Gregory David Roberts - Shantaram

"Wow... thank God... thank God."

"Yeah, maybe," she murmured. Something of the old mischief and mystery flared in her eyes.

"And you're sure it's him?"

"Sure enough to go there myself," she answered, looking at me once more.

"Do you know where he is-now, I mean?"

"Not exactly, but I think I know where he's going." "Where?"

"Varanasi. Khaderbhai's teacher, Idriss, lives there. He's very old now, but he still teaches there."

"Khaderbhai's teacher?" I asked, stunned to think that in all the hundreds of hours I'd spent with Khader, listening to his philosophy lectures, he'd never mentioned the name.

"Yes. I met him once, right at the start, when I first came to India, with Khader. I was... I don't know... I guess you'd call it a nervous breakdown. There was this plane, going to Singapore.

I don't even know how I got on it. And I broke down-just, kind of, cracked up. And Khader, he was on the same plane. And he put his arm around me. I told him everything... absolutely... everything. And next thing, I'm in this cave with a giant Buddha statue and this teacher named Idriss-Khader's teacher."

There was a pause while she let those memories pull her into the past, but then she shook herself free, and back into the moment.

"I think that's where Khaled is going-to see Idriss. The old guru fascinated him. He was obsessed about meeting him. I don't know why he never got around to it then, but I think that's where he's headed now. Or maybe he's already there. He used to ask me about him all the time. Idriss taught Khader everything he knew about Resolution theory, and-"

"About what?"

"Resolution theory. That's what Khader called it, but he said it was Idriss who gave it that name. It was his philosophy of life, Khader's philosophy, about how the universe is always moving toward-"

"Complexity," I interrupted. "I know. I talked about it a lot with him. But he never called it Resolution theory. And he never talked about Idriss."

"That's funny, because I think he loved Idriss, you know, like a father. Once, he called him the teacher of all teachers. And I know he wanted to retire up there, not far from Varanasi, with Idriss. Anyway, that's where I'm going to start looking for Khaled."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"O-kay," I responded, avoiding her eyes. "Is this... is this anything to do with... well, you and Khaled, from before?"

"You can be such a fuck sometimes, Lin, you know that?"

I looked up sharply, but I didn't respond. "Did you know Ulla's in town?" she asked after a while.

"No. When did she get in? Have you seen her?"

"That's just it. I got a message from her. She was at the President, and she wanted to see me right away."

"Did you go?"

"I didn't want to," she mused. "If you got the message, would you have gone?"

"I guess," I answered, staring out at the bay where moonlight crested on the serpent curves of a gently rolling sea. "But not for her. For Modena. I saw him a while ago. He's still nuts about her."

"I saw him tonight," she said quietly.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Just before. With her. It freaked me out. I went to the hotel and up to her room. There was another guy there, a guy named Ramesh-"

"Modena told me about him. They're friends."

"So, he opens the door, and I walk in, and I see Ulla, sitting on the bed, resting her back against the wall. And Modena, he's lying across her legs, with his head back near her shoulder. That face..."

"I know. It's a hell of a mess."

"It was weird. It was freaking me out, the whole scene. I'm not sure why. And Ulla, she tells me she inherited a lot of money from her father-they're very rich, you know, Ulla's family. They practically own the town in Germany where she was born, but they cut her off cold when she was heavy into drugs. She never got a thing from them for years-not until her father died. So when she inherited the money, she got this idea to come back and look for Modena. She felt guilty, she said, and she couldn't live with herself. And she found him. He was waiting for her. And they were together, when I went to see her, like some... some kind of a love story."

"Damn, if he wasn't right about her," I said softly. "He told me - he knew she'd come back for him, and she really did. I never believed it for a second. I thought he was just crazy."

"The way they were sitting together, with him across her legs.

You know the Pieta? Michelangelo? It looked exactly like that. It was so strange. It really shook me up. Some things are so weird they make you angry, you know?"

"What did she want?" "What do you mean?"

"Why did she call you to the hotel?"

"Oh, I get it," she said, with a little smile. "Ulla always wants something."

I raised an eyebrow, returning her stare, but said nothing.

"She wanted me to arrange a passport for Modena. He's been here for years. He's an overstayer. And he's got a few problems with the Spanish police, under his own name. He needs a new passport to get back into Europe. He could pass for Italian. Or maybe Portuguese."

"Leave it to me," I said calmly, thinking that I knew the reason, at last, why she'd asked me to meet with her. "I'll get on it tomorrow. I know how to get in touch with him, for photos and whatever-although there'd be no mistaking his face at a customs check. I'll fix it."

"Thanks," she said, meeting my eyes with such fervent intensity that my heart began to beat hard against my chest. It is always a fool's mistake, Didier once said to me, to be alone with someone you shouldn't have loved. "What are you doing, Lin?"

"Sitting here with you," I replied, smiling.

"No, I mean, what are you going to do? Are you going to stay in Bombay?"

"Why?"

"I was going to ask you... if you want to come with me, to find Khaled."

I laughed, but she didn't laugh with me.

"That's the second-best offer I've had today."

"The second best?" she drawled. "What was the first?"

"Someone invited me to go to the war, in Sri Lanka."

She clamped her lips tightly around an angry response, but I held my hands up in surrender, and spoke quickly.

"I'm just kidding, Karla, just kidding. Take it easy. I mean, it's true about the invitation to go to Sri Lanka, but I'm just ... you know."

She relaxed, smiling again.

"I'm out of practice. It's been a long time, Lin."

"So... why the invitation now?"

"Why not?"

"That's not good enough, Karla, and you know it."

"Okay," she sighed, glancing at me and then looking away to follow the breeze weaving wave-patterns on the sand. "I guess I was hoping to find something like... like what we had in Goa."

"What about... Jeet?" I asked, ignoring the opening she'd given me. "How does he feel about you going off to find Khaled?"

"We lead separate lives. We do what we want. We go where we want."

"Sounds... breezy," I offered, struggling to find a word that wasn't a lie, but wouldn't offend. "Didier made it sound more serious than that-told me the guy asked you to marry him."

"He did," she said flatly.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And will you-marry him, I mean?"

"Yes. I think I will."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Don't start that again."

"Sorry," she said, sighing through a tired smile. "I've been running with a different crowd. Why marry Jeet? He's a nice guy, he's healthy, and he's loaded. And, hey, I think I'll do a better job of spending his money than he does."

"So what you're telling me is that you're ready to die for this love."

She laughed and then turned to me, suddenly serious again. Her eyes, pale with moonlight; her eyes, the green of water lilies after the rain; her long hair, black as forest river stones; her hair that was like holding the night itself in the wrap of my fingers; her lips, starred with incandescent light; lips of camellia-petal softness warmed with secret whispers. Beautiful.