under the door frame and almost stumbled ove r t he six-inch threshold in the doorway, built to deter snakes, or rather to contain them to the room they found themselves in. She felt that she was smiling even before he neared--it was the stranded stranger. Why had he come to their house? To see Papa? Sam put out his hand without hesitation, and Mila gave him hers in return, thinking that this Captain Hawthorne must be special indeed for Papa to allow him to intrude upon his coffee hour.
"How are you? Since my father forgot to introduce me, I must tell you that I am his daughter."
There was a long moment of silence, which stretched so far that Mila found it difficult to hold Sam's steady gaze upon her face. Then Sam cleared his throat and said, "I gathered as much." For someone who had expounded at great length upon the qualities of the rudraksha tree, he seemed to have given in to a paucity of language. His teeth flashed a startling white in his sun-browned face.
Their crow-heralded visitor, Mila thought suddenly, the one who would bring them ill luck. But how could Sam Hawthorne be that man?
"Captain Hawthorne will be staying with us, Mila," Raman said. "Will you see that a room is prepared for him?"
"Sam, please," Sam said. "I have already convinced your father to call me thus; perhaps you will give me the honor of doing so too?"
"Yes, of course," Mila said. "I am Mila. Well ..." She hesitated. "Not Mila exactly; I have other names, but everyone calls me Mila."
"Is this your father's doing?" he asked.
Raman roared with a delighted laughter, and slapped Sam on the arm before turning to go down the corridor to his room. "Yes, it is my doing, Sam. If I can meddle with my own name, I have no reason not to do so with my daughter's."
They watched him head away, and then Mila turned to Sam. "If you wouldn't mind stopping in the drawing room for a while, I will see that your room is made ready."
"I'm glad," he said hurriedly, and then paused to consider his words, "that you live here, in this house; we can now talk longer about Rudrakot and its history. I hope this is no inconvenience."
She shook her head. She had been curious about him, but now she wanted to leave, to go wipe her face and hands, to change into something else, something more becoming, a sari. Sam Hawthorne was not one of
Papa's usual strays. Raman had a delectable propensity for inviting strangers into their home, to stay, at times, as long as they wanted. He liked people, he enjoyed investigating their minds, he had the same curiosity Mila had. And the ICS, being a social and sociable service, afforded many opportunities for unlooked-for house guests. But Sam Hawthorne was already different. He was American, and that made him different. Not the first American she had met, but still different from all others. He was unsettling, with a gaze too intense, a demeanor too focused on what though? Why was he here, Mila wondered, but she would not ask him. She hoped that he would stay long with them. But she could not ask him that either, in case he understood the question to reflect their impatience to have him leave. Not done.
They both tarried in the corridor outside the drawing room, suddenly plagued with shyness, heedful of themselves and of each other, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it.
Sam lifted his right hand to gesticulate and begin a sentence, but Mila began to talk almost as he did and he stopped to listen, his eyes fixed upon her face.
"I hope you have a wonderful time here at Rudrakot, Captain Hawthorne," she said with a smile. "It is not often that we have American guests at our home. Ashok, my brother, he will be thrilled, and you must please not mind it if he asks you too many questions about your home."
"I won't," Sam replied. "It will be a pleasure for me. Bring on all of your brothers and I will be happy to talk with them. But can I repay your ... and your father's hospitality in some other way also?"
She laughed and rested
"How are you? Since my father forgot to introduce me, I must tell you that I am his daughter."
There was a long moment of silence, which stretched so far that Mila found it difficult to hold Sam's steady gaze upon her face. Then Sam cleared his throat and said, "I gathered as much." For someone who had expounded at great length upon the qualities of the rudraksha tree, he seemed to have given in to a paucity of language. His teeth flashed a startling white in his sun-browned face.
Their crow-heralded visitor, Mila thought suddenly, the one who would bring them ill luck. But how could Sam Hawthorne be that man?
"Captain Hawthorne will be staying with us, Mila," Raman said. "Will you see that a room is prepared for him?"
"Sam, please," Sam said. "I have already convinced your father to call me thus; perhaps you will give me the honor of doing so too?"
"Yes, of course," Mila said. "I am Mila. Well ..." She hesitated. "Not Mila exactly; I have other names, but everyone calls me Mila."
"Is this your father's doing?" he asked.
Raman roared with a delighted laughter, and slapped Sam on the arm before turning to go down the corridor to his room. "Yes, it is my doing, Sam. If I can meddle with my own name, I have no reason not to do so with my daughter's."
They watched him head away, and then Mila turned to Sam. "If you wouldn't mind stopping in the drawing room for a while, I will see that your room is made ready."
"I'm glad," he said hurriedly, and then paused to consider his words, "that you live here, in this house; we can now talk longer about Rudrakot and its history. I hope this is no inconvenience."
She shook her head. She had been curious about him, but now she wanted to leave, to go wipe her face and hands, to change into something else, something more becoming, a sari. Sam Hawthorne was not one of
Papa's usual strays. Raman had a delectable propensity for inviting strangers into their home, to stay, at times, as long as they wanted. He liked people, he enjoyed investigating their minds, he had the same curiosity Mila had. And the ICS, being a social and sociable service, afforded many opportunities for unlooked-for house guests. But Sam Hawthorne was already different. He was American, and that made him different. Not the first American she had met, but still different from all others. He was unsettling, with a gaze too intense, a demeanor too focused on what though? Why was he here, Mila wondered, but she would not ask him. She hoped that he would stay long with them. But she could not ask him that either, in case he understood the question to reflect their impatience to have him leave. Not done.
They both tarried in the corridor outside the drawing room, suddenly plagued with shyness, heedful of themselves and of each other, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it.
Sam lifted his right hand to gesticulate and begin a sentence, but Mila began to talk almost as he did and he stopped to listen, his eyes fixed upon her face.
"I hope you have a wonderful time here at Rudrakot, Captain Hawthorne," she said with a smile. "It is not often that we have American guests at our home. Ashok, my brother, he will be thrilled, and you must please not mind it if he asks you too many questions about your home."
"I won't," Sam replied. "It will be a pleasure for me. Bring on all of your brothers and I will be happy to talk with them. But can I repay your ... and your father's hospitality in some other way also?"
She laughed and rested
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