Honor: A Novel(10)

“Good.” She nodded, finishing the last of her coffee. “How old is your sister?”

“She’s twenty-four.”

“And she goes to college in Mumbai?”

“Shoba? No, she’s married. She’s settled in Bangalore. I’m the only one here in Mumbai.”

“You are here in the city alone?” she said.

“Yes. Even though I hate being alone.”

He looked so sheepish that Smita burst out laughing. Something about him reminded her of her brother, Rohit.

“If you don’t mind, I want to order a sandwich for Nandini,” Mohan said. “You know, she takes two buses to get here. I’m sure she has not eaten today.”

Yup. He was very much like Rohit. “That’s great,” she said. And she didn’t even offer to pick up the tab. He was a Mumbai boy, and Mumbai boys didn’t allow guests to pick up the check. That much she still knew.





Chapter Four





They could hear loud voices coming from Shannon’s room as they approached.

“Oh God, she’s awake,” Mohan said. “The pain pills didn’t work.”

“Where the hell have the two of you been?” Shannon snapped as they entered her room, and Smita froze, transfixed by the distress she saw on Shannon’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We just got a bite to eat.” She took in Nandini’s pinched, teary face, and felt sorry for the younger woman.

“Well, I’ve had it,” Shannon said in the same, harsh tone. She turned to Mohan. “Dr. Pal stopped by while you were away. Turns out they can’t give me any fucking drugs stronger than what I’m on.”

“I’ll talk to him—”

“No. It’s okay. He’s convinced me. I’m going under the knife tomorrow. Pal says this other guy’s pretty good. I can’t wait another goddamned day.”

“Shannon, are you sure?” Mohan’s voice was low, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” Shannon said, dissolving into tears. “I can’t take another moment of this pain.”

Mohan took in a sharp breath. “Okay,” he said. “This is a good idea.”

Shannon pulled her hand out from under the sheet and held it out to Mohan. “And you’ll be with me? After Smita and Nan leave?”

“Yes, of course.”

There was a sound from the corner of the room, and they all startled as Nandini rushed out. Shannon looked at Mohan. “I can’t deal with her theatrics,” she said. “Go talk some sense into her.”

“What’s going on?” Smita asked, but Mohan shook his head and left the room.

Smita pulled up a chair next to the bed. She could hear Mohan and Nandini talking in the hallway, the woman’s voice high and strident.

“You got Anjali’s number. right?” Shannon asked with her eyes closed. “You’ll call her soon and find out if she has a date for the verdict?”

“I will. I got it. Now, stop worrying about work.”

Shannon smiled. “You’re the best. This is why I could trust this story to only you. You’ll understand Meena, like none of the other reporters can.”

Waiting for Mohan to return, Smita sat watching Shannon as she dozed. After a few minutes, she got up and walked to the window. Outside, the sea crashed against the enormous boulders, spraying spittle into the air. She jumped, realizing Nandini was standing next to her. She hadn’t heard her come back into the room. “Oh, hi,” Smita said, not bothering to hide her annoyance, dreading the thought of being alone in the car with this strange woman.

“I’m so scared, madam,” Nandini said. “My friend’s mother had this same surgery. And she died.”

Was it fear that was making Nandini act so strange? “She’ll be fine,” Smita said. “This is a good hospital.”

Nandini nodded. “Mohan bhai was also saying that to me.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But, madam, Shannon has been so good to me. Better than my own sisters, she has treated me.”

Smita had seen this phenomenon all around the world—young women from low-income families, slender as reeds, working insane hours against insane odds to better their lives. And the gratitude they felt toward bosses or benefactors—anyone who tossed a morsel of kindness their way—was so heartfelt, so earnest, that it never failed to break her heart. She pictured the crowded tenement where Nandini lived, the long commute by public transportation, the Herculean efforts to learn English, and at long last, the chance to work for a Western agency or newspaper—the liberation that came from such an opportunity, and the loyalty that this inspired.

“Nandini,” she said, “Shannon is otherwise healthy. She will bounce back quickly. And in the meantime”—she took a deep breath—“we will have a good time together, okay?”

“One thing, Smita.” The younger woman’s eyes swept her body. “You will need some other, more modest clothes, like shalwar kameez. It’s a conservative area we are going to.”

Smita flushed. Did Nandini think she was some kind of a rookie? “Yes, I know,” she said. “I will buy some outfits later today. As you know, I was on vacation until yesterday.”