Chapters (59)
On the morning after Ram’s arrival, in the crisp and fragile dawn, lying on his cot near Ram’s, Karak wondered how to present the matter to him. His plans pressed in until he could think of nothing else, not the latest return on the cantaloupe, not the letter from his older brother, telling of the failure of the wheat crop. He rose and saw that the boy was still asleep. Ram was an innocent; Karak did not know how he had been hurt, and he felt the boy could be easily bullied. Yet Karak enjoyed his company. He enjoyed how much the boy enjoyed him.
Now Ram was curled up on his side on the cot, like a child. Karak nudged him, not gently, on his thigh.
“Let him be,” Jivan said. He had been standing near the porch, and his tone was sharp. Karak had not seen him. Karak held up his hand in acceptance.
Amarjeet brought food that Kishen had prepared, but Ram did not wake. His breathing was shallow and he slept without moving. The sun’s first ray gained the mountain ridge. The heat bore down on them. No breeze swept across the miles of flat land. The men moved Ram’s cot into the front room of the house, closed the screen door so he was near the open air but in shade. They refilled the fan with kerosene and covered its blades with wet cloth. Kishen picked up Leela and instructed her to stay away.
Late in the morning, Sheriff Frank Fielding trotted his bay gelding up the roadway and greeted Jivan near the house. Karak was making a repair to the chicken coop and came out to join them.
“Heard about your visitor,” he heard the sheriff say. Jivan glanced at Karak. The sheriff dismounted, held his horse’s reins. He was a tall man with a large belly, solid. But he moved with grace.
They took him to see Ram, and he peered through the front door screen. Ram’s face was turned toward them, unlined and peaceful; his eyes were closed. His left hand clasped the folded blanket that lay under his head.
“He won’t make trouble, Sheriff,” Jivan said. “He’s calm boy. Honest boy.”
“How do you know?”
“My cousin,” Jivan said. “A village-mate. I’ve known him for much time—many years. Also, his father and grandfather I knew. Good family.”
Their eyes met. “Aren’t you his cousin too?” the sheriff asked, turning to Karak.
“Our family is big,” Karak said. Karak liked the sheriff. He was a fair man. He knew Jivan liked him too.
Jivan offered him some water, pouring it from the olla that hung near Ram’s cot. The sheriff drank. “I’m putting him in your care—Jivan, Karak. He’s your responsibility.”
“Don’t worry,” Karak said. “Nothing to worry.”