Manil Suri - The City of Devi

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The City of Devi: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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From the author of
, “a big, pyrotechnic… ambitious… ingenious” (
) novel. Mumbai has emptied under the threat of imminent nuclear annihilation; gangs of marauding Hindu and Muslim thugs rove the desolate streets; yet Sarita can think of only one thing: buying the last pomegranate that remains in perhaps the entire city. She is convinced that the fruit holds the key to reuniting her with her physicist husband, Karun, who has been mysteriously missing for more than a fortnight.
Searching for his own lover in the midst of this turmoil is Jaz—cocky, handsome, and glib. “The Jazter,” as he calls himself, is Muslim, but his true religion has steadfastly been sex with men. Dodging danger at every step, both he and Sarita are inexorably drawn to Devi ma, the patron goddess who has reputedly appeared in person to save her city. What they find will alter their lives more fundamentally than any apocalypse to come.
A wickedly comedic and fearlessly provocative portrayal of individuals balancing on the sharp edge of fate,
brilliantly upends assumptions of politics, religion, and sex, and offers a terrifying yet exuberant glimpse of the end of the world.

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THE NEXT DAY, Karun seemed to slip rapidly into morning-after regret. “What time is it? My roommate must be wondering where I went.”

“It’s only ten, and it’s a Saturday, so just relax. I’ll freshen up a bit and then whip us up some omelets.” He looked at me wide-eyed, as if stricken at the thought of eggs. “Of course, if you like, I could make you something else—”

“No, it’s not that. I just have to go.” He fished out his shirt from the jumble on the floor and put it on, then hopped around on one foot as he tried to get the other through a trouser leg. “I’m sorry—I just need to be by myself.”

My shikari reflexes kicked in with full force, juices astir at my prey’s escape attempt. “Wait,” I said, struck by déjà vu as he scuttled to the entryway, shoes in hand. “I won’t let you leave just like that.”

The locked door stopped him as before. “Could you give me the key, please. Please?”

“Or what? You’ll threaten to cry for help again? Go ahead, scream all you want, be my guest. I’m not opening the door until after breakfast.”

“I’ll come back, I promise. Some other time, believe me. Right now, just let me go.” Tears sprang to his eyes, panic to his face.

“No, Karun. It’s always scary in the beginning. You can’t just keep running away like that.”

He let me take his shoes and set them down, then lead him back to my room. I tried to steer him to the bed again, but he slumped in a chair instead. Minutes ticked by without him speaking. Finally, I prompted him. “Why don’t you finish telling me what you started last night on the beach? What made you go looking in the first place on the web.”

He must have been waiting for encouragement, because he opened up at once. It began with an innocent question at a family gathering—his cousin Sheila asked him why he didn’t have a girlfriend. “Everyone stopped talking just then, and in the silence, I turned absolutely red. I mumbled something about waiting to finish my studies, that not all my college mates were paired. ‘Yes, but you don’t ever even talk about women,’ Sheila said. ‘Not to you, he doesn’t,’ my mother shot back in my defense. People laughed, and the conversation went on, but Sheila’s remark stayed with me. One of those thoughts that keeps burrowing deeper, once it gains entry into your head.

“Why didn’t I take any interest in the opposite sex? My mother, I knew, kept waiting for me to say something about a girlfriend. The boys in junior college, just like the ones in high school, talked about nothing else—it was all I could do to tune them out. I wondered if I might be different—could I prefer men? A purely intellectual hypothesis, mind you, like one might make in physics or mathematics—I’d never detected any actual such feelings in myself. But it quickly became an obsession—I started reading everything I could find about it on the internet. The only scientific way to answer the question, I realized, was to put it to an experimental test.”

“But you’d never even tried it with a woman.”

“I thought about it. Going to a brothel or something sordid like that. I couldn’t get up the courage. Just like I circled the park so many times, too scared to go in, before the evening we met.”

“The evening you ran away.”

“I panicked, as I did each time I thought about explaining myself at tea afterwards. It’s hard to bridge the gap between theory and experiment. As you can see, even sitting here talking to you now takes an effort.”

“I’m honored, I guess. To be your science experiment.” The Jazter had been called many other things after sex, but never that. “And what have you discovered from this experiment?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I was. After last night, I knew which band he played in—down to the exact instrument. But who was I to argue if he felt he needed to research an encore concert? “I’ll be glad to help any way I can.”

We had breakfast, and then I prepared the bathtub, using a bubble solution my mother had got from France. At first, Karun wouldn’t get in with me, despite my promise of only vegetarian fun. But then curiosity got the better of him. “Nobody I’ve known has ever owned a bathtub—I suppose you must see them all the time in the West.” He put a foot in tentatively, as if mindful of popping the bubbles, then lowered himself to face me in the water. “I always imagined from the photos that they would feel like small personal swimming pools. But actually, this is so much tinier.”

He dodged his body out of the way when I tried to soap him up. So I splashed him, and tickled him with my toes, to which he did respond. Before long, other parts of our anatomy inescapably got involved. And yet, the Jazter scrupulously restrained himself—not so much to honor his gentlemanly word as to preserve Karun’s stamina for afternoon research.

Back in my room, Karun noticed the stack of games I had as a kid. “A model train set! Does it still work?”

“Yes, but it takes forever to set up.” I tried to steer him to something snappier, like Boggle or Mikado, but his mind was set. So I took down the toy village accessories from the top of my cupboard, and the box of extra rails from under my bed. Karun dove right in, spreading out the components, coupling the bogeys, installing the village, down to the tiny plastic men and women. As he stretched out over the tracks to peer at how they aligned through a tunnel, I had visions of the train choo-chooing ( chew-chewing? ) through the valley of his ass.

Between my lecherous fantasies, I helped Karun with the setup. “This was always my favorite,” I said, demonstrating how two sections of track could cross with the help of an elevated bridge. “A great spot for nifty accidents—one train derailing atop another, even a bomb attack once that set the bridge aflame.”

The talk of havoc got Karun all excited—he couldn’t wait to set up a collision once we finished laying the rails. We rammed engines into each other, made cars fly off the tracks, and in one particularly tragic accident, watched as a runaway train mowed down an entire village. “It’s even better with fire,” I said, and a pyromaniacal gleam immediately sprang to Karun’s eyes. We drew the curtains and turned off the lights, then sent two trains to their mutually assured doom by stuffing them with matches and lit birthday candles.

Later, as we lay amid the ruins (in the finale, an enemy air raid had blown apart the tracks), I took one of the engines and ran it down Karun’s back. “Does it tickle?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

I skimmed it lazily over his buttocks. “And now?” He didn’t answer, so I rolled it down his leg, teased his ankle with it, then rolled it back. “This little engine thinks it’s time for another experiment.” I worked off his pants and underwear, then pressed the engine playfully into his cleft.

Karun still didn’t speak, but stretched out more fully, crossing his forearms to rest his head. He sighed as I retraced the engine’s path with my lips, kissing him all over, using my tongue to tease out ingress. I moved to position myself in place, the condom already discreetly slipped on, my mouth still planting kisses to keep him relaxed. “Shh,” I whispered, as I began to enter and he tensed, “it’ll feel better in a second.” I wrapped myself over his body as completely as I could, to convey my tenderness, to let him feel our oneness.

That night, I awoke around three a.m. Karun lay beside me, his mouth open, the air flowing in and out in regular breaths. He looked innocent, untroubled—I wondered what dreams unfolded in his head. Could I be in them, could his scientist mind be tabulating the results of his tests? We still had tomorrow morning—I’d have to think up some more games, some other experiments. Right now, though, I just wanted to gaze at him, feel the warmth of his body next to mine, absorb the pleasure of sharing my bed.

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