Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

That was why they were there, after all. For the apportionment, the magical assignment of blame. Bad things do not happen without a reason. It is preferable, when thinking about bad things, to make them happen to bad people. We think of bad things all the time. Our thoughts have to go somewhere. If the bad people do not seem properly Bad, we must make them so, unless we can make them Good, but for that we apply the most exacting standards.

Q. You must feel terrible. What do you want to say to the person who has Raj?

We need everybody’s help to find him and so I’d like to say to anyone out there if you know what happened please say just pick up the phone bring him home he needs to be with his family.

The camera silently swooping forward on its trolley. Zooming in to catch the tears. So many TV appearances and no tears. It was against nature. She’d watched two women discussing her on this very show, women she’d never met, who were giving their opinions of her dress sense, her mothering, her mental health.

If you fear you have experienced this, talk to your doctor about another course of treatment. This medication may impair your ability to

He was only a boy. Twenty-two years old. A baby. He had sandy buzz-cut hair and ran corny lines on her and leaned into the bar in a way he’d probably seen in a movie. He told her all about himself, just spilled it out like he was interviewing for a job. The town with the water tower painted in the colors of his high-school football team, the times they used to drive out to the old quarry to swim. So generic, so stupid, it made her feel heavy and old and sad. The kid hadn’t seen a thing. Not a single goddamn thing in his whole life. When he stood behind her and adjusted her shot, she felt like crying. Instead she rubbed the side of his face. It was like petting a cat.

His breath falling on her neck, his middle-western voice murmuring in her ear, putting the moves, putting the moves. Then she saw his friends watching them from a booth and she was nineteen again, on a road trip she took with a college girlfriend through the South. Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas. Opening the door and feeling the men’s eyes on her, her cutoffs suddenly too short as she walked the gauntlet to the bar.

The table erupted into laughter.

Don’t pay them no mind, the boy said. They’re just jealous. She asked herself, then, what the hell she thought she was doing. She needed to get herself together. She needed air. Putting down her cue, she walked around the table, supporting herself as she went. Then she launched across the room and pushed open the bar door. Outside, the night air was cool, the stars holes drilled through the blue-black sky. Was she hungry? Maybe she should put some food in her stomach. There was a Chinese place next door. She could get chow mein, soak up some of the booze.

A light breeze was blowing. She was walking across the parking lot toward the divider when she felt a hand on her arm and turned to find him standing there. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, and he was so blank and young, so unwritten on by life, that she let her body go slack and put her face up to his.

He slammed her back against someone’s truck and he had a fistful of her hair and she was kissing him hard and as she dug in his pants for his cock he pushed her T-shirt up to her armpits and started to suck on her nipple like a baby, cupping her ass in his two hands, sliding his fingers into her shorts to graze the seams of her panties. They paused for a moment, breathing in and out and in and out, and then he was tearing at her zipper and she wrapped her legs around his hips and just tried to hang on. There was some fumbling and he was inside her and she could feel the muscles tight in his back and the clench of his buttocks and she bit down hard on his shoulder to stop herself from crying out. He winced and wriggled his shoulder free, then put a hand on her throat, moaning oh fuck oh fuck as he came, shuddering against her like a patient with a fever. For a moment she hung there in space, stroking his hair as he shook, buried deep in his private dreams. Then they sank toward the ground, two separate people again, kneeling in the dust.

She could see figures lurking about in the shadows. Had his friends come out to watch? It didn’t matter. None of it was real. Whatever had just happened, it meant nothing, stood for nothing beyond itself. She was a thousand miles from her normal life, floating far out in space.

Price told them they needed to stay in the Los Angeles area to maximize what he called the “tail” of the coverage. The trick, he said, was to keep selling twists. Each day with no new development meant there was a chance an outlet would pull its reporting staff and put them on another story. He placed his hand on her knee. But you’ve got a good story, he said. A very good story. That’s one thing in your favor. He had his hand on her knee and Jaz did nothing. He didn’t even look in her direction. The boy was panting like a dog. She pushed him away. Did you come inside me, she asked. Yeah, he said. It was great. Older women are so fucking hot.

A story every day.

They moved to a hotel in Riverside. On the fifth morning Price organized what he called a “walkabout.” They went to the park, followed by cars and vans packed with journalists. There seemed to be more than before. They were wealthy New Yorkers, lost out west. There was a high level of human interest. When the media described Jaz, they used phrases like “financial wizard” or “Wall Street high-flyer.” She, on the other hand, was nothing. She was just the mother. Price gave directions, set up shots. A helicopter circled in the sky. They walked down the path toward the rocks, holding hands. At least no one expected them to smile.

Where was her boy? Would he walk out from behind one of the round white boulders? Was that what they’d arranged for her? A surprise?

Afterward, in the back of their minivan, Price performed the holding of the wrists. Sugar, he said. You did well. I’m proud of you. Back at the hotel, Price and her dad and the doctor argued about her medication. They stood over her as she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to watch TV. They were in the way.

You have black onyx, twenty-eight diamonds, very dramatic, if you took just the center of this it would be quite classic, but if you throw in the black onyx it’s something totally different so beautiful deep colors all natural not heat-treated you’ve got the gold a beautiful beautiful setting, don’t forget about our interest-free pays six pays half a year and it’s yours look at how dramatic it is look shipping handling taxes on top how dramatic let’s move on

One morning, when they were still at the motel, she opened the door to a young Hispanic woman. The woman had long curly hair that was falling over her face. She wore big gold hoop earrings. She shook her fist. He’s my son, she screamed. Not yours. You stay away from him. Lisa didn’t understand. My son, repeated the woman. He was the one who vanished out at Los Pináculos. My son, not yours. And then she scratched Lisa’s face. She just reached out and clawed at her with her nails. Jaz sprang up and pushed the woman, who staggered back and sprawled on the ground. Then he slammed the door shut and stood with his back against it. His eyes were filled with tears. She remembered that very distinctly, the tears. What the hell’s going on, he asked. As if it were her fault. When she touched her face, the tips of her fingers came away bloody.

The woman hammered on the door, shouting in Spanish. I’ve never seen her before, said Lisa. Jaz nodded. The woman hung around outside until the police came and took her away in a patrol car. They said they expected such things — a side effect of the media exposure. Lisa wanted to know if it was true. Had the woman’s son really disappeared? She wished the two of them could sit down quietly together and drink coffee and talk.