Ted can’t begin to respond.
She busies herself with her clipboard. “You’re very popular today.”
Ted shakes off his stupor, like a swimmer coming up for a breath. The woman’s arm holds him underwater.
“Irina stopped by to make sure you got back OK. She said she was a little worried when she heard you’d gone off on your own.” Lorraine drums her fingers against the clipboard. “I told her you’re not the reckless type. Right?”
“Right.”
“She left you a gift.” Lorraine hands him a cardboard box. “Careful, it’s kind of heavy.”
“What’s in it?”
“Heck if I know.”
When Ted opens it, he recognizes the cans — the Swedish mystery meat from this morning.
Lorraine picks one up. “Weird.”
“Wait till you see what’s inside.”
“I’d rather not know.”
Something in his pocket feels odd.
Lorraine brings him a Styrofoam tub. “One of the ladies from Oxfam cooked this up. I have no idea how. They’re genius savants over there. Piotr and I have already had some.” She leans in for a whisper: “It’s good.”
Ted reaches into his pocket and feels a sense of dread. It’s one of the bracelets. He missed it when he threw the others away. It’s warm, like it’s stolen the heat from his body.
“The security situation,” Ted says. “It’s getting worse.” He describes Prasant’s situation at the Aina Mahal, what he saw in Soniwad.
Lorraine purses her lips.
“Is there any way we can get a security patrol there? Or at least post a guard? It’s—” Ted imagines Prasant and Karsan dozing off in the middle of the night, as men with crowbars approach them from behind—
“Ted,” she says. “Do you need me to explain why I’m going to say no?”
All he hears is no.
“You’re right,” she continues, “the situation is terrible. And I appreciate you bringing it to my attention. But we have to stabilize the population first. Once we’ve taken care of that, we can concentrate on other issues.”
The bangle cuts a circle into his leg.
“We’ll get to it,” she says. “We will. But we have priorities.”
Ted understands the words; he understands the concepts behind the words. But it doesn’t make it easier.
“Your next priority,” she says, “is to eat. It sounds like you’ve got a rabid wolverine in your stomach.”
Ted hasn’t thought about how hungry he is.
She stacks the Styrofoam box on top of his cardboard box. “That’s dinner. It’ll probably last us for days.”
“Do you want to split a can of Swedish cuisine?”
“No, thanks,” Lorraine replies. “I’m trying to cut down on my penguin intake.”
Ted swings by Andy’s tent and finds him suiting up. Dark marks under his eyes make him look like a linebacker. He moves as if mired in molasses. It takes him a moment to register Ted’s presence.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Andy says. The other firefighters sharing the tent regard Ted with a certain suspicion, as if he were a female reporter in a locker room. Ted wants to hug Andy, but not in front of mixed company.
“Winding down?” Ted asks.
“Exact opposite, actually.”
“You’re going out? After curfew?”
“We got our exploration and listening equipment in. Need peace and quiet for it to work.” The tent is thick with body odor. Grunting. Metal buckles fastening and unfastening. “We got permission to work at night, so”—he pulls his suspenders over his shoulders—“off we go!”
Ted moves closer, lowers his voice. “When do you think you’ll be done?”
“Hard to say. When we’re done, I reckon.”
One of Andy’s friends interjects, “Don’t wait up,” and Andy says, “Shut the fuck up, Reg,” and Reg holds up his hands, Oooh, so scared.
“I’ll stop by the fire,” Andy whispers. “If you’re there, great. If not, we meet another time, right?”
“I brought something for you. For you and your friends.” He puts the cardboard box on Andy’s cot. “I wasn’t sure what sort of provisions you’ve been getting, but I figured you could always use some meat.”
“You did, did you?” Andy flashes a devilish smile — the kind that makes Ted feel both giddy and decrepit. Andy pries back the lid of a can and exclaims, “Oh, man!” like he’s opening a birthday present in front of the giver.
“I haven’t had this since I was a kid,” Andy says. “My mum would cook this up Sunday mornings before church. Not this brand, though — Mum always got Wilson’s.”
“What is it?”
“Blood pudding. You fry up a slice with bacon and tomato — that’s how my dad liked it, anyhow.” He sniffs the can as if it contained concentrated childhood. “I ate mine on toast with strawberry jam.”
“Glad you like it,” Ted says. “I’ll see you tonight? Hopefully.”
As Ted leaves, Andy announces, “Look here, you twats, look at what my friend brought.” They murmur in response.
“Share some already.”
“Are you really going to eat that?”
Andy replies, “Back off, back off. There’s enough for everyone.”
All Ted hears is my friend.
Final stop of the day: the medical tents. Ted watches Dev for a moment, moving from one patient to another. From afar, his medical coat seems luminous and white, but as Ted approaches, the stains become apparent: dirt accumulating on its bottom hem, in the creases of the elbows.
“I come bearing dinner,” Ted announces.
“I did not expect to see you back here,” Dev says.
“Have you eaten?”
“Some, yes. Let me finish, and I can join you.”
A few patients have fallen asleep, but most face the night with open eyes. Dev kneels by one man, his left arm amputated at the elbow. The missing arm melts into the darkness. In their short time together, he had never seen Dev doing doctor things: making rounds, circling the hospital floors. For a moment, Ted wants to be the sick one, the one Dev comforts. Dev’s fingers stroking his forehead. Dev’s hip and leg forming a cradle in which his head rests.
Dev steps out. “So, what do you have for me?”
Ted lifts the top of the tub: tomato stew, polka-dotted with chickpeas, errant bits of coagulated oil. Condensation glistens on the underside of the lid.
“A step up from our normal fare,” Dev says.
“What have you been eating?”
“Biscuits, mostly. The other day, we received packets of bread. The type for sandwiches. Polite bread. I have never seen that particular brand in Delhi. It may be local.”
Bread that thanks you as you eat it. Wouldn’t you prefer me toasted?
They sit on plastic crates, and Dev sweeps the bottom of his jacket out from under him, like a duck flaring its plumage. Ted produces two plastic spoons. Dev looks as if he’s contemplating lecturing Ted about waste, but he says nothing. Ted stirs the stew.
“Thank you for sharing your meal,” Dev says. He takes a spoonful.
“My pleasure. It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” Dev presses the spoon against his bottom lip until it bends into a U. “The Prince Hotel has opened to medical personnel. There’s no running water, but they leave a bucket of water and a sponge in the washroom for rinsing up.” Dev stirs the stew again. “If you want, you — or any of your colleagues, for that matter — are welcome to stop by. There’s soap. There’s towels.” Dev doesn’t look at him as he speaks.
An invitation. Nothing more.
“Stop in anytime, even if I’m not present,” says Dev.