Meeting Max (2 page)

“The Indian people I know are intelligent and sensitive. When they talk to you, it’s from the heart. It’s all about the closeness of family because family is everything in India. Pia was a bright, young lady who was well-educated and very pretty. I wish I could see her again.”

The flight attendant returned with the wine and vegetable mini-samosas. They sat back in their seats, sipped the wine, and enjoyed the appetizers. Rick wondered why Elena had travelled to India so many times. He noted that her eyes glimmered when she spoke about India, especially when describing Pia and other people she had met.

For Rick, it was better than hearing about the sights, though he didn’t belittle them by any means. They were all in the
Lonely Planet Guide
. Though he had yet to set foot in India, images such as the Taj Mahal had been embedded in his mind since childhood, but even the Taj paled in its importance when compared to the friendships he had with Indian friends back home. They shared their feelings and thoughts with him in a kind and sensitive manner. He felt there was something quite different about Indian people. Maybe it was the
way
they expressed themselves. He felt they were more open about their deeper feelings and Americans seemed more reserved.

“Let me ask you, Rick. Would
you
accept someone from another culture as your life’s partner?” Elena sipped her wine, her slender fingers holding the glass as though it were a delicate treasure.

“I would, but I would at least want her to speak English, or enough English so we could have a conversation.” He chuckled. “Although I once met a couple who were married about a year. The man was from Thailand and spoke only Thai, and his wife was from Hong Kong and spoke Chinese and English. I asked her how they communicated and all she said was, ‘We manage’.”

“Ahh, true romantics,” Elena answered, tilting her head.

“You think that’s it? How would they communicate?”

“Have you ever heard of body language?” Elena winked, glancing at Rick and raising her eyebrows.

“Ahh, yes, the language of love. I remember it well.”

Rick wondered how Elena interpreted
his
body language, and he hoped she wasn’t involved with anyone. Why was he so concerned? He reminded himself that Elena was merely a flight companion, and he would probably never see her again, but she was lovely, and something inside him said she was special.

He thought again about luck. If Elena’s ticket had put her in the seat in front of him, he would have been frustrated as hell. She would be so close, and yet impossibly far, but here she was, next to him. Lady luck had played her hand quite well.

As Elena spoke about India, Rick swept her into his imagination. He conjured up quick glimpses of them together in Delhi, buying hot samosas from a street vendor and laughing as they ate them from newspaper wrappings soaked with oil. He saw them on a train riding through the dreary desert of Rajasthan, taking in the splashes of red and yellow from women in saris working in the fields. His imagination took him to the best places.

I’m thankful that my dreams allow me to experience romance that I can never have in reality
.

The idea of Elena being in a relationship raced through his mind again, but he wasn’t ready to find out. He wanted to learn about her slowly, as if a sumptuous meal had been placed in front of him and he was savoring it. Rick avoided mundane questions, such as asking her what kind of work she did or where she grew up. There was time for that.

“Elena is such a pretty name,” Rick said, looking into her slate-blue eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she stretched out
thank you
, “you’re very nice. My parents were born in Budapest. They considered calling me Ilona, a typical Hungarian name, but they liked Elena better, and I’m glad they did.”

“Your parents were born in Hungary? That’s fascinating.”

“Yes. They were activists and took part in the Hungarian revolution against the Soviets in the fifties.”

“Really? How did they get involved?”

Elena took a deep breath and fumbled with the buttons on her cardigan, then turned to Rick. “My parents, Laszlo and Sylvia, felt compelled to act, so they rallied with other college students until the movement took hold. Their marches were peaceful, but spirited and loud. The students used bullhorns to shout for change and fought for the removal of the secret police and oppressive Soviet policies.

“Rick, you can’t believe what it was like. I can hardly imagine, and I’ve read so much about it. My parents carried signs saying,
Russians Go Home.
Before long, the secret police fired at the demonstrators and all hell broke loose. The uprising became a revolution. The rebels were called Freedom Fighters, and my father was one of them.” She raised her head when she spoke, pride lacing her words.

Rick felt he was reliving a slice of history. “Here I am, sitting next to the daughter of a genuine Freedom Fighter. Go on.”

“The rebels toppled and demolished a heavy, thirty-foot high bronze statue of Stalin. All that was left of it were its boots, and they stuck a Hungarian flag in each one! My father showed me a picture of him and a friend holding their rifles high in the air and smiling as they stood on top of a captured Russian tank.”

“They were true activists, more like revolutionaries. I’m not sure I would be willing to risk my life the way your parents did. Obviously, they were successful in getting out of Hungary, but how did that happen?”

“They left Budapest and fled to the countryside to a town close to the Austrian border. As luck would have it, a sympathetic elderly couple offered them food and lodging and told them about a few places where the barbed wire surrounding the area was not electrified. They hid my parents in their farmhouse and waited for a rainy night, when they knew the patrolling Soviet guards would take cover. When the time came, my mom and dad cut through the barbed wire in the darkness and crawled through the mud to Austria.”

“We do have something in common,” Rick confessed, looking at Elena with a sheepish smile. “My mother is Hungarian.”

“Oh my God! I’m amazed,” Elena replied, covering her mouth. “It must be kismet. I don’t meet many Hungarians. Do you speak the language?”

“Just the little I learned when I was a boy. I still remember most of it.”

“My parents would be impressed.” She grinned.

“My mother and father, on the other hand, didn’t lead the exciting lives that yours did.”

“That’s okay.” She placed a soft hand on his, causing a tremble to pass through his body. “Sometimes it’s good to be average,” she added, withdrawing her hand and sipping her wine again. “Tell me about them.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Rick shifted in his seat. “They weren’t fighters or idealists, just normal people, but my dad was a criminal lawyer.”

“That can be exciting.”

“You’re right, depending on the case. My parents preferred a quiet life, though.”

Rick looked at her with admiration. “I can sense that activist spirit in you, Elena.”

“Oh?” She smirked.

Rick felt there was something else behind her expression, something he couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe we could meet in Delhi and have lunch,” Rick suggested. “I know I have a couple of years on you, but not that many.” Rick laughed and added, “I hope you have a soft spot for older gentlemen. I’m in my late forties.”

“A gentleman, are you now?” She purred with a flirtatious glance. “I was forty-one on July thirtieth. There’s not much difference in our ages, and besides, those things don’t matter to me. Lunch would be fine.”

Rick’s imagination ran off with him again as he imagined them together in India, visiting the Taj, the Gandhi Museum, the Red Fort, and all the other wonderful places he’d read about in
Lonely Planet
.

Rick had only just met Elena. He didn’t know much about her, and yet the romantic images in his head were undeniable. He knew he had to ground them. He didn’t know if she had a boyfriend or even a husband. It didn’t matter for now. All he knew was that he had sixteen hours to be with her, alone in their private paradise, thirty-thousand feet in the air.

Chapter 2

An Indian flight attendant, dressed in a flaming red uniform and a white blouse, came by to offer additional beverages. She retrieved two small bottles of Cabernet from her cart and presented a dinner menu. They put the menus aside as Elena noticed the flight attendant’s name tag, which simply said ‘Bubli.’

“Where are you from, Ms. Bubli?” Elena asked politely.

“I am from Munnar, madam. Do you know it?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” Elena turned to Rick. “It’s a wonderful hill station high in the mountains with lots of tea plantations. When I was in Cochin, the heat was unbearable and I ran off to the cooler, spice scented mountain air, where I found Munnar and fell in love with it instantly.” She turned back to Bubli. “Did you go to school there?”

“Yes, madam. I went to the High Range High School at Mattupatti, just a few kilometers from Munnar. It was a wonderful school, the best in all of the state of Kerala. We had the mountains behind us and a large lake in front of the school. In my time away from school, I worked at a tea plantation, cutting tea leaves.”

“You are fortunate to have gone to a school high in the hills. Munnar is a special place for me. It was very nice meeting you.”

“
Nanni
, madam. It was my pleasure.”

Elena turned toward Rick. “What a nice young lady. Munnar is one of the most beautiful places, springtime days and cold nights. During the Raj, the British officers spent a lot of time in the hill stations to enjoy the mountain air and get away from the heat.”

“I have to remember that,” Rick said. “Maybe I’ll go there while I’m in India. I used to fantasize that, in my next life, I would come back as a British officer in the Raj and live like a king! Either that, or be a Sultan in Istanbul with a harem of beautiful women at my beck and call.”

Elena shook her head from side to side, rolled her eyes, and laughed. “You men.”

“What was that
Nanni
word that Bubli used? Did she call you grandmother?”

“Ha ha, funny, Rick. She used a word in Malayalam, a language used in Kerala in the southern part of India. It means thank you.”

“Don’t tell me you speak the Malay—um, uh, language.”

“Only a few words, just like my Hindi.”

“So, you’re a woman of few words?” Rick smiled.

“Yes, few words and strong sentiments,” she answered, giggling. “When I was in Munnar, I stayed at a lovely inn. There are no luxury hotels in Munnar, just cozy guesthouses up in the hills surrounded by spice trees and wild flowers. I had a cottage with a private bath and a small porch. I took tea in the afternoon, and all I could smell were cardamom, pepper, clove, and cinnamon trees. It was like meditating with my eyes open. There were only nine other guests, and breakfast and dinner was served in an open setting in the clean fresh air. It was so spiritual, and I felt so close to God. You would love it!”

“I’m sure I would. I don’t think of myself as a spiritual person anymore, but I miss the spirituality I felt when I was young. It made me feel good, like I wasn’t alone, but I had to believe the truth my mind told me was real, that there was no God.”

“That’s so sad,” Elena replied. “We’re different that way. I believe in God.”

“Maybe you and I are different, but just because you believe in something doesn’t mean it’s true.” Rick hoped he didn’t sound too cocky. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the beautiful woman beside him. “Tell me, Elena, where did you grow up? What was your education like?”

“I grew up in Forest Hills, New York and went to Kew-Forest High, which was a private school. I believed in reform Judaism and still do. I always go to the synagogue on the holidays, and I still remember Rabbi Math.” Elena paused momentarily, as if reminiscing about the rabbi, and then continued. “He was a good man and a friend of our family.

“Let’s see…then I moved to Manhattan and went to Columbia University for my Bachelors and Masters in Journalism. After graduation, I did some freelance advertising work, which I hated, and then landed a job with US News and World Report in DC, which I hated a lot less.

“I left that job when they decided to reduce publishing to only once a month. I still do some freelance work that I have to get back to in the States. I traveled a lot for a while and became interested in the progressive movements in the subcontinents, and I have an idea for a book. You’re from New York, aren’t you?”

“You said a lot in a few words. I could hardly keep up. How did you know I was from New York?”

“I can spot a New York accent anywhere. Are you from the city?”

“Yes, the upper east side, but I grew up in the Bronx. After high school, I planned to study political science at NYU, but changed my major to the natural sciences. I got my PhD, and now I teach at my alma mater.”

“Ah, a purveyor of knowledge. How nice,” she commented, giving him a thumbs up. “What subject do you teach?”

“Biology. I took a circuitous route to get there. I had to deal with some major personal challenges when I was a young student at NYU before I got my head straight.”

“Personal challenges? Do you mean you were a product of those mind altering days of the seventies and eighties?”

“No, nothing like that, just a relationship issue. I examined my life from time to time, a suggestion that Plato espoused,” Rick said, smiling. “It sometimes made me see things in a new light.”

“Plato, eh? And how did this self-examination and new light change you?”

“Well, among other things, I realized that political science was not for me. It never was. I discovered my real passion was in the sciences, biology in particular, but, for awhile, I was living in the depths of some kind of existential malaise.”

Elena raised her eyebrows and looked at Rick with squinting eyes. “You lost me there.”

“I mean, I learned that I had to be responsible for the things I chose to do in my life and those choices would govern the kind of life I would have. I could no longer blame circumstances for a bad life.”

“Want to talk about it? The, uh, circumstances?”

“No, it’s a depressing story. I’m just glad I met you, Elena.”

“I think you mentioned that when we met,” she said with a huge smile. “I’m glad I met you too. Why this trip to India? Something special?”

“I’ve always wanted to backpack my way through India. I thought of it as a mysterious place, and that intrigued me. I’ll be staying at homestays while I’m in India, where I can rent a room, eat with the family, and get a bird’s eye view of their lives. Plus, there’s another reason I’m going to India, but that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got a few mysteries tucked away myself. We may never get to them either. So, you like the simple life at the places you stay?”

“Yes. I have my comforts at home. I don’t always need them with me. My backpack has everything I require.”

“That’s certainly a difference between us, Rick. I like a lot of privacy, lots of luxuries and nice surroundings, and a real private bath with all the posh and fluffy towels. That’s a must.” She moved an imaginary towel over her, inhaling the air and closing her eyes. “I could never fit all the things I bring with me into a backpack. I’m a female. That’s another difference between us.”

“I like that difference,” Rick replied playfully. “I’m hoping more and more that we’ll be able to meet for lunch.”

“Definitely.” Elena beamed.

“Great, I look forward to it.”

“I’ll be staying at the Taj Palace. I’ve stayed there before.”

“So, you’re a glamour and glitz girl?”

“It’s not glamour or glitz. Let’s say it’s understated elegance.”

“That sounds nice. Like us...understated elegance.”

Elena winked. “Yeah, that fits.”

They perused the menu, which offered a selection of continental or Indian food, and kept to the spirit of the journey by choosing from the Indian menu. The choices were Paneer Tiki Masala or South Indian Lamb Curry. They talked about the selection and soon discovered they were both vegetarians. They agreed on the Paneer Tiki Masala, an Indian version of homemade cottage cheese, vegetables, and tomato gravy.

All was quiet on the plane except for the steady hum of the engines, which Rick found soothing. They began to doze off, but were awakened by Bubli’s soft voice as she graciously announced her presence and served their meals. Their eyes feasted on the colorful food before they tasted it, and then they inhaled the delicious aromas of the subtle Indian spices. The blend of flavors flowed along their tongues and lingered after each mouthful, providing a delightful welcome to the spices of India. A dessert called gulab jamun was also on the tray.

“What’s this?” Rick asked curiously, pointing to the round, brown dough covered with a thick liquid.

“Fried balls.”

Rick turned toward Elena and whispered, “Fried balls?”

“Yes.” She burst into uproarious laughter.

“Hmm, fried balls? Really? Uh, what do I say now?”

“Nothing. Eat the balls, silly. It’s not what you’re thinking. They’re just some seasoned dough rolled into small nuggets, fried, and coated with syrup.”

Rick looked at Elena as she ate the warm, sweet dessert. The sugary syrup left her lips wet and glossy, making them even more inviting, inducing one fantasy after another inside him. Rick memorized the name of the dessert in the event he wanted to order it in a restaurant. Asking for fried balls would never cut it.

He had gotten used to being with Elena, even after such a short time. Outside of the love of his life when he was in college, no one else had come along who appeared to be as special as Elena. He was glad they agreed to meet in Delhi, but he wanted to know more about her now.

“This may be none of my business, but are you…uh…married? Do you have a boyfriend, children?”

“None of the above,” she replied quickly.

“Good, I’m glad it’s none of the above, not
some
of the above, and certainly not
all
of the above. How long will you be staying in India?”

“Two months. I have a special reason for being there. I would like to stay longer, but I want to be at home with my family for the holidays.

Rick was smitten with Elena, and yet he hardly knew her.

How could my feelings unfold so quickly?

Elena was a natural beauty. Rick looked into her eyes, imagined an inner exquisiteness about her that revealed a sensitive, warm human being full of love, understanding, and compassion. Yet he also sensed something mysterious about her, and for a moment, his imagination filled in the blanks with ominous thoughts because she hadn’t disclosed the purpose of her trip. He was more curious about
why
she was going to India than he wanted to admit, but he pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

Their progress through the air was noted on a monitor on the forward bulkhead, and the map indicated they were heading toward Finland on the great circle route. From there the plane would continue toward India, but they still had a long way to go.

Elena closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, pulled a blanket over herself, and snuggled it up to her neck. Rick thought again about luck and how it played its hand in every aspect of his life. He never knew whether it would be there for him or not.

People who have crossed paths, and those who have never crossed paths, are the result of luck, as far as he was concerned. It was all about good or bad luck and he believed luck to be the main factor in shaping people’s lives. He could have missed Elena by one digit of a seat number.

He looked forward to meeting her in Delhi, only this time not by chance. Destiny had already played its part.

Whatever the circumstances, Elena was now resting comfortably. He looked at her and watched her blanket rise and fall with every breath. She wasn’t asleep, but for the first time, Rick noticed her lips tighten. She was sweating and wore a frown.

Is she not feeling well?

Elena threw off her blanket, excused herself, and went toward the rear lavatory, even though the closest one was only a few steps forward. Rick hoped she was all right.

***

Elena peered into the mirror, hypnotized by her image. Her brow was wrinkled, her eyes heavy, and sweat flowed between her breasts. She splashed cold water on her face, patted it with a paper towel, and stared back in the mirror.

She saw herself in a different way, someone who
almost
looked like her, but had jet black hair and brown eyes. The mirror saw the truth. She was living a double life. She thought about the anguish that lay ahead. Her thoughts became her enemies, and fear permeated her body. She was in trouble.

Elena was an activist, all right. It was in her blood, but this time things were different. What was involved was more than carrying a protest sign...much more. She had been lured into fighting for a cause that had no meaning for her, and there was no escape. She knew most of the details of the plot, and if she didn’t show up at the meeting with Kamran, they would track her down anywhere in the world and kill her.