She’d stood at the door for a long time before saying, Aren’t you going to ask me in? Of course, he said, stepping back to let her through. He peered out of the door, down the corridor. It’s okay, she said, I’m alone. Of course, he said, and shut the door. She sat on the couch and looked around. Nice place you have, she said. How old are you, he asked, thinking she didn’t look a day over sixteen. Twenty-two, she said. Then: But I can be younger if you are into that. No, he said, not sure exactly what he was into. What does your tattoo mean, he asked. An ex-boyfriend, she said, and her voice was sad. You can have it removed, he said. I don’t want to, she said. Silence. So, can I get you a drink, he asked. No, thank you, she said, but you are welcome to have one if it helps you relax. She got up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the city. It looks so beautiful from up here, she said, a wistful tone in her voice. Is your name really Asia, he asked. She turned and smiled. Yes, she said, taking off her tank top. She had a pretty bra on. Do you want to do it here or in the bedroom, she asked. Here, he said, not sure why. She came over to the couch and, sitting down, she took a Bible out of her bag and placed it on the coffee table. The donation. Please put it inside the Bible, she said. There is a bookmark, she added. He opened it at the bookmark, to the book of John, and his eye was drawn to an underlined passage. He slipped the crisp dollar bills between the onionskin and shut the book. He never asked her about this ritual. Not then and not since.
She rubbed her hand over the cushion next to her and patted it. Lie down, she said. He lay. Take your clothes off, she said. As he struggled with his pants, she said, Have you never done this before? What, he asked. This. No, he said, no. What made you call? I was lonely, he said, almost defensively. I know, she said, me too, and there was a sincerity in her voice. Lie back, she said, and he did. You can touch my breasts, she said. Thank you, he said, touching them tentatively. She smiled and bent to wrap him in her mouth, but then winced. What is it, he asked. Do I smell? No, no, she said hurriedly. I just had an abortion, she said. Oh, he said, suddenly uncomfortable, but not wanting to talk about her abortion. He no longer wanted to ask her anything, didn’t want her to speak. He only wanted sex. And she obliged. Later she held him and the move surprised him. Can I stay tonight, she asked. Please. Just tonight. Sure, he said, holding her firmly but gently. When he woke up she was gone. That had been three years ago and he had seen her regularly at least once a week since then.
Why do you keep this thing, he asked, still tracing the tattoo. Do you still love him?
No, she said, eyebrows arching at his tone. I keep it to remind me never to be so stupid again.
Love isn’t stupid, Sunil said, surprising himself.
Of course not, she said. She got up and crossed the room to the minibar. Want something?
No, he said, and headed into the bathroom. When he got back she was draped in a chair sipping on a glass of scotch. Why did we meet here, she asked.
I was at work. It was convenient.
You live closer to your work than this, she said. Is something going on?
It’s not like we’re dating, he said, a little sharper than he’d meant to.
You’re right, she said with a hurt tone.
Look, he said, I’ve been seeing these twins and—
Twins?
I mean at work. They are my patients. Anyway, they are conjoined twins and treating them is stirring up stuff for me.
You’ve never talked about work before, she said. Should you be telling me about your patients?
I’m sorry I brought it up.
She smiled and took a sip of scotch. It’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about work. I mean, imagine if I talked to you about my work.
Point taken, he said, and crossed the room to pull on his pants.
We can talk about other things, she said in a conciliatory tone. Like why you love this hotel so much.
How do you know I love it so much?
Well, I know you come here a lot. You said as much in the past and I’ve seen you here several times.
On dates with other men?
Not talking about work, remember, she said sweetly. So why do you love it so much?
It reminds me of my mother, he said, buttoning his shirt.
That’s a little weird, if you don’t mind me saying. Is that why you wanted to do it here?
I have to go, he said, stepping into his shoes. The room is paid up until tomorrow, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, her head soft on his chest. I’m sorry, she said, I didn’t say that to hurt you. I was just surprised.
He held her for a moment, nosing her hair. It smelled of sandalwood as always. He pulled away. This was a mistake, he said. I shouldn’t have called you.
Don’t say that, she said, her voice small.
I don’t know what I expected.
I do, she said, knowing full well that he was in love with her. But you know what I do, I can’t, she said. I just can’t. As she spoke she rubbed her tattoo reflexively.
He stopped at the door. It’s in the Bible in the bedside drawer, he said.
She didn’t look at him. Thank you, she said.
He closed the door behind him and immediately wanted to walk back in. He leaned against it for a moment to steady himself, wishing he had showered. Now he would have to stop at home on the way back to work. Just as well, he thought, pushing away from the door and heading down the corridor. He didn’t want to carry the smell of her around with him all day. Unknown to him, she had been leaning on the other side of the door and as she heard him walk away, she rubbed the hard wood of it.
Twenty-six
I have a complaint, Fire said as soon as he got in the door.
Sit down, please, Sunil said, pointing to the couch.
The twins sat.
Some coffee first, and then we can get to your complaint?
Turkish bridegrooms promised their wives on their wedding day to always provide them with coffee, Water said.
We will both have coffee, Doc, Fire said.
Sunil poured two Styrofoam cups of coffee and passed them to the twins. Pouring his into a real cup, he leaned back.
Coffee was discovered in the Kingdom of Kaffa in Ethiopia, Water said. Even though there the bean was called bunna, coffee took its name from Kaffa.
Do you realize that the police think you are killers? That you are connected to a series of deaths from two years ago?
Serial killers? We are the witchdoctor, Doc, not killers. You know this deep down.
I have to keep you here until you tell me what you were doing by that lake with the blood.
We never saw the blood until the police pointed it out. We were there to sightsee.
I find that hard to believe, Sunil said.
I think you’re keeping us here because you are chasing old ghosts, Fire said. Something about us reminds you of them.
Is that so, Sunil asked. But he knew better than anyone that psychiatry was all about chasing ghosts. There was no precision to its science, no technology that allowed a doctor into a patient’s head. It was a game of deep insights, good instincts, and luck — the same as for any good priest. Eugene had told him as much.
We are songomas, you and I, he’d said to Sunil. We throw bones and read them for meaning, for hope, for direction. Your bones are more ethereal than mine. I mean, I usually throw people’s actual bones, but in the end it’s the same, we are both chasing spirits. We are hunting the demons that haunt others. We get a smell and off we go. And you know why, Sunil? You know why we are so good at hunting the demons of others? Because we are so good, gifted even, at stalking and evading our own. But all demon hunters think that they are really heroes, and you know what all heroes need? They need a myth. For me it is the ideal of order, of understanding that the world would spin off its axis without the order I bring. For you… for you it might be the illusion of doing good, of saving others.