Chapters (62)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- PART ONE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- PART TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- PART THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION GUIDE
“What’s your business here in Poona, Dan?” Chhotu asked once he’d climbed back into his hanging chair after dinner. I eyed the chains suspending the seat from the ceiling and hoped they could bear the weight.
I had no idea what Willy had told him, but I wasn’t interested in constructing a big lie. Instead, I kept it simple, the same way he and Willy had described their business.
“I’m a journalist for UNI. I’m doing some background work for a story.”
For all I cared, Willy could tell him about the bomber. But I didn’t want to have the conversation with this swine. Yeah, if Sush considered him a swine, I wasn’t going to disagree. This guy threw off the stink of a child molester with an ice cream truck.
SUNDAY, JULY 13, 1975, 11:51 P.M.
“Tell me, Dan. What’s your game?” asked Chhotu once Willy had dozed off. Sushmita had dragged herself away an hour earlier, unwilling to socialize with the new houseguest.
“Sorry?”
“Come, old chap. You can tell me. Are you in it for the free liquor and the company? Or is there something more?”
“Go to hell,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me from his perch in the swing chair. “Gloves are off, eh?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MONDAY, JULY 14, 1975, 12:37 A.M.
Sush came to me after midnight, as the rain lashed at the windowpanes. I worried about Chhotu, but once we’d locked the door and switched off the light, I forgot everything except the present. Her scent, her silken skin, her breath, and bite on my neck. We kept our voices down. The world and its problems—mine, India’s, Sushmita’s—none of those mattered. Who cared what banks failed in Yonkers? With apologies to the Gershwins, all I could see was Sushmita. To hell with everything else, starting with that swine Chhotu. And Willy Smets second.
I put those thoughts aside. How could I stop time and make the night last? The morning would come soon enough. I’d have to make a new excuse to Frank Muller for why I was AWOL, and Sushmita would have to put on her mask again. Pretend she loved Willy. Pretend I was only a friend to her.
She rose from the bed, kissed me, and stroked my cheek. I tried to decipher the sadness in her eyes, peer into her soul and understand what emotions were tormenting her. But all I could see was trouble, worry, and uncertainty. Then she wrapped herself in her robe, slipped out the door, and melted into the darkness of the hallway.
MONDAY, JULY 14, 1975, 8:09 A.M.