The Weight of Heaven (20 page)

And this must be your lovely wife. Ellie, is it?”

A politician’s game, memorizing names, but Frank was impressed, nevertheless. “Ellie, this is Thomas Andrews,” he said.

The consul general grinned. “Call me Tom. And happy Fourth

of July.” He gave Ellie a quick peck on the cheek and then looked

around. “My wife is somewhere around. You’ll enjoy meeting her.”

Someone else jostled for his attention, and Tom began shaking

another set of hands. But he turned around one more time and said

over his shoulder, “Go on outside. That’s where the real party is.”

He winked. “Real, honest-to-goodness burgers and hot dogs. Flown

in especially from home.”

Frank had wanted an opportunity to introduce Ramesh to Tom,

knowing that they might need the latter’s help if Ramesh was

ever to visit the States with him. But this was not the right time.

He took Ramesh’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s go outside. You

hungry?”

The boy shook his head.

Frank bent down. “Are you scared?”

Ramesh nodded. “A little. I’m not knowing anyone here.”

“You know us.” Frank and Ellie spoke together. Ellie grabbed

Ramesh’s other hand. “Come on, honey,” she said. “Nothing to be

scared of.”

They stood on the marble steps, scanning the scene on the front

lawn. To the distant right were five barbecue grills where the chefs

were grilling an array of meats, their faces hidden behind the rising

clouds of smoke. Next to them was the bar, and even from this distance, they could see the sun reflecting off the bottles of hard liquor

lined up in a row. Right in front of them were two white tents set

up to accommodate the diners, and off to the left was the children’s

area, with an old-fashioned lemonade stand and a smaller tent with

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rows of tables and a woman who appeared to be doing face paintings. Frank noticed that several of the children were walking around

with their faces painted red, white, and blue. He also noticed the few

Indian guests, much more formally dressed than the Americans, the

women in their saris looking like royalty walking among the peasants. Below the hill the house stood on was the breathtaking view of

the Arabian Sea curving from the sandy beaches of Chowpatty to

the tall office buildings of Nariman Point.

“You want to go play with the other children?” he asked

Ramesh.

The grip on his hand got tighter. “No.”

“What if I were to go with you?”

The grip slackened. “Okay.”

The three of them walked over toward the children’s tent, where

a dozen blond and sandy heads were bent over coloring books. Outside the tent, a group of kids were playing a vigorous game of water

balloons, smacking each other hard and erupting in laughter each

time a balloon burst. Ramesh seemed drawn to the game, but Frank

tugged him toward the line where children were waiting to get their

faces painted. While they waited, a waiter came around with a tray,

and both Frank and Ellie picked up a glass of white wine. Ellie ordered a Coke for Ramesh, and the boy gulped it down eagerly when

it arrived.

Finally, it was Ramesh’s turn. The gray-haired woman smiled at

him. “Well, hello, love,” she said in a strong British accent. “What

would you like a picture of? I can do the flag or the American

Eagle.”

Ramesh looked up at Frank and smiled bashfully. Frank could

read his face—the boy hadn’t understood a word that the woman

had said. “I think he’d like the flag,” he told her.

Ramesh stood still as the woman deftly mixed her palette and

began to apply blue paint. But as the brush touched his face, he let

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 3 9

out a yelp. “
Ae
, why you painting me blue? Flag is green,
na
? Saffron, white, and green.”

There was a short silence, and then there was a loud guffaw to

their right. It was Tom Andrews, his arm around his wife, Elisa, a

thin, good-looking woman much younger than him. “Now there’s

a spirited boy” He grinned. “So you want the colors of the Indian

flag, huh? Well, Mabel, can we accommodate his request? No?” He

made a rueful face. “Sorry about that, my man. Think you could

endure the red, white, and blue? It is Fourth of July, after all.”

Frank put his hand on Ramesh’s shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said.

“Just give him the usual. He’ll be fine.”

“But Frank—” Ramesh started, only to be silenced by the look

Frank flashed him. “Okay,” he mumbled.

While Ramesh was having his face painted, Frank turned toward

Tom. “Needed to ask your opinion about something, Tom,” he said

quietly. “If you’d let me know whenever you have a moment, I’d

appreciate it.”

“No time like the present,” Tom said graciously. “Excuse us,

ladies.” He put his arm around Frank and escorted him away from

the line. Something about his body language, the way he leaned in

to hear what Frank was saying, communicated to the other guests

that they were not to be interrupted, a fact that Frank was grateful

for.

“It’s about the incident involving the union leader, isn’t it?” Tom

said, and it took Frank a second to realize that Tom had misread the

situation.

“No, not really. I mean, that situation seems to have quieted

down, thank goodness. No, this is more of a personal matter.” He

stopped and then started again. “This involves Ramesh, the boy you

just met. He’s . . . he’s someone we know from Girbaug. A very bright

kid. But his parents are very poor. But this kid is incredible, Tom.

A math whiz. I think with the right education, the sky would be the

1 4 0 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

limit for him.” He noticed that Tom was looking at him strangely,

fixing those deep blue eyes on him. Slow down, he told himself.

Don’t botch this up. And for God’s sake, don’t get emotional.

“Anyway,” he continued, trying to strike the tone of a mildly interested well-wisher, “I want to take the kid with us the next time we

visit the States. Just show him around, see how he fits in, that kind of

thing. And I was hoping that getting a visa wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Is that why you brought him here?” Tom said. “To see how

he’d fit in?” There was something in his voice, a tremor that Frank

couldn’t place. Surely it wasn’t anger?

“Well, no,” he stammered. “I mean, we were bringing him to

Bombay anyway, and—”

“His parents know you’re thinking of taking him to the States?”

Now there was no mistaking the sharpness in Tom’s voice.

Frank let the fact that he was offended register on his face. “Well,

of course, Tom. I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if

I didn’t—”

Tom raised his hand in a truce. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. Just checking. You don’t know how many awkward situations we’ve been

placed in here.” He lowered his voice. “Two years ago, there was

this couple. Came to India to visit some guru at an ashram for like,

two weeks. One of those dial-a-guru types that America seems to

churn out so regularly.” He rolled his eyes. “In any case, they fall in

love with this beggar child who lived on the street across from the

ashram. So they just make off with the child one day and come to

us asking for a visa. Can you fucking imagine? This kid had parents

and siblings, but they felt entitled to him.” He rubbed his hands over

his eyes. “It was a fucking nightmare, getting that kid back to his

home.”

“Well. I can assure you that Ellie and I are not going to kidnap

Ramesh,” Frank said dryly.

Tom patted him on the back. “Okay. We’ll do everything that we

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 4 1

can do to help. Just do me a favor. If you’re thinking of going home

around Christmas, give me enough lead time. It’s a zoo around here,

then.”

Frank wanted to head back to Ellie and Ramesh, but Tom was

apparently not done. “Listen. I gotta tell you. What happened with

that union leader was not good. This goddamn war in Iraq is killing us around the world. I’ve been in this business for twenty-four

years, and it’s never been this bad in terms of our image. We have

to tread very lightly wherever we are. So whatever concessions you

gotta make—”

“We made them, Tom. We gave in to their demands. Everything

is normal, now.”

Still, Tom lingered. Frank noticed with a start that the blue eyes

were suddenly red around the edges. He wondered if Tom had been

drinking since earlier this afternoon. “I’m a Republican appointee,”

Tom said. “He’s my president. But there’s no question—this Iraqi

situation is a mess. A wholesale PR disaster.”

“Well, it’s more than just a PR disaster. It’s a moral disaster, too.”

It was Ellie, escorted by Tom’s wife. The two women had come up

behind him, penetrated the invisible circle that Tom had drawn.

Frank felt his stomach muscles clench. Did Ellie never know when

to keep her friggin’ mouth shut? He tried to think of something that

would lighten the mood and take the sting out of his wife’s words

but before he could, Tom bowed. “Touché,” he said.

But Ellie was not done. “Do folks like you ever get to talk to the

president? Tell him what you see in the real world?”

Tom smiled but didn’t answer the question. The old master diplomat at work, Frank thought. “Where’s Ramesh?” Frank asked

Ellie, hoping to change the subject. She nodded toward the cluster

of kids engaged in the water balloon fight. “Let’s go get him,” he

said, taking his wife firmly by the hand. He smiled at Tom and Elisa.

“Thanks for taking the time, Tom,” he said.

1 4 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tom said. “Come see us next time

you’re in Mumbai.”

They strolled away, Frank still holding onto Ellie. “You can let

go of my hand now,” she said dryly. “I’m not going to give poor

Tom any more lectures.”

“I should hope not. Putting him on the spot like that. Sometimes

I really wonder about your judgment, El.”

She shook her hand free. “Maybe you should worry less about

my judgment and more about your president’s judgment. Or your

judgment for that matter, for wanting to hobnob with these pricks.

And for putting me in situations where I can’t speak my mind.”

He was careful to keep his voice lowered. “You’re being ridiculous. Tom has been very good to HerbalSolutions, helping us negotiate with the Indian government and a million other things. And

he’s got nothing to do with Iraq.” He felt his temper spike. “You

really need to stop lecturing people about their morals, Ellie. It’s

becoming an irritating habit.”

She looked hurt for a moment and then made a wry face. “Okay.

I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” But he wasn’t appeased. “Come on, let’s not

fight. I—I just feel uncomfortable around so many healthy, beefylooking white people.”

“There you go again,” he started, but realized that she was laughing and, against his will, found that he was laughing too. “Damn

you, Ellie,” he said but he took her hand again, and this time his grip

was light and friendly. “I swear, you’re gonna have to go through a

debriefing when we get back to the States.”

She turned around to look him squarely in the face. “Right now,

I can’t even fathom going home. I feel like this is where we belong,

here in India. Don’t you?”

Did he? The truth was, he belonged nowhere. If he belonged

at all, it was to people, not countries. He felt the ties of family and

history when he called to speak to his mom once a week. The night

after the dinner at Nandita’s, he had felt that old connection with

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 4 3

Ellie, felt with absolute conviction that his place was in her arms,

that he could build a home for himself in those deep dark eyes. And

last week on the beach with Ramesh, the two of them playing in the

water, he had felt that he belonged under the wide open sky and in

those churning waters of the Arabian sea, as long as he had this little

boy by his side.

He leaned over and kissed Ellie on the cheek. “Right now, I

belong in front of a hamburger stand,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s go

collect Ramesh and then go eat.”

They found Ramesh engaged in an aggressive water balloon

fight. His clothes were soaked and hair was plastered on his forehead,

with the paint running down his face. He had taken off his shoes and

was racing around barefoot, screaming like a hellion, dancing like a

demon, dodging the balloons and throwing them back with gusto.

Some of the American families stood watching the skinny brown

boy who was twirling around, with bemusement. “Hey,” Frank

called. “Ramesh. Stop for a minute.”

Ramesh released the balloon he was holding at the backside

of a tall, brown-haired boy. “Ow,” the boy yelled as the balloon

burst and Ramesh pointed to him and laughed uproariously. But

he stopped in mid-laugh as a young girl rushed up to him and

threw a balloon at him at close range. “Stop hitting my brother,”

she screamed, her face red. The poorly aimed water balloon fell off

Ramesh’s chest without breaking, but Ramesh froze, taken aback by

the fierce expression on the girl’s face. Seizing the moment, Frank