Don't think for a moment that she will ever love you in return, or keep any of her promises to you, or that anything but sorrow will come of the love you feel. She will never love you. I tell you this out of friendship, Mr. Parker. This is a little gift for you."
"With respect," I said, through clenched teeth, "we're here to talk about Lisa Carter."
"Of course. If I let my Lisa go with you, where will she live?"
"I... I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?"
"No, I..."
"She will live at-" Karla began.
"Shut up, Karla!" Madame Zhou snapped. "I asked Parker."
"I don't know where she will live," I answered, as firmly as I could. "I think that's up to her."
There was a lengthy pause. It was becoming an effort of concentration to listen and speak in Hindi. I felt lost, in over my head. It was going badly. She'd asked me three questions, and I'd stumbled badly on two of them. Karla was my guide in that strange world, but she seemed as confused and wrong-footed as I was. Madame Zhou had told her to shut up, and she'd swallowed it with a meekness I'd never seen or even imagined in her. I took a glass and drank some of the nimbu pani. The iced lime-juice was spiced with something hot to the taste like chilli powder. There was a shadowy movement and whisper in the darkness of the room behind the metal grate. I wondered if Rajan was in there with her. I couldn't make out the shape.
She spoke.
"You can take Lisa with you, Mr. Parker-in-love. But if she decides to come back here to me, I will not give her up. Do you understand me? She will stay here, if she comes back, and I will be unhappy if you trouble me about it again. You are, of course, free to enjoy our many delights, whenever you wish, as my guest.
I would like to see you... relax. Perhaps, when Karla is finished with you, you will remember my invitation? In the meantime, remember-Lisa is mine if she returns to me. That matter is finished between us, today, here and now."
"Yes, yes, I understand. Thank you, Madame."
The relief was enormous. I felt sapped with it. We'd won. It was done, and Karla's friend was free to come with us.
Madame Zhou began to speak again, very quickly, and in another language. I guessed it to be German. It sounded harsh and threatening and angry, but I couldn't speak German then, and the words might've been kinder than they sounded to me. Karla responded from time to time with Ja or Nat%urlich nicht, but little else. She was rocking from side to side, sitting back on her folded legs. Her hands were in her lap. Her eyes were closed. And as I watched her, she began to cry. The tears, when they came, slipped from her closed eyelids like so many beads on a prayer chain. Some women cry easily. The tears fall as gently as fragrant raindrops in a sun-shower, and leave the face clear and clean and almost radiant. Other women cry hard, and all the loveliness in them collapses in the agony of it. Karla was such a woman. There was terrible anguish written in the rivulets of those tears and the torment that creased her face.
From behind the grate, the smoky voice full of spitting sibilants and crunching words continued. Karla swayed and sobbed in utter silence. Her mouth opened, and then closed soundlessly. A pearl of sweat trickled from her temple across the folded wing of her cheek. More sweat stippled her upper lip, dissolving in the tears. Then there was nothing from behind the metal grate: no sound or movement or even the sense of a human presence. And with an effort of will that clenched her jaws to white and set her body trembling, Karla swept her hands over her face, and her crying ceased.
She was very still. She reached out with one hand to touch me.
The hand rested on my thigh, and then pressed downward with regular, gentle pressures. It was the tender, reassuring gesture she might've used to calm a frightened animal. She was staring into my eyes, but I wasn't sure if she was asking me something or telling me something. She breathed deeply, quickly. Her green eyes were almost black in the shadowed room.
I didn't understand any of it. I couldn't understand the German chatter, and I had no idea what was going on between Karla and the voice behind the metal grille. I wanted to help her, but I didn't know why she'd cried, and I knew that we were probably being watched. I stood up, and then helped her to stand. For a moment, she rested her face against my chest. I put my hands on her shoulders, steadying her and easing her away from me. Then the door opened, and Rajan came into the room.
"She is ready," Rajan hissed.
Karla brushed at the knees of her loose trousers, picked up her bag, and stepped past me toward the door.
"Come on," she said. "The interview's over." For a moment I looked at the marks, the curved indentations that her knees had made in the brocade cushion beside me on the floor.
