LIGHTSPEED Presents：'Bhatia、PI' by Shiv Ramdas
io9は、LIGHTSPEEDMAGAZINEのフィクションを発表できることを誇りに思います。月に一度、LIGHTSPEEDの最新号のストーリーを特集しています。今月のセレクションは、シブ・ラムダスの「Bhatia、PI」です。以下のストーリーを読むか、当社のWebサイトでポッドキャストを聞くことができます。楽しみ！
寒い10月の夕方の7時前の数分です。階段を急いでいる足音が聞こえたとき、私はちょうどオールドモンクとビッグスリープの私のよく考えられたコピーのために私の机の一番下の引き出しに手を伸ばしています。新しいケースは、する必要があります。私はため息をつき、引き出しに後悔した表情を見せて、再びそれを閉じます。ノックを待って座っています。それは決して来ない。代わりに、ドアが開き、壁にぶつかり、石膏チップがいたるところに飛んでいきます。それから私は彼女が戸口に立っているのを見る。
あなたはそれらを見ることによってクライアントについて多くを語ることができます。彼らがどのように歩き、話し、服を着せるか、それはすべてあなたに何かを教えてくれます。あなたが請求できる金額のように。私の敷居にいる女性は銀髪で背が低い。典型的なウェストデリーのおばさんは、息子が野菜の買い物に行くときに運転手を演じるために仕事を辞め、その後1時間かけてエンドウ豆の1ルピーの割引を交渉することを要求する種類の叔母です。どういうわけか彼女は私の秘書を通り過ぎました。後でSandhyaと一言話すように心に留めておきます。私の戸口にいる女性に戻ると、彼女はパステルピンクのサルワールカミーズ、フェイクゴールドのイヤリング、そして醜い眉をひそめています。私がよく知っているような見た目です。彼女のカミーズのバッジは彼女の名前を綴っています。
私は立ち上がる。"夫人。バティア、私は推測します。」
「あなたは推測しますか？私はあなたのお母さんです、あなたは何の役にも立ちません！もう仕事に応募しましたか？」
「でもマ、これが私の仕事です！」
「いいえ、そうではありません、ゾラワール！仕事は支払う。お金で。約束や愚かな広告ポスターではありません。「小さすぎるケースはありません」と思われます。なんて決まり文句だ。意味をなさないばかげた名刺にお金を払うのと同じくらい愚かです。」
「彼らが私のカードを誤って印刷したのは私のせいではありません！とにかく使っていますね」
「あなたのほうがいい。私はあなたが新しいものを印刷するためにお金を払っていません。仕事に応募しましたか？週末までに家賃を払わなければ、別の宿泊先を探すことができますよね？」
「はい、マ。」
「こんなにたくさんのお金でこのアパートを借りることができたのに！」
"フラット？バスルームのないワンルームスタジオです。」
彼女は私を睨みつけます。「それは素晴らしい場所です！」
「ビカスプリで？」
「まあ、それは素晴らしい眺めを持っています。人々は見るために多額のお金を払っています。」
「ウィンドウが1つあります。それは食肉処理場を見落としています。」
「マザーデイリーのSureshは、月に5000ルピーをくれる人を知っていると言いました。あなたが週末までに少なくともそれほど私に与えないのなら、私は彼にそれを手に入れることができると言っています。はっきりしていますか？」
「はい、マ。」
"良い。私はあなたが私立探偵かここにいるものなら何でもふりをしているのに十分な数を持っています。」
私はまっすぐに座って、うまくいけば寒くて傷ついた表情で彼女を直します。Curt。
「私は何度もあなたに話しました、私は私立探偵ではありません、まあ、私は超常現象の捜査官です。バティア、PI。」
「あなたは私の裏側の痛みですあなたが何であるかです。異常なようです。異常です、もっと好きです。」
彼女は自分の機知に満足して、しゃがみ込んだ。「異常より悪い。あなたが何と失望したか。そのような大きな期待を持って、あなたの愛する父と私はあなたをゾラワールと呼びました。あなたも歴史からその将軍のような素晴らしいことをするだろうと思っていました。代わりにあなたはあなたの名前を完全に無駄にしました。
「マさんに言っておきますが、言葉が出れば、私のサービスは需要があります。それは次の大きなものになるでしょう。私は業界のパイオニアになります。」
「ああ、なんて素晴らしいパイオニアだ。その後、他の場所を探索してください。そして、なぜSandhyaはここにいるのですか？私は彼女に料理をしてもらうためにお金を払っています。あなたと遊んでいる時間を無駄にしないでください。」
「彼女はすでにその日の料理を終えています。そして彼女は私の秘書です。」
"秘書？彼女にお金を払うことさえありますか？」
「実際のところ、私はそうします。彼女は会社の対等なパートナーです。全収益の50パーセント。」
「それで、何も？」
“Well, actually, what happened was—”
“For the past three months you’ve been squatting here pretending to be some hotshot detective, but enough is enough. Have you even had one person hire your services?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Other than that fellow who came here by accident thinking you were a real estate agent?”
I look coldly at her. “I’ll get you your rent by the end of the week.”
“5000 rupees.”
“I’m not paying 5000 for this. 3000.”
“3500.”
“Are you a mother or a slum lord?”
“Are you a son or a cabbage?”
We stare at each other for a long minute. Finally, I nod, eyes suitably lowered. She’s got me.
“Fine, 3500.”
She emits a satisfied grunt. Or maybe it’s a snarl, it’s hard to tell the difference when your mind is consumed with financial worries. She turns to leave, then stops. “Oh, and throw away that stupid detective novel. That’s what’s putting all this kachra in your head.”
I draw myself up very straight, mustering what dignity I have left. “I’m not discussing my taste in literature with you,” I say. “You’ll have your rent by Sunday.”
She looks hard at me for a moment. “Sunday, Zorawar.”
And with that, finally, mercifully, she’s gone, although I can hear her yelling at Sandhya downstairs about not encouraging foolishness.
I walk over to the door and slam it. It swings back open. I slam it again. It opens once more. Now I see that a hinge is busted—it won’t close, like it’s mocking me too.
I disregard the insubordinate door and go back to my desk. I reach into the drawer, grabbing the Old Monk and a glass. I pour myself a peg, knock it back, feeling the welcome burn of cheap rum. With a glance at the door in case she’s returned, I defiantly reach for my copy of The Big Sleep. Then I pour another peg.
I’m raising the glass to my lips when I hear the knock and see Sandhya poking her head in, her thick black hair oiled and pulled neatly back into a plait, a pair of bright inquisitive eyes looking at me from above a mouth which as always, has the hint of a smile about it, as though its wearer is perpetually on the verge of amusement. I beckon her in; she doesn’t move.
I turn back to look glumly at my drink. “You heard all that? This is it, Sandhu. We’re pretty much fu—”
“Yes, I know we’re full up, sir.”
“Full? Full of sadness, that’s what. No, what I meant to say was we’re fu—”
She clears her throat loudly, interrupting me again.
“We can discuss scheduling later, Mister Bhatia.”
Something’s off. Emphasis apart, she never calls me mister. I turn to her again, and as I do, she steps back to give me a good look at the man standing behind her.
“We have a new client, sir.”
It takes all my self-control not to rush over and give her a high-five.
“Ah, yes, of course,” I stammer, quickly propping the book against my glass, hopefully obscuring it from view.
Sandhya leads the man in. He’s tall, slim, fifty-something, with a worried face only partially hidden by his neat goatee. He’s wearing an impeccable hand-tailored suit. Hand-tailored, mind you, and I don’t mean by one of those masterjis with the portable sewing machines down by the Metro station either. As he strides forward, snakeskin shoes leaving a trail of footprints on the dusty floor, he glances at a gold watch. Definitely not from Vikaspuri.
“Have a seat,” I say in what is hopefully a casual tone, waving a hand at the plastic garden chair on the other side of the desk.
He looks at it distastefully. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Of course, of course.”
“You are Mr. Bhatia, I take it?”
“Yes, yes, the one and only. Well, not only, I was reading an article in the Times of India today that says Bhatia is the third most common surname in Delhi, but I’m the only one here.”
I chuckle. He doesn’t. This isn’t going as well as I’d planned.
“Here, have my card,” I say, handing him one. He looks at it, his forehead scrunching up like spinach wilting in a tawa.
“Isn’t there just one N in the word investigator?”
“A misprint,” I say hastily. “Never mind, you can just keep the card. And what can I do for you today, Mr—?”
“Duggal. Amit Duggal. And I’m not sure if I’m actually in the right place-”
Thankfully, Sandhya takes charge. “Of course you are, Mr. Duggal. Now don’t be shy. If you came all the way here, it’s because you have a problem, and a serious one. As paranormal investigators, we’re the last resort, and our clients know this. As do you, Mr. Duggal. How did you hear about us anyway?”
“I saw a poster. No case too small, it said.”
I file away a triumphant glare to throw at Ma later. Meanwhile, Sandhya’s still talking to him. “. . . and I can promise you, if anyone can aid you, it’s Mr. Bhatia here. It’s what he’s best at, helping people.”
She’s even said it with a straight face. What a marvel this woman is. And she isn’t done yet.
“But we can’t help you if you won’t let us, can we, Mr. Duggal? Now, just stand over here, like so, and I’m going to sit here, and write down everything you tell Mr. Bhatia, OK? Don’t worry, everything you say is strictly confidential.”
The man sighs and wipes his forehead with a fancy lace handkerchief. I glance at Sandhya, who gestures towards Mr. Duggal with her eyes.
“Yes, tell me,” I say.
He sighs again. “It’s my son.”
“Yes, what about him?”
He shakes his head. “It started about two weeks ago. And it’s been getting worse ever since. My wife is beside herself with grief.”
“What’s getting worse?” I ask.
He wipes his brow again. He’s actually sweating, I realise. In October. He leans down over the desk, eyes locked on mine. When he speaks he’s whispering so softly I can barely hear him.
“Mr. Bhatia, do you have any experience dealing with possession cases?”
I wave a nonchalant hand. “Oh yes, many times. The trick is to never admit it’s yours and then unless they can prove—”
“I think Mr. Duggal is referring to demonic possession,” says Sandhya hastily.
I stop and look at Mr. Duggal. “What? Are you sure it’s demonic possession?”
“Of course I’m sure!” he snaps at me. “He rages, he screams, he blasphemes, he uses the foulest language at us, his own parents!”
“How old is your son?”
“Nineteen.”
“Well, it could just be typical teenage behaviour.”
“Could a typical teenager levitate? Or pick up a grand piano and throw it on a roof three stories up?”
I ponder the question. “Well, not a typical teenager,” I admit. “How did this begin? Tell me everything you can remember.”
“We thought he was just acting out, but it got worse and worse. We called in doctors, specialists, psychiatrists, nutritionists, everyone we could. None of them could do anything. But once I discovered the truth it all made sense.”
There’s a heavy silence in the room.
“We can’t even stay at our own house anymore. We’re desperate, Mr. Bhatia. Can you help us?”
Before I can answer, Sandhya does. “Of course we can! This is what we do, Duggal saab.”
“So you’ll take the case?”
“Certainly we will,” says Sandhya, glancing at me. My turn.
“Yes, yes, certainly, certainly,” I say, wearing my best welcoming smile.
He looks like he’s about to cry in relief, but recovers himself.
“Excellent. Follow me, please.”
“It’s like Sandhya said, this is what we—wait, you mean now?”
“Of course. My car is outside.”
まばたきします。ダッガル氏の話し方には何かがあります。これは私が想像していたような簡単な仕事ではないようです。私は心配そうな顔をサンディアに向けて撮影しましたが、彼女はすでに階段を下りて彼を追いかけています。少し気が進まないので、私もそうします。
階段は狭すぎて他にはないので、1つのファイルで階段を降ります。底に達する直前に、Sandhyaは私に向きを変え、晴れやかで、勝ち誇った親指を立てるサインを点滅させます。私はそれを返しません、私はダッガルがピアノを屋根にチャックすることについて言ったことを思い出すのに忙しすぎます。喉になんらかの閉塞を感じることがあります。
「ちょっと待って」と私は声をかけます。「私はちょうど何かを思い出しました。」
私は二階に戻って、机にまっすぐ向かい、捨てられた飲み物をノックバックします。
1分後、私は外に戻り、制服を着た運転手が高級車のドアを開けています。背中にぬいぐるみの革の感触を楽しみながら入ります。私のプラスチック製の椅子からの非常に歓迎すべき変化。それから、車の中にシフォンサリーを着た背の高い堂々とした女性がいることに気づきました。
「これは私の妻ヌールです」とダッガル氏は言います。「いいえ、これはバティア氏と彼の秘書のサンディアです。彼らはゴーストハンターです。」彼は彼女に私のカードを渡します。彼女がそれを読むとき、彼女の顔はおなじみの不承認の表現を想定しています。
「調査員は1つのNだけで綴られています。」
「小さな印刷エラー」と言い始めると、歯を食いしばって話していることに気づきます。Sandhyaは、違反を埋めるためにもう一度飛び込みます。私は彼女に任せて、SapnaPrintingPressにやりたいことすべての精神的なリストを作成します。
「どこへ、サー？」運転手に尋ねます。
"家。アウラングゼーブロードハウス、ニティン。できるだけ早く。」
口笛を吹く。オーランゼブロード。私たちは高飛車の会社にいます。私たちが運転するとき、私はDuggalsに目を向けます。
「息子が憑依されていることにいつ気づきましたか？」
ダッガル氏はため息をついた。「私たちはそうしませんでした、長い間ではありませんでした。息子が妻に電話からメッセージを送るのに十分な時間、獣と戦うまで。」
"見せていただけますか？"
ダッガル夫人は私を見て、彼女の財布に手を伸ばし、携帯電話を引き出します。彼女はいくつかのボタンを押して私にそれを渡します。
"かわいそうに！彼は私にこれを送るのに十分長い間悪魔と戦った。私のモンティはまだそこにいます、私はそれを知っています。」
私は電話を取り、読み始めます。
「これ以上の医者はありません。エクソシストを探します。お願いします。"
「GOFUCKINGDIEYOU OLDHAG」
"申し訳ありません。それは私ではありませんでした。助けてください。だんだん悪くなってる。"
"あなたは醜いね！！！！"
「私は弱くなってきています。忙しい！お願いします！"
それでおしまい。電話を返します。
"上手？" ダッガル氏は言います。
「それは明らかに2人の著者によって書かれたようです。そうです、彼はそれと戦っています。次に何が起こったのですか？」
「私はそれが求めたことをしました」とDuggal夫人は言います。「私は家族の司祭にモンティを見るために呼びました、そして彼は私たちの息子が悪魔に取り憑かれていたと私たちに言いました。」
ダッガル氏が介入します。「それからパンディッチは部屋に戻り、出てこなかった。二度と彼に会うことはなかった。私たちがニティンを神殿に送って彼を探していたとき、彼の妻は彼が戻ってこなかったと言いました。」
窓の外をちらっと見ながら、私は再び一口飲みます。車はスピードを上げています。
「それから私は勇気を振り絞って二階のモンティの部屋に行きました。そして、私が見たものを知っていますか、バティアさん？」
「教えてください」とSandhyaは言います。私は彼女に一見を撃ちますが、彼女はそれを無視します。彼女は実際にこれを楽しんでいます。
"血。パンディットの血。どこにでも。"
甲高い無意識のきしむ音を立てて、もう一度窓の方を向きます。私たちは今高速道路にいます、そして車は私が飛び出すには速すぎます。さらに、ドアはロックされています。私たちは別の車、青いセダンと一緒に描きます。私は窓にもたれかかって、うまくいけば、親切な年配の紳士であるセダンの運転手を見つめます。彼は私に向き合う。私たちの目が会います。
「助けて」と口を開く。
彼は少しの間私を悲しげに見つめ、それから私たちが彼を追い抜くときに中指をくれます。
車はどんどん速く走り続けます。そして、私はそれに閉じ込められています。
デリーで最も高価な通りにある大きな鉄の門の前に引き上げたのは2時間以上後のことです。私は今では交通にとてもうんざりしているので、私はほとんどこの悪魔に直面したいと思います。曲がりくねった舗装されたドライブを下って大きな白い家に向かう間、私は出口のスピーチに取り組んでいます。Duggalsは、私たちを柱廊玄関の階段を上って大きな正面玄関に導きます。その中心にある恐ろしい紋章の複雑な性質から判断すると、その設計者は勤勉さを欠いていませんでした。最後の仕上げとして、「Together Forever」という、それほどオリジナルではないモットーが下に飾られました。悪夢のようなドアから目をそらし、目を閉じたが、もう一度開けるとまだそこにある。
Mrs. Duggal notices me staring. “Oh, you like it?” she says proudly. “We designed it ourselves. We’re in the real estate business, you know, so we really understand these things. You’ve heard of Amit’s company, I’m sure. Duggal Enterprises? We do all the best work. You like the design?”
“Very nice,” I hear myself say weakly.
Mr. Duggal unlocks the door with a large key. He reaches to push it open, then hesitates. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to touch that door either.
As he does, from somewhere in the house, a low howling sound resonates. I jump, and when I return to earth, I see both the Duggals looking shaken.
“Your dog?”
“No,” says Mr. Duggal. “We don’t have a dog.”
“Wolf?” I suggest hopefully. They shake their heads.
“We don’t have any pets,” says Mrs. Duggal. She points up at the second floor. “It’s coming from Monty’s room.”
“I see.” And I do, because as far as I’m concerned that pretty much settles it. I look at Mr. Duggal.
“Look, sir, there’s been a mistake.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You see, I’m not sure we can take this case.”
“You have to take it! Save my son! I’ll pay whatever you want. How much do you want, anyway? Ten lakhs? Twenty? It’s yours!”
“No, the thing is we’re—did you say twenty lakhs?”
“Not enough? Twenty-five then.”
“I am at your service, sir,” I say, bowing with a flourish. “Don’t you worry, we’ll be—”
I’m interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.
“Maybe we should take it from here,” says Sandhya quickly.
“Didn’t you hear that, Sandhya?” I say.
“Yes of course. Time to go to work. Now you both just wait in the car, okay? We’ll be back shortly.”
I open my mouth to protest, and then it hits me. Smart girl. She’s found a way for us to sound professional while saving face too. Now we can get in, wait on the other side of the hideous door for a few minutes, then get the hell out of here, hopefully with a consultation fee.
“Yes, indeed,” I say.
Mr. Duggal’s face collapses with relief.
“Are you sure?” says Mrs. Duggal.
“Of course they’re sure,” snaps Mr. Duggal. “Let’s not argue with professionals. We’ll wait in the car. It might be dangerous inside.”
Sandhya pushes the door open and we go inside, entering a large drawing room.
The inside of the house looks like it’s been done by the same artist as the door. For the interior, he’d apparently been given free access to several buckets of colours and one of LSD, with instructions to make sure he finished them all. I hear Sandhya gasp audibly and with some effort, I shut my mouth.
“Who . . . did this?”
“The Duggals,” I inform her.
“Are we sure it wasn’t the demon?”
Right on cue a bloodcurdling scream comes from upstairs, followed by a voice raised in obvious pain. Apparently he’s noticed the decor too.
“I can’t take it anymore!”
“You and me both, buddy,” I mutter.
“Help me! Please help me!”
The voice breaks off, replaced by a constant, low moan.
“Let’s wait he—” I say, then stop talking, because Sandhya’s already started up the staircase towards the moans. I hurry after her. No way I’m staying alone in that drawing room.
“What are you thinking?” I hiss. “This is clearly something beyond our—”
I stop, surveying the carnage around me.
Books lie scattered on the floor, torn pages fluttering in the breeze from smashed windows. The carpet and paintings are stained all over with spots of something dark and crusty. Deep scratches mar the paint on the walls, running all the way down to the closed bedroom door at the far end of the hallway.
The moans are coming from behind it.
I quickly grab Sandhya by the arm and point. “Over there. That window’s big enough to squeeze through, it’s not too far down and with a bit of luck we could be well clear of this place while those two are still sitting in their car and dreaming about their door.”
“Why? This is what we wanted.”
“To die in the world’s ugliest house? Speak for yourself.”
“Well, you started this detective agency.”
“Yes, to do a few stakeouts in abandoned houses, expose a fraudulent astrologer or two, that sort of thing. This is a real demon!”
“If it is a real demon.”
“You think it’s a hoax?”
She shrugs. “That’s the most likely explanation, isn’t it?”
“He threw a piano on the roof!”
“Or so they think. Maybe it’s an elaborate insurance scam or the kid faked it to bunk exams. We won’t know till we get in there and look.”
With that, she wrenches her arm free and is off down the corridor.
With a last, longing look at the window, I follow her. There really isn’t anything else to do, short of abandoning her to whatever’s in there. Much as she deserves it, I can’t do that.
With each step, Sandhya’s words make more and more sense. Demons aren’t real. Must be the teenager pranking his folks to avoid college. Part of me regrets not thinking of this when I was in school. The more I dwell on the thought, the more sense it makes. By the time I reach the end of the corridor I’m feeling positively rejuvenated. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the doorknob and follow her in.
The first thing I notice is the boy, flat on his back, levitating in the air two feet above what looks like a blood-soaked bed.
I can see the writing on the wall. No, literally. Macabre red lettering, spelling out something indecipherable in an ancient script.
A creeping sense of terror grows in my chest as I stand frozen, eyes transfixed to the words on the wall. It’s not until I find myself mouthing the words that I realise with a horrified thrill that somehow, impossible, unfathomable as it is, I’m standing here reading a mystical language I never knew existed. Then it dawns on me that this is because the writing on the wall isn’t an ancient script, just a sentence in really bad handwriting:
“BRING ME PLAYSTATION 5.”
I look accusingly at Sandhya. “Scam, huh?”
As we speak, the boy sits up. His eyes flip open and they’re completely white. A slow smile spreads across his face. “At last! Someone’s finally here.”
It’s a deep, low, rumbling voice, and yet it’s frenetic somehow, like someone put pebbles in a blender and cranked it up to max. I recoil, whirling towards the door. The boy-demon gestures and it slams shut.
“Wouldn’t want us to be disturbed,” says the boy.
He’s floating towards us now.
Only one thing left to do. “Help! Help!”
“Exactly,” agrees the boy-demon. “After all, that’s why I sent for you.”
“Help!!”
Sandhya steps forward. “Stay back, demon!”
“Demon?” he says indignantly, swiveling his head 180 degrees to frown at her. “Demon? There’s no demons here. Djinn, if you please.”
“Sorry, did you say djinn?”
“I did say djinn.”
“Djinn?”
“Djinn. Now will you be quiet and listen? We’re running out of time. I’m holding that creature off for now, but he could be back any moment.”
Even with all that’s going on, this bit of news demands my attention.
“Holding him off? So you’re not the demon?”
“Again you call me demon! What demon? Who do you think you’re calling a demon? Told you, I’m a djinn.”
I clutch at Sandhya. “He’s back! The demon’s back!”
“For the last time, I’m a djinn! And not just any djinn, either! I tried not to say it, the attention gets so embarrassing, but you leave me no choice, so I shall.”
He clears his throat.
“Mortals, you are in the presence of Wahid the Great. Yes, the very same, the one and onl—”
“Who?” says Sandhya.
“Excuse me? Did you say who?”
“Yes, who?”
“Wahid the Great. You’ve probably heard about me.”
“No, not really.”
“You’ve never heard of Wahid the Great, Igniter of Flames?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you probably know me by a different name. What about Mahasura, Thief of Time?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”
“Nagadanga, Breaker of Walls?”
“I’ve never heard any of these names.”
His smile fades. “Typical,” he mutters. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line, I need your help.”
I blink. “You need our help?”
“Exactly. You see, there’s been a bit of an administrative accident. A bureaucratic bungle, if you will. You might even call it a coordination catastrophe. Bottom line, there was a mistake and I’ve been trapped in this boy ever since and I’ve had enough.”
“You mean Monty?”
A look of anguish spreads over his face. “Don’t say his name! If he hears you he might wake up!”
“Who, Mon—”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve had enough. He’s horrible. Absolutely insufferable. Most traumatic experience of any of my lives. I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You need our help getting out of the body you possessed in the first place?”
“Yes, exactly. You have no idea what it’s like, being stuck in here inside this kid! All he does is complain and whine, and demand things he’s done nothing to deserve, and say horrible things to hurt people and look for attention over his imagined problems and be awful to everyone. It’s unbearable. Do you have any idea what it’s like sharing a mind with an internet edgelord?”
“Who, Monty?”
His face contorts, like it’s fighting with itself, and then settles into a self-satisfied smirk.
“Feminazis! Fuck your feelings!”
His features contort again. “No, I won’t be silenced! Freedom of speech! This is reverse casteism! Fuck you, beta cucks! I’ll—”
He stops, mouth jerking from side to side like a centrist politician asking for civility, and then emits a low howl. Finally, his face stops moving around and settles into an annoyed look.
“Didn’t I tell you not to say his name?”
Sandhya and I look at each other.
“That was the Duggals’ son?” I ask.
“Yes! He’s an absolute monster. Get me out of here, please! I’m begging you!”
“Wait—so it wasn’t him who sent for us?”
“No! What’s wrong with you people? Why would he send for you? He’s sharing his body with Wahid the Great!”
“So it was you?”
“Well, duh!”
I turn to Sandhya.
“I think it was this djinn who sent for us.”
“That’s Wahid the Great to you, thank you very much.”
Sandhya studies the boy’s face. “Well, Wahid doesn’t seem evil.”
“No, not at all,” he says, floating closer. “Far from it.”
“Oh yeah?” I say. “What about the priest then?”
“What prie—oh that one? He jumped out of the hallway window and ran away.”
“And this blood?”
“Fake. From Amazon. Look, if I was evil, I wouldn’t even be allowed here. Even us supernatural beings of immense power have to follow the rules.”
“Hold on,” says Sandhya. “If you’re a supernatural being with all these powers why don’t you just leave?”
The boy’s head droops a bit, looking defeated. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What do you mean?”
He pauses. “That’s personal.”
“And the rest of this isn’t?”
“Well, it’s like—Look, do I have to tell you?”
“If you want our help.”
“Fine, fine, if you really must know, the spirit realm is a little beyond my means these days. There was a time I could afford to live beyond the veil, but those days are over. And there are plenty more like me, I’ll have you know. Just way too many supernaturals and not enough room. The market’s gone through the roof.”
So Wahid too had fallen prey to a spirit-Suresh who’d rendered him homeless. I nod sadly. “Rent is a curse.”
“A stain on the supernatural realm,” agrees Wahid.
I pause. “A pox on people.”
“A plague on paranormal society.”
I beam at him. “A blight on beings everywhere.”
“A curse on the cosmos.”
“Yes, I already said that.”
“No, you said curse. I then vastly broadened the scope by introducing the concept of a cosmos.”
I’m no longer beaming. “Yes, well obviously I meant cosmos when I said—”
“Hold on, you two,” says Sandhya quickly. “Wahid, when you say there are plenty more like you, you mean here? Around us?”
“Where else? If you lot only knew just how many of your fellow humans were a lot more than that, well . . .” He chuckles briefly. “But that’s enough about that, I’m not going to recite the history of every event to have befallen me since my . . . ah . . . departure, yes let’s call it that, that’s a nice way to put it.”
“So you can always recognise if a human is possessed by a djinn?”
“Can I? That isn’t half of it! I mean, I knew times were hard, but I had no idea just how many folk had moved here. Some you’d never have expected to see here either. Why, just the other day I saw, well, anyway, you wouldn’t know, would you, you don’t even know Wahid the Great.” He sniffed.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” says Sandhya. She sure cares about the vagaries of the djinn housing economy all of a sudden. Me, I have more pressing issues to worry about. Such as the housing economy here and the twenty-five lakhs that will prevent me from becoming Wahid 2.0, but without powers or the ability to possess anything. More like Wahid 0.02. Time to cut to the chase.
“So what do you want us to do?”
He beams. “Now. You’re talking. That’s simple. You’ll just need to find me a new host.”
“Come again?”
“A new host,” says the boy, speaking very slowly. “Look, I know you lot aren’t smart or anything, but this can’t be that hard to follow.”
“Why can’t you just find another for yourself?”
“Consent.”
“Huh?”
“Consent. Don’t humans have the concept? I need my new body to consent to me being there, or it’ll just be me forcing my will on whoever I inhabit, and let me tell you that never turns out well. I mean, look at my situation now. It’s not like one just takes over a body, you know? It’s a constant effort at collaboration, cooperation, you often have to discuss and negotiate. Not an easy task, no sir. I’ll need a body I can work with, one that’s suited to my personality.”
“Your personality. I see.”
“Yes, exactly. It’ll be easy as anything, I’m sure there’s no shortage of mortals desperate to share with Wahid the Great. Who wouldn’t want the benefit of my talents, after all, and mind you, I’m supposed to share them.”
“Supposed to?”
“Yes, by law. Djinn with hosts must compensate for the hospitality. If we don’t, well, we have to, there’s no choice. We can exercise discretion in the how, but we must compensate or else.”
“I knew it,” I mutter. “Rent is a curse.”
Sandhya rolls her eyes.
The boy seems about to go on, but then his face twists up, nose lurching about from side to side, eyes rolling violently.
“He’s coming back!” he shouts. He waves a hand, and the door flies open. “I’ll try and hold him off as long as I can. Get out, now! Hurry!”
We start moving towards the door.
“And don’t forget my new body! I’m counting on you!”
We get out of the door, and there I pause, glancing back at him.
“Cocksucker!” he snarls at me. The next moment a potted plant is flying at my head. I duck, and it smashes against the wall, sending earth and disemboweled flowers everywhere.
“Run!” I yell at Sandhya.
We race down the corridor and pound our way down the stairs and through the house, ignoring the screeches and banging noises behind us, not stopping till we’re back at the car, collapsing into the backseat next to the Duggals.
The iron gates to the compound are rattling. I can hear the screams all the way from the house.
Mr. Duggal looks startled. “What’s happ—”
“Drive!” I yell. “Drive! Now!”
Nitin hits the accelerator and we zoom off, screeching down Aurangzeb Road and back into the bustle of traffic, leaving the hideous house with its even more hideous heir in the distance.
My cellphone is ringing. I glance at it, then set the ringer to silent and flip it back over on my desk, face down.
“Mr. Duggal again?”
“Who else?”
We’re back in my office-cum-flat, where I’ve been ever since we got the Duggals to drop us off and leapt out of the car, mumbling promises of how we’d get back to them.
“He’s been calling you for three days. Don’t you think you should answer it?”
“No.”
“You can’t avoid answering the phone forever, you know.”
“I can try. Anyway, I’m still not done trying to find a solution.”
“You mean a body.”
“It’s not a body if it’s alive, Sandhya. It’s a person. And you’re not being very helpful, you know.”
“Because you playing around on Facebook all day is helping?”
“I’m not playing, I’m recruiting. I’ve posted in job offer groups, Help wanted groups, real estate groups and even in one writing forum.”
“How’s that working out?”
“Way better than I hoped. I’ve had at least two dozen responses. Just let Duggal put down the phone and I’ll show you.”
We wait, and then when the ringing ends, Sandhya peers over my shoulder at my phone as I pull up the Facebook app.
“Okay, that’s quite a few.”
“And most of them have even posted their phone numbers. Time to start making some calls.”
“Who will you start with?”
“This guy here. Rahul Srivastav. Look at his profile picture. Smart, well dressed, and it says here he’s a financial expert specializing in investments. That’s just what we need, a career man with drive and verve. Could be just the match we’re looking for.”
I dial the number. Nobody picks up. I hit redial.
It rings for a while and then a bright, enthusiastic voice answers.
“Hi!”
“Am I speaking with Rahul?”
“Good afternoon, sir! Thank you for calling!”
「こんにちはラフル、これはゾラワール・バティアです。
「あなたは子供を持つ父親ですか、それとも母親ですか？」
"何？いいえ。"
「二次的な収入源をお探しですか？」
「まあ、一次資料のようなものですが、これが私がラフルと呼んだ理由です。Jobs For YOUのFacebookページへの私の投稿に返信されたので、次のことについて話し合いたいと思います。」
「バイナリを介して財務状況をサポートしたい場合は、適切な場所に来ました！」
"それは一体何の意味ですか？私は人と話しているのですか？」
「5000ルピーを寄付するだけで、1週間以内に15,000ルピーが保証され、非課税で返還されます！」
"私-"
「私たちはあなたのためだけの特別オファーもあります！50,000ルピーを投資すれば、わずか7日で5ルピー以上を家に持ち帰ることができます！」
電話を切ります。
"どうしたの？" Sandhyaに尋ねます。
「彼は詐欺師です。関係なく、次の電話をかけます。たくさんの選択肢があります。」
次の数字は、ソーシャルメディアアカウントを投稿して1日あたり最大3000米ドルを稼ぐことができることを私に知らせてほしい女性であることが判明しました。その後の1つは、私が彼に25000ルピーを送って、初めて利用可能で、陰茎の拡大の丸薬が機能することが保証された1本のボトルの特別な出荷を求めています。私が行う次の2つの呼び出しは、両方ともRahulによって再び応答されます。3つ目も彼に直接戻りますが、今回だけ彼は陰茎の拡大の丸薬も提供しています。
私は自分の電話を部屋の向こう側に投げ始めました、そしてそれから私は私が別のものを買う余裕がないことを覚えています。私は代わりにそれをうんざりしてテーブルに投げ、Sandhyaに目を向けます。「デリーの誰もが詐欺師ですか？」
「あなたは今、アメリカ人観光客のように聞こえます。多分あなたは彼と話すべきです。」
"私はほしくない-"
鈍い強打音が私を邪魔します。私は頭を横に傾け、私たちは両方ともそれを聞きますが、同じようにすぐにそれはなくなりました。
私は文を終えるためにSandhyaに戻ります。
「私は陰茎の拡大の丸薬が欲しくありません。」
彼女の質問の直接の文脈がなければ、それはさらにばかげているように聞こえますが、彼女の名誉のために、彼女は少しだけ微笑んでいます。
「いいえ、私はラフルを意味するのではありません。ダッガルさん。少なくとも彼に言ってください。」
「彼に何を言いますか？それは、なんらかの不可解な理由で、文字通り、地獄のスポーンの中に閉じ込められているジンを解放するために自分の体を犠牲にすることをいとわない人はいないのでしょうか。それは絶望的です、私はあなたに言います！私たちはfucです—」
電話が再び鳴ります。ため息をつきます。
「いいよ、彼に言うよ。」
裏返してボタンを押します。"氏。ダッガル！悪い知らせがあります。ほら、私たち—
「ダッガル？今私をダガルと呼んでいますか？私はあなたにダッガルをあげます、あなたは恩知らずの惨めさです！」
「ま？」
「ああ、彼は母親の声を覚えています。私はとても光栄に思うべきです。」
「聞いて、マ、今は話せない、クライアントがいる-」
「いいえ、あなたは耳を傾けます、そして私にクライアントについてのあなたの嘘を与えないでください！明日までにアパートを空ける必要がありますね」
「明日までにアパートを空けますか？」
「はい、明日までに。」
"何？しかし、マ、あなたは日曜日と言いました！」
「はい、でもそれはずっと昔のことです。」
「昔？それは昨日でした！"
「はい、とにかく、関係ありません、私は考えを変えました。」
"かわった 。。。あなたの心。"
"その通り。そして、私が言うすべてを繰り返すのをやめなさい、ゾラワール、あなたはエコーのように聞こえます。とにかく、私はそれをSureshの友人に渡します、彼は彼の申し出を6000に増やしました、しかし彼はすぐにそれを望んでいます。」
「でもマ！」
“Ma, ma, ma! You sound like a goat! It’s my flat and I can give it to whoever I want, can’t I? Yes, I can! And I’m giving it to Paras. He seems like a really nice young man, and unlike you, he has a real paying job. Works with a real estate firm. Duggal Enterprises, I think it was called.”
“Did you say Duggal?”
“Yes, that’s what it was called. Very good company, I believe the owners actually live on Aurangzeb Road or something. They have a beautiful house there, Paras was telling me.”
“Beautiful.”
“You’ve started repeating everything again, is it? Anyway, I already took deposit from Paras, so make sure you’re gone by twelve tomorrow, OK?”
“But, Ma—” I start, but she’s already hung up. I start to throw the phone across the room, then remember I don’t have the money for another so I toss it onto the desk in disgust.
“Well, we’re screwed now, aren’t we? She wants me gone by noon tomorrow. With nowhere to go. Me, her own flesh and blood!”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t go around boasting about that bit.”
“But what do I do? I have nowhere to go. I’ll be as homeless as that djinn if he left the hellchild’s body. And probably die faster because I don’t even have superpowers, like not freezing, and what, what is it?”
I stop because she’s clutching at me, positively quivering with excitement.
“I’ve got it.”
“Got what? The ague?”
“No, I know how to fix everything.”
“You do? How?
Sandhya’s eyes narrow, and now she’s smiling at me.
“You, of course,” she says.
“Me? What do you—Oh no! No way! Absolutely not!”
“It’s the best option.”
“It’s not an option! I’m not giving myself up to be some receptacle for a demon!”
“He’s not a demon, he’s a djinn. He was rather insistent on that point, if you recall”
“I’m still not doing it.”
“Because you’d rather freeze?”
“I’ll find another way.”
“No, you won’t. This is the only way we can fix this—and make some real money for a change. Money with which we can open a real office, in a real proper area, and open a real business with real prospects.”
“And you know all this because?”
“Because you heard the djinn. He can recognise other djinns. There’s lots of them. More streaming in every day, looking for compatible hosts. And a city full of unhappy people we can connect them to. Statistically, at least some will be rich, see? Rich enough to give us lots and lots of rupees to help them out. It’s not just win-win, it’s win-win-win.”
“Easy enough for you to say. You’re not the one who has to give up your body as to a dem-ah- djinn like a bloody supernatural guest-house.”
“Just think of yourself as a paranormal innvestigator then.”
I fall silent, musing at the injustice of it all.
“Oh come on, It’ll even mean you won’t need new business cards!”
And that’s when it hits me. She’s right. This really just might work.
Right then, we’re interrupted by my phone ringing. I look at it. It’s Ma again. She’s reconsidered! I knew it. She might be crotchety and mean sometimes, but a mother’s love always shines through in the end.
“It’s Ma”, I say triumphantly to Sandhya. “So much for this scheme of yours. Excuse me, I need to talk to my mother now.”
“Hi, Ma,” I say, answering the phone.
“Zorawar? I just called to say don’t forget my desk and chairs. Bring them before one, I have a kitty party to go to. Okay bye!”
There’s a click, and I’m left holding a phone on a line that’s almost half as dead as me on the inside.
This time I do throw the phone across the room.
“Good thing we cancelled the plan then.”
“Oh, shut up.”
We sit in silence for a while, while I go over scheme after scheme in my mind, each more guaranteed to fail than the last. Finally, my shoulders slump, I hang my head, and from that position I look up at Sandhya.
“Fine, I’ll do it. I hope you’re happy.”
“I am. And you’ll be too, trust me.”
“I don’t know about this supernatural matchmaking idea.”
“As opposed to the booming paranormal detection trade we just spent three months in? Think of it as real estate if it makes you feel better. We’re borrowing from our friend Mr. Duggal. Paranormal Properties—come to us, and no being will ever live rent-free in your head again. Even the ads write themselves.”
“I’m really glad you have this all figured out,” I say bitterly.
“Oh, I do now. All of it. “
“What do you mean?”
“There’s one little thing I’ve been wondering about this since the beginning and I think I’ve finally figured it out.”
“So now we go talk to the djinn?”
“No, now you call Mr. Duggal, tell him to get that twenty-five lakhs ready. Tell him we want it in cash.”
“Cash?”
“He’s a Delhi property dealer, what do you think?”
“Cash it is.”
“Also tell him we’ll be there to pick it up soon.”
“And then?”
“Then we go talk to that djinn.”
We’re back in front of the World’s Ugliest House, exiting the sleek black car.
“Should I wait, sir, madam?” asks Nitin.
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Very good, sir,” he replies.
“Just a moment, Nitin,” says Sandhya.
“Madam?”
“I just had one quick question for you.”
“Yes, Madam?”
She leans forward, so her head is almost through the driver’s window. “How much did that priest pay you to say he was missing, Nitin?”
“Madam!”
She smiles. “It’s ok. I won’t tell your employer.”
She pauses. “Unless you lie to me, of course. Did he pay you to say he was missing?”
Nitin looks exceedingly unhappy. A bead of sweat appears on his forehead. His eyes flicker from side to side, like he’s looking for somewhere to run to, which is pretty silly, considering that if he really wanted to run away, all he had to do was hit the accelerator.
“No Madam.”
“Nitin. Do you want me to talk to Mr. Duggal.”
“6000 rupees, Madam. To say he was vanished and in case Mr. Duggal wanted me to file police complaint, to say I had done that also.”
Sandhya smiled with quiet satisfaction. “I thought so. Thank you, Nitin. You can go now.”
She’d barely finished the sentence before the car zoomed off with a screech, leaving behind a tyre trail and the smell of rubber. Nitin had been only too eager to comply.
I look admiringly at Sandhya. “How did you guess?”
“Well, there had to be some explanation for the missing priest. For one, his family didn’t seem too concerned, did they? Just said he was missing and that was it? I’m not that stupid, even if the Duggals are. Also, what happened to the body? There was no smell in the room, or anywhere in the house. Bodies rot. This one hadn’t. And Wahid didn’t strike me as the sort to be murdering priests anyway.”
“I’m so impressed right now.”
“Why, thank you, Zorawar Bhaitoa. Now, let’s go talk to our djinn, shall we?”
A few minutes later, we’re walking into the room with the levitating boy again. He sees us enter and immediately begins showering us with abuse.
“SJWs! Beta cucks!”
“Hey, Wahid,” says Sandhya. “If you’re in there, we need to talk to you.”
“Snowflakes!”
“Wahid?”
Once again, the face does its left-right-left quick march before settling into a look of equanimity. Wahid beams at us.
“Ah, you’re back. Finally! I thought you’d abandoned me. Wouldn’t be the first time a human’s been a disappointment, you know. Brought me a body?”
“Maybe.”
He’s no longer beaming. “Maybe? What happened to our deal?”
“It’s not a deal if only you get something out of it.”
“I saved you from Monty! Twice! Thrice counting just now!”
“After begging us to come back? I think not. You’ll have to do better.”
Wahid’s face falls. “Typical,” he mutters bitterly. “Just like a human to kick you when you’re down. And they call us djinn mercenary.”
“Who does?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “What does it matter? You’ll just use it against me. What do you want? Money? Jewels? Beautiful lovers?”
“You can get us those?” I hear myself ask.
“No, of course not. I mean, I could steal them, but I’d still need a body. But isn’t that what humans usually ask for?”
“Not these humans,” says Sandhya.
“Now hold on a minute,” I say quickly.
“He literally just said he can’t get them.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Excuse me, shouldn’t you be talking to me instead of each other?” says Wahid. “A little attention here, hello? Thank you. Now, what are your terms? What do you want from me in return?”
“Cooperation,” says Sandhya.
He eyes us suspiciously. “What does that mean?”
“It means that if we give you a new body, you’re going to help us find other djinn.”
“You wish me to point out others like myself to you?”
“Exactly.”
“Certainly not! You think I’d just betray my kind? My brethren? My very family? Just to benefit myself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re right. But I want it known that I only do so reluctantly.”
“Well, we wouldn’t actually need you to out all djinn. Just the ones looking for hosts. And the ones who, like you, are trapped with incompatible hosts. And we’ll help them find a match . . . um . . . ‘better suited to their personalities,’ I believe the phrase was. And I’m sure you’d be pretty good at figuring that out too.”
“I’m good at almost everything. So I do everything? What do you do?”
“Put up with you. Think of it as the rent we pay if it helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Yes, rent is like that. So, do you agree or not? It’s this or Monty.”
There’s a long pause and then he sighs heavily.
“I agree to your terms.”
“So, we have a deal?”
“Yes, we have an accord.” He smiles. “Well, at least you’ll be a more interesting mind than most I’ve had to suffer with.”
“Yes, of course, your new host.” She points at me. “Here he is.”
The smile vanishes. “Oh.”
I’m feeling mildly insulted by the lack of enthusiasm, but I swallow my pride. “Yes, I’m game. I’ll be your host.”
“No, hold on. Is this really the best we can do? Is there no one else?”
OK, now I’m properly insulted. “What’s wrong with me?”
“What isn’t? I’m used to higher standards, you know.”
“Like Monty there?”
“Yes, take advantage of a poor djinn in a terrible situation. That’ll get you classified as a good soul for sure.”
“Hey, he’s not so bad when you get used to him,” says Sandhya. Even she’s miffed. The thought makes me happy at first, until I recall we’re literally negotiating handing my body over to a supernatural creature.
“So no deal? Ok, fine, we’ll just be off then.”
She turns, and I follow suit.
“No, wait!”
We turn back around, looking at Wahid.
“I accept your terms,” he says, somewhat sulkily. “Now, are you ready?”
“Yes. No, wait! You’re sure I can share space with you, right?”
“Of course.”
“And you being there won’t hurt or anything?”
“No, no, not at all. The pain will be all mine, I assure you. But this is how one learns humility, I suppose. As for you, you won’t want me gone. After all, I am Wahid the Gre—”
“Yes, yes,” I say hastily. “I get that.”
“Very well, then. We shall commence.”
The boy’s eyes roll over and over in his head, like marbles rolling down a slope. A strange blue light begins to build, bathing his face in an eerie glow.
“What the—” I say.
And as I do, a ball of blue light courses from the boy’s face, into my mouth. I can feel it, bouncing around my throat, like a gob of very warm rum.
“Oops,” says the voice of Wahid in my head. “Wrong turn.”
I feel the bouncing move upwards, back up my throat, through the roof of my mouth, and into the top of my skull, where it settles. Slowly it settles, leaving me with this slightly lightheaded, warm, fuzzy sensation, like I’ve just taken a big puff of ganja, and I mean actual ganja, not that crap Mathur sells me for ten bucks a pudiya.
“There we go,” says Wahid in my head. “Lots of empty space here, huh? Nice, I like it when there’s room to spread out a bit.” I can hear, no feel a wet, squelching sensation, spreading across the inside of my forehead.
“Here, what are you doing?” I ask
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re a team now, you see?”
“Zorawar!” cries out Sandhya, a warning note in her voice.
We look up, Wahid and I, together, as one, and see Monty, eyes looking normal, with an expression on his face ugly enough to have been part of the décor downstairs.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouts. “Get out of my room! I’m calling the cops!”
“I’ve had enough of this brat,” mutters Wahid. And I agree.
We lift a hand, a shockwave leaves it, blasting the boy back onto the bed, where he bounces off the mattress and onto the floor.
“Zorawar!” says Sandhya.
“What did you do?” I yell at Wahid.
“Sorry,” mutters Wahid to me. “Just need to calibrate things a bit, shouldn’t take too long.”
“You killed him!”
As I say it, Monty jumps back up to his feet, face now contorted with rage. “Motherfuckers! Cocksuckers! Bloody jihadis!”
“Unfortunately not,” says Wahid.
“Cucks! Antinationals! Immigrants!”
「私たちは今出発します」とワヒドは言います。そして、言葉なしで、私は彼が何をしたいのかを知っています、そして私は同意します。
私たちは手を伸ばし、Sandhyaをつかみ、窓から飛び出します。非常に大きな力で、バックドラフトがMontyをベッドに押し付けたり外したりします。そして、私たちは窓から飛び上がって飛び出します。そして、私たちは、減速し始め、最終的には完全に動くのをやめるまで、飛んで、急上昇し、上昇します。
今、私たちは落ちて、真っ直ぐに急降下しています。私はサンディアが叫んでいるのを見ることができますが、私が大声で叫んでいるので、彼女の声が聞こえません。
それから、私たちは、地面から十数フィートほど離れたところに、腸を痛めつけるようなジャークで立ち止まり、有害な粒子状物質のようにデリーの空気にぶら下がっています。
「おっと」とワヒドは言います。
「地獄はやってるの？」
「私は歩きたいと思います」とSandhyaはしっかりと言います。
「リラックスして、リラックスしてください。大丈夫です」と、私たちが再び上向きになり始めると、ワヒドは言います。「あなたに言った、私たちはただいくつかのキャリブレーションが必要です。どこへ？"
「家」と私は彼に思います、そして私達は庭とAurangzebRoadを越えて向きを変えます。その恐ろしい家とそのひどい居住者からズームアウトし、空を横切って家に帰ります。
"持続する！" Sandhyaは叫びます。「一体どこに行くと思いますか？」
"家。"
「いいえ、そのホテルに向かいましょう！収集するのは25万ルピーです。」
彼女は正しいので、私はより幸せな未来に向けて左に銀行をします。
"それとその後？" ワヒドに尋ねる。
"その後？" エコーします。
Sandhyaは微笑む。「その後、私たちは良い部分に到達します。お母さんに会いに行きます。」
「いいことだとおっしゃっていたと思います。」
「そうです。私は彼女に新しい料理人を見つける必要があると言うつもりだからです。そして、あなたは彼女にそのフラットの新しい居住者を見つけることができると言うつもりです。ちなみに、マルビヤナガルには素晴らしいオフィススペースがあります。」
彼女は微笑みます。「以前に電話をかけました。彼らは私たちが明日、それを見渡すことを期待しています。」
「あなたは素晴らしいです」と私は言います。
「わかっています」と彼女は言います。
私は深呼吸をして、肺を満たします。私が最後にこれを陽気に感じたのはいつかわかりません。
「ねえ、ワヒド」と私は言います。「どうやって母に会いたいですか？」
「私はしません。」
「まあ、あなたは行くつもりです。」
まだ議論を続けながら、私たちは煙のような空を横切って出航します。
そういうわけで、私はワヒド・ザ・ジンが頭の中に住んでいることになりました。そして、飛んで、私の指からボルトを撃つ能力、そして新しいフラット、オフィス、キャリア、そしてそれらに付属するすべてのものを含む他の多くのもの。
しかし、それは別の話です。
シブ・ラムダスはインドの語り部です。彼の短いスペキュレイティブフィクションは、ストレンジホライズンズ、ファイアサイド、ポッドキャッスル、およびその他の出版物に掲載されており、星雲、ヒューゴ、イグナイト賞にノミネートされています。彼は現在、米国シアトルに住み、働いています。彼の詳細についてはshivramdas.netをご覧になるか、@nameshivとしてツイートしてください。
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