Abraham Verghese - Cutting for Stone

“Thank you. Is there anything we can do for you? For him—”

“Not tonight. In the morning at ten o'clock, be in this spot. No, be farther away. See that post with the streetlight? Be there and bring a blanket, money, and a dish just like this. The money is for him. Go home now.”

I ran over to fetch Almaz, who had not left her spot, her voluminous skirts ringed around her like a circus tent, her white gabby wrapped around her head and shoulders, only her eyes showing. She wouldn't hear of leaving. She was going to stay the night. Nothing would persuade her. Reluctantly we left her, but only after we forced Almaz to put on Hema's sweater and then wrap herself with the gabby.

At home, mercifully the phones were working. Matron got the British and Indian embassies to promise to send their envoys in the morning. None of the royals would talk to Matron; if the Emperor's own son was under suspicion, so were his nieces, nephews, and grandchildren. We heard that there were rumblings of discontent among the junior army officers who felt their generals erred in not joining the coup; there must have been some truth to that, because that day the Emperor authorized a pay raise for all army officers. The word was that only the intense rivalry and jealousy between the senior army and Imperial Bodyguard officers had saved His Majesty.

THAT NIGHT SHIVA and I slept with Hema in her bed. Ghosh's Bryl-creem scent was on the pillow. His books were piled on the nightstand with a pen wedged in French's Index of Differential Diagnosis to mark a page, and his reading glasses balanced precariously on the cover. His bedtime rituals of inspecting his profile and sucking his belly in and out ten times, of lying across the mattress for a few minutes so his head hung back over the edge—”antigravity” maneuvers, as he called them—were unexciting, but in his absence, their importance was revealed. “Another day in paradise” was his inevitable pronouncement when he settled his head on his pillow. Now I understood what that meant: the uneventful day was a precious gift. The three of us lay there and waited as if he'd just gone to the kitchen and would fill the doorway any second. Hema sobbed. She voiced our thoughts when she said, “Lord, I promise never to take that man for granted again.”

Matron, who'd decided to sleep in our house, in the bed that belonged to me and Shiva, called out, “Hema, go to sleep now. Boys, say your prayers. Don't worry.”

I prayed to all the deities in the room, from Muruga to the Bleeding Heart of Jesus.

IN THE EARLY MORNING Almaz was back. There'd been no news. “But I stood up whenever a car came and went. If the doctor was in the car, I wanted him to see me.”

Hema and Matron planned to go to the arranged spot at ten o'clock, carrying food, blankets, and money. Then they'd make the rounds of the embassies and the royals. Hema convinced us to stay at home. “What if Ghosh calls home? Someone needs to be here to take the message.” Rosina and Genet were there, so we weren't completely alone. Almaz, after rejuvenating herself with bread and hot tea, insisted on going back to Kerchele with Hema and Matron.

By noon, they were still not back. Shiva, Genet, and I fixed sandwiches while Rosina looked on, distracted. She was red-eyed and hoarse. “Don't worry,” she said, “Ghosh will be all right.” Somehow her words weren't reassuring. Genet, pale and strangely listless, squeezed my hand.

KOOCHOOLOO WAS THE KIND OF MUTT who rarely made any noise. At Missing, barking at strangers would have been a never-ending proposition. So when I heard Koochooloo bark, I paid attention. Looking out of the living room window I saw a scruffy man in a green army jacket stroll up the driveway and disappear behind our house. Koochooloo turned rabid, unleashing a volley of deafening yelps. Her message was A very dangerous man is at our doorstep.

I ran to the kitchen where Rosina, Genet, and Shiva were already at the window. Koochooloo was just below us, loud as I had ever heard her. She moved forward, her neck disappearing in a collar of raised fur, her teeth bared. The man pulled open his heavy jacket and drew a revolver which was tucked in his pants. He had no belt, no holster, and no shirt, just a white vest. At the sight of the gun, Koochooloo fled. She was brave but not stupid.

“I know him,” Rosina whispered. “Zemui gave him a ride a few times. He is army. He used to stand just outside the gate, hoping Zemui would come by. He was always flattering Zemui. ‘Envy is behind flattery’ I told Zemui. Zemui would pretend not to see him, or he'd tell him he was going in another direction.”

The army man tucked the gun back into his pants, then he walked over to the BMW and caressed the seat.

“See! What did I tell you?” Rosina said.

“Come out, please,” he called, looking our way. “I know you're in there.”

“Stay here,” Rosina said, drawing a deep breath. “No. Don't stay. You all go by way of the front door and run to the hospital. Wait with W.W. Wait till I come for you.” She threw the bolt back. “Lock the door behind me,” she said, as she stepped out.

I cannot tell you why the three of us, instead of obeying her, simply opened the door again and followed her. It wasn't bravery. Perhaps the notion of running away felt more dangerous than staying with the one adult we could count on.

The intruder's eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he'd slept in his clothes, but his manner was jocular. The bulky camouflage jacket was big enough to swallow him, and yet his arms stuck out of the sleeves. He was missing his beret. He had a dark vertical furrow in the middle of his forehead, like a seam where the two halves of his face met. Despite the scraggly mustache, he looked too young for his uniform.

“This,” he said, almost purring as he stroked the motorcycle tank, “belongs to … to the army now.”

Rosina pulled her black shama over her hair, the gesture of a woman entering a church. She stood silent and obedient before him.

“Did you hear me, woman? This belongs to the army.”

“I suppose it is true,” she said, eyes downcast. “Perhaps the army will come and get it.” Her tone was deferential, which was why her words took a few seconds to sink in. I wondered later why she chose to provoke him and put us at risk.

The soldier blinked. Then he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, “ I am the army!”

He grabbed her hand and yanked her to him.

“ I am the army.”

“Yes. This is the doctor's house. If you are taking anything, you should let him know.”

“The doctor?” He laughed. “The doctor is in jail. I'll let him know when I see him again. I'll ask him why he hires an impertinent whore like you. We should hang you for sleeping with that traitor.”

Rosina stared at the ground.

“Are you deaf, woman?”

“No, sir.”

“Go on. Tell me one good thing about Zemui. Tell me!”

“He was the father of my child,” Rosina said softly, refusing to look him in the face.

“A tragedy for that bastard child. Just tell me something more. Go on!”

“He did what he was told. He tried to be a good soldier, like you, sir.”

“A good soldier, huh? Like me?” He turned to us, as if asking us to witness her impudence.

Then, so quickly that none of us saw it coming, he backhanded her. It was a tremendous blow, sending her reeling, and yet somehow she didn't fall. She held her shama to her face. I could see the blood. She brought her feet together and stood upright. Shiva and I instinctively clasped hands.

I felt something wet running down my shin. I wondered if hed notice, but he was preoccupied with a nasty gash on the knuckle of his middle finger. I could see a flash of white, either sinew or tendon or a tooth fragment.