“Sorry,” she says. “Not much space back here, is there?”
“Here, let’s try this,” Ravi says, draping an arm around the back of the seat. “Gives us a bit more room.”
“Fine by me,” Gracie says, and leans back.
Why is his pulse racing? His skin feels electrified, his mouth is dried up, and his entire body starts trembling. What’s happening? He has no idea. Good thing the road is bumpy; Gracie doesn’t seem to notice.
But maybe this has nothing to do with his body.
Maybe it’s about his heart instead.
What are you feeling, Ravi? he asks himself.
As they bounce over a pothole, Gracie jolts up an inch or two, and then nestles even closer against him on her landing. Wisps of her hair are dancing in the breeze coming through the open window; her kind eyes are gazing outside, taking in everything that’s passing by. Every detail of her is familiar, and yet finer. Like she’s coming into the sharp focus of a camera lens.
Oh …
He sees it now—as clearly as he saw the anger and the sadness the night before.
It’s love.
And it’s more, much more, than best-friend love. It’s a motorcycle-riding, orange-sari-wearing, disappearing-into-the-sunset, leading-man-leading-lady kind of love.
Ravi Thornton—Edward Thornton V—is in love. With Gracie.
Ba-boom!
What now?
KAT
INT. MISS SHIREEN’S COTTAGE—NIGHT
Just as she’s drifting into a luscious baby-free sleep, Kat’s jolted awake by a loud banging.
Gracie flies to open the door. It’s one of the housemothers from Asha House.
“It’s Kavita! She’s in labor—bleeding heavily!”
“Where is she?” Miss Shireen asks.
“Gone to hospital! Come quickly, Miss Shireen!”
Shoving her arms into a long sweater that covers her nightgown, Miss Shireen pushes past Kat and Gracie and dashes out with the housemother.
The girls watch from the window as a waiting car whisks off into the darkness.
They turn to each other but Kat can’t think of anything to say. What can they do to help? Nothing.
Gracie hits her knees, crosses herself, and bows her head.
Kat paces back and forth, fighting her fury.
Kavita is fifteen years old. Fifteen. Her father is dead. No idea where her mother is. She was rescued, yes, but she can’t go home. None of the Asha House girls can; that’s why they’re here. All that violence, and now her body has to go through this. Will she survive it?
Too many villains. Not enough heroes. The real world’s nothing like the movies.
Make that Wolf pay for this. Take him down. Don’t let him hurt her again.
This is prayer, too. Not on her knees, not with her head bowed, not using her hands because if she did it might mean raising a fist.
Storming back and forth across the room, Kat shouts at God inside her head while Gracie stays on her knees. A car carrying Miss Shireen returns just before dawn.
“What happened?”
“Is Kavita okay?” Gracie adds at the same time.
“She’s alive, and so is the baby. It’s a girl. Another sweet, beautiful girl.” She plops onto the sofa. And hides her face in her hands—Miss Shireen is crying!
Kat feels like punching a fist through a wall.
Miss Shireen manages to keep talking through her tears. “Years of doing this, and still the heart breaks. That child almost died from loss of blood. And what will she do now? She won’t give the baby up, and I don’t think she should. But how will she take care of both of them?”
Kat doesn’t have an answer. Neither does Gracie.
“When is she coming back?” Gracie asks after a while.
Miss Shireen wipes her wet face with her orna. “A week or so. We’ve sent her to rest in one of our safe houses, along with the baby. It was a hard childbirth; the baby was in breech position. At times like this I wonder why God doesn’t smite the men who do such terrible things to children.”
That’s what Kat’s asked him to do, anyway. In the meantime, this Kolkata Wolf is still prowling around. He hasn’t completely destroyed Kavita. Not yet, anyway. But he might try again if she decides to face him in court.
“Maybe now everyone will stop wanting her to testify,” Kat says. “The less she sees of that disgusting trafficker the better.”
Miss Shireen sits up and moves into Bobcat mode. “Kat, you can’t say anything to Kavita about testifying. She must make up her own mind.”
Kat doesn’t give in, even though she’s wrecked, and she knows Miss Shireen must be even more so. “What if Kavita brings it up first?”
“Well, in that case, we share experiences from our own lives. But please, refrain from telling her what to do. Will you promise me this?”
Bobcat versus Filhote. There’s a mental tussle, but after this long, draining night of sadness, Kat surrenders. “Okay, Miss Shireen, I promise.”
RAVI
INT. KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER—DAY
The news about Kavita’s baby galvanizes Ravi into action.
“Is there a camera shop anywhere nearby?” Ravi asks Bontu after their training session. As usual, he’s dressed and ready while Bontu’s just stepping out of the shower.
“Yes, on Park Street.”
“Do you know if they sell security and surveillance cameras?”
“You mean spy stuff? Why would you need that?”
“Oh, it’s an interest of mine.”
“Gadgets and gizmos, eh? Like Iron Man?”
“Yes,” says Ravi. “Er, Bontu … how would I say, ‘I want a girl’ in Bangla?”
Bontu stops toweling his head. “Why would you say that? That is a terrible picking-up line, my friend.”
“No! That’s not why I want—I just need to learn to say it.”
“Good. Because that lovely Gracie is the right one for you.”
Ravi flashes back to the feel of a black braid against his skin. Gracie’s face looked so lovely after praying in Mother House. But he doesn’t say any of that out loud. He needs to tell her how he’s feeling first. If they ever have any time alone together, and he can gather his courage. “You’re as bad as those ‘auntie’ matchmakers who want to fix you up with Hindu girls and keep you from Amira. Now could you translate for me, please?”
Bontu pulls a clean shirt over his head. “What is that line again?”
“‘I want a girl.’”
“Terrible. But here it is—ami ak-ta meh chai.”
“Ami ak-ta meh chai. Is my accent okay?”
“Not bad. But I pray you are never saying this again in your life.”
KAT
INT. ASHA HOUSE COMMON ROOM—DAY
During teatime, Miss Shireen walks into the common room and switches off the television, where music videos are playing nonstop.
“Kavita’s coming in just behind me,” she says. “Be gentle, girls. She needs rest.”
The girls, who’ve been demonstrating steps for Kat and Gracie, immediately stop dancing and quiet down. But when Kavita enters the room, they swarm around her, cooing over the baby.
Kavita’s shape looks more like it did in the film. But to Kat, she seems even more fragile than the tiny avian she’s holding in her arms. Kavita’s lips are cracked and dry, and she has dark shadows under her eyes. Her hair, usually so neatly combed and braided, is in a loose, messy bun on the nape of her neck.
“Nam kee diyecho?” Charubala asks.
“Shiuli,” Kavita answers. “Her name is Shiuli.”
Kat knows that word thanks to Miss Shireen. Jasmine flower. Like the one Kavita was holding in her palm for the camera.
“Let’s take the baby into the changing room, Kavita,” Kat suggests. “She looks a bit wet to me.” And you look exhausted.
Miss Shireen gives Kat one of her eyebrow-high looks. Don’t worry, Kat thinks. I promised, didn’t I?
Inside
the cozy baby room where she’s been spending so much time, Kat takes the baby from Kavita’s arms. “Rest,” she says, pointing to one of the empty rocking chairs.
Kavita sinks into the chair. “How are you, Katina Didi?” she asks wearily.
“Not good,” Kat answers, taking off the diaper and starting to clean the baby up. Amazing that she can do this so easily now.
“Why? What has happened?”
“I’ve been worried about you. Your future.”
“Oh. That is kind. Thank you.”
Kat folds a fresh cloth diaper into a triple absorbent fold, but she doesn’t put it on the baby right away. The new human kicks her scrawny legs around and thrashes her little arms, so happy to be naked. She better not start peeing. Kat leans over and drops a couple of kisses on her tummy. Shiuli. The name fits perfectly.
Kavita keeps rocking. “Katina Didi, they have asked me to testify in court,” she says.
Kat stops kissing the baby. “Who asked you?”
“The police. And Arjun Uncle.”
That Hyena! So out of line. Powerful men like him KNOW NOTHING about girls facing Wolves! “And what will you say?” Kat asks, pinning the diaper in place carefully, so Shiuli doesn’t get poked.
The chair stops moving. “I am not yet certain.”
Kat bites her lip and manages not to spew out her opinion. Have to wait for Kavita to ask first.
The baby is dry and diapered now, but when Kat picks her up she starts to cry again. “Must be hungry,” Kat says, and hands her back to Kavita.
Kavita tucks her baby under her orna and the sucking noises begin.
Kat rocks beside her in silence. There’s nothing more she can do now. Maybe Kavita will ask for advice, maybe she won’t. In the meantime, she’s going to teach Gracie with all her might how to do a Kimura, a mount escape, and a triangle choke.
RAVI
INT. CAMERA SHOP—DAY
Despite his busy schedule, Ravi squeezes in a visit to the camera shop. He needs to make his purchase before Friday.
“I need to record a conversation without the other person knowing,” he tells the woman working there. “Audio and video. And the device has to look natural, as if it’s something I usually wear.”
“What about a pen?” she suggests.
“Hardly anyone carries pens anymore, especially not people my age.”
“Watch?”
“Same issue.”
The saleswoman pulls out a camera hidden in a wallet, a hat, even a credit card. Ravi’s amazed by the array of choices when it comes to secret recording gadgets. Privacy’s dead and gone, he thinks.
The woman hands him a pair of glasses with a mini pinhole camera built into the frame. Ravi tries them on. Perfect, he thinks, looking in the mirror. They’re even sort of a disguise in case he runs into that Anglo-Indian proprietor again.
He’s growing a beard, too. It should hide his face even more, and make him look older. And manlier. Anyway, he hopes Gracie thinks so.
KAT
INT. BENGALI EMANCIPATION SOCIETY HEADQUARTERS—DAY
Gracie bows and takes the mat. Shrimps. Bridges and flops. Does a few backward and forward somersaults. She’s getting stronger, Kat notices. Their nighttime strength-training routine is paying off.
But as Gracie gets on her back to practice a mount escape for the umpteenth time, she sighs. “Ravi’s keeping something from me. He was so sad after visiting the orphanage, but did you notice how quickly he got past that? He looks … so different now, and he’s acting so weird.”
Kat, too, has been warming up. Now she straddles her pupil. “Yeah, he did seem to bounce right back. Secrets make you weird.” I should know, she thinks.
“Let’s go,” Gracie says. “I’ve got the Kimura down, and I’ve almost got this, but we still need to start practicing that horrible triangle choke.”
RAVI
INT. CHAI SHOP—DAY
All week long, Ravi rehearses the phrases he’ll need to convince “Mr. Sarker” that he’s a customer. Bontu’s “Ami ak-ta meh chai.” How to ask the price of something—“Kaw-tho dhahm?”—which he learns from Mrs. Gupta. And while he plays video games with the twins, they translate for him in their sweet, high-pitched voices. “Is that man a bad man?”—“Oy lok ta goon-dah na kee?”—and “Are they keeping you a prisoner?”—“Thomake kee johr ko-reh rak-che?” He practices and practices the phrases and accent until he thinks he sounds almost like a native. The twins agree.
By Friday, the hidden-camera glasses are stashed in Ravi’s backpack. So is the stack of cash Dad gave him. He heads to the chai shop, tense but ready. He takes a seat by the window. Peering across the rain-wet pavement, he can make out the sign: ROYAL DIADEM SOCIETY GUESTHOUSE.
HER hotel—not Sarker’s.
When the chai-wallah comes over, Ravi orders a cup of hot cardamom-spiced tea.
He drains it. Orders another.
And then another, keeping a constant eye on the street. The chai-wallah brings a plate of biscuits, and then hot, crispy triangles of dough filled with chickpeas that he calls samosas. They taste so different from the boxed ones stashed in the freezer in Boston that Ravi can’t believe the two food items share the same name.
“I didn’t order these,” Ravi tells the chai-wallah. “But I’ll have one more plate, please.”
“No worries, Mr. Biswas,” the man replies, smiling. “We are so happy to have you here. It’s our pleasure to give you this.”
“I’m not Biswas,” Ravi protests, but he can tell the man’s not buying it.
“I am Mr. Lakshmi,” the chai-wallah says, grinning. Meanwhile, the rain comes and goes outside, and Ravi keeps an eye on the forlorn, dilapidated building across the street. Nobody goes in, nobody comes out.
“Is that hotel still open?” he asks Mr. Lakshmi.
“Oh, yes. But it’s not a nice place, Mr. Biswas. I can give you a fine, five-star recommendation for lodging.”
“No, thanks. I don’t need lodging. And please, please, believe me—I’m not Biswas.”
“Oh, pardon me, sir. I forgot about your Park Street penthouse here in Kolkata.”
Ravi gives up and accepts a third complimentary plate of samosas.
By the end of the afternoon, there’s still no sign of Sarker across the street. Leaving cash on the table that more than covers the tea he ordered and the food he didn’t, Ravi heads back to the Bose flat.
KAT
INT./EXT. SHOPPING MALL—DAY
“I like your beard,” Gracie tells Ravi.
“It’s filling in nicely,” Bontu adds. “But guess what? Amit Biswas grew a beard recently, too.”
“That guy,” Ravi replies. “Always trying to look like me.”
“So … we’re going to a comic book store, Bontu?” Gracie asks. “What’s there for a non-comic-book person like me?”
“Amira likes romantic graphic novels,” says Bontu. “You might browse that section. Hey, which Batman movie do you Americans think is the all-time best?”
“Batman Returns, 1992,” says Kat. “Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman was incredible.”
“Batman Begins, 2000-something is far better,” says Bontu. “Christian Bale’s Bruce Wayne was so perfectly tormented about his past.”
“Dark Knight, 2008,” Ravi chimes in from the back. “Obviously. I mean, Heath Ledger as the Joker? It doesn’t get better than that.”
All three agree on one thing: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is the absolute worst. Bontu parks near the mall and leads them to a store with a great collection of vintage and new comic books.
As Gracie wanders in the graphic-novel section, Kat and Bontu start a heated argument over DC versus Marvel villains, debating who would destroy whom in hand-to-hand combat. Ravi’s not joining in, Kat notices. What’s Kal-El worrying about this time?
RAVI
Ravi’s eyes keep going back to Gracie. She’s walking with more confidence, he notices—is it his imagination, or does she look stronger,
tougher, bolder? Maybe it’s the pink shalwar kameez with white embroidered flowers that makes her look so different … not much like the middle-school version of Gracie that Ravi met seven years ago. But that Gracie’s still there, too. He can see her. Sweet, easy to be with. Her face feels like home every time he catches sight of it.
As she walks toward them, her purchases swinging beside her in a brown bag, Bontu stops mid-argument. “You carry yourself differently these days, Gracie,” he says, echoing Ravi’s silent observations. “Kolkata’s turning you into a superhero. You remind me of Bonita Juarez.”
“Who’s she?” Gracie asks.
“Firebird. Also known as ‘La Espirita.’” He looks from Kat to Ravi, but they both shrug. “You don’t know Firebird? She’s … magnificent. She declined offers of full-time Avengers membership because she’s so devoted to her church work. But she has powers over flame, and fought with them in the Kang Dynasty war.”
“Wait—WHAT?” Gracie looks stunned. “There’s a MEXICAN GIRL SUPERHERO? Why don’t the two of you ever talk about HER?”
“Er … I didn’t know about her,” Kat confesses.
Gracie turns to Ravi. “Well?”
“I’ve heard of her, but I didn’t make the connection. Sorry, Gracie. My bad. Maybe we can find a comic book now—”
He’s interrupted by a girl passing by. “Please, may I take a selfie with Mr. Biswas?”
“I’m not him,” Ravi answers on autopilot.
“I don’t care,” the girl says. “My friends won’t be able to tell on social media.”
Ravi sighs. “Okay. Fake Biswas it is.” He folds his arms across his chest and pouts into the girl’s smartphone, trying his best to resemble his doppelgänger.
“You looked just like him,” says Bontu, once the selfie-taker moves on. “Let’s get some of that Kentucky-style chicken from your country for lunch, shall we?”
As they stroll to the food court in the mall, Ravi notices that Gracie’s frowning. Is she still mad about Bonita Juarez? I’ll have to find those comics, he thinks. I’ll check out Firebird myself first. And then they’ll make a perfect birthday present.
Forward Me Back to You Page 22
