The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

'Impossible!' His face still wore a bewildered expression. 'I'm the only one who...'

'Who what?'

'Who has an egg.'

Kolabati reeled. 'You have it with you?'

'Of course. Where could it be safer?'

'In Bengal!'

Kusum shook his head. He appeared to be regaining some of his composure. 'No. I feel better when I know exactly where it is at all times.'

'You had it with you when you were with the London Embassy too?'

'Of course.'

'What if it had been stolen?'

He smiled. 'Who would even know what it was?'

With an effort, Kolabati mastered her confusion. 'I want to see it. Right now.'

'Certainly. '

He led her into his bedroom and pulled a small wooden crate from a corner of the closet. He lifted the lid, pushed the excelsior aside, and there it was. Kolabati recognized the egg. She knew every blue mottle on its gray surface, knew the texture of its cool, slippery surface like her own skin. She brushed her fingertips over the shell. Yes, this was it: a female rakosh egg.

Feeling weak, Kolabati backed away and sat on the bed.

'Kusum, do you know what this means? Someone has a nest of rakoshi here in New York!'

'Nonsense! This is the very last rakosh egg. It could be hatched, but without a male to fertilize the female, there could be no nest.'

'Kusum, I know there was a rakosh there!'

'Did you see it? Was it male or female?'

'I didn't actually see it—'

'Then how can you say there are rakoshi in New York?'

'The odor!' Kolabati felt her own anger rise. 'Don't you think I know the odor?'

Kusum's face had resolved itself into its usual mask. 'You should. But perhaps you have forgotten, just as you have forgotten so many other things about our heritage.'

'Don't change the subject.'

'The subject is closed as far as I'm concerned.'

Kolabati rose and faced her brother. 'Swear to me, Kusum. Swear that you had nothing to do with that rakoshi last night.'

'On the grave of our mother and father,' he said, looking her squarely in the eyes, 'I swear that I did not send a rakosh after our friend Jack. There are people in this world I wish ill, but he is not one of them.'

Kolabati had to believe him. His tone was sincere, and she knew of no more solemn oath for Kusum than the one he had just spoken.

And there, intact on its bed of excelsior, sat the egg.

As Kusum knelt to pack it away, he said, 'Besides, if a rakosh were truly after Jack, his life wouldn't be worth a paisa. I assume he is alive and well?'

'Yes, he's well. I protected him.'

Kusum's head snapped toward her. Hurt and anger raced across his features. He understood exactly what she meant.

'Please leave me,' he said in a low voice as he faced away and lowered his head. 'You disgust me.'

Kolabati spun and left the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Would she never be free of this man? She was sick of Kusum. Sick of his self-righteousness, his inflexibility, his monomania. No matter how good she felt—and she felt good about Jack—he could always manage to make her feel dirty. They both had plenty to feel guilty about, but Kusum had become obsessed with atoning for past transgressions and cleansing his karma. Not just his own karma, but hers as well. She’d thought leaving India—to Europe first, then to America—would sever their relationship. But no. After years of no contact, he’d arrived on these same shores.

She had to face it: She would never escape him. For they were bound by more than blood—the necklaces they wore linked them with a bond that went beyond time, beyond reason, even beyond karma.

But there had to be a way out for her, a way to free herself from Kusum' s endless attempts to dominate her.

Kolabati went to the window and looked out across the green expanse of Central Park. Jack was over there on the other side. Perhaps he was the answer. Perhaps he could free her.

She reached for the phone.

6

'Even the moon's frightened of me—