A night in Mumbai

The car rounded the bend along the bay. A few small boats lay far out on the Arabian Sea, their lights already lit.

Mary leaned back in her seat and stopped humming. The sea breeze lifted the hair over her forehead, then let it fall naturally back into place.

Aditya did not drive too fast. The Mercedes glided steadily along the coastal road.

Once they turned onto the road up Malabar Hill, the sounds of the city slowly faded. Old houses lined both sides of the slope, with high walls and layers of tree shadows.

The streetlights alternated between white and yellow, illuminating the ground in a wet sheen, as though it had been sprinkled with water.

Following the address Kulkarni had given him, Aditya drove into a quiet, short lane. Several detached villas nearby each occupied their own plot, their iron railings gleaming black under the lights. Several cars were parked at the end of the lane, and quite a few motorcycles stood beside the trees.

Aditya stopped in front of a villa with white outer walls. Its iron gate was low, and a brass lamp hung on a gatepost.

"We're here," he said.

"Ah!" Mary thrust out her jade peaks and let out a long moan.

"Pervert." Before Aditya could take a proper look, Mary opened the car door and stepped out.

They had just gotten out and reached the gate when the villa's front door opened.

A Muslim woman in her fifties stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark sari, her hair wrapped tightly in a headscarf.

She hurried out, stopped beside the steps, and pressed her palms together in greeting.

"Miss, sir, you're here. I'm Nagina. Mr. Kulkarni has already called. The rooms are all ready, and dinner is almost done."

Having finished speaking, the maid stepped aside to let them through.

Aditya murmured an acknowledgment and picked up the luggage. Mary followed him, with Nagina bringing up the rear and quietly closing the door.

Inside the villa, the living room was spacious, its polished marble floor so clean that it shone white. They seemed to feel wisps of coolness the moment they entered.

A dark teak coffee table stood in the center, with a brass candlestick on it.

A nautical chart and a photograph of a ship hung on the wall. Those were the only two pictures.

"I'll go cook," Nagina said, then withdrew to the kitchen.

Mary stood in the middle of the living room and slowly looked around, her fingers resting unconsciously on the leather sofa.

"This isn't the home I visited when I was six," she said.

"Your father must have moved later," Aditya said. "You can see the sea from here."

He pointed toward the far end of the living room, where a glass door led onto a terrace. The door was open, and the sea breeze blew in, setting the white gauze curtains fluttering.

Mary walked over, and Aditya followed.

The terrace was spacious, paved with white tiles. A wicker chair and a small round table stood near the edge.

The terrace's wooden railing was low and painted white. Beyond it lay the sea.

The sea had already darkened, and the last light of dusk slowly sank beneath it, leaving only Prongs Lighthouse at the distant harbor, its yellow and white lights shining in a bright expanse.

Mary walked up to the railing and rested both hands on it. She said nothing, simply gazing out. The sea breeze blew all her hair into disarray, but she paid it no mind.

Aditya stood beside her without speaking either. They stood side by side, looking out at the sea, neither looking at the other.

After a long while, Mary said softly, "When I was six, the last time Father took me to see the sea, I think we were looking in this direction too."

"He said the boats would turn their lights on once it got dark. I asked him why boats needed lights. He said he was afraid I wouldn't be able to find him."

The wind blew toward them, and her voice seemed to be broken off for a moment by the sea breeze.

"The lights are still shining now. Your father will be watching over you from heaven too," Aditya said.

Mary did not answer. Her shoulders gave a slight shudder, as though from the sea breeze.

"I always used to feel like I was the one who'd been sent away," she said softly. "Now that I'm back, I realize he could see these lights every day. He was the one who'd been sent away."

"Yes! He couldn't leave. You were his hope," Aditya said with a sigh. "With the Indian government watching him, he couldn't go anywhere."

Mary did not sob aloud. Her eyes merely grew wet again, and she sniffed, brushing away the hair the wind had blown against her mouth.

The sea breeze came in gusts, and they could faintly hear seagulls calling in the distance.

Nagina came out of the house and stood beside the glass door, calling very softly, "Miss, sir, dinner is ready."

Mary remained where she was. Aditya turned first, took two steps, then looked back and called, "Let's eat first. You can look afterward. I'll keep you company then. The sea isn't going to run away."

Mary stood with her back to him. After two or three seconds, she burst out laughing. "Honestly, you."

"Hmm?" Aditya was puzzled.

"You really don't know what to say. You don't know how to comfort anyone at all."

Aditya smiled. "I only know how to tell the truth, and nothing fills your stomach like the truth. You might not be hungry, but I am."

Mary turned around. The sadness had vanished from her face, though the tip of her nose was still red.

"Let's go," she said.

They went into the living room one after the other. Nagina had already set dinner on the table.

Coconut rice, shrimp curry, two steaming flatbreads, and a small plate of pickles-a feast of color, aroma, and flavor.

Aditya and Mary sat down facing each other. Nagina poured each of them a glass of water, then withdrew.

Only the soft clinks of bowls and spoons against plates remained in the dining room.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Mary said suddenly.

"You just go to the company," Aditya said, still eating. "I'll go to the port authority. Spend tomorrow at the company and meet the employees and workers."

"Then take Ghulam with you. He's an accountant. He knows a lot."

"No need. I'll take Kulkarni," Aditya said. "You don't understand. Indian officials aren't afraid of anything. When you're meeting them, a lawyer is more useful than an accountant."

Mary thought for a moment and did not argue further.

"Then be careful tomorrow," she said.

Aditya murmured an acknowledgment, bit off a mouthful of flatbread, and chewed it with curry, mumbling, "Don't worry. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's reasoning with unreasonable people."

Mary could not help smiling, then lowered her head and continued eating.

Outside the window, the sea breeze poured in gust after gust, and the lights of the distant harbor still shone.