change his clothes. But he’d never appeared.
'Mrs. Bahkti?' It was the doorman's voice.
'Yes?' She didn't bother to correct him about the 'Mrs.'
'Sorry to bother you, but there's a man down here says he has to see you.' His voice sank to a confidential tone. 'He doesn't look right, but he's really been bugging me.'
'What's his name?'
'Jack. That's all he'll tell me.'
A rush of warmth spread over her skin. But would it be wise to allow him to come up? If Kusum returned and found the two of them together in his apartment...
Yet she sensed that Jack would not show up without calling first unless it was something important.
'Send him up.'
She waited impatiently until she heard the elevator open, then went to the door. When she saw Jack's black knee socks, sandals, and shorts, she broke into a laugh. No wonder the doorman wouldn't let him up.
Then she saw his face.
'Jack! What's wrong?'
He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His face was pale beneath a red patina of sunburn, his lips drawn into a tight line, his eyes wild.
'I followed Kusum today...'
He paused, as if waiting for her to react. She knew from his expression that he must have found what she’d suspected all along, but she had to hear it from his lips. Hiding the dread of what she knew Jack would say, she set her face into an impassive mask.
'And?'
'You really don't know, do you?'
'Know what, Jack?' She watched him run a hand through his hair and noticed that his palms were dirty and bloody. 'What happened to your hands?'
He didn't answer. Instead he walked past her and stepped down into the living room. He sat on the couch. Without looking at her, he began to speak in a dull monotone.
'I followed Kusum from the UN to this boat on the West Side—a big boat, a freighter. I saw him in one of the cargo holds leading some sort of ceremony with these'...his face twisted with the memory...'these things. They were holding up pieces of raw flesh. I think it was human flesh. And I think I know whose.'
Strength flowed out of Kolabati like water down a drain. She leaned against the foyer wall to steady herself.
It was true! Rakoshi in America! And Kusum behind them—resurrecting old dead rites that should have been left dead. But how? The egg was in the other room!
'I thought you might know something about it,' Jack was saying. 'After all, Kusum is your brother and I figured—'
She barely heard him.
The egg...
She pushed herself away from the wall and started toward Kusum's bedroom.
'What's the matter?' Jack said, finally looking up at her. 'Where are you going?'
Kolabati didn't reply. She had to see the egg again. How could there be rakoshi without using the egg…the last surviving egg? And that alone would not be enough to produce a nest—a male rakosh was needed.
It simply couldn't be!
She opened the closet in Kusum's room and pulled out the square crate. It was so light. Was the egg gone? She pulled the top up. No...still there, still intact. But she remembered that egg weighing at least ten pounds...
She reached into the box, placed a hand on each side, and lifted it. It almost leaped into the air. It weighed next to nothing! And on its underside her fingers felt a jagged edge.
Kolabati turned the egg over. A ragged opening gaped at her. Bright smears showed where cracks on the underside had been repaired with glue.
The room reeled and spun about her.
The rakosh egg was empty! It had hatched long ago!
5
Jack heard Kolabati cry out in the other room. Not a cry of fear or pain—more like a wail of despair. He found her kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, rocking back and forth, cradling a mottled, football-sized object in her arms. Tears streamed down her face.
'What happened?'
'It's empty!' she said through a sob.
'What was in it?' Jack had seen an ostrich egg once, but that had been white; this was about the same size but its shell was swirled with gray.
'A female rakosh.'
