A Son of the Circus

In the men’s room, Dhar had said that he’d never felt it was Rahul’s intention to bite his lip off, nor even that taking his lip in her teeth was a deliberate decision—it wasn’t something she’d done merely to scare him, either. The actor believed that Mrs. Dogar hadn’t been able to stop herself; and all the while she’d held his lip, he’d felt that the transsexual was unable to let go.

“It wasn’t that she wanted to bite me,” Dhar had told the detective. “It was that she couldn’t help it.”

“Yes, I understand,” the policeman had said; he’d resisted the temptation to add that only in the movies did every murderer have a clear motive.

Now, as he hung up the phone, a dreary song reached the deputy commissioner in the foyer. The band was playing “Auld Lang Syne”; the drunken Duckworthians were murdering the lyrics. Patel crossed the dining room with difficulty because so many of the maudlin members were leaving their tables and traipsing to the ballroom, singing as they staggered forth. There went Mr. Bannerjee, sandwiched between his wife and the widow Lal; he appeared to be manfully intent on dancing with them both. There went Dr. and Mrs. Sorabjee, leaving little Amy alone at their table.

When the detective returned to the Daruwallas’ table, Nancy was nagging Dhar. “I’m sure that little girl is dying to dance with you again. And she’s all alone. Why don’t you ask her? Imagine how she feels. You started it,” Nancy told him. She’d had three glasses of champagne, her husband calculated; this wasn’t much, but she never drank—and she’d eaten next to nothing. Dhar was managing not to sneer; he was trying to ignore Nancy instead.

“Why don’t you ask me to dance?” Julia asked John D. “I think Farrokh has forgotten to ask me.”

Without a word, Dhar led Julia to the ballroom; Amy Sorabjee watched them all the way.

“I like your idea about the top half of the pen,” Detective Patel told Dr. Daruwalla.

The screenwriter was taken aback by this unexpected praise. “You do?” Farrokh said. “The problem is, Mrs. Dogar’s got to think that it’s been in her purse—that it’s always been there.”

“I agree that if Dhar can distract her, Mr. Sethna can plant the pen.” That was all the policeman would say.

“You do?” Dr. Daruwalla repeated.

“It would be nice if we found other things in her purse,” the deputy commissioner thought aloud.

“You mean the money with the typewritten warnings—or maybe even a drawing,” the doctor said.

“Precisely,” Patel said.

“Well, I wish I could write that!” the screenwriter replied.

Suddenly Julia was back at the table; she’d lost John D. as a dance partner when Amy Sorabjee had cut in.

“The shameless girl!” Dr. Daruwalla said.

“Come dance with me, Liebchen,” Julia told him.

Then the Patels were alone at the table; in fact, they were alone in the Ladies’ Garden. In the main dining room, an unidentified man was sleeping with his head on one of the dinner tables; everyone else was dancing, or they were standing in the ballroom—apparently for the morbid pleasure of singing “Auld Lang Syne.” The waiters were beginning to scavenge the abandoned tables, but not a single waiter disturbed Detective Patel and Nancy in the Ladies’ Garden; Mr. Sethna had instructed them to respect the couple’s privacy.

Nancy’s hair had come down, and she had trouble unfastening the pearl necklace; her husband had to help her with the clasp.

“They’re beautiful pearls, aren’t they?” Nancy asked. “But if I don’t give them back to Mrs. Daruwalla now, I’ll forget and wear them home. They might get lost or stolen.”

“I’ll try to find you a necklace like this,” Detective Patel told her.

“No, it’s too expensive,” Nancy said.

“You did a good job,” her husband told her.

“We’re going to catch her, aren’t we, Vijay?” she asked him.

“Yes, we are, sweetie,” he replied.

“She didn’t recognize me!” Nancy cried.

“I told you she wouldn’t, didn’t I?” the detective said.

“She didn’t even see me! She looked right through me—like I didn’t exist! All these years, and she didn’t even remember me,” Nancy said.

The deputy commissioner held her hand. She rested her head on his shoulder; she felt so empty, she couldn’t even cry.