“I feel exactly the same, but I feel like I’m treading water until they get here. Today I’m going to try not to think about it. I might even try to act like a tourist. Would you like to accompany me? I really don’t care what I see. I just want to take my mind off everything.”
“That’s probably a good idea, but not for me. I just couldn’t do it.”
“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked, unsure if she should try to insist for Lucinda’s sake.
“I’m sure.”
“Here I am saying I want to take my mind off everything, and I have a couple of questions for you. First, did you find out from your friend in New York what time he learned about Herbert’s passing on CNN?”
“Yes, I did,” Lucinda said. “I wrote it down somewhere. Hold on!”
Jennifer could hear Lucinda moving things around on the desk and mumbling to herself. It took about a minute for her to come back on the line. “Here it is. I wrote it on the back of an envelope. It was just before eleven a.m. He remembered because he’d turned the TV on to watch something scheduled at eleven.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said, as she wrote down the time. “Now I have another request. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Call up our friend Varini and ask her what time is on the death certificate, or if you are going out there, ask to look at the death certificate yourself, which you are entitled to do. I’d like to know the time, and I’ll tell you why. With my granny, I heard about her passing around seven-forty-five a.m. Los Angeles time, which is around eight-fifteen New Delhi time. Here in New Delhi, when I asked to see her death certificate, the time was ten-thirty-five p.m., which is curious, to say the least. Her time of death was later than it was announced on television.”
“That is curious! It suggests someone knew she was going to die before she did.”
“Exactly,” Jennifer said. “Now there could have been some screw-up here in India that could explain the discrepancy, like someone writing ten-thirty-five p.m. when they were supposed to write nine-thirty-five, but even that is too short an interval for CNN to get the tip, verify it in some way, write the piece about medical tourism, and get it on the air.”
“I agree; I’ll be happy to find out.”
“Now, the last thing,” Jennifer said. “When my granny was discovered having passed away, she was blue. It’s called cyanosis. I’m having trouble explaining that physiologically. After a heart attack sometimes the patient can be a little blue, maybe the extremities, like the tips of the fingers, but not the whole body. With all the other similarities between Granny and Herbert, I’d like to know if he was also blue.”
“Who would I ask?”
“The nurses. It’s the nurses who know what goes on in a hospital. Or medical students, if the hospital has them.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
“I’m sorry to be giving you all these tasks.”
“It’s quite alright. I actually like having things to do. It keeps me from obsessing over my emotions.”
“Since you’re not up for sightseeing, how about dinner? Are you going out to the airport to meet your sons, or are you going to wait for them here?”
“I’m going to the airport. I really am anxious to see them. As for dinner, could I let you know later?”
“Absolutely,” Jennifer said. “I’ll call you in the afternoon.”
After appropriate good-byes, Jennifer hung up the house phone and hastened over to the concierge desk. Now that she had decided to sightsee, she wanted to get on her way. Unfortunately, there was a line at the desk, and she had to wait. When it was her turn and she had stepped up to the desk, she couldn’t help but notice the reaction of the concierge. It was like he’d just recognized an old friend. What made it particularly surprising was that he wasn’t even the concierge who’d given her the city map the day before.
“I’d like some advice,” Jennifer said, while watching the man’s dark eyes. Rather than make proper eye contact, he seemed to be intermittently looking over Jennifer’s shoulder out into the lobby, so that even Jennifer herself turned to see if there was something going on, but she saw nothing unusual.
“What kind of advice?” the man asked, finally engaging Jennifer with normal eye contact.
“I want to do a little sightseeing this morning,” she said. She noticed the man’s name was Sumit. “What would you recommend for two to three hours?”
“Have you seen Old Delhi?” Sumit inquired.
“I haven’t seen anything.”
“Then I suggest Old Delhi for certain,” Sumit said, while reaching for a city map. He opened the map with a practiced shake and smoothed it out on the desktop. Jennifer looked down at it. It was identical to the one she’d gotten the day before.
“Now, this is the area of Old Delhi,” Sumit said, pointing with his left index finger. Jennifer followed his pointing finger but out of the corner of her eye she saw Sumit wave with his right hand over his head as if trying to get someone’s attention. Jennifer turned to look into the lobby area to see who Sumit was waving at, but no one seemed to be returning the gesture. She looked back at the concierge, who seemed mildly embarrassed and lowered his hand like a child being caught reaching for the cookie jar.
“Sorry,” Sumit said. “I was just trying to wave at an old friend.”
“It’s quite alright,” Jennifer said. “What should I see in Old Delhi?”
“For sure, the Red Fort,” he said, poking a finger at it on the map. He took her guidebook and flipped it open to the proper page. “Perhaps second only to the Taj Mahal in Agra, it might be India’s most interesting landmark. I particularly like the Diwan-i-Aam.”
“It sounds promising,” Jennifer said, noticing that the man no longer seemed to be distracted in the slightest.
“Good morning, Ms. Hernandez,” the second concierge said when he’d finished with his last client and was waiting for the next to step up. It had been he who had given her the city map the day before.
“Good morning to you,” Jennifer responded.
“Ms. Hernandez is going to visit Old Delhi,” Sumit said to Lakshay.
“You’ll enjoy it,” Lakshay said, while waving for the next hotel guest to approach.
“What about after the Red Fort?” Jennifer asked.
“Then I recommend you visit the Jama Masjid mosque, built by the same Mughal emperor. It is the largest mosque in India.”
“Is this area near these two monuments a bazaar?” Jennifer asked.
“Not only a bazaar but the bazaar. It is the most wonderful labyrinth of narrow galis and even more narrow katras where you can buy most anything and everything. The shops are tiny and owned by the merchants, so you must bargain. It is marvelous. I suggest you walk around the bazaar, shop if you are so inclined, and then walk here to a restaurant called Karim’s for lunch,” Sumit said, pointing at the map. “It’s the most authentic Mughlai restaurant in New Delhi.”
“Is it safe?” Jennifer asked. “I’d prefer not to get Delhi belly.”
“Very safe. I know the maître d’. I’ll call him and tell him you might be stopping in. If you do, ask for Amit Singh. He will take good care of you.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer said. “It sounds like a good plan.” She tried to fold the map into its original form.
Sumit took the map and expertly collapsed it. “May I ask how you plan to travel to Old Delhi?”
“I hadn’t gotten to that yet.”
“May I recommend using one of the hotel cars. We can arrange for an English-speaking driver, and the car will be air-conditioned. It is somewhat more expensive than a taxi, but the driver will stay with you, although not while you visit the monuments or the bazaar. Many of our female guests find it very convenient.”
Jennifer liked the idea immediately. Since the sightseeing outing might be her one and only, she thought she should do it properly, and for a babe-in-the-woods tourist, it might make the difference between enjoying herself or not. “You say it’s not much more than a taxi?” Jennifer asked, to be reassured.