Tiger's Curse (The Tiger Saga #1)(23)

The driver got out of the truck and started to fill the tank with gas. He pointed to the market across the street and said, ‘Eat. Good food.’

I grabbed the backpack and went to the rear of the truck to check on Ren. He was sprawled out on the floor of the cage. He opened his eyes and yawned when I approached but stayed in his inert position.

I walked to the market and opened the peeling squeaky door. A little bell rang announcing my presence.

An Indian woman dressed in a traditional sari emerged from a back room and smiled at me. ‘Namaste. You like food? Eat something?’

‘Oh! You speak English? Yes, I would love some lunch.’

‘You sit there. I make.’

Even though it was lunch for me, it was probably dinner for them because the sun was low in the sky. She motioned me over to a little table with two chairs that was set next to the window, and then she disappeared. The store was a small, rectangular room that housed various grocery products, souvenirs depicting the wildlife sanctuary nearby, and practical things such as matches and tools.

Indian music played softly in the background. I recognized the sounds of a sitar and heard the tinkling of bells but couldn’t identify the other instruments. I glanced through the door where the woman had passed and heard the clatter of pans in her kitchen. It looked like the store was the front of a larger building and the family lived in a house attached to the back.

In surprisingly fast time, the woman returned, balancing four bowls of food. A young girl followed in behind her bringing even more bowls of food. It smelled exotic and spicy. She said, ‘Please to eat and enjoy.’

The woman disappeared into the back, while the young girl started to straighten shelves in the store as I ate. They hadn’t brought me any silverware, so I spooned up some of each dish with my fingers, remem-bering to use my right hand following Indian tradition. Lucky Mr. Kadam had mentioned that on the plane.

I recognized the basmati rice, naan bread, and tandoori chicken, but the other three dishes I’d never seen before. I looked over at the girl, inclined my head, and asked, ‘Do you speak English?’

She nodded and approached me. Motioning with her fingers, she said, ‘Little bit English.’

I pointed to a triangular pastry filled with spicy vegetables. ‘What is this called?’

‘This samosa.’

‘What about this one and this?’

She indicated one and then the other: ‘Rasmalai and baigan bhartha.’ She smiled shyly and bustled off to work on the shelves again.

As far as I could tell, the rasmalai were balls of goat cheese dipped in a sweet cream sauce, and the baigan bhartha was an eggplant dish with peas, onions, and tomatoes. It was all very good, but a bit too much. When I was finished, the woman brought me a milkshake made with mangoes, yogurt, and goat’s milk.

I thanked her, sipped my milkshake, and let my eyes drift to the scene outside. There wasn’t much of a view: just the gas station and two men standing by the truck talking. One was a very handsome young man dressed in white. He faced the store and spoke with another man who had his back toward me. The second man was older and looked like Mr. Kadam. They seemed to be having an argument. The longer I watched them, the stronger my conviction became that it was Mr. Kadam, but he was arguing hotly with the younger man, and I couldn’t picture Mr. Kadam ever becoming angry like that.

Huh, that’s weird, I thought and tried to catch a few words through the open window. The older man said nahi mahodaya often, and the younger man kept saying avashyak or something like that. I thumbed through my Hindi dictionary and found nahi mahodaya easily. It meant no way or no, sir. Avashyak was harder because I had to figure out how to spell it, but I eventually found it. That word meant necessary or essential, something that must be or has to happen.

I walked to the window to get a better look. Just then, the young man in white looked up and saw me staring at them from the window. He immediately ceased his conversation and stepped out of my line of vision, around the side of the truck. Embarrassed to be caught, but irresistibly curious, I made my way through the maze of shelves to the door. I needed to know if the older man really was Mr. Kadam or not.

Grabbing the loose door handle, I twisted it and pushed it open. It squeaked on rusty hinges. I walked across the dirt road and over to the truck, but still, I didn’t see anyone. Circling the truck, I stopped at the back and saw that Ren was alert and watching me from his cage. But the two men and the driver had disappeared. I peeked into the cab. No one was there.

Confused, but remembering I hadn’t paid my bill, I crossed the street and went back into the store. The young girl had already cleared away my dishes. I pulled some bills from the backpack and asked, ‘How much?’

‘One hundred rupees.’

Mr. Kadam had told me to figure out money by dividing the total by forty. I quickly calculated she was asking for two dollars and fifty cents. I smiled to myself as I thought about my math-loving dad and his quick division drills when I was little. I gave her two hundred rupees instead, and she beamed happily.

Thanking her, I told her the food was delicious. I picked up my backpack, opened the squeaky door, and stepped outside.

The truck was gone.





7


The Jungle


How could the truck be gone?

I ran out to the gas pump and looked both ways down the dirt road. Nothing. No dust cloud. No people. Nothing.