The World We Found by Thrity Umrigar Read Free Book Online

You know the best way to get her to pay attention to you? Ignore her.”
    He was smiling at the memory when he felt someone tap him on his shoulder. It was Maneck Sethna, the old man with the bad case of Parkinson’s who prayed at the well every day.
    “Sahibji, Maneckshaw,” Adish said.
    “Sukhi re, deekra, sukhi re,” Maneck replied. “Be happy.”
    “Thank you. How are you?”
    The old man’s eyes filled with tears. “Chalta hai, deekra. Life goes on.” Adish noticed how he labored to spit out those words. The Parkinson’s seemed even worse than he remembered. He shifted his attention back to Maneck’s words. “I’m worried about my son,” he was saying.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “He lost his job, deekra. Was working as an accountant for Kitar Enterprises. But business is bad, so they let him go. He has a wife and three children. Can’t find a new job. I try to help, but on my pension, not much I can do.”
    Adish was relieved to be confronted by a solvable problem. Unlike the situation with Armaiti, this he could help with. “Do one thing, Maneckshaw,” he said, as he dug through his shirt pocket for a business card. “Have your son call this number on Monday and speak to Ashok, my head accountant. I’m sure we can find a position for him in my company.”
    Maneck stared at him open-mouthed. “What are you saying, deekra?”
    Adish laughed. “I’m saying that I will try to hire your son.”
    The old man gripped Adish’s hand in both of his. “This is the miracle of this holy site,” he said. “When I approached you, I had no idea. Many blessings on you, beta.”
    “Good,” Adish said lightly. “I need all the blessings I can get.” He extracted his hand from Maneck’s trembling ones. “Good day, Maneckshaw. See you soon.”
    S he had not showered. It was the first thing Adish noticed as he entered the apartment and walked into the bedroom. In all the years that they had been married he had never known Lal to wait this late in the day to shower. He found her sitting in the middle of the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, rocking slightly. Her thick, dark hair had come loose, and when she looked up at Adish, her face was smudged, her eyes red and puffy.
    And just like that, the residual anger over the incident from last night disappeared. “Oh, Lal,” he breathed, making his way to her.
    He forced himself to ignore the fact that she stiffened imperceptibly when he sat on the bed and put his arm around her. For a second he wondered if Laleh was still smarting from their argument from last night. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked.
    “Armaiti called,” she said. “It’s the middle of the night there but she couldn’t sleep.” She twisted her head to face him. “Armaiti’s dying. My oldest friend in the world is dying.”
    “I know. It’s very sad.” He bit down on the urge to point out that she and Armaiti had not been in close touch for years.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Lal said, as if she was replying to his unspoken thought. “It doesn’t matter that we didn’t talk to each other a whole lot or stay in touch. Armaiti was—is—an aspect of me. The best, purest part of me.”
    Before he stubbed it out, Adish was singed by a jealousy that had its origins in an older time—the college years, when Laleh had seemed so attuned to Armaiti and so disinterested in him. “Love doesn’t die when people do, janu,” he said to her. “What you and Armaiti shared will always be alive.”
    It was the wrong thing to say. The look on Laleh’s face told him this. “Don’t try and pacify me with your spiritual mumbo-jumbo, Adish,” Lal said. “It may work for you but it doesn’t work for me. The fact is that Armaiti is dying and I’ve been a lousy friend to her. Nothing changes that.”
    He felt his face redden. “I—I was only trying to help,” he said.
    “You can’t help, Adish. No one can. We both know why Armaiti is sick.”
    He looked at her blankly. “Because