Meeting Max (27 page)

“I think I am knowing the story, but please tell it further.”

“Well, Mrs. Moore walks out into the quiet moonlit night surrounded by a lush tropical garden, where she meets a young Muslim doctor. They talk about beauty, nature, and life in general, a stark contrast from what was going on inside. They enjoy being in each other’s presence and feel a spiritual connection. After awhile, she walks back into the noisy club, where everyone is still loud, abusive, and drunk. She understands the contrast and feels there is nothing she can do to change her life and is saddened by it. She knows she doesn’t belong there.”

“I can understand her deep feelings, Mr. Rick. She was a sensitive woman and the doctor touched her soul.”

“Yes, I got the impression she belonged in India, but not as part of the Raj. I felt Mrs. Moore made a discovery about herself that night as to who she was and who she was not.”

“And I reminded you of this moment, Mr. Rick?”

“Yes. When you spoke so softly, it reminded me of the gentle conversation between Mrs. Moore and the young Indian doctor. He was a philosopher and a poet. They talked as people who saw life from a human standpoint instead of from the harshness of the Raj.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Rick. I am understanding it. To be human and to have compassionate feelings, it is a good thing, but tell me, sir, what does it mean, dressed to the nines?”

Rick smiled. His question was unexpected. “It means you’re dressed up real fancy from head to toe. I’m not sure where the expression came from, but this question came up when I was at a private club with some friends in Jaipur.

“An Indian woman passed by with an elegant sari and I asked the members of the group the same question. I was told that Saris are made in two sizes, using either six yards of fabric or nine. Since the larger sari is worn during special occasions, you would be dressed more elegantly and would wear the nine yard Sari. So the expression ‘the whole nine yards’ means you are dressed to perfection. Rajit, I am also told there are many other explanations for
the nines,
but I thought you’d enjoy that one.”

“I am thanking you to have your valuable clarification. I am learning something wonderful about my own country.”

“Now, I don’t know if it’s true, but…”

“I think it is true,” he said with a characteristic head wobble. “Tell me, do you like cricket, Mr. Rick?”

“If you mean to play it or watch it, I haven’t done either.”

“Oh, you are missing something big. The British have given us two good things, cricket and very good schooling, but nothing more...only unkindness. The season has just started for cricket last month and will go on until April. We can go to Wankhede stadium and watch a match.”

“Sounds like fun. I’d like that sometime. What’s our plan for tonight?”

Rajit’s mobile rang. It was Narahari. He asked again what Eric’s last name was. Rajit handed Rick the phone and he answered, “Anderson.”

“And how are you spelling his first name?” Narahari asked.

“E-R-I-C.”

“And he’s an American?”

“Yes, absolutely. Why? Do you know where he is?”

“Maybe, I think so. Could he have a different last name?”

“Not unless he changed it, but why would he do that?” Rick asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“I know why it is that you cannot find him, but am happy to let you know he is here in Bombay. I have a very close friend and I spoke to him one hour back. Let me say that my friend, he is well known in circles of not so nice people, but these people have much information, and offer help for a price. I will not reveal his name, but he said if he provides correct information about your son he would like to be paid two thousand five hundred in US dollars.”

“That is a lot of money, but I will do it. Does he want the money first before he gives the information?”

“No, that is not necessary. Honor is very important with these people, especially when friendship is involved. He is a close friend and I will vouch for you since you are a friend of my cousin- brother.”

“I give you my word, Narahari, and I will pay you for your time and trouble.”

“I want nothing. Maybe we will share a chai together one day. That will be my payment.”

“Yes, of course. Can you tell me anything now?”

“I can tell you everything. The reason you have not been able to find your son is that you’re looking for the wrong name. Maybe he is setting up obsticles so he cannot be found. I don’t know”

“But I’m using his…”

“Please, sir, if we are going to discuss about this you must let me speak. I know you are anxious about these things, but I have good information for you.”

“Sorry.”

“Your son’s real name may be Eric Anderson. However, when he came to India, he changed his last name to Weber. I do not know why, and his first name was misspelled the first time on a CD jacket or other place spelled E-h-r-i-c, which it is possible an Indian person might spell it if the name was just spoken to him. I cannot be sure.”

“Do you think Eric Anderson and Ehric Weber are the same person?”

“I do not
think
so, sir. I
know
it is the same person, and he is here in Bombay. There is to be no doubt. Eric has worked exclusively for Black Cat Studios. It is a small studio, and it is very expensive for musicians to make recordings there, but it is known for its high quality work. Your son, I am told, he is the chief mastering engineer, and is very well-liked.

“My friend went to Black Cat studios to investigate further. They were still closed for vacation, but there was a man in attendance. My friend asked to see Eric, but Eric’s next work assignment is in about ten days, so he cannot be reached. I do not mean to offend you in any way, sir, but I must be open about the things I have learned.”

“Narahari, yes, of course. Please be open with me.” Rick hoped his nervousness wasn’t apparent in his voice.

“It seems Eric has a darker side to him. I do not know, maybe he deals with drug people too. Your son gives no information about how to contact him, and he is always the one who makes the contact for a work assignment. Because he is an exceptional audio engineer, Black Cat lets him make his own schedule. Maybe he is afraid of something or is hiding from something. I do not know. However, my friend can find out anything, and for many rupees, you will have all the information.”

“Does he know where Eric lives?”

“Yes, indeed. It is believed that he lives with an American friend named Bill who teaches English at the university and plays music at night with a band in Bombay. From the information that was conveyed to me, he also worked as an audio engineer but not in a high quality way, so he did not work for the better studios. So, within one day, what was conveyed to me is that we will have the exact address and phone number of Bill tomorrow. I have to go.”

Narahari hung up before Rick had a chance to thank him. Rajit had a huge smile on his face. His gleaming white teeth shined as Rick put his arms around him and gave him a hug.

“I’m a happy man, Rajit! Finally!”

“I am so happy as well, sir. It is important to know the right people. Even I did not know how to do it.”

“But you led me to the right people. I’ve done a lot of things wrong on my trip to India. The first mistake was to fly into Delhi instead of Bombay, but when I looked at where International flights left for India from New York, it only listed flights to Delhi, Kolkota, and Mumbai, and I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t know that the name Bombay was changed to Mumbai. I should have selected Mumbai and started my search here.”

“It happens, Mr. Rick. Each thing we do, whether it is good judgment or bad, changes our path. Please be kind to yourself, sir. Blame is not a good thing.”

“You never know the direction life will take you. If I didn’t fly to Delhi, I would not have met the woman I love. Maybe the beauty of life lies in its mysteries.”

“I think that is true, maybe.”

“What you have done for me is something I could never have done on my own. Thank you, Rajit.”

Chapter 23

Rick heard from Narahari the next morning. He had Bill Zimmerman’s mobile number and Rick called him immediately.

“Hi, is this Bill?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Rick Newman from the USA. I wonder if we could have a few words.”

“Yes, of course,” he answered hesitatingly.

“I’m looking for my son, Eric. I’m his birth father and I heard that he is living with you. Is he there?”

“Uh, no. Uh, I’m sorry. He’s not here. Do you want to come over and we can talk? Eric told me about you.”

“I am so happy to have reached you, Bill. Can you tell me when he will be there?”

“I’m not always home, but now would be a good time.”

“Excellent. Thank you. Tell me where you are and can you tell me when Eric—”

“I live on Mereweather Road, next to the Salvation Army Red Shield Hostel. The hostel is a four-story building with windows outlined with red paint and a sign that says Red Shield House. You can’t miss it. I live in the house next door. It has no number. It’s white with the front door trimmed in black. Where are you now?”

“I’m in Colaba, on the waterfront, not far from the Taj hotel.”

“Any driver will know where to take you.”

“Can’t I come when Eric will be there?”

“Mr. Newman, I don’t know you, and the people in Mumbai are not always the people they say they are, so, for now, I would just like to meet you.”

“Okay, I understand.”

Rajit knew the house. He waited outside as Rick knocked on the door. A heavyset young man invited him into the living room, which was large and clean. It was well-appointed with a modern leather couch, woven sisal rug, and two oversized reclining chairs facing a large screened TV. Striking artwork adorned one wall and a teak bookcase, filled with art and history books, lined another, displaying the eclectic tastes of the people who lived there.

“Mr. Newman, I’m Bill Zimmerman.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Bill looked Rick over, saying nothing at first, but then asked if he would like a beer or anything else to drink. Rick opted for a beer, and Bill brought each of them an ice cold Kalyani Black Label. They sat on the couch and talked.

“How long have you lived here, Bill, and how did you meet Eric?”

“I’ve been in India almost two years, all the time in this house. Let me tell you about my friendship with Eric, and then we can talk about other things. I think it will help you understand more about him and his friends.”

“Agreed, it’s an excellent idea. I’ll just listen.”

“Eric and I met when we were both ten. My family had moved from Binghamton, New York, to Cheektowaga, just outside of Buffalo, and we’ve been close friends ever since.

“My strongest memories of our friendship revolve around music, especially progressive rock. I had mainstream tastes until I started hanging out with Eric. He introduced me to music that was compelling and original. We spent hours and hours listening to music, either at his house or driving around in his car as teenagers.

“I moved away from that neighborhood when I was in my late teens, but I always stayed in touch with Eric. I was best man at his wedding and made many trips down to Brooklyn to visit him and his wife, Sarah, who is a high school chemistry teacher. He turned me on to a lot of things, like hiking, and the two of us have climbed to the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine.

“I was the best friend he had for most of his adult life. Later, after his marriage fell apart, he shared an apartment with my brother, Michael, and me. The last few years have been tough. Eric’s addiction and self-centered behavior caused the collapse of his marriage with Sarah and limited his visitation rights to see his son, Max. You do know about Maxwell?”

“Yes, he has told me, but my God, what is he addicted to?” Rick stared at Bill in disbelief.

“Too many things. Let me be honest, Mr. Newman. We all did drugs. We were musicians and using drugs was part of the scene. We sat around, listened to music, smoked pot, snorted coke, used pills and whatever we could get a hold of. We eventually quit and went on with our lives, but not Eric.”

“It must have been painful for Eric not to be able to see his son and not even be able to see his wife, who he once loved.”

“It was excruciating, but Eric wasn’t always the best person he could be. There were times I had to hold the phone away from my ear because he was more or less obsessed with vilifying Sarah. He vented his anger and often got stuck in a rut with his ranting, but I stayed on the phone, let him blow off steam, even though he was wrong. I gave him support and advice. He was my best friend.”

Something was beginning to bother Rick. Even though Bill talked about Eric’s deep-seated anger, his love for Eric showed through. Still, Rick was uncomfortable with the flow of the conversation, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Something was wrong.

“Eric talked about you, Mr. Newman, and how difficult it was for you to find him. He told me that you asked him if he ever wondered about his beginnings. He knew he was adopted from an early age and told me he did think about his beginnings, but because his adoptive parents were so good to him, those thoughts didn’t consume him. I thought otherwise. He
had
to think of where he came from and who gave him life.”

“He’s a complex person with many facets to his personality. Having you as his best friend says a lot about you as well.”

“Mr. Newman, Eric told me about the long talk you had on the phone. Eric loved his adoptive father, but when he spoke to
you
, it made him feel that he was in touch with a part of himself he never knew.”

“What’s this India thing, Bill? Why are you here? Why is he here?”

“Well, we’re both here for some of the same reasons. What I was doing in the States was boring, and I needed a different setting. The money is better here too.”

“Has the move helped?”

“It has. I love India. When I walk down a street in Bombay, I feel an energy I never experienced before. Everything that surrounds me is a distraction and keeps me constantly in motion. I never had that feeling in the States.

“Eric’s reasons for coming to India were a little different. He was running away from his life. His broken marriage plagued him because he still loved Sarah, but he was angry with her for not allowing him to spend enough time alone with Max. Also, there was a declining job market in the US for good sound engineers, and music groups were not willing to pay the high price for quality work.

“I stayed in touch with Eric after I got here, but it wasn’t until six months ago that he asked if he could come and stay with me. I had heard there was good money for first-class audio engineers. I was thrilled at the idea.

“There’s only one Eric: smart, adventurous, imaginative, caring, fun, and totally outrageous. Plus, no one knows more about music than he. I recommended Eric to the owners at Black Cat Audio because his work was beyond excellent. They checked his album credits and offered him a job, sight unseen.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but he changed his last name to Weber to hide his tracks. He needed to be far away from the things that were eating his insides out. His first name was spelled incorrectly, too, but I’m not sure who made that change.”

“What did you do to keep your life going? It sounds like you didn’t plan ahead.”

“Oh, but I did plan. I teach English at the Teacher’s Training School here in Bombay, and I play the clarinet for Indian bands at nightclubs in the evening to earn a few extra bucks.”

Rick sat back, listening, totally mesmerized. Eric appeared to be a special person with eclectic tastes and a deep sense of what music was all about. His tragic flaw was his drug habit. Rick could almost understand the process of addiction, thinking of how alprazolam eased his pain and anxiety after losing Elena and how much easier it was to pop a pill than to confront his heartache.

Bill continued talking about Eric, but said nothing about when Rick would meet him, increasing Rick’s discomfort.

“When Eric arrived in India, he had tons of money saved from his jobs in the States. He paid for our Belgian ale, our pot, and even a trip to Kathmandu, where we hiked to the Mount Everest base camp and went for a plane ride around the summit. We trekked in other parts of Nepal, drank, smoked joints, and laughed. We had a great time. Eric turned me on to Belgian ales. When he handed me a La Chouffe eight percent, I loved it. Only Eric knew about the distinctive pleasures in life.”

“Look, Bill, this is all very interesting, but I’m anxious to meet him. Could we get to that?”

Bill sipped his drink. He hung his head and stared at his feet. He went on talking. “Eric was filled with anger in the States and he found peace in India, but it didn’t last. I’ve talked enough. I don’t think I can anymore.” Bill looked up, his eyes filled with anguish.

Rick’s body tensed as a horrific thought crossed his mind.

Something’s happened to Eric. An accident, perhaps.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and refused to accept that possibility. “When do you expect Eric?”

Bill excused himself without answering the question about Eric’s whereabouts. He opened two more beers and then sat down next to Rick.

Why is he stalling?

“Mr. Newman,” Bill ran his fingers through his hair.

“Is Eric okay?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Newman.”

“What?”

Nothing could have prepared Rick for Bill’s next words.

“I don’t know how else to say this,” Bill hesitated. “Eric is dead. He took his life, right here in this house, two days ago. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my God!” Rick was stunned. His eyes squeezed shut as pain tore through his body. His heart raced erratically. He sat with his head in his hands, sobbing.

This isn’t happening.
It’s not, it’s not!

His emotions shut down. He closed his eyes again. Tears dripped along his cheeks. Rick felt Bill’s arms around his shoulders. They sat, their heads touching, crying together, Bill mourning the loss of a dead friend, and Rick, the son he would never meet.

Bill went into the next room, brought out a picture of Eric, and handed it to him. Rick saw his own silly grin and Julie’s eyes staring back at him. He was a good combination of both of them.

Rick sank into a chair, his head down as tears fell onto his knees.

“And his body?” The words barely escaped Rick’s throat.

“The coroner’s office released his body to Mr. Anderson. Eric was flown to Buffalo yesterday.” Bill’s voice cracked as he spoke.

They said nothing for awhile, Rick sobbing. He asked Bill to be honest with him about how Eric died, to tell him if there was any possibility that the death was an accident.

“Do you really want to hear the truth, or do you want me to soften it? Let’s save it for another time. I don’t think it matters how.”

“It matters to me, Bill.”

Bill heaved a deep sigh.“It was not an accident, Mr. Newman, but I don’t want to paint a morbid picture for you. It’s not necessary.”

“Please tell me,” he begged.

Bill paused, shook his head, and sighed deeply as tears filled his eyes. “After he took a lot of drugs and drank half a bottle of whiskey, he used a belt to hang himself from a door.”

***

Rajit took Rick back to Bahula’s homestay. As he sat next to Rajit in the car, he envisioned Eric hanging on a door with a belt around his neck. He tried to push the picture out of his mind, but he couldn’t. He tormented himself with that vision and knew that sleep would be impossible.

The pain Eric must have felt invaded Rick’s mind, a pain so great that it was unbearable. Eric’s death was a deliberate action, but how could he do this to his friends and all the people who loved him? How could he do it to Max, his son, whom he loved with all his heart?

The ones left behind were the ones who felt Eric’s pain. Now his pain was theirs. Rick drank the cognac that Bahula had placed in his room and fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke four hours later, drained. Rick wanted to know everything about Eric, meet more of his friends, sit and talk with them, and listen to stories about Eric’s life. It would be the closest he could ever get to him now. He promised Julie he would find him. Julie was gone, and now, so was Eric. Maybe they were together at last.

I waited too long. I missed him by two days. Maybe I could have saved him.

He called Cheryl Sanders and told her about Eric. She was shocked and tried her best to console him. She encouraged him to meet Maxwell, his grandson, the only one left who carried his bloodline.

I have to meet Max. I’m his grandfather.

Rick needed time to himself, away from thoughts about terrorism, death, and his sorrow. He wanted a diversion from his pain. He decided to leave Bombay and be out in nature, alone with his thoughts. When he returned, he would join Bill and talk some more. Bill agreed that it was a good choice and offered to call Eric’s friends and ask them to contact Rick. He gave Bill his e-mail address and told him he would check it every few days from a cybercafé.