Discomfort

Tel Aviv Airport.

Aditya and Mary had already boarded the plane.

Mary sat down beside Aditya, fastened her seat belt, and asked, "How long does it take to fly from Israel to India?"

"Depends on the layover. On today's flight, if everything goes smoothly, we'll get there tonight," Aditya said.

"Mm."

The plane took off, and Mary turned to look out the window.

Aditya didn't look. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

During their layover at Dubai Airport, neither of them went anywhere.

Aditya and Mary sat at the boarding gate. Mary bought two bottles of water and pressed one into Aditya's hand.

It was already four in the afternoon when they boarded again.

There weren't many passengers on the flight to Mumbai, India. This time, Aditya had the window seat, with Mary beside him.

The plane passed through the clouds, and the lights above the seats dimmed. With his eyes closed, Aditya heard Mary sigh softly beside him.

"What's wrong?" Aditya asked.

Mary didn't answer right away. After a long while, she said, "Nothing."

Seeing that she didn't want to talk, Aditya didn't ask again.

The lights along the runway at Mumbai Airport glowed a hazy yellow.

The moment the plane touched down, its tires scraped against the ground and its body shook, making the overhead luggage compartments rattle.

Aditya and Mary gripped their armrests.

Mary turned toward the window and said, "I'm in India?"

"You're here," Aditya said. "Welcome to India."

As they got off the plane, a wave of heat hit them first.

Mary stood in the doorway for a second before walking out. Aditya looked back and asked, "How does it feel?"

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Like being in a sauna."

Once they entered the arrivals hall, the crowd suddenly thickened. Indians, Indians, and more Indians. Some wore gray shirts, some were wrapped in saris, and some squatted barefoot beside the walls.

The English over the loudspeakers carried a heavy curry accent, its final syllables floating upward.

Walking through the crowd, Mary, a fair-skinned Jewish girl with a high nose bridge, looked like a white swan that had fallen among a flock of pheasants. Everyone was looking at her with naked, impolite stares. Men looked at her face and legs, women at her hair, and children at her face.

The crowd surrounded Mary, with more and more men gathering around her, their gazes completely undisguised.

Mary went deathly pale and hugged her bag to her chest.

Aditya stepped forward, took Mary's hand, and pulled her a little closer.

Mary obediently moved toward him.

Aditya puffed out his chest, his exposed sacred thread bright in color.

The surrounding crowd gradually dispersed. Mary tried to withdraw her hand, without success. Aditya gripped it tighter. Mary lightly bit her lip and didn't try again.

Aditya let go of Mary as they went through immigration.

The immigration officer asked in curry-accented English, "What brings you to India?"

"Visiting family," Mary said.

"Where are you staying?"

From behind her, Aditya said in Hindi, "She's with me. She's going to Varanasi with me."

The official looked up at Aditya, first in surprise, then in admiration, and briskly brought his stamp down.

The red stamp landed on the passport, stamping this journey with "permission granted."

Before they left the airport, Aditya looked at Mary and reminded her, "You're too beautiful. It's a little dangerous walking around outside. You'd better put on your sunglasses!"

Remembering what had just happened, Mary felt a chill of revulsion. She took a jacket, sunglasses, and a scarf from her bag. Before long, she had wrapped herself up tightly.

"How's this?" Mary asked.

"Mm! A little better than before, but that figure of yours is practically cheating. You'd better stick close to me!" Aditya replied, looking Mary up and down.

With that, Aditya stepped forward, held out his right hand, and looked at Mary.

With her sunglasses on, Mary's expression was unreadable. She froze for a few seconds, then finally gave in, extending her left hand and lightly hooking it around Aditya's.

"Let's go!" Aditya turned his hand to clasp Mary's and pulled her closer.

As though scalded by the warmth coming through his hand, Mary let Aditya lead her forward in a daze.

Outside, the sky was completely dark, but the heat hadn't dissipated at all. Instead, the air had grown even more stifling. Cars lined the roadside, puddles covered the ground, and a bare-chested man shuffled past the front of a car in sandals.

The moment Mary stepped out of the airport, the Indian smell in the air nearly overwhelmed her. She hurriedly covered her mouth and nose with her right hand and began dry-heaving.

Helplessly, Aditya pulled her down into a crouch. It took a long while for Mary to recover. She wrapped the scarf tightly around her mouth and nose, covered it with her right hand, then stood up and signaled that she was ready.

Several taxi drivers had already set their sights on the pair. They crowded around, calling in Hindi, "Sir, sir! Take mine!"

Aditya picked the one who looked the most honest, stuffed the suitcase into the trunk, and got into the back seat with Mary.

As the car pulled away, a three-wheeler suddenly darted out from beside them. The taxi braked sharply, and the driver let out a curse.

Both of them pitched forward, giving Mary a fright.

Aditya took Mary's hand and said, "Relax. This is India."

Covering her mouth and nose, Mary really didn't have the strength to respond. She rolled up the window. The smell grew worse. She dry-heaved twice, then immediately rolled it back down.

"I regret this," Mary said bitterly.

"Too late for regrets. You're already in India." Aditya laughed.

Victoria Railway Station stood in the old city center, with ten times as many people as the airport. Aditya told Mary to wait at the entrance while he went to buy tickets.

Mary looked at the crowd around them, shook her head, and muttered, "I'm going with you."

Aditya glanced at her and held out his right hand. Mary took it with practiced ease and pressed close to him.

They squeezed their way through the crowd as though swimming through seawater. People packed the ticket windows, some barefoot, others carrying sacks on their heads.

Aditya cursed a path open in Hindi, with Mary following behind, their hands tightly clasped.

Aditya bought sleeper tickets, and the two struggled their way onto the platform.

As expected, the train to Varanasi was an hour late.

People were everywhere on the platform. Some lay on the ground, while others squatted and ate rice with their hands. A yellow dog sniffed its way through the crowd.

Mary stood without saying a word. She saw a barefoot man standing on the tracks, urinating beneath a train. She hurriedly turned her face away and looked at Aditya.

Aditya smiled. "Now you know what India's like."

Mary glared at him, then remembered she had sunglasses on. She gave a cold snort and said, "What an awful place."

"Haha, that's because you haven't been here long. Stay longer, and you'll fall in love with it."

"Impossible. I can't stand this dump. As soon as I've seen him, I'm leaving," Mary said huffily.

The train arrived, its engine belching black smoke. The crowd erupted and surged aboard.

Shielding Mary, Aditya pushed her aboard first, then shoved the luggage in. Mary was squeezed against the carriage wall, her hair coming loose.

She bit her lip and let Aditya maneuver her body.

Holding her in his arms, Aditya squeezed his way to their berths and teased, "You haven't cried yet. Not bad."

Mary raised her hands, clenched her fists, and thump, thump, thump, pounded Aditya.

The sleeper berths were narrow and hard. Mary took the upper berth, and Aditya the lower one.

The train started moving, and wind poured through the cracks around the windows. That uniquely Indian smell drifted through the carriage, like sweat, like coal, like a public toilet, and like jasmine at night.

Mary covered her mouth and nose with her blue scarf, leaving only her eyes exposed. She stared out the window, but it was pitch-black outside, with nothing to see.

Aditya lay spread-eagled on the lower berth. He heard Mary tossing and turning, like a little fish thrown into an unfamiliar tank and starved of oxygen.

"This Indian train journey is a rare experience for you. You'll definitely never forget it," Aditya said.

Mary gave a snort. "It's this lousy, and you're proud of it?"

Aditya found that hard to answer. He closed his eyes and said nothing more. After a while, he heard Mary murmuring a few words very quietly on the upper berth. It wasn't English, but Hebrew. It didn't sound like a prayer. Her tone sounded as though she was cursing someone.