Who Am I This Time

Rueben consulted his notes. “Yeah. I remember that. The only other question that I had, was what was it all for?”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear boy?”

“What I mean is that the first one that you did, the nanny was to avenge the death of the child that she supposedly caused.”

“Supposedly! She did cause it!”

Rueben ignored the outburst, and continued with his questioning. “Well, the thing that I was wondering was this… If the nanny was responsible for the death of the child, then what were the other deaths due from?”

“My dear boy, whatever do you mean?”

“What I mean is that you claim to have only caused the deaths of those that you believed to harm others. The nanny for instance…”

“Yes, what about her?”

“Well according to you, you only killed those that were responsible for the deaths of others, and yet you just confessed to me that the nanny was one-sixth of the deaths that you orchestrated. What were the others responsible for, killing rats in the pantry?”

McIntyre laughed, the hearty bellow echoing through the whole room and sounding like a crowd instead of just one. Rueben flinched slightly, nervous that McIntyre was just insane enough to go ahead and do something really, really dangerous.

Rueben had recently watched a movie (appropriately called Ghost) where this one dead guy threw another living guy out of a thirty-story window. Rueben hoped that a similar fate was not being reserved for him.

“Oh Rueben, Rueben, Rueben. Your heart is so filled with light that it nearly makes me nauseous. Believe you me, that if I didn’t need you to write my story down so urgently, then I would be more than pleased to spend the next few months haunting you.”

“I’m so elated that you need me,” Rueben spat. However, there was something that was lurking in the back of his mind. “What is so important that he needs me to write all of this down? What happens if I chose not to?” He turned towards the sound of the apparition. “What is so important about this writing, McIntyre?”

He laughed slightly. “Why the most important thing of all. If one does not write down his history then he has nothing to go on to instruct further generations."

“And what exactly is it that you are trying to instruct further generations on, dear old boy?”

“That should be self explanatory.”

“Enlighten me.”

“The treatment of the lower echelon. They are now, and have always been weaker than us.”

“That may have been true in your time, but not in ours.”

“Your society then is weaker than I could have possibly believed.”

Rueben laughed slightly. “Let me ask you something. What happened when they found you out?” He picked up a pencil, and started to twirl it between his fingers.

McIntyre laughed, a low hollow, sound. “That question has already been answered, otherwise I would not be here.”

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“What does it feel like to die?”

McIntyre paused for a moment, trying to think of the correct words. He shut his translucent eyes, and thought.

“It feels like fire. It is quick, and burns like such when it is done. The neck, in my case was snapped very quickly, the breath rushed out of my lungs.”

Reuben let out a long sigh. His eyes widened, due to the whirlwind of visions he had encountered in the span of what seemed like mere hours. He ran his hands through loose, brown hair.

“I have to get out, have to get away from here.”

“Where are you going, my dear boy? Don’t you want to hear of the unkindness of Hell? Surely that will be a charming feast for the ears.”

Reuben quickly shook his head. “There’s only so much a guy can take from an insensitive prick like you. I’ve heard your twisted superhero tales where you saved the world. I believe it’s time I brought you into the future and sent you right back where you came from.”

A black, swirling cloud twirled around Reuben’s head and a voice emerged, melding the squeal of a pig and a pathetic man in desperation: “Pleeaase don’t send me back, dear Reuben! Pleaaase! Do you know what they did to me there? Tied me up and had rabid dogs chew at my face for hours on end, every minute of every hour of eternity. Do you know what that’s like, Reuben? I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy! I wouldn’t wish it on you!”

Reuben only laughed. He knew just what would suit McIntyre.

“You know what, old chap?” Reuben began with all the chumminess he could muster, “I’ve always wanted to see India for what it really is, in all its decrepitude and squalor. What say we take a little trip, hmm? So I can live out your fantasies. Maybe kill a derelict or two, hmm?”

There came a long, drawn sigh that reeked with sickening hopes.

“I would do absolutely, positively anything to go back. Slather my front with blood and cry to Heaven!”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll just call and make the arrangements. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Do not cloud my head, do not speak to me, do not do anything that would make me look suspicious, okay?”

“Yes, Reuben. Mum’s the word and all will be settled once you—we—return.”

The plane touched down into New Delhi that Thursday morning, the warm sun greeting Rueben with a smile. It had been a long journey, but well worth it. The only thing he did not know yet was just how he was going to surprise his ghost and rid himself of it. All he knew was that it had to be something crafty and gutsy only Rueben could design.

In the simple, but satisfying hotel room, Rueben lay on his bed and thought aloud on the possibilities of getting rid of McIntyre.

“I could take a tour of New Delhi and show that bastard that India is really a beautiful place…but then again, he’d catch me and direct me to the poorer section of town and say nothing has changed since his time. However, places he described are more or less everywhere around the world. I would have him there. Then again, he could tell me that people consider a river where cadavers are floated down a holy place where people bathe isn’t common. But, then I could reply that Christians worship Jesus Christ, who was crucified in quite a horrid way. A Christian would argue that the crucifix represents much more than a dead body on a cross. A Hindu would argue that the Ganges should not be remembered as a place of decay. It means much more than that to them…”

Just then, someone knocked quietly on the door and Reuben sat up quickly. “Come in.”

A fairly short woman with long, thick black hair and cocoa-colored skin smiled shyly at him, her oval-shaped, brown eyes blinking with life and energy.

“Oh, excuse me. You want me to come back later?” She asked. Rueben paused a moment to ponder what she meant. He wasn’t doing anything at the moment, so why…? It came to him.

“No, I don’t mind you being in here with me. It’s quite all right.”

“Sure?” She asked, her voice soft and sweet, with an accent.

“Sure,” he agreed, “It would give me a chance to admire the view from the window.”

She hurried over to the window and drew the curtains before he had a chance to get there.

“Ah, yes, you have a lovely view. Now, if you’d like anything, I can get it for you before I clean the room. Is there anything that you would like?”

“What would you suggest?”

“We have a ham sandwich, or maybe you would like an apple or some fresh coffee.”

Reuben laughed.

“I bet you say that to all the American tourists who are too afraid to try the local faire. Besides, I’ve had too many American meals on planes or in cheap restaurants. Surprise me. Bring me whatever you usually eat for lunch. Anything.”

The woman nodded gently.

“Yes, sir.” She hurried away. Rueben could feel her nervousness at his free talk with her. Perhaps she wasn’t used to strange Americans. Perhaps she had thousands of rooms to attend to and was worried about doing them all and attending to lunch. He made a mental note to ask her the next day.

That evening, Reuben asked for an evening snack of almonds and milk. He waited in his room for the noise of the tray finding the carpet outside his door. When it came, he thrust open the door and looked face to face with the cleaning maid he’d met earlier.

“It is you, again!” He smiled, staring into her young eyes. She looked nervously back in reply.

“Yes, sir. Would you like anything else?”

“What’s your name, Miss? Where are you from? I’m not going to harm you. Won’t you join me for some milk and almonds?”

She turned away and began to walk briskly away.

“Miss! Miss!” Rueben called out, and walked towards her. He gently placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Neidra. Ashram. I have to tend to other rooms. It’s getting quite late. Please.” She twisted her body to rid herself of his light grasp and walked away again.

“You were too forward, Reuben. Next time, demand that she stay. If she tries to escape your grasp, lock the door and remove the phone.”

Reuben blinked a few times and stared at the floor. Who was that voice that had just spoken? He didn’t want to murder her. Not in the least. Unless…

The second day, Rueben devised his crafty plan. His lips curled into a grin as he stepped back into his room and called out into the air, shutting the door behind him.

“McIntyre? McIntyre?” He cried. No one answered his cry. Good, so the ghost was keeping his word. Or was he? Reuben only knew he’d better not let a statement like that ever escape his lips again.

The second day, Reuben called the desk and asked for Neidra to bring him breakfast.

“She left something of hers in here with her name on it and I just want to return it.” Rueben said calmly.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Well, what do you have for breakfast around here? Whatever it is, I want it. American tourists can be so pathetic sometimes, ’I’m in the middle of a place where they don’t speak English, and I want a Big Mac’.”

“Right away. Neidra should be up shortly.”

And she was. Rueben could hear the soft steps of her flat shoes. Rueben imagined her breath quickening and her heart rate changing as she approached his door. He imagined her thinking that if she didn’t watch out he’d kill her or rape her or both.

The moment her feet stopped before his door, Rueben allowed her to knock just once. He flung open the door, placed a firm hand over her mouth and shoved her inside. Her muffled scream could have been heard for a few moments outside, but he took such a short amount of time getting her inside she had no opportunity to do so.

Once they were inside he locked them in with his left hand. Then he slowly took his other hand off of her mouth and whispered into her small ear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it. I just want to have breakfast with you, Neidra.”

Neidra’s eyes told him that she didn’t believe him when she saw the broken phone and pulled out chair from the table.

“I know you don’t believe me, so I’ll tell you why I did. Only, I know that there are dozens of maids like you around here, so it won’t be noticed that you are gone. I did this to force you to stay because, for once, I want a meal with someone from India, a real companion for a while. I’m leaving in a few days. If I asked for a companion I’d never see again out there in New Delhi, someone would give me a prostitute. I want someone real. What would have happened if I had asked you in today? You’d have run away as you have done before.”

“Yes. What do you want from me?” Neidra said as she looked down at her shoes.

“Eat with me, Neidra. Tell me stories of Ashram, of New Delhi…whatever you want to say. Don’t leave anything out, all right?”

Neidra eyed Rueben, puzzled. Then, she sighed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir, as if I’m every other Joe in this hotel. Call me Rueben.”

“Rueben.”

She said it normally, but to him it was said like the name of some far off, exotic distant land only to be found in dreams.

She looked submissively at the floor again. “Where shall I begin, Rueben?”

“Begin by tasting your own food. Does it suit you?”

She took his fork and delicately took a bite. Almost immediately, she made a rapid swallow.

“And?”

“I could have done better.”

He shoved the plate away. “I see. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Tell me, Neidra, what do you feel is the current situation in India? How much has it changed since the English were here? How do you feel Gandhi would have fared?”

She cleared her throat.

“Well, I must say the English have their way when it comes to our dialect. We say ‘shall’ and ‘quite’ just like we did dozens of years ago to please the English. At least, some of us do. I would say India is a mixture of the old and the new. Old, in the sense of our English memories that flow into our dialect and new in the sense that cows can wander in the middle of the road, just like it used to be. Am I making any sense at all, Mr. Rueben?”

“Oh, yes, perfect sense. Do you feel as if you’ll ever be one in the old tradition or the new?”

“I don’t believe we ever will. India is a multi-colored quilt that has never quite managed to stay together.”

“Perhaps Krishna sleeps under that quilt beneath the stars.” Rueben added, and winked at her. She smiled a half-smile.

“Maybe…” She agreed, looking pleased he knew something of her country. Their eyes met for a brief moment, a sort-of cosmic connection.

“ …So you know about our god, Krishna?”

“I read a little about your mythology on the plane. Fascinating stuff, really. And, it passed the time nicely.”

“You know, Mr., Rueben, I am known as a storyteller in Ashram. Would you like me to tell you a tale of Krishna or Hanuman or something?”

“Why don’t you do that, Neidra? But, I want you to make it up. Do you know what that means? Describe a new story to me with whatever god or goddess you want.”

“A new one? Mr. Rueben, I’m not sure about that. I haven’t made stories up since I was a child.”

“Please, Neidra. For me? I’m an adult, just like you, way past the age to ask for a story with child-like wonder in my eyes. But, I’m willing to be like a child again and listen to you. Will you do it?”

“I will tell you my favorite story, Mr. Rueben, of how the god Krishna met his true bride, Radha. It’s very romantic. Isn’t that what Americans like?”

“Tell me your story, Neidra. Never mind what you think I want to hear. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind, never mind that blouse and skirt.”

She hesitantly removed her blouse and skirt, loosening her braid so that wavy, beautiful hair cascaded down her almost bare back.

“Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Rueben. You said—“

“I said I wouldn’t and I say it now. I also want to say how beautiful your voice sounds to me without meaning to. I want to say how lovely your hair is, without it tied back. I want to say how gorgeous you are—just being yourself.”

Neidra blushed.

“I know why you wanted to tell me the story of Krishna and Radha, Neidra. Because Krishna is a god as American tourists are gods to you because they bring in money. Radha is a Gopi, a shepherdess, like Neidra is a maid, which means there isn’t much money involved and still he finds her beautiful. And still he wants her out of all the others. And Krishna is imperfect because he lusts after all the other Gopi's, just as you think I just want you because you’re available right now and you think I’m going to break my promise and kill you or rape you—making me imperfect. But, deep in your wonderful heart you think that there’s a slight chance for us to think that we could be together for a little while. Just like Krishna looked deep into his atman, his soul, and said that he and Radha were meant to be. Do you follow, Neidra?”

“Yes, Mr., Rueben.”

“I’m Rueben, please call me that. And you’re Neidra, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying that. I’m not the most beautiful woman. If I was, I would have been swept up by some American or something and would not be here, cleaning your room.”

“You are the most beautiful woman. And I’m here to take you away from this world you’ve made for yourself.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Do you believe in fate, Neidra? Of all the myths you could have told me, why’d you pick that one? ‘Americans love romance’. True. We love the art of surprise and affairs and anything the rest of society says isn’t right and shouldn’t happen. In other words, the art of the possible.”

“You’re crazy—Rueben. You’re—“

He took hold of her bare shoulders and drew her to him, kissing her slender neck and shoulders. She was tense with excitement and fear all at the same time. He kissed her dozens of times until gradually, she relaxed.

“Don’t relax, my love. Go with it. Try me.”

She gave him a sideways glance and then went limp to let him do as he pleased with her.

They made furious, but genuine love on his bed. He could never tell if she actually was enjoying herself, but at last, she was smiling.

“Why did you do this?” She finally asked.

“In Hinduism there are such things as devise, right? Gods or goddesses that enter a person, possess them, and other people would swear you were a reincarnation of that deity?”

“Yes.”

“There was a bastard inside of me who was a god of sorts—ruling over me and trying to instill in me hatred of the Indian race. Times have changed, I knew better, etc. I had to, for a moment, love you Neidra, to weed him out. I’ve seen India now, through your kind eyes, and it’s nothing like he said. I’ll call him now, and see if he’s fled me. If so, we’ve won and I would be so happy if McIntyre was rolling in his grave.”

He called the name out, into the air.

“McIntyre! McIntyre! Are you there, you son-of-a-bitch? Did I—we—send you back to Hell?”

There was no reply.

Rueben laughed victoriously and kissed his love on the cheek. His love smiled shyly. She looked at him strangely for a moment.

“McIntyre…hmm…perchance, was he a lieutenant in the English army?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He killed my grandmother.”

“He what!”

“Was she a nanny?”

“According to the records, yes.”

“Then, Neidra, we are not two strangers in the night. I was sent to right this wrong and our embrace has set me free. I’ll never forget this day. I’ll never forget you.”

“I’ll never forget India.”