The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(32)

She fills herself to the brim with the tasty food before her and then rises to find Naresh to thank him for the meal. He nods in acknowledgment and holds the door open for her. Sophie is back out on the streets of Paris, away from the comfort and familiarity of Taj Palace, and so far away from her life in Ahmedabad. People rush by her on the streets, some jostling her as if she isn’t even there, and she feels so alone and so invisible. Perhaps she is not her mummy’s daughter. Perhaps Nita had the strength to flee her homeland in search of adventure, but Sophie has never craved such things.

With a full stomach and clearer head, Sophie starts evaluating the pros and cons of her current situation. She is alone in a foreign country with very little money on a far-fetched theory that Nita is somewhere in this city. She has no way of tracking her and doesn’t speak the local language. The wise thing would be to go home. Not to give up the search for Nita but to do it once she is more prepared. She can hire people in India to investigate and search instead. It has been so many years, and it could be that Nita met some untimely demise, just like Papa had, so perhaps the effort isn’t even justified. If she goes home, she can lean on her fois for support. They may have more information they can share now that the truth has come to light. Sophie doesn’t know what other secrets they’ve kept from her all these years.

As she slowly makes her way back to the hostel, she knows she has to go home. Back to Sharmila Foi and Vaishali Foi. Back to the life she is meant to live with Kiran. She convinces herself that it’s what Papa would have wanted. And it is the least she can give him after the life he had given her.





18


NITA


1998


There had been no courtship. No biodata matching. No approval from the parents. No consulting the alignment of the stars. No blessing from a priest. There was nothing sweet about the intimacy. Yet when Mathieu kissed her that night after her nude modeling session, she felt a fire ignite inside of her that she had never felt before. Something raw and animal-like, matching the way he had savagely ripped off her panjabi as soon as they had walked into his apartment. The delicate silk fabric lay in a pale-pink heap near the front door. He had not even taken her into the bedroom and had instead pushed her against the sofa in the living room and immediately mounted her like a tiger in heat.

She had not been expecting everything to happen so quickly. She had pictured more sweet kisses filled with passion but still restrained, like they had shared before the art class. But before her head and heart could decide whether this was something she wanted, she felt him inside of her. Their bodies had decided for them, and maybe that was how sex was meant to be. It certainly had never been that way with Rajiv, but then, of course, with him the intimacy had not been for pleasure but for a purpose—to make Sophie.

Sophie. The face of her six-year-old daughter rose to the top of her thoughts. She desperately tried to push it aside, shame washing over her as Mathieu thrust so quickly that she could not keep up, and then he stopped, and she felt a warmth inside of her. She didn’t know if the shame was from leaving Sophie behind or moving forward with Mathieu.

He kissed her forehead as he pulled away. He then flopped onto the sofa next to her and lit a cigarette before pulling her toward him, his arm across her shoulders and his hand dropping down to cup her breast. It smelled like the same hashish they had shared earlier. He took a couple puffs and then offered it to her. At this point, there was no need for her to even hesitate.

She inhaled and held on to the smoke the way he had taught her earlier that night. He released a small cloud from his lips and then leaned against her, placing his other hand territorially on the inside of her thigh. It was a form of intimacy that she couldn’t decide whether she enjoyed, but she didn’t shift her body away from him. She had crossed so many lines today that there was never going to be a way back to her old self. And maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe it was what she needed. To move so far from who she was that her old life would be closed off to her forever.



Despite their rocky start on that first day, Cecile and Nita had fallen into a somewhat reserved friendship. She would be the first to tell Nita about open shifts that came up at the reception area. Nita had been spending more and more time at Mathieu’s apartment, so she often went days without visiting her room at the hostel.

When she arrived for a night shift after spending an entire week at Mathieu’s apartment, Cecile was waiting impatiently with her purse in hand.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” Nita rushed to get behind the desk.

“Just as well,” Cecile said evenly. “Best to make the man wait for me.” She had a date with someone she had met earlier that week. “Do I look okay?” She puckered her red lips into a faux-seductive look.

“Très chic!” Nita said, her French becoming more natural as she moved into her fourth month in France.

Cecile started to walk toward the door and then stopped and slapped her forehead. She turned around and gestured toward a drawer in the back of the reception desk. “Ooh, là là! I almost forgot. There is a letter for you. I put it in the locked drawer.” She then turned and pushed the door open, letting a gust of cool air enter the reception area and tickle Nita’s skin.

Nita unlocked the drawer and found a blue airmail envelope. The return address was her former home in Ahmedabad. The handwriting was Rajiv’s.