The sun was low on the horizon when they reentered the city, Attar joining in the chorus of tinny beeps and screeching brakes, but he insisted that they make one last stop. From the street the Palace of Winds promised to be the most breathtaking site of the day, five stories of rounded cupolas, lattice-covered balconies, stacked domes and repeating niches, all carved from a pink-red sandstone and accented in delicate white highlights. Now, as they stood inside, the snake charmer stacking snake-filled baskets on his head, Jason wondered if they had taken a wrong turn.
Unlike the Amber Palace, with its majestic chambers and its rich decorations, the Palace of Winds was more like a giant Hollywood set, a stunning façade held up by utilitarian supports, crammed into the middle of a busy market street. There were stone staircases to climb and plenty of windows to look out, all of them providing lattice-obstructed views of the dirty and crowded street below, but other than the large gray monkeys, the palace was empty.
“Known as the Pink City, Jaipur was founded in AD seventeen twenty-seven by the astronomer king Sawai Jai Singh,” Rachel said, reading the faded sign posted next to one of the dark, sloping ramps that led to the upper floors. “A royal decree mandated that all the buildings within the city walls be painted pink to simulate the red sandstone buildings of Mughal cities.”
“There’s no ‘u’ in color,” Jason said, reading ahead.
“There is if you went to school in India. Another holdover from the days of the Raj,” Attar said with an exaggerated British accent.
Rachel took a sip from her water bottle before continuing. “The Hawa Mahal, known popularly as the Palace of Winds….blah blah blah…nine hundred and fifty-three windows…yada yada yada…lace-fine carved screens…royal ladies watch the street hidden from view…today stands as a reminder…yeah, whatever.”
“You have to forgive her,” Jason said to Attar as they climbed a twisting staircase to the second floor. “If it’s not a train she’s not interested.”
Shafts of sunlight wedged through the narrow windows, spotlighting sections of carved white marble pillars and lobed arches that suggested that the palace wasn’t always so barren. The air on the street had been sluggish, weighed down by exhaust fumes and spices, but a light and steady breeze kept the hall cool. Darting in and out the windows, young monkeys tested their agility while their parents were content to sit on balcony railings and scratch at fleas.
“You can feed them peanuts,” Attar said, reaching into his pocket to produce a small white paper bag. “Just hold your hand flat and do not make any sudden movements.” He held his hand out to a monkey that sat on the windowsill. The monkey eyed the lone peanut, deciding if it was worth the effort. Attar added a second nut to his hand and the monkey snatched them both, swinging out the open window and along the carved front of the palace. A group of small boys gathered around Attar and he supplied them with peanuts, half of which they gave to the monkeys and half they ate themselves.
“Come here, little guy,” Rachel said and held out her hand to coax a jittery monkey off a stone railing. Its large eyes were chocolate brown and its fur looked soft to the touch. The monkey reached out a paw, drawing it back twice before he picked up the peanut.
“You are so cute I could just kiss you,” Rachel said and for a moment Jason wished he were a monkey. He set his backpack on the ground, unzipping a side pocket to get his camera.
“Look this way,” he said and lined up Rachel, the peanut and the monkey in the viewfinder. He pushed the shutter and a white flash lit up the dark alcove.
With the flash, the monkey’s eyes widened and with a fang-bared howl it leapt from its perch and charged, its sharp claws clattering on the stone floor. Rachel screamed and covered her face but the monkey tore past her and threw himself at Jason, who stumbled backwards, his arms flailing as he fell. The monkey stood and showed his yellow teeth, grabbed the backpack, and raced up the red sandstone wall, leaping off the balcony and out into the street-side bazaar.
Jason scrambled to his feet, leaning over the railing far enough to see the monkey as it bounded across the tattered awning of a typewriter repair shop and onto the roof of an idling delivery truck, the backpack banging against its metal sides. The monkey paused long enough to look up at Jason, then jumped onto the hood of a passing Mercedes. The driver slammed on the brakes and hit the horn. The monkey glared at the driver, snapping off a windshield wiper before it climbed over the roof and onto a street sign. From there it scurried across a camel-driven cart hauling trash, bounced in and out of the seat of a bicycle rickshaw, along the tops of a row of tightly packed Ambassador sedans and up a hand-lettered sign that was topped by a painting of a rotten tooth. Reaching the roof of the one-story building across the street, the monkey sat down to appraise its loot.
“Oh, shit,” Jason said, fixing the location of the thief before racing down the open stairs, Rachel right behind him.
“You are wasting your time,” Attar shouted to them from the balcony as they burst out onto the sidewalk, rushing headlong into the traffic. “You will never see your luggage again.” Jason saw a few people pointing up at the monkey and a few more pointing at him, but for most Jaipurians the site of a felonious monkey or a panicked tourist did not merit attention.
“It’s right there,” Rachel said, pointing over the roof of a bakery. Jason glanced up, nodded and ran into the shop.
“Excuse me,” he said, his words rushing together. “There’s a monkey. On your roof. Up there. He’s got my bag. I need….”
The owner of the shop kept his eyes on his newspaper, jerking his thumb towards a dark stairwell that ran up the back wall. They stumbled up the tight stairway, spilling out onto the rooftop that served as a block-long patio for the pink-walled apartments set back on the building. Old men sat in folding chairs, spitting streams of red betel juice into plastic buckets while toddlers stood at the edge of the roof, tossing pebbles onto the cars below. A group of teenage boys, dressed in matching white shirts and blue trousers, sprawled on the blazing pink concrete, checking their cell phones and singing Indian pop tunes. When they noticed Jason and Rachel they stood up, shouting out the few English words they thought they knew.
“Over there,” Rachel said, spotting the monkey as it bit the top off a tube of Crest. It was sitting with its back to them, one leg dangling over the side of the building.
Jason held her back. “If we scare it it’ll just run away. You go that way,” he said, pointing far to the monkey’s left. “I’ll come in from here. Try to box it in.”
“Then what? I’m not going to get rabies just to save your underwear.”
“Maybe he’ll drop it. If you can, try to grab the bag.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to grab the monkey,” she said and maneuvered her way across the roof.
Jason kept his eyes on the animal, trying to sneak up without tripping over the satellite dish wires and plastic piping that ran the length of the building. The monkey was busy tearing open a zippered-shut side pocket. He didn’t want to think of what the razor-taloned thief would do with a red silk sari.
“Good morning mister sir,” one of the teens said, stepping up to walk with Jason.
“I’m kind of busy here,” Jason said. The monkey’s tail gave a flick but the rest of the monkey sat still on the ledge.
“Part of this nutritional breakfast,” the teen replied. “Merry Christmas. Star Wars. Michael Jordan.”
Jason watched the furry gray back as he continued his flanking movement, the monkey flinging a packet of disposable razors out into the street.
“Four, five, six, seven,” the teen said, adding “Happy birthday” before breaking into a toothy grin.
“Shhhh,” Jason whispered. “I need to get my backpack away from the monkey.” He pointed just as his travel alarm clock went ringing over the ledge.
“Oh, kapi,” the teen said, turning back to explain the situation to his friends, their English not as polished as his.
“Just stay back,
” Jason said without looking at the boy. Across the roof he saw that Rachel was almost in position, the monkey busy licking Hawaiian Tropic sun block off its fingers.
He heard the footsteps behind him and turned to see the schoolboys running towards him, sticks and rocks in their hands. “No,” he shouted, putting his arms out to stop them, but they ran past him and headed to the monkey.
Intrigued by a toothbrush, the monkey didn’t see the blitzing pack until it was almost on him. The monkey gave a high-pitched shriek and ran two steps at the boys, hoping to scare them off, then crouched as an empty water bottle whistled over its head. A broken broom handle cracked down as the monkey reached out for the backpack and a second stick, tossed like a spear, skidded across the roof, wide of its target. Gripping one of the padded shoulder straps, the monkey tried to pull the bag closer, the bag not moving, the bulk of the bag wedged under a bent piece of pipe that stuck out from the concrete. With the boys closing, the monkey gave the strap a second violent tug, the plastic clips shattering as the monkey scuttled sideways, the freed strap still in its paw. The monkey looked back at his lost prize, then at the boys, gave a spitty, yellow-fanged hiss and, waving the loose strap, leapt up and out to tightrope the jumble of wires strung along the street. Victorious, the boys gave a cheer and signaled to Jason and Rachel it was safe to approach.
“Call toll free one eight hundred,” the teen said, stepping out of the way as Jason bent down to examine his pack. The side pockets had been torn open and there were long gashes in the top flap that exposed the extra tee shirts he packed, but, other than the smell, the pack had weathered the ordeal.
“Whoa,” Rachel said, waving her hand in front of her nose as she squatted down. “What is that?”
“It was cologne,” Jason said, lifting shards of the glass bottle from the soaked-through side pocket. “I guess it could have been worse.”
“Yeah, you could have worn the stuff. How’s the rest of the bag?”
Jason pinched the plastic snap and stretched the bag open, pushing his folded clothes to the side to check on the sari. “It’s a bit damp but everything looks okay. I guess I ought to thank you guys,” he said, looking up at the schoolboys.
“Some restrictions may apply!” The teen held out his hand, his friends smiling as Jason took out his wallet.
Chapter Eight
The boy held the collapsing paper cup through the horizontal bars of the window in the second-class car of the six twenty-five express to Ahmadabad, walking along as the train began to lurch out of the station.
“Chai. Hot chai,” the boy shouted, determined to make one last five-rupee sale before departure. Jason took the folding cup from the boy’s hand, not because he wanted a second cup of the milky, oversweet tea but because he knew if he didn’t it would somehow end up on his lap. He handed the boy a crumpled fifty-rupee note and waited for change. The boy smiled and waved as the train picked up speed and the platform fell away.
There was a chill in the morning air he had not expected and the scalding chai warmed his hands through the thin cup and burned his tongue when he dared a tentative sip. He yawned and stretched, tensing his muscles in his back and his legs. Other than the late-night fight over the sari he had slept well.
Attar’s wife had had a full meal prepared for them when they arrived from their encounter with the backpack-stealing monkey. Just as she had done during lunch, Pravi Singh stayed cloistered in the kitchen, the children running out now and then to see the tall white man and his beautiful tanned wife. After the meal Attar had driven Jason to a store no larger than his cubicle at the mortgage office where he was able to replenish his supplies. A stroll down a side street led to an open-air market where a man with a foot-powered sewing machine repaired his torn pack for a handful of lightweight coins. The Hello Kitty replacement strap he threw in for free.
“Doesn’t he have anything in black?” Jason had asked, examining the neon-pink padded strap.
“He says this is the only one that will fit your bag, that model being quite rare,” Attar explained, eyeing the new strap, doing his best not to laugh. “He cautions that the clips have been damaged and you should not put too much strain on them or you will lose this strap as well.”
“Impossible,” Jason said, hefting the pack to his back. “I couldn’t be that lucky.”
Back at the apartment Rachel and Pravi were curled up on the sofa, watching a slideshow of baby pictures on a laptop computer, the boys squirming in to get a better view.
“Jason wants to name our first son Peter after his father, but I like Jason, junior,” he had heard Rachel say through the door before he turned on the shower, the drizzle of water splashing on the stone bathroom floor and running down the porcelain squat-style toilet behind him. By the time he was done drying his hair the thin towel was soaked and he felt his skin stick as he pulled on a clean Yankees tee shirt and gym shorts. He was climbing into bed when Rachel had entered the room.
“I hope you didn’t use up all the warm water,” she had said as she dug through her bag.
“Nope. That was used up before I started.” The bed was comfortable and with his eyes shut he knew he’d be asleep in minutes.
“You know I usually sleep in the nude,” Rachel said, Jason’s eyes popping back open.
“Well, don’t change your routine on my account.” He leaned up on an elbow, just in case.
“But I knew we’d be sleeping on a lot of trains so I bought this.” She held up a Nike warm-up suit, the long-sleeved top matching the full-length bottoms. “Cute, huh?”
“Adorable,” he said and settled back down, his head sinking deep in the feather pillow.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rachel said as she gathered up the things she would need in the shower.
“It’s a little thing I like to do every night called sleep.” He had thought of adding something about being willing to change his plans if she had other ideas but it sounded wrong in his head.
“Not in that bed you’re not.”
“Now that you’ve made us man and wife I think it’d look kinda strange if I slept out on the couch. And there’s not enough room to sleep on the floor.” Jason waved a hand to take in the clutter of dark computer monitors and cannibalized mainframes that covered the room.
Rachel looked around, pushing a pile of broken keyboards under the bed with her foot before giving up. “All right. You can sleep on the bed but you can’t sleep in it.”
With a dramatic flourish, Jason threw back the covers and climbed out. He tucked the sheet and light blanket back in place on his side of the bed and lay back down under the thin top blanket. “Better?”
“Much,” she said and ducked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. By the time she had stepped under the shower’s trickle, he was asleep.
It was dark when he woke, his body shaking in the arctic-cold air conditioning. Jason tried to slide under the covers only to find that, as a defensive measure or a reaction to the dropping temperature, Rachel had managed to wrap the free ends of the blanket tight around herself. He felt for his backpack, pulled the sari from the bottom and tossed it in the air, unfurling a few yards of fabric it as it flew. In the dark he did his best to cover himself with the last gift his dead friend bought for his mother, his chattering teeth louder than his conscience.
An hour later he shook himself awake, the sari now part of Rachel’s growing cocoon of blankets. He freed a section large enough to crawl under and fell back asleep only to wake up twenty minutes later, his small portion of the six-yard sari reclaimed. He sat up, grabbed the end of the sari, his fist tightening around the soft fabric and the button, and yanked it free, rolling Rachel onto the floor. Without a light on he could only guess at the dirty look she gave him as she crawled back in bed.
She didn’t mention the sari incident as they packed to leave in the pre-dawn light, but as he brushed his teeth he caught her admiring the elaborate gold-thread embroidery. Now on the train, he noticed her eyeing the s
imple lever that kept the train’s door shut.
“Once it warms up a bit I’m going to open the door,” Rachel said. She glanced back at the half-empty car to see how many people it would upset. “In Canada they’d never let you stand in an open doorway. Too many rules, everybody afraid of a lawsuit. Here, you want to stand in the doorway of a moving train, knock yourself out.”
“And how many people are killed falling off trains?” Jason was thumbing through Rachel’s guidebook, looking for restaurants in Ahmadabad. “Rules protect us from our own stupidity.”
“Okay, Dad. I get it,” Rachel said in an exaggerated teen voice.
“If you haven’t noticed, safety isn’t very high on the list here. It’d be smarter if you just stick to your toy trains.”
“They’re not toys,” she said, this time in a voice that let Jason know she was done kidding. “They are scale trains. One inch to eighty-seven point one inches.”
“HO scale,” Jason said. “I used to build plastic car models. When I was a kid.”
Rachel sighed. “Here it comes. You’re going to make all sorts of smart-assed remarks about my hobby and I’m going to get pissed off and then you’re going to feel sorry and I’m going to have to forgive you so why don’t we just cut to the chase. I forgive you for being an insensitive jerk who thinks he has the right to belittle people just because they like things he doesn’t.”
Jason smiled. “Well, we got that out of the way. But come on. Trains?”
Rachel looked at him for a moment, trying to spot any hint of sarcasm in his expression. “It started with my grandfather. My dad’s dad. He worked for Canadian Rail as an engineer, worked the last steam lines in Ontario back in the fifties. Then he got hit in the face—some engine part flying off. Went blind in one eye.” Her finger came up involuntarily, touching her right cheek. “That was the last day he drove a train. A full-scale one anyway. He was hoping for a grandson who he could share his passion for trains but he ended up with me. I was ten when he died. Keep the trains going. That was the last thing he said to me. So I did.” She looked down at her hands.
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