The Extinct (16 page)

Flying over Andhra Pradesh, one could see the great gold and green plains; the thick shrubbery of the bush, and the ancient trees with leafy branches hanging down to the ground in long strands. Animals of all shapes and colors painted the landscape and the skies were ruled by the black vultures, their bald heads tucked into their shoulders. Occasionally a village would pass by. They looked much like the shantytowns of Depression-era America. Rusted Tin buildings with mud and straw filling any gaps. On the outskirts of the villages were the less developed buildings made wholly of mud or straw or wood bound together with rope or vine. The mountains ranged from small green hills to giants with cloud covered peaks.

Eric could still feel the itch of addiction calling to him, but for the most part his mind was focused on the vast expanse of colors before him. The airport was smaller with only a few runways but you could sense the international flavor of the nation from this tiny corner of it. There was an abstract architectural design of various shapes welded to one another that was donated by the Dutch. A few trucks with BMW logos hauling cargo next to Cadillac’s. A British bistro situated near one of the terminals along with a free car service to the local British owned hotels.

Thomas stepped off the plane first and Eric followed. The air was salty because of the proximity of the ocean but it was warm and comfortable. Eric walked across the tarmac, a canvas bag filled with his clothes slung over his shoulder. Jalani walked next to him, smiling.

“You’re glad you’re here?” Eric asked.

“Yes. I love being in new places. I miss home too, but I love the excitement of somewhere new.”

Eric thought of the mountains and snow filled winters of New Hampshire and the thought made him uncomfortable.

“You do not miss your home?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, “I do. I just can’t go back.”

“India can be your home. I have been here before. It is beautiful. And then when we are done, anywhere you wish to go can be your home.”

“Home is where you hang your hat.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s nothing. Just another expression.”

They walked through the main terminal. The interior was blue carpet with a dirty white ceiling and blue chairs bolted to the walls for the waiting passengers to use. Eric was impressed with how modern it looked considering the savage plains and jungles it sat in the middle of.

Out on the curb in front of the airport was a waiting car with a driver in large sunglasses chewing on a toothpick. Thomas acknowledged him as he went to the trunk and put in his bag.

Eric rode in the backseat with Jalani while Thomas was up front with the driver. They were speaking in a language Eric couldn’t understand, but every once in awhile they would laugh or tell particularly long stories. The car was zipping down a long stretch of highway near the coast and the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. Eric stared out the window in wonder. The ocean and sky surrounding them appeared a crystal blue. They drove for less than two miles before coming upon the town of Kavali. It appeared a somewhat modern looking city. Except for the tourist areas, the homes and buildings were rundown; the metal rusted and paint peeling off the wood. Some of the homes had red tile roofs and others were just cheap tin from top to bottom.

“You must be careful,” Jalani said. “This is a very poor area. And when people are poor, they do things they may not wish to do.”

Eric could see an old building that looked like a destroyed castle next to the shore. Jalani noticed his curiosity and said, “It is a fort. Four hundred years old and built by Muslims. It has a history of violence and death. People here say it curses its owner.”

“It doesn’t look so bad.”

Thomas answered, “Nothing on the outside tells us of what is on the inside.”

Soon they were off the highway and in downtown Kavali, a place Jalani called the old part of Kavali. The architecture was a mixture of Hindu and Arabic and many of the merchants crowding the narrow, winding streets wore traditional Hindu garb. The buildings didn’t seem to go above four or five stories and they were mostly a dull white with various colored awnings and flags from nations across the world hanging over windows.

“It has always been like this,” Jalani said. “Children come here and sell things made for the tourists.”

“What do they make?”

“Little shapes out of wood. Animal shapes. The tourists buy it for their children. Hyderabad—that is the capital—it is nice too. But it does not have the same feeling of Kavali.”

The car stopped in front of a large square building with a British flag hanging down from the roof. The driver shook Thomas’s hand and they said good bye as everyone climbed out.

The weather was a moist heat. Wet and relentless. It made it somewhat difficult to breathe and Eric regretted wearing jeans today. He grabbed his bag and followed Thomas into the building.

From the uniforms the front desk staff were wearing it was obvious it was a hotel. Bagboys promptly took their bags and Thomas tipped them. He motioned for Eric to step outside with him.

Thomas stood by the door and took out his pipe, lighting it and inhaling the tobacco deeply before speaking. “There is something about India that can penetrate the soul. It’s a mystical place, boy. Life teams here like nowhere else on earth.” He took a puff of the pipe and looked back to Jalani who was speaking with the front desk receptionist. “The national language is Telugu, but everyone speaks English. You should have no trouble getting around.”

“You leaving somewhere?”

“Um hm, I have business to attend to tonight. We’ll be traveling with three clients and I have to organize their arrival. Jalani will stay with you and show you the sites.” He pulled out some rupees and handed them to Eric. “Relax and enjoy yourself; this city can be quite fun. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, I nearly forgot.” Thomas took a crumpled envelope out of his back pant pocket. “A letter from your mother. She asked that I give it to you.”

Eric took the letter and watched as Thomas walked away. He leaned against a wall and tore open the envelope. Inside were two sheets of paper in his mother’s soft handwriting.

Dear Eric,

I’m sorry I couldn’t see you in person. The police here call me every few months or talk to one of my friends about you. Jeff’s death was a big deal after you left. It was in all the papers and Channel 5 even did a half hour thing on it. You’re only one suspect. Jeff had lots a enemies from his life. They even arrested someone. He was a drug dealer Jeff was using to get drugs. They let him go though. We all miss you here. Jason’s doing very well. He’s met a girl and they’re going to be married. I heard from Marcy at the corner grocery that the girl got pregnant and they have to get married, but I don’t know. He seems happy. He comes by and checks to make sure I’m okay now and then. He always tells me to tell you that he understands why you did what you did and that you were the best friend he ever had. He’s a nice boy. I’ve met someone too Eric. You’d really like him, his name’s Samuel and he owns a hardware store in Nashua. I’ve told him all about you and he wants to meet you someday and take you fishing. He doesn’t have any kids of his own but I think he’d be a good father.

Anyway, I really hope you’re doing well. I hope you understand why I sent Thomas to help you. He’s a good man and was a good friend of your father’s, listen to what he says. I want to see you soon. Samuel says he wants to take me to Germany, where his family’s from. Maybe my family could be there too?

Love always,

Carol

P.S. If you need any money, tell Thomas and he’ll get in touch with me.

Eric lowered the letter, tears filling his eyes. He folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket. A small boy was watching him from the street. Eric smiled and the boy smiled back before running off.

CHAPTER

30

After he’d visited his room and brushed his teeth, which he hadn’t done in almost twenty hours, Eric took to walking the streets. The roads were well paved but the sidewalks were uneven and parts were made of cobblestones which, though charming, hurt his feet and ankles. The smells of the city were amazing. A mix of Hindu spices from the open markets, sweet vegetables broiling over spits, honey-tea coming from the tea houses, and the salt of the ocean air.

There was a café not more than a block from the hotel and Eric sat on the patio in a metal chair and ordered a coffee from a slim woman with caramel skin. It was brought back with sugar, some milk, and a little powdery chocolate on a separate dish. As he drank, he watched the hordes of people moving through the street. It was as packed as Bangkok, but the people here didn’t have a sense of urgency. There were no honking car horns or angry shouting.

Many of the people had hard faces, faces that had seen much of life. But there was little sadness in them. They had a fortitude that prevented sadness. Or maybe they were so busy surviving they just didn’t have time for such a wasteful emotion?

Though the heat was boiling many of the women wore the traditional Hindu headscarves but weren’t sweating. It appeared they were working just as hard as the men, selling handmade items or carrying large jugs of water or food from here to there. In some ways they worked harder than the men because most of them had children by their sides. Some of them smiled and nodded hello to Eric, but most ignored him. He got the feeling that there was an implicit agreement between the street hawkers and the restaurants that they would not hassle the customers while they were eating.

Eric stayed at the café well into the afternoon, ordering a dish of lamb with yogurt sauce for dinner. The people were friendly and he’d struck up a conversation with some Australian tourists that sat at the table next to him. They informed him that the lamb was actually made from a vegetarian paste. There were apparently only a handful of places in the city one could get fresh cooked meat.

As the sun began its descent and the sky went pink and gold, Jalani came to the café and sat next to him. She had a glimmer in her eyes that Eric hadn’t seen in Bangkok. He had a sense that it was brought about from the feeling that one is where one belongs.

“I have a special treat for you now,” she said.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“It is a surprise. Come, I will show you.”

They left the café and made their way down a winding street, past hawkers of jewelry and gold and trinkets that crowded around Eric, trying to sell him wooden key rings and wallets and handmade flutes.

“Mahogany!” one of the merchants yelled as he held a flute in Eric’s face.

Jalani said, “It is not mahogany, it is painted.”

They walked down a few more blocks and took a right turn through a long alleyway between two old apartment buildings. A jeep was waiting for them and they climbed in and drove the two miles to the beach. Jalani gave him a bathing suit she had with her and they both changed in the bathrooms. When they emerged they were near a golden sand beach. There was a wooden pier jutting out into the sea and Jalani headed for it, not waiting for Eric. As they approached Eric could see a canoe lashed to the pier. There were two oars and some chains next to a cooler inside the canoe.

The water was stilling for the coming evening. The sunlight reflected off of it a bright orange as they walked to the end of the pier and Jalani motioned for Eric to climb into the canoe.

“Where we going?” Eric said.

“It is a surprise. But I promise, you will enjoy it.”

Eric climbed in and sat in the back as Jalani took the front. She grabbed an oar and unlashed from the pier before beginning to paddle out into the vast expanse of water. Eric took the other oar and tried to keep rhythm but found Jalani was paddling too fast and gave up the effort. For such a small frame she was incredibly strong.

When they were a few hundred yards from shore, Jalani stopped paddling and looked around at the murky water. Her eyes were slits and her brow furrowed from concentration as she stared into the depths, though Eric couldn’t see more than a few feet below the surface. Jalani opened the cooler. There was a fat chicken inside, its feathers plucked and its head cut off. She stabbed a large iron hook through it and attached the hook to a thin chain. She then tied the chain to the front of the canoe and threw the chicken overboard. Eric was about to say something but Jalani stopped him with a motion of her hand and they sat in silence nearly ten minutes.

Finally, a streak of gray breaking through the surface a dozen feet from the boat; the dorsal fin of a shark. It was swimming in a wide arch around the boat, the peak of its tailfin sticking out of the water about four feet behind its dorsal fin.

“Holy shit,” Eric said.

“Take the ropes.”

Eric looked down and saw two ropes wound in tight circles attached to the canoe with bolts. He grabbed them and held on. “What are we—”

“Keep quiet!”

The shark appeared colossal since only a flimsy piece of wood was separating Eric from him. There was splashing behind them and Eric turned to see another shark approaching, its skin gray-brown in the sunlight. It swam near the chicken and Jalani pulled up on the chain and hauled the chicken back in the canoe until the shark swam around to the other side.

“Jalani, what the hell are we doing?”

“He wasn’t big enough.”

“Big enough for what?”

There was more splashing and more fins, about five of them. They were circling the canoe and taking small bites in the cloud of blood the chicken carcass gave off. But every time one of them would come in to feed, Jalani would pull the carcass back onto the canoe.

Suddenly there was a commotion as the sharks banked away from the canoe, swimming into the depths. The water began to still and the ocean went silent. Eric glanced around. Even the smaller fish that had come by earlier to have a look at the carcass had vanished. There was nothing.