Waiting for the Monsoon by Threes Anna Page B

his arms straight in front of him, alongside his head, and his legs extended. The wind froze the echo, which seemed to last forever. Until the body dashed soundlessly against a rock, rebounding in silence into the depths, leaving behind a faint, red trail and coming to a stop hundreds of metres below.
    After a half-hour it had still not moved. Victor turned around and walked down the path.
    ~~~
    Victor looks from the naked man under the thin sheet to his daughter and says, “You’re getting married today.”
1947 Ganga Yamuna Express ~~~
    Dear Donald,
    I have wonderful news to report. I’m married! The fact that you’re only now hearing the news isn’t strange, since we didn’t have a party. We’ve only known each other for a short while, but Father thought it was better to get married right away. My husband’s name is Peter Harris. He’s a surgeon and he also fought in the war. It’s lovely to be back here, although I’m still not used to the heat. It’s a shame we couldn’t see each other before I left. I had hoped so much that we could meet, but the man I talked to on the telephone said that the road to your school had been washed away. Didn’t that mean a lot of inconvenience? Now that you’re twelve, do you get to transfer to a smaller dorm, like I did back then? Or don’t they have them where you are? Right now I’m sitting in a first-class train carriage. It’s a real luxury, and servants come by to ask if there’s anything you want. I had quite forgotten what it was like to have servants around all the time. At my school we had to make our own beds. Do you have to do that where you are? Shall I ask Father if you can come to India this summer? Maybe we could pay for the trip. I’ll talk it over with Peter. Could you have a photo of yourself taken? All I have is that photo back when you were really young. I want to show Peter who my brother is, although I don’t really know either, since it’s been so many years since I last saw you. Father hasn’t changed at all, except that he’s a bit older and has more stripes on his uniform, but he’s still wearing the same boots. Peter and I are going to live in New Delhi, since that’s where he works, in a hospital. I’ve never been to Delhi, but it’s supposed to be a really beautiful city. It’s not easy to write when the train’s rocking back and forth, so I’ll close now.
    Bye-bye,
    Your sister Charlotte
1995 Rampur ~~~
    A PICKUP TRUCK was heading up the driveway. There was a table in the bed of the truck that looked exactly like the one Charlotte had sold four months earlier. She didn’t recognize the man at the wheel, and waited in the salon for Hema to come and tell her who he was. The truck stopped near the entrance to the kitchen; the driver hopped out and went inside. He re-emerged about ten minutes later, together with Hema. He lifted the table out of the truck, leaned it against the outside wall, and drove off. Hema went back into the kitchen. Charlotte picked up the phone and called him. She was not used to things happening without her knowledge.
    â€œWho was that?” she asked Hema when he walked in.
    â€œMr. Sukumar. With a table.”
    â€œI didn’t order a table.”
    â€œYou didn’t, memsahib?”
    â€œNo. Why should I buy a table if we don’t need one?”
    â€œHe said, ‘Table for memsahib.’ I thought it was okay.”
    â€œWell, it’s not.”
    The phone rang and Hema answered it. “Mrs. Nair,” he said with his hand over the receiver.
    Charlotte sighed and took the receiver.
    â€œHas it arrived?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe table.”
    â€œOh, did the table come from you?”
    â€œNo, it’s not mine. I borrowed it from the wife of the chief of police. She has generously offered to lend it to you temporarily.”
    â€œI don’t need a