there.
His mother had often asked him to massage her feet, her back, her neck, but he’d refused.
Too tired
,
Mom
, he’d said, but the truth was that he hadn’t wanted to touch her like that, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t believe that he used to nestle against her, feel her heart beating against his spine as she read to him, there in her sheltering arms.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t lain close to her the last time she’d asked – their last night together in that terrible guest house on the edge of the desert.
Chapter 10
The boy was doing it all wrong, silly little
chut
, and while the sight of him delighted her, his hands were causing pain.
Have you never massaged a woman’s feet before
, she asked him,
not even your mother’s?
At the mention of his mother, the boy’s face darkened and Auntie felt even more pressure on her big toe, just too much now.
‘Holy Ganesh, Shiva and Hanuman! What are you doing, boy? Trying to rip my bloody toe off?’
Eli stopped massaging and dropped his hands to his sides, grazing the folds of the chocolate pathan suit. Much better than that bloody black American clothing of his. Golden hair flashing around his shoulders, bottomless blue eyes, mouth like a new rose, body flowing out to its limbs, finding its angles. Hands certainly strong enough to give a woman pleasure. She loved looking at him but was growing more and more furious that he didn’t respond to her. Not in the way she wanted. Not in the way men had throughout most of her life. He stood there expressionless, an insipid mask on his face, so still. Waiting. Staring. Outstaring her.
‘You stupid
chut
, must we call Anand to show you how it is done? It seems we must. Anand! Anand!’ She narrowed her eyes and peered up from the purple silk sofa at Eli, still at her feet. ‘Another sorry case if ever there was one.’
Anand wasn’t responding either. Probably somewhere off drinking those hash-laden lassis or smoking the stuff.
No mainlining
,
Anand
, she’d told him,
no heroin. We need you half-straight to deal with the girls and all the other rubbish around here
…
Thanks be to god, the boy was doing it better now, finding the pressure points to both charge and calm the rest of the body. She could almost relax, drift off. With her eyes barely open she could see his outline, looming at the end of her, hands working with purpose.
What would she do with him, ultimately? The Singh brothers, kingpins in the shipments from Nepal, had tried to make up for a blunder, a big screw-up. Several months ago they’d lost seven girls destined for herkotha at the border, been intercepted by some crusading woman and her posse from Kathmandu whose mission in life was to save girls, and for what? For working themselves to death in the fields, often starving; for marrying men their parents chose for them; for never learning anything, never reading a book or listening to Mozart or anything that made life a little more dignified and tolerable. The handlers had got away, but the girls were gone. Well, thanks god she hadn’t paid for them, strictly COD she was, and of course the girls knew nothing about where they were headed. But she’d needed new stock; though some had their favourites, most of the clients got tired of the same old girls. You could teach them only so much, new ways to entertain the customers.
She’d threatened the Singh brothers with cutting them off as suppliers, but it was an idle threat; besides, there were countless other markets. To placate her they had delivered this boy, Eli, ‘something different on the menu’, they had told her, but she’d decided to keep him for herself. He’d be too easy to identify, to retrieve if people knew about him, if he were one of the client options. So she’d keep him mostly in the shadows, letting him out of his room to take photos, visit and give massages, and sometimes for tea and a chat with the girls. But mostly he’d stay under lock and key, till she could
His mother had often asked him to massage her feet, her back, her neck, but he’d refused.
Too tired
,
Mom
, he’d said, but the truth was that he hadn’t wanted to touch her like that, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t believe that he used to nestle against her, feel her heart beating against his spine as she read to him, there in her sheltering arms.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t lain close to her the last time she’d asked – their last night together in that terrible guest house on the edge of the desert.
Chapter 10
The boy was doing it all wrong, silly little
chut
, and while the sight of him delighted her, his hands were causing pain.
Have you never massaged a woman’s feet before
, she asked him,
not even your mother’s?
At the mention of his mother, the boy’s face darkened and Auntie felt even more pressure on her big toe, just too much now.
‘Holy Ganesh, Shiva and Hanuman! What are you doing, boy? Trying to rip my bloody toe off?’
Eli stopped massaging and dropped his hands to his sides, grazing the folds of the chocolate pathan suit. Much better than that bloody black American clothing of his. Golden hair flashing around his shoulders, bottomless blue eyes, mouth like a new rose, body flowing out to its limbs, finding its angles. Hands certainly strong enough to give a woman pleasure. She loved looking at him but was growing more and more furious that he didn’t respond to her. Not in the way she wanted. Not in the way men had throughout most of her life. He stood there expressionless, an insipid mask on his face, so still. Waiting. Staring. Outstaring her.
‘You stupid
chut
, must we call Anand to show you how it is done? It seems we must. Anand! Anand!’ She narrowed her eyes and peered up from the purple silk sofa at Eli, still at her feet. ‘Another sorry case if ever there was one.’
Anand wasn’t responding either. Probably somewhere off drinking those hash-laden lassis or smoking the stuff.
No mainlining
,
Anand
, she’d told him,
no heroin. We need you half-straight to deal with the girls and all the other rubbish around here
…
Thanks be to god, the boy was doing it better now, finding the pressure points to both charge and calm the rest of the body. She could almost relax, drift off. With her eyes barely open she could see his outline, looming at the end of her, hands working with purpose.
What would she do with him, ultimately? The Singh brothers, kingpins in the shipments from Nepal, had tried to make up for a blunder, a big screw-up. Several months ago they’d lost seven girls destined for herkotha at the border, been intercepted by some crusading woman and her posse from Kathmandu whose mission in life was to save girls, and for what? For working themselves to death in the fields, often starving; for marrying men their parents chose for them; for never learning anything, never reading a book or listening to Mozart or anything that made life a little more dignified and tolerable. The handlers had got away, but the girls were gone. Well, thanks god she hadn’t paid for them, strictly COD she was, and of course the girls knew nothing about where they were headed. But she’d needed new stock; though some had their favourites, most of the clients got tired of the same old girls. You could teach them only so much, new ways to entertain the customers.
She’d threatened the Singh brothers with cutting them off as suppliers, but it was an idle threat; besides, there were countless other markets. To placate her they had delivered this boy, Eli, ‘something different on the menu’, they had told her, but she’d decided to keep him for herself. He’d be too easy to identify, to retrieve if people knew about him, if he were one of the client options. So she’d keep him mostly in the shadows, letting him out of his room to take photos, visit and give massages, and sometimes for tea and a chat with the girls. But mostly he’d stay under lock and key, till she could
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