"A karma can be cleansed," Kusum said in a subdued tone. "I am trying to cleanse mine."
The sincerity of his words struck her and she grieved for him. Yes, he did want to remake his life; she could see that. But by what means was he going about it? Kusum had never shied away from extremes.
It suddenly occurred to Kolabati that this might be the moment to catch him off guard, but it passed. Besides, better to have him angry. She needed to know where he would be tonight. She did not intend to let him out of her sight.
"What are your plans for tonight, brother? More prayer?"
"Of course. But not until late. I must attend a reception hosted by the U.K. Mission at eight."
"That sounds interesting. Would they mind if I came along?"
Kusum brightened. "You would come with me? That would be wonderful. I'm sure they would be glad to have you."
"Good." A perfect opportunity to keep an eye on him. Now… to anger him. "But I'll have to find something to wear."
"You will be expected to dress like a proper Indian woman."
"In a sari?" She laughed in his face. "You must be joking!"
"I insist! Or I will not be seen with you!"
"Fine. Then I'll bring my own escort: Jack."
Kusum's face darkened with rage. "I forbid it!"
Kolabati moved closer to him. Now was the moment. She watched his eyes carefully.
"What will you do to stop it? Send a rakosh after him as you did last night?"
"A rakosh? After Jack?" Kusum's eyes, his face, the way the cords of his neck tightened—they all registered shock and bafflement. He was the consummate liar when he wished to be, but Kolabati knew she had caught him off guard, and everything in his reaction screamed the fact that he didn't know. He didn't know!
"There was one outside his apartment window last night!"
"Impossible!" His face still wore a bewildered expression. "I'm the only one who…"
"Who what?"
"Who has an egg."
Kolabati reeled. "You have it with you?"
"Of course. Where could it be safer?"
"In Bengal!"
Kusum shook his head. He appeared to be regaining some of his composure. "No. I feel better when I know exactly where it is at all times."
"You had it with you when you were with the London Embassy, too?"
"Of course."
"What if it had been stolen?"
He smiled. "Who would even know what it was?"
With an effort, Kolabati mastered her confusion. "I want to see it. Right now."
"Certainly."
He led her into his bedroom and pulled a small wooden crate from a corner of the closet. He lifted the lid, pushed the excelsior aside, and there it was. Kolabati recognized the egg. She knew every blue mottle on its gray surface, knew the texture of its cool, slippery surface like her own skin. She brushed her fingertips over the shell. Yes, this was it: a female rakosh egg.
Feeling weak, Kolabati backed up and sat on the bed.
"Kusum, do you know what this means? Someone has a nest of rakoshi here in New York ! "
"Nonsense! This is the very last rakosh egg. It could be hatched, but without a male to fertilize the female, there could be no nest."
"Kusum, I know there was a rakosh there!"
"Did you see it? Was it male or female?"
"I didn't actually see it—"
"Then how can you say there are rakoshi in New York?"
"The odor!" Kolabati felt her own anger rise. "Don't you think I know the odor?"
Kusum's face had resolved itself into its usual mask. "You should. But perhaps you have forgotten, just as you have forgotten so many other things about our heritage."
"Don't change the subject."
"The subject is closed, as far as I'm concerned."
Kolabati rose and faced her brother. "Swear to me, Kusum. Swear that you had nothing to do with that rakoshi last night."
"On the grave of our mother and father," he said, looking her squarely in the eyes, "I swear that I did not send a rakosh after our friend Jack. There are people in this world I wish ill, but he is not one of them."
Kolabati had to believe him. His tone was sincere, and there was no more solemn oath for Kusum than the one he had just spoken.
And there, intact on its bed of excelsior, was the egg. As Kusum knelt to pack it away, he said:
"Besides, if a rakosh were truly after Jack, his life wouldn't be worth a paisa. I assume he is alive and well?"
"Yes, he's well. I protected him."
Kusum's head snapped toward her. Hurt and anger raced across his features. He understood exactly what she meant.
"Please leave me," he said in a low voice as he faced away and lowered his head. "You disgust me."
Kolabati spun and left the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Would she never be free of this man? She was sick of Kusum! Sick of his self-righteousness, his inflexibility, his monomania. No matter how good she felt—and she felt good about Jack—he could always manage to make her feel dirty. They both had plenty to feel guilty about, but Kusum had become obsessed with atoning for past transgressions and cleansing his karma. Not just his own karma, but hers as well. She had thought leaving India—to Europe first, then to America—would sever their relationship. But no. After years of no contact, he had arrived on these same shores.
She had to face it: She would never escape him. For they were bound by more than blood—the necklaces they wore linked them with a bond that went beyond time, beyond reason, even beyond karma.
But there had to be a way out for her, a way to free herself from Kusum's endless attempts to dominate her.
Kolabati went to the window and looked out across the green expanse of Central Park. Jack was over there on the other side of the Park. Perhaps he was the answer. Perhaps he could free her.
She reached for the phone.
6
Even the moon's frightened of me—frightened to death!
The whole world's frightened to death!
Jack was well into part three of the James Whale Festival—Claude Raines was getting ready to start his reign of terror as The Invisible Man.
The phone rang. Jack turned down the sound and picked it up before his answerphone began its routine.
"Where are you?" said Kolabati's voice.
"Home."
"But this is not the number on your phone."
"So you peeked, did you?"
"I knew I'd want to call you."
It was good to hear her say that. "I had the number changed and never bothered to change the label." Actually, he purposely had left the old label in place.
"I have a favor to ask you," she said.
"Anything." Almost anything.
"The U.K. Mission is holding a reception tonight. Will you accompany me?"
Jack mulled that for a few seconds. His first impulse was to refuse. He hated parties. He hated gatherings. And a gathering of U.N. types, the most useless people in the world… it was a grim prospect.
"I don't know… "
"Please? As a personal favor? Otherwise I shall have to go with Kusum."
It was a choice then between seeing Kolabati and not seeing her. That wasn't a choice.
"Okay." Besides, it would be fun to see Burkes' face when he showed up at the reception. He might even rent a tux for the occasion. They set a time and a meeting place—for some reason, Kolabati didn't want to be picked up at Kusum's apartment—and then a question occurred to Jack.
"By the way, what's durba grass used for?"
He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Where did you find durba grass?"
"I didn't find any. As far as I know, it only grows in India. I just want to know if it's used for anything."
"It has many uses in traditional Indian folk medicine." She was speaking very carefully. "But where did you even hear about it?"
"Came up in conversation this morning." Why was she so concerned?
"Stay away from it, Jack. Whatever it is you've found, stay away from it. At least until you see me tonight!"