Loud ’80s Hindi film music that was like silence to her came on as soon as she turned on the ignition. The car smelt of stale food and perfume. She really wished Vinod would take it to be washed, she hated passing through those huge wet cloth brushes, all locked up in the car, even for the few seconds it took. It made her feel as though she were travelling through the stomach of a monster. He never did anything she asked. It was always ‘later’ or ‘how about next weekend?’
She drove past the sudden bright flower patches glowing in the sun and the hidden gardens of Skyline Boulevard all the way down, and through the tough streets just before Powell’s Books. She always worried the car would break down there, relaxing only when she got beyond. A streetcar was coming that way so the traffic had stopped. She checked herself in the mirror, adjusted a strand of hair, looked out of the window. Through the glass windows of the crowded Rosetown coffee place, she saw a couple standing at the end of the line with their heads close together. The woman’s face was partly visible, framed by short reddish-brown hair. The man had his back to her. His dark blue T-shirt and something about his thinning hair, as though the top of the head had worn down from use, reminded her of Vinod.
He had decent hair when they first married. But he didn’t like speaking about it now. Maybe because she had suggested a transplant or a toupée at different times. He had stared at her as though she were insane. She drove towards her dressmaker’s house. What amazing hair Puneet had! When she had met him that day on the beach, he had worn it long, maybe longer than was fashionable at the time but, caressed by the breeze, he had looked straight out of the American dream as well as it could be lived out in faraway Madras. He had always worn the latest fashions from the US, all sent by the fond older sister – what was her name? Binu. He had the American Top 40 recordings by Casey Kasem, the ultimate definition of hep. Girls had thrown themselves at Puneet but he had been so aloof, so above it all.
And then they had started dating. Quietly. Her parents would have killed her had they found out. She would escape from college, that high-security prison with the fierce watchman nicknamed Hitler, through the State Bank branch onto the side-street, and Puneet would be waiting for her on his Yezdi, and off they would speed towards the beaches south of Madras, her face covered with a demure dupatta so word didn’t get out. On the way, he would buy a few beers. She would take a sip or two so as not to come across like a prude. Then, of course, the pressure to check into one of those seedy places on the road to Mahabalipuram grew; she resisted, thinking love could withstand any test but it had proved untrue. Soon enough, Puneet realized the lie of the land. A friend told her she had seen him with Rubaiyya, Miss Madras. She had cried for days and days without her parents knowing. Then, one morning, she had decided. She told her father that, as soon as college was over, she wanted a groom from America.
Jasvinder called, asking her to hurry up. Even she seemed to have plans. She would have to take the outfits back home, try them out and come back if she wanted changes. She wasn’t short of time, was she?
In the mall’s parking lot, she went round and round, following other cars in that familiar American dance whose goal was to outwit other drivers into getting the spot closest to the entrance of a place so you wouldn’t have to walk. Aha. She saw her chance. With a quick swerve to the left that would have done a race driver proud, she managed to park right next to the handicapped spot, shoving a large blue SUV out of the way. She cast a quick confirmatory look at her face in the rearview mirror, pulled the blue shoes from the foot-well of the passenger seat, swung her legs out of the car and put them on. A few teetering steps, and she was as firm on them as a newborn that had found its legs. Damn, she felt good-looking.
She heard sounds that resembled muffled gasps and giggles. ‘A whale on toothpicks,’ wheezed a voice. ‘Except, it’s in a dress!’ There were renewed sounds of hilarity. She turned round with as much gravity as the earth on its axis. She saw three young teenage boys, two white, one Indian, choking and spluttering behind her. When they met her gaze, they ducked behind the nearest cars and ran away laughing. She squashed the faintly uncomfortable feeling that rose in her. Silly boys.
She resumed her short careful trek to the mall entrance. She could see people inside, some sitting on the benches beside the fountains and the palms, taking a break from shopping, young couples holding hands, teenagers hanging out. Well, it was Saturday morning. Just past the entrance was a bright little shop with sunny orange interiors painted with silver stars and moons. Mia’s, it said. It was full of little girl clothes, tiny pinafores, skirts and tops in clean, happy summer colours. She walked in, hardly realizing it.
‘Can I help you?’ called out a voice. It was the young white girl at the checkout counter.
‘Just looking,’ she said. She smiled but felt nervous somehow, as if she was not qualified to be there.
‘What age, ma’am?’
‘Six months,’ she said after a pause.
‘You wanna look on the far side, by the door,’ said the girl, going back to folding clothes. ‘Tell me if you need any help.’
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. She went reluctantly to where the girl had indicated. She pretended to look through the sweet little tops and skirts. If the girl hadn’t told her, she wouldn’t have even known which size was for which age. She wondered if the shop assistant knew that she was lying. After a decent interval, she walked out of the door. ‘Thanks,’ she called out, waving at the girl. The girl waved back, indifferent.
She felt as though she had committed a crime. Why on earth had she walked into that shop! She passed Pottery Barn Kids, Claire’s and Made in Oregon. She saw caps with the Portland Trail Blazers logo on them in a shop on the other side. That would make a good present for Vani’s nephew, visiting from India. Okay, one thing off the list. Next, she went to the PayLess Shoe Source. She needed some flip-flops in case they did go to the beach one of these days. There was no reason to pay big money for flip-flops. She tried on several, finally settling for a translucent green pair with huge pink dahlias on top. There were more faux Jimmy Choos, orange and grey, and polka-dotted. Well, maybe next time. Outside the shop, she looked around. She felt hungry. The huge mall clock said it was ten past noon. She took the escalator to the food court on the third floor, ordered some food at her favourite Thai noodle place, and settled down to wait. From where she sat, she could see people skating on the ice rink below.
She could go to Macy’s, see if there were any off-season work suits on sale. A good time for that. In the women’s section, right at the back, near the changing rooms, were racks and racks of things on sale. She went through them all. You never knew what you might find. Once, she had found a pair of striped light-blue Jordache jeans for 4.99. Another time, a pale blue Cashmere sweater, perfect for the lead up to winter. Today’s booty: a scarlet silk top to go with her grey suit; a nice kurta-style knitted woollen sweater, a lilac bustier that would come in handy at some point, and a dark blue nylon pant suit. With her card, she would get a whopping discount. Not a bad day’s work. Oh, crap. She had left it behind. She used some of the money meant for Jasvinder and walked out. She needed to pee.
When she came out of the women’s restroom, she saw a baby stroller parked just outside. Peeping in, she saw a sleeping baby, a teeny tiny blond boy with the cutest curls she had ever seen.
She looked around. No one was paying her any particular attention.
She found herself slinging all her shopping bags on her arm and wheeling the stroller away, fast, into the first shop entrance she saw.
It was the men’s section of Sears. The man at the counter looked up, smiled vaguely, looked at the stroller and the baby, then back at her. She pushed the stroller as quickly as she could to the elevator and went down one level to the women’s section of the shop.
It was just a question of getting the baby to the car and away.
Meanwhile, she needed to cover his face so no one would be suspicious. She pushed the stroller deep into the shop. She pulled the hood of the baby’s stroller fully out, covered his head with the bustier she had just bought so that the blond hair was not visible. Okay, now she would walk out normally, and no one would know.
She sensed a sudden flurry of activity outside the shop. Through the glass windows, she could see people rushing in all directions. A mall cop ran past.
The public address system came alive. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the male voice, ‘this is an announcement. We wish to report a missing infant. Anyone who has seen a baby boy, dressed in a blue jumpsuit, ten months old, blond hair, name Alex, in a green stroller, please bring him back to his mother at the Information Counter. He has gone missing from outside the women’s restroom on the third floor. We repeat, an infant is missing…’
She felt light-headed. What had she gone and done? She was done for. What would Vinod say? Would they throw her in jail? What would people back home say? She pushed the stroller behind a circular rack crammed with clothes on sale, left it there, and began to creep out, breaking into as fast a run as possible when the baby woke up and began to wail. Behind her, she heard someone running towards the baby’s cries. The public address system crackled again. ‘There’s a missing infant. We are looking for an Indian woman, late thirties or early forties, chunky build, wearing blue shoes, a blue-green top and jeans, shoulder-length black hair. She was seen earlier in Mia’s and Macy’s. Anyone see such a woman, please stop her. Reporting a missing baby…’
She needed to hide. Where could she hide? She rushed out of Sears and into the nearest entrance she could see. It was the Barnes & Noble. She couldn’t hide there. She took the escalator down one floor. Gosh, how slowly it was moving. She got out of the store and ran across into the Dillard’s on the other side. She went straight to the back where the changing rooms were, grabbing a cream silk shirt and a brown skirt on the way. A young Hispanic woman attendant smiled at her. ‘Two,’ she said, completely out of breath, showing her two fingers as well. The woman gave her a plastic tag which said ‘two’ on it. She rushed in, bolted the door, sagged against the wall till she came to sit on the floor. Vinod would kill her. Disown her. No time now.
She kicked off the blue shoes, pulled off her jeans and top, pulled on the scarlet silk top from Macy’s, scrambled into the blue pants and jacket. From her handbag, she pulled out a pair of Police sunglasses and a band for her hair. She jammed on the Portland Trail Blazers cap with the rim pointing the right way on her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked crazed. She pulled out the green and pink flip-flops and shoved her feet into them. She shoved the blue shoes, her jeans and top into the Macy’s bag. Taking it and her handbag, she crept out. The woman attendant was busy with someone else. She handed the tag back to her. ‘Nothing fits,’ she said. ‘I’ve left the clothes behind the door.’ The woman nodded.
She walked out slowly. She went to the nearest trash can, looked around to check no one was looking, and dumped the Macy’s bag into it. Her feet felt strange, being so close to the ground, it almost made her feel she was limping. She went to the escalator, took it down two floors to the first floor of the mall. She could feel sweat making tracks down her back. There were several mall cops running around still. Another announcement was being made: ‘Folks, Baby Alex has been found, he is now with his mother, thanks for your help, and sorry for the inconvenience. On your way out, all cars will be checked. We are looking for an Indian woman of the following description…’
A cheer broke out behind her as she walked out of the glass doors. Goddammit. She had forgotten to pull off the price tags on the clothes she was wearing. She hoped none of them were visible. They had put up barricades at the entrance of the parking lot. She could see the mall cops stop each car and question the occupant. Some of them were being waved on without being stopped. A woman was asked to get off. She was Indian, but very tall, thin and young. They let her go after a few minutes.
She walked at a normal pace to her car. She got in the car, dumped her handbag on the passenger seat, and sat for a moment. Then she gripped the steering wheel to stop from shaking, and tried to steady her breath. After a few seconds, she looked at herself in the rearview mirror, then reversed and joined the line of cars waiting to leave the mall. She turned off the Shahrukh music. This would be the moment of truth. She hoped her voice would not waver if she was stopped and questioned. If she got past this, she was through.
When it was her turn, the mall cops gestured to her to stop. One of them came up to the window, asked her to roll it down. He looked closely at her face, then down at her clothes. She could feel the price tag on the jacket cutting into her outer thigh. If he asked her to get out of the car, he would definitely see it. She prayed he wouldn’t. The cop peered into the back of the car. ‘If you can open the trunk, ma’am, I need to take a look,’ he said. Thank goodness she had remembered to throw away the bag containing the clothes and shoes she had been wearing.
He was back in a few seconds. ‘Are those your clothes in the brown paper bags?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘You’re free to go, ma’am. Have a good day. Sorry for the inconvenience.’
She swung out of the parking lot without noticing in which direction she was driving. With her free hand, she pulled out her mobile from the handbag and called Vinod.
He picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Vinod? I’m just leaving the mall.’
‘Can you please turn down that damn music, I can’t hear a thing.’
She switched it off, not even realizing she had turned it back on. ‘Sorry.’
‘Did you just say you were leaving the mall?’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m going home now.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No … yes.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’
She drove for some time in silence. What if they found the things she had dumped in the trashcan? Could they do a DNA check? Would they find her?
She turned on the local radio station. ‘This is WPLD, Portland’s top radio station. We give you the news before it becomes news!’ said a scarily happy female voice. ‘I’m Rebecca Harding, and here’s the news at the top of this hour.’
She let the voice become a background score for the loop playing out in her mind and drove on without really registering anything.
The radio voice cut in, laced with adrenaline. ‘Breaking news, listeners! This is WPLD, where we really give you the news before it becomes the news. On standby is our reporter, Karen Kearney, from Riverdale Mall. Go ahead, Karen.’
They were going to talk about her.
‘Thank you, Rebecca. An infant went briefly missing here at the Riverdale Mall about forty-five minutes ago. Baby Alex is now reunited with his mother, Kelly Smith of Bend, Oregon. Police suspect an Indian woman in her late thirties or early forties of kidnapping the child. No one has been identified so far.’
‘Goodness. Can you update listeners on what’s happening there right now, Karen?’
‘Well, Rebecca, the mall police have been checking all cars and talking to people who fit the profile. No one has been arrested so far. I’ll be sure to keep listeners updated as the story develops.’
‘Thank you, Karen. This is WPLD, Portland. We give you the news before it becomes the news! Speaking to us now is Steve Giltinan, from our legal desk, telling us what the law is on this particular issue. Steve, what sort of punishment do people face for kidnapping children?’
‘’Morning, Rebecca. Everyone knows of the famous Lindbergh kidnapping of 1932, in which aviator Charles Lindbergh’s twenty-month-old son was abducted,’ said the smooth male radio voice. ‘This led to the Federal Kidnapping Act, commonly known as the Lindbergh Law. It basically made kidnapping a federal crime, just to help with policing, so a wider net could be dragged.’
She drove on, unable to listen to the civilized conversation all about her and unable to make contact with the radio knob and turn it off.
‘How was it dealt with earlier?’ the female voice said.
‘Well, it was considered a local crime, which made it difficult for enforcement officers to work outside their areas, you know, when kidnappers took their victims, say, across state lines.’
‘Uh-huh…’
‘The Lindbergh Law was tough, it authorized nothing less than the death penalty.’
‘The death penalty, huh?’
They would hang her if they found her?
‘Uh-hmm, but under present law,’ said the male voice, ‘depending on whether it is first- or second-degree kidnapping (where first-degree involves harm to the victim), you could face from ten years up to life. Under current federal sentencing guidelines, punishment depends on what the law calls the degree of the crime, you know, presence or absence of bodily harm, sexual abuse, killing of the victim, and so on.’
‘Well, it’s a bad business, Steve. Whoever did this, if you’re out there listening to this, remember we’re gonna get you. We’re going to do whatever it takes to protect our children.’
She continued to listen, fascinated by guilt.
‘Uh, hmm. Definitely, Rebecca. Definitely.’
‘Thanks, Steve, that was very useful. I have with me Dr Charlie Winton, psychiatrist, for more on this issue. Doc, thanks for being on this show at such short notice. First off, what kind of person does a thing like this?’
‘Well, Rebecca, thanks for having me. To answer your question, research has found that most people who kidnap babies, especially stranger babies, are women who seem to share three things: they are of childbearing age, they are childless, and they are overweight. Sometimes, they’ve suffered a miscarriage.’
Overweight! They were talking about her as though she were obese. And she had never had a miscarriage. They had never got that far.
‘A miscarriage, huh? And you said childbearing age and overweight. That’s very interesting. It seems to fit the bill here almost perfectly. Of course, we don’t know if the woman in question was childless or, indeed, whether she suffered a miscarriage.’
She switched to another station. Her breath slowed down so much she felt she was going to pass out. She checked her rearview mirror and pulled over at the shoulder. She sat with her hands clutching the steering wheel, her head bowed over it. Not legal to stop. When she raised her head, she saw that her hands were wet. She got back on the road and drove on, switching off the sports update and going back to Shahrukh for comfort.