Attar and Pravi as she described how they had both been tossed into the icy Black River while whitewater rafting on their honeymoon, and how she had talked him into climbing onstage to sing along with the Tragically Hip at a concert in Hamilton, adding in the appropriate “my crazy wife” shrugs and smiles.
Jason looked back at Rachel. Her mouth was just visible under the bill of her cap, her hands balled up under her chin. Even asleep and half hidden, Jason found himself drawn to her and he wondered what their wedding night had been like.
“She can sleep anywhere,” Jason said, turning back to watch for traffic coming down the wrong side of the road. “So how did you know Sriram?”
“Five years ago. We were in university together down in Bangalore earning our masters degrees, learning to make magic, as Sriram used to say. After uni we were together in a business venture, Sriram and I and a few others from our class. Bangalore Worldwide Systems, L.C.C.”
“Yeah, I remember hearing something about it,” Jason said, thinking about his memorial service conversation with Ravi. “But didn’t he leave just as you were about to make it big?”
Attar laughed, his head bobbing. “Oh, I do not think we would have ever made it big. There was a great deal of immaturity and hotheadedness in that group. But yes, Sriram disappeared one day and we learned that he had taken a job in America.”
“At Raj-Tech. So you knew Ravi Murty, too.”
“We were in several of the same labs. He was a few years ahead of me, a bit aloof but he could be fun. He was more of Sriram’s friend, his mentor, really. Still, it was quite a surprise when Sriram decided to go to work for him. But we were happy for Sriram. At first anyway.”
Jason looked over at Attar and waited for the explanation Ravi had warned him he would hear.
“He had not been gone a week when a computer virus wiped out all the files at BWS. Our backup files as well, most unusual. When the virus showed up on our home computers we knew that something was going on. Sriram of course denied everything and for several months we were willing to accept that it was just an unfortunate accident, the cost of doing business in the Information Age. But then we heard that some of BWS’s innovations were turning up in Raj-Tech’s programs….” He let the sentence trail off, its meaning clear.
A clump of flat-roofed houses appeared on the right. Jason could see a dozen women, all in bright saris, filling water jugs at a communal tap, then hoisting the full containers on to their heads for the walk back home. A cow strolled down the center of the road, withered and bony with a narrow hump on its shoulder that flopped to one side like a jaunty beret. Attar gave the sacred animal a polite beep and sped past while Jason sat thinking about how little he knew his dead friend.
“I was quite angry with Sriram.” Attar tapped his horn, harder this time. The traffic—animal and vehicle—picked up, and the beeping became more consistent. “Whether our ideas were any good or not makes no difference whatsoever. And it is not just the money I had invested in BWS that he robbed me of. No, it was the intellectual spirit, my creativity, which he stole. I felt violated, raped in a way that only would make sense to another program designer,” Attar said, his words rushing together as he spoke. “That work was my world—my religion —and he reached in and snatched it away.”
Jason shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes fixed on the truck in front of them, waiting for Attar to break the silence. After downshifting and darting into the wrong lane till he was well past the speeding truck, Attar’s breathing slowed. “But you can not live in the past,” he said, his voice now serene. “According to Krishnamurti, without freedom from the past there is no freedom at all.”
Jason nodded, wondering who or what a Krishnamurti was. “The old forgive and forget, huh?”
Attar thought for a
Jason looked back at Rachel. Her mouth was just visible under the bill of her cap, her hands balled up under her chin. Even asleep and half hidden, Jason found himself drawn to her and he wondered what their wedding night had been like.
“She can sleep anywhere,” Jason said, turning back to watch for traffic coming down the wrong side of the road. “So how did you know Sriram?”
“Five years ago. We were in university together down in Bangalore earning our masters degrees, learning to make magic, as Sriram used to say. After uni we were together in a business venture, Sriram and I and a few others from our class. Bangalore Worldwide Systems, L.C.C.”
“Yeah, I remember hearing something about it,” Jason said, thinking about his memorial service conversation with Ravi. “But didn’t he leave just as you were about to make it big?”
Attar laughed, his head bobbing. “Oh, I do not think we would have ever made it big. There was a great deal of immaturity and hotheadedness in that group. But yes, Sriram disappeared one day and we learned that he had taken a job in America.”
“At Raj-Tech. So you knew Ravi Murty, too.”
“We were in several of the same labs. He was a few years ahead of me, a bit aloof but he could be fun. He was more of Sriram’s friend, his mentor, really. Still, it was quite a surprise when Sriram decided to go to work for him. But we were happy for Sriram. At first anyway.”
Jason looked over at Attar and waited for the explanation Ravi had warned him he would hear.
“He had not been gone a week when a computer virus wiped out all the files at BWS. Our backup files as well, most unusual. When the virus showed up on our home computers we knew that something was going on. Sriram of course denied everything and for several months we were willing to accept that it was just an unfortunate accident, the cost of doing business in the Information Age. But then we heard that some of BWS’s innovations were turning up in Raj-Tech’s programs….” He let the sentence trail off, its meaning clear.
A clump of flat-roofed houses appeared on the right. Jason could see a dozen women, all in bright saris, filling water jugs at a communal tap, then hoisting the full containers on to their heads for the walk back home. A cow strolled down the center of the road, withered and bony with a narrow hump on its shoulder that flopped to one side like a jaunty beret. Attar gave the sacred animal a polite beep and sped past while Jason sat thinking about how little he knew his dead friend.
“I was quite angry with Sriram.” Attar tapped his horn, harder this time. The traffic—animal and vehicle—picked up, and the beeping became more consistent. “Whether our ideas were any good or not makes no difference whatsoever. And it is not just the money I had invested in BWS that he robbed me of. No, it was the intellectual spirit, my creativity, which he stole. I felt violated, raped in a way that only would make sense to another program designer,” Attar said, his words rushing together as he spoke. “That work was my world—my religion —and he reached in and snatched it away.”
Jason shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes fixed on the truck in front of them, waiting for Attar to break the silence. After downshifting and darting into the wrong lane till he was well past the speeding truck, Attar’s breathing slowed. “But you can not live in the past,” he said, his voice now serene. “According to Krishnamurti, without freedom from the past there is no freedom at all.”
Jason nodded, wondering who or what a Krishnamurti was. “The old forgive and forget, huh?”
Attar thought for a
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