced. “Sir, he’ll come back. He loves that boy. And Ramesh will want to be coming back, no?”
He looked at her absently. “I’m sure,” he said vaguely. He turned on his heels and walked toward the guest room. “I have to make some work calls,” he said to Ellie. “I’d like to not be disturbed, okay?”
Ellie looked skeptical. She opened her mouth to say something and then shrugged. “Whatever.”
He shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the sleeper sofa, cradling his head in his hands. The thought of Ramesh not being across the courtyard from him tonight, the image of the boy sleeping in some strange bed—or worse, in a field or under a tree—filled him with despair. The fucking bastard. Fucking coward. Prakash couldn’t take him on directly and so was using the child to get back at him. What if he took him to a big city like Bombay or Calcutta and disappeared? They’d never hear from Ramesh again. The boy would disappear like a small stone thrown into the ocean.
He jumped up from the sofa. He had already wasted precious hours. If he was to find Ramesh, the time for action was now. Prakash already had a head start of several hours. He paced the room for a minute, trying to think clearly, to keep his panic on a leash. There was only one man who could help him. Only one man whose dislike for Prakash matched his. Only one man with the self-confidence and wherewithal to know what to do. He sat at the antique desk and dialed Gulab’s number.
“Tell me,” Gulab answered.
“It’s Frank Benton,” he said. “There’s—there’s a situation that I need help with.”
“Yes, sir?” Frank could hear the animal alertness in Gulab’s voice.
“It’s that fool Prakash,” he said. “He’s taken his son and disappeared. I need your help finding them.”
“Disappeared where, sir?”
Frank ground his teeth. “I don’t know. He just left a note saying he was taking his son on a trip for a few days.”
“Then we should wait. They will return in two-three days. The idiot probably doesn’t have money for more than that.”
Why was Gulab being as obtuse as the rest of them? “Look,” Frank said. “The note is a ruse. The man has kidnapped his son, don’t you get it? We’ll never see them again if we don’t move on this.”
There was a second’s silence, and when Gulab spoke again, something had shifted in his tone. “I see. Well, in that case, Frank sahib, I should contact the police chief. Try and find out where that goonda has smuggled his son.”
“Okay. But Gulab, there should be no violence. I—I just want to find the boy, that’s all.”
“Understood. I will contact you in the morning, sir.”
“But if there’s any news tonight, I want you to call. Don’t worry about the time.” Frank made a mental note to sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.
“Yes, boss.”
But sleep was not his country tonight. Frank lay in bed, trying to fight the images preying on his mind—Ramesh sleeping in some unsavory, unsafe place, Prakash getting drunk and hitting the boy, Ramesh scared and inconsolable in a big, alien city. Maybe it would be better if Prakash took the boy to Bombay, Frank thought. At least Ramesh would know something about the city. But when he thought of what flea-infested hotel Prakash would be able to afford, he almost cried out in rage. He wondered whether Ramesh at least had his sneakers on, repelled at the thought of the boy wandering through the dirty city in his plastic slippers.
He got up late the next morning, having decided before finally falling asleep that he would take the day off from work. For one blissful moment his mind was blank, but then he remembered and the bleakness fell upon him, as if he had pulled a blanket over his head. He got out of bed and, ignoring the pressure on his bladder, dialed Gulab’s number.
“No news, yet, sir.” He could hear the apology in Gulab’s voice. “But not to worry. Police will start their investigations full blast today.”
“Okay,” he said. “But remember, no violence. Just find me the boy. Oh, and one other thing. I’m working from home today. So call me on my cell if there’s any news.”
“Very good, sir.”
He peed and then opened the bedroom door and walked into the living room. He could hear Ellie in the kitchen. “Hi,” she called out. “I didn’t know whether to wake you. How come you’re not at work?”
“Playing hooky,” he mumbled.
Ellie walked into the living room with a large mug of coffee. As her eyes fell on him, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. Some of the coffee splashed onto the tiled floor. She barely noticed it.
“What’s wrong?” he said, involuntarily looking over his shoulder.
She moved her mouth, but no words emerged.
“Ellie. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, God. Frank. What happened to you?”
He looked at her inquiringly. “What’re you talking about?”
“Your hair. Oh, God.” She set the coffee mug down and came up to him. Taking his hand, she led him to the mirror in the bedroom.
He let out a cry when he saw his grandfather looking back at him. But, no, that wasn’t it, exactly. What he really saw in the mirror was his own body and face, the body and face of a thirty-four-year-old. But the blond hair had turned gray. Overnight. It was like seeing his present and future selves at the same time, as if the mirror was a reflecting glass as well as a crystal ball. He felt as if he was a figure in a fairy tale, an apparition, felt that if he didn’t dig his feet into the floor, he would float away, disappear.
Frank ran his hand through his hair and turned to Ellie with disbelieving eyes.
“What? How is this possible?”
“It happens. When people are under great stress. I’ve seen it in my practice.” Ellie’s eyes were moist. “Frank. Wha
t’s going on with you? How is it that you’re suffering so much and I am not part of it?”
He shook his head, not knowing what to say. He had the strange sensation of being aware of aging, as if he could suddenly feel every cell in his body becoming sluggish, turning as gray as his hair.
He let Ellie lead him to the couch, and she sat holding his hand. “Babe. Sometimes the hair reverts back. But you gotta let go of this stress. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you. Let me help you through this.”
He looked at her face, so eager, so innocent, so beautiful, so young. What could he say to this face? This face had seen the ugly reality of the world but had not turned ugly. Had known the same searing loss and grief that he had but had not turned distrusting and fearful. Ellie had somehow risen above the tragedy that had befallen them, had reclaimed her place in the world. Whereas he, he had handed over the keys to his salvation to a nine-year-old boy. A boy who was now missing.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I’m just worried about Ramesh.”
“Don’t be, honey. He’s with his father. And no matter what Prakash is, he loves his kid. They’ve just gone on a vacation, hon. Like we used to take Benny.”
He didn’t bother to keep the look of outrage from his face. How dare she desecrate the memory of their vacations with Benny by comparing them to Prakash’s sneaky abduction of his son?
“What? What’d I say?”
“Did I ever take Benny on a vacation by myself?” His voice shook with anger. “Without checking with you? Informing you after the fact with a note?”
Ellie sighed. “Frank, I’m just trying to help—”
“Then leave me alone. This is not helping.”
He ignored the hurt look in her eyes as he got up and walked out of the house. He knocked on Edna’s door. “Any word from them?” he asked as soon as she answered.
“Nothing, sir,” she said. “But maybe—”
He nodded, turned around and walked back into the house.
He spent the next four days at home. His days took on a pattern of avoiding Ellie, talking to Gulab several times, grilling Edna about any clues she may have as to where Prakash may have disappeared, falling into bed at night and sleeping fitfully. Ramesh’s face kept haunting him. He imagined the boy in all kinds of dire situations, a beseeching look on his face, calling out to Frank for help. He would wake up in the middle of the night, his heart thudding, drenched in sweat.
His cell phone rang. It was Gulab calling. “Yes?” he said eagerly.
“Just got a call from the police, sir. Turns out Prakash bought a train ticket for Aderbad. The fellow who sold it to him was on leave. Returned to work today, only.”
“What the hell is Aderbad?”
“A small town, sir. Nothing much there.”
“Why the heck would he go there?”
“God knows, sir.”
“Well, tell the police chief to send some of his men there.”
There was a slight pause. “Out of their jurisdiction, sir.”
Frank barked out an expletive. “They’re investigating a kidnapping case. Nothing should be out of their jurisdiction.”
Again, that pause. “They’re saying a father taking his son is not kidnapping, sir.”
Was Gulab mocking him? Frank gave his lower lip a savage pull. “Listen, Gulab. Tell the chief to send two of his men. I’ll pay all expenses—plus baksheesh.”
“That will work, sir. I’ll phone him back right now only.”
So why the fuck didn’t Gulab come right out and tell him to pay those bastards off? Frank wondered as he hung up. What the hell was he being so delicate about? As if he, Frank, didn’t know that the whole rotten country was a cesspool of corruption.
His house phone rang, but he ignored it. Ellie could get it. It was probably for her, anyway. He went to where Edna was sweeping the courtyard.
“What’s in Aderbad?” he asked.
The woman started at him blankly. “Sir?”
“The town of Aderbad. Who does Prakash know there?”
“I never even heard of it, sir. Why you asking?”
“Because he bought a train ticket for there.”
“Maybe one of his friends from the liquor shop is from there,” she offered. But he was already turning away in disgust. Stupid, ignorant woman, he thought. Knows nothing about her husband.
Ellie gestured to him as he walked back into the house. “It’s good to hear from you, Pete,” she was saying. “And give our love to Janet and the kids, would you? Well, here’s Frank.”
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Pete. But he had no choice. “I’ll take it in the guest room,” he said. He walked in there and waited until he heard Ellie hang up before saying, “Hey, Pete.”
“Jesus, Frank,” Pete’s voice was close and hot in his ear. “What the hell is going on? I’ve been trying to reach you for days, and Deepak just kept putting me off. What are you doing at home, man? We have a huge order, and you guys are already running late.”
Shit. The consignment had been due to leave Girbaug two days ago. He had put Deepak in charge of it, told him to handle things for a while. Obviously, his subordinate had dropped the ball. Why hadn’t he called Frank to inform him? But then he remembered: he had told Deepak that he didn’t want to be disturbed for a few days.
“I—I didn’t know it hadn’t left,” he began.
“You didn’t know? What the fuck, Frank? I have all these distributors breathing down my neck, and you didn’t know?”
“I’d assigned the project to Deepak.”
“Why? What’s wrong with you? Deepak said you hadn’t been in for four days. Why are you home, anyway?”
He decided to come clean with Pete. “There’s a situation here. Ramesh—you remember him? He was gonna come to the States with us over Christmas? Well, it seems like his father has run away with him. They’ve disappeared. I’m—I’m trying to help the police find him. I need to be home to coordinate things.”
There was a long, painful silence. “Hello?” Frank said.
“I don’t believe it,” Pete muttered. “You’re sitting at home because a boy has gone somewhere with his own father? And in the meantime, my orders are—”
“Don’t patronize me, Pete.” He had spoken more sharply than he realized.
“Patronize you? Man, I’m ready to choke you. You’re costing me thousands of dollars a day because—”
“This kid is important to me, Pete.”
“Gimme a break, Frank. Hell, you showed up at work a week after Benny died. And here you are—”
Frank felt something snap. He remembered Pete’s casual mention of attending his son’s Little League game a few months ago. “Don’t say my son’s name,” he heard himself say. “I don’t want you to say Benny’s name.”
He heard Pete’s intake of breath. “What the hell has gotten into you? I loved Benny like my own son. And now I’m not allowed to say his name?”
“You know what, Peter?” he said, his voice low, shimmering with anger. “You don’t know shit about anything. We’ve been friends for how many years, and you can’t cut me some slack for missing a few days of work? You’re more worried about your bank balance than about a boy whose life may be in danger. You just go about your safe, happy, white-picket-fence life, man.”
“I take great offense at that.” Pete’s voice was hard, angry. “You have no right to blame me for the fact that you are obsessed with some poor kid in India. I’m a businessman, Frank. And so were you, until you went off the deep end. If you want to play detective instead, well, don’t blame me for that.”
He was dying to get off the phone so that he could unfold a map and see where Aderbad was. And here was this dumb asshole who he’d thought was his friend, delaying him, droning on and on about business ethics and responsibilities. Frank felt a sharp pain shoot up his jaw and realized that he’d been clenching it. “Listen,” he said finally. “I’ll—I’ll go in, okay? I’ll make sure the orders
go out by the end of this week. All right?”
“That’s not good enough, Frank.”
“I’ll do the best I can.” His cell phone was buzzing across the room, and Frank’s eyes lit up. Surely it was Gulab, with some good news. “Listen, I have another call. I gotta go. We’ll talk soon.”
“No, wait. I want to—” Pete was saying as Frank hung up on him. He raced across the room and was disappointed to see that the caller was Deepak. Screw him, he thought. I’ll call him in a few hours.
CHAPTER 29
They stood silently in front of the modest stucco house, the boy and the man. Prakash stared at the pink outer walls, the blue front door, the jasmine bushes to the right. Beside him, Ramesh shifted from foot to foot.
They had gotten into Goa this morning. Two nights ago, they had slept on a bench at the railway platform in Aderbad. Ramesh had balked at this, said he’d wanted to go back to Girbaug, but Prakash had told him that there was something he wanted him to see in Aderbad the next morning. After that, they would take another train and go to Goa.
When they woke up the next day, Prakash told Ramesh the story of how when he had ridden a motorcycle from Girbaug to Goa years ago, he had stumbled upon a temple along the way. “I’d never even heard of this Aderbad,” he said. “Bas, stopped there for lunch, only. But then I saw this temple. And only Bhagwan knows why, Ramu, but I needed to walk in there. So quiet and peaceful it was. There was a big statue of Krishna, smiling and all. So I ask Him please to give me a beautiful wife. Two-three days later I met your ma.”
“So why are we going there again?” Ramesh asked huffily. Even though his father was carrying the small suitcase, he was grumpy. His back was stiff from having slept on the bench, and the walk from the train station to the temple was long.
Prakash looked disappointed. “Don’t you see, Ramu? To give thanks. I wants to thank God for giving me my family.”
A shrewd look came on Ramesh’s face. “Can I ask God to give me what I want?”
The Weight of Heaven Page 29
