The Extinct Read online

  He spent his days watching television or staring out the balcony doors. He woke once to find a few books next to the nightstand, some Hemingway and a dog-eared copy of The Iliad, but he was usually too sick to concentrate long enough to read. The apartment stunk like a sewer, but after a couple weeks the craving started to subside. He thought about shooting up but it wasn’t as urgent anymore. But he had a new enemy to contend with as well: boredom.

  Eric got out of bed to go to the bathroom one night and saw Thomas sitting in a chair with his pipe looking out at the city. The gray smoke formed a tunnel above him and slowly made its way to the open doors of the balcony and out into the night air.

  “How do you feel?” Thomas asked.

  “I didn’t need to be saved.”

  Thomas gave a wise grin. “You’re welcome.”

  Eric urinated in the bathroom and came back out, sitting in the living room and leaning against a wall. “When you gonna let me go?”

  “A couple more days. You look much better.”

  “You know I’ll just use again as soon as you let me outta here. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’ll at least know I did all I could.”

  “I don’t suppose I could have some of that?”

  Thomas looked down at the pipe, and then handed it to Eric. “It’s tobash caruit from Herat. A very special kind of tobacco.”

  Eric took a puff and felt the smoke going down into his lungs, silky with almost a cherry flavor. “It’s good.”

  Thomas nodded as he took the pipe back. They sat in silence, enjoying the smell of the smoke mingling with the salty air.

  “You said you knew my mother,” Eric said.

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “We were lovers, a long time ago. Before she met your father.”

  “What happened?”

  Thomas handed the pipe back to Eric. “I was always away on my hunts; it’s no life for marriage. Your mother and I parted ways and she met your father. I came back to the States after a particularly long tour and wanted her back, but she was already married by then. But, she did introduce me to your father and we became friends. One of my most loyal clients as well.” Thomas put a little more tobacco into the pipe. “The animal that killed your father is becoming quite the legend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s killed at least thirty others, mostly children from the more remote villages who wander off. I’ve been hired to kill it. I want you to come with me.”

  “Taking me prisoner isn’t the best way to ask. Besides, I don’t know anything about hunting.”

  “I assure you, you don’t need to; I’ll be doing the hunting. But just being out there, living on the plains and in the jungle out of a tent, it’s purifying. It cleanses you.” He took a long pull from the pipe, his emerald eyes focused on Eric. “Do you need to be cleansed?”

  Eric looked away without saying anything. Thomas rose, and left.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Jalani brought breakfast for him the next day: poached eggs and toast with orange juice. Eric ate on the floor of the living room as Jalani sat on the couch, her smooth legs neatly crossed, revealing muscular thighs.

  “Do you speak English?” Eric asked, taking a bite of egg.

  Jalani stared in silence, piercing Eric, looking through him rather than at him. Despite her cold behavior she had warm eyes.

  “Are you married?” Eric asked. “Kids?” He guzzled some orange juice and wiped at his lips with the back of his bare arm. “I used to want kids. Lots of ‘em. Didn’t really work out that way though.”

  “I do not have kids,” Jalani said, her voice metallic from disuse. “But I have brothers and sisters.”

  Eric was surprised at an answer and didn’t respond immediately. He took another sip of juice and then said, “How many?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Really? Your mother must be a tiger.”

  Jalani gave a quizzical look.

  “No,” Eric said, “it’s an expression . . . just saying that she must be strong, like a tiger.”

  “She was very strong. That is why my father traveled so much.”

  Eric grinned. “Your English is good.”

  “I studied in school. Thomas has taken me to London many times as well.”

  He finished his breakfast and leaned back against the wall.

  “The Bushman in my country believe,” Jalani said, “that when a lion kills a man, the lion takes the soul of the man and it corrupts him. The lion is pure until the soul of man enters him. He does not know of good and evil until he has eaten a man. When this happens, the lion becomes evil because it cannot tell the difference. It will always hunt men.”

  “Are you talking about the animal that killed my father? Thomas said it’s killed thirty people.”

  Jalani scoffed. “Is that what he said?”

  “Why? It’s not true?”

  “Thomas is a good hunter and a man of the world. But he only believes what his eyes tell him. He has no imagination so he cannot believe that an animal can become evil. He says thirty, but I have seen animals kill many more. A lion near my village killed nearly two hundred before it was shot.”

  “Wow, that’s probably some sort of record.”

  “Record?”

  “Yeah, like the most any animal’s ever killed.”

  “No, there have been others. But this one in India will soon surpass them. People that have seen it say that his eyes glow red in the night. They think it is the devil.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “No. Not the devil. But it is evil. And it needs to die.”

  “Are you going with Thomas to kill it?”

  “Yes, and so will you.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “No,” Jalani said confidently, “you will go.” She rose and gave Eric a warm smile. “I knew your father. He was a good man. I see that goodness in you too.” She shut the door and Eric was left alone again in the ever shrinking room.

  Thomas came later in the afternoon with a bag full of new clothes and some shoes. Eric was lying in bed watching television. Thomas walked to him and took a key out of his pocket, undoing the cuff chaining him to the bed.

  Eric began rubbing the skin on his wrist. It was tender and moist and he could still feel the weight of the cuff clinging to him. “Thanks.”

  Thomas nodded and laid the bag of clothing down on the bed. “Shower and dress, we’re leaving here today,” Thomas said as he walked off.

  “The hotel?”

  “No,” Thomas said from the front room, “Thailand. And I took the rest of your money and donated it to a nearby orphanage. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

  Eric looked over at the clothes. He could leave right now if he wanted, some of his strength had returned to him and he could probably make it away from Thomas if he protested. But the truth was this place had been hell. He’d seen things he could never have imagined seeing, and unwittingly become a part of them. That was the most sinister aspect of evil, he decided. That it could pose as necessity and disarm you. Before you even knew what was happening, you would be fully in its embrace.

  Eric took the clothes, and walked into the bathroom.

  CHAPTER

  29

  The Indian Ocean is at some places black as tar and at some places a shining turquoise blue. The third largest body of water on earth, it has highly important sea routes connecting the Americas with the Middle East, India and Asia. The traffic is mostly used for petroleum from the Middle East though hydrocarbons in the ocean floor itself are being tapped more often.

  To be over such a vast expanse of water and nothing else felt a little like tight-rope walking without a net; one slip up and it would lead to your death. But the beauty of the water wasn’t lost on Eric. There was just something about the sea that could make you forget everything else. Looking at it from high above, he felt that it�
��d always been a part of him. Each wave like an emotion flowing through him.

  The plane ride had been long and claustrophobic. They went from luxury planes on Air Asia to rickety private planes in India that rattled and shook at high speeds. Their pilot out of Calcutta had been drunk, but flew more competently than some of the sober ones. There were only a handful of people on the plane from the port of Goa India to Andhra Pradesh, most of them laborers being sent to this or that mine to slave for little wages.

  Flying over Andhra Pradesh, one could see the great gold and green plains; the thick shrubbery of the bush, and the ancient trees with leafy branches hanging down to the ground in long strands. Animals of all shapes and colors painted the landscape and the skies were ruled by the black vultures, their bald heads tucked into their shoulders. Occasionally a village would pass by. They looked much like the shantytowns of Depression-era America. Rusted Tin buildings with mud and straw filling any gaps. On the outskirts of the villages were the less developed buildings made wholly of mud or straw or wood bound together with rope or vine. The mountains ranged from small green hills to giants with cloud covered peaks.

  Eric could still feel the itch of addiction calling to him, but for the most part his mind was focused on the vast expanse of colors before him. The airport was smaller with only a few runways but you could sense the international flavor of the nation from this tiny corner of it. There was an abstract architectural design of various shapes welded to one another that was donated by the Dutch. A few trucks with BMW logos hauling cargo next to Cadillac’s. A British bistro situated near one of the terminals along with a free car service to the local British owned hotels.

  Thomas stepped off the plane first and Eric followed. The air was salty because of the proximity of the ocean but it was warm and comfortable. Eric walked across the tarmac, a canvas bag filled with his clothes slung over his shoulder. Jalani walked next to him, smiling.

  “You’re glad you’re here?” Eric asked.

  “Yes. I love being in new places. I miss home too, but I love the excitement of somewhere new.”

  Eric thought of the mountains and snow filled winters of New Hampshire and the thought made him uncomfortable.

  “You do not miss your home?”

  “Yeah,” Eric said, “I do. I just can’t go back.”

  “India can be your home. I have been here before. It is beautiful. And then when we are done, anywhere you wish to go can be your home.”

  “Home is where you hang your hat.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s nothing. Just another expression.”

  They walked through the main terminal. The interior was blue carpet with a dirty white ceiling and blue chairs bolted to the walls for the waiting passengers to use. Eric was impressed with how modern it looked considering the savage plains and jungles it sat in the middle of.

  Out on the curb in front of the airport was a waiting car with a driver in large sunglasses chewing on a toothpick. Thomas acknowledged him as he went to the trunk and put in his bag.

  Eric rode in the backseat with Jalani while Thomas was up front with the driver. They were speaking in a language Eric couldn’t understand, but every once in awhile they would laugh or tell particularly long stories. The car was zipping down a long stretch of highway near the coast and the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. Eric stared out the window in wonder. The ocean and sky surrounding them appeared a crystal blue. They drove for less than two miles before coming upon the town of Kavali. It appeared a somewhat modern looking city. Except for the tourist areas, the homes and buildings were rundown; the metal rusted and paint peeling off the wood. Some of the homes had red tile roofs and others were just cheap tin from top to bottom.

  “You must be careful,” Jalani said. “This is a very poor area. And when people are poor, they do things they may not wish to do.”

  Eric could see an old building that looked like a destroyed castle next to the shore. Jalani noticed his curiosity and said, “It is a fort. Four hundred years old and built by Muslims. It has a history of violence and death. People here say it curses its owner.”

  “It doesn’t look so bad.”

  Thomas answered, “Nothing on the outside tells us of what is on the inside.”

  Soon they were off the highway and in downtown Kavali, a place Jalani called the old part of Kavali. The architecture was a mixture of Hindu and Arabic and many of the merchants crowding the narrow, winding streets wore traditional Hindu garb. The buildings didn’t seem to go above four or five stories and they were mostly a dull white with various colored awnings and flags from nations across the world hanging over windows.

  “It has always been like this,” Jalani said. “Children come here and sell things made for the tourists.”

  “What do they make?”

  “Little shapes out of wood. Animal shapes. The tourists buy it for their children. Hyderabad—that is the capital—it is nice too. But it does not have the same feeling of Kavali.”

  The car stopped in front of a large square building with a British flag hanging down from the roof. The driver shook Thomas’s hand and they said good bye as everyone climbed out.

  The weather was a moist heat. Wet and relentless. It made it somewhat difficult to breathe and Eric regretted wearing jeans today. He grabbed his bag and followed Thomas into the building.

  From the uniforms the front desk staff were wearing it was obvious it was a hotel. Bagboys promptly took their bags and Thomas tipped them. He motioned for Eric to step outside with him.

  Thomas stood by the door and took out his pipe, lighting it and inhaling the tobacco deeply before speaking. “There is something about India that can penetrate the soul. It’s a mystical place, boy. Life teams here like nowhere else on earth.” He took a puff of the pipe and looked back to Jalani who was speaking with the front desk receptionist. “The national language is Telugu, but everyone speaks English. You should have no trouble getting around.”

  “You leaving somewhere?”

  “Um hm, I have business to attend to tonight. We’ll be traveling with three clients and I have to organize their arrival. Jalani will stay with you and show you the sites.” He pulled out some rupees and handed them to Eric. “Relax and enjoy yourself; this city can be quite fun. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, I nearly forgot.” Thomas took a crumpled envelope out of his back pant pocket. “A letter from your mother. She asked that I give it to you.”

  Eric took the letter and watched as Thomas walked away. He leaned against a wall and tore open the envelope. Inside were two sheets of paper in his mother’s soft handwriting.

  Dear Eric,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t see you in person. The police here call me every few months or talk to one of my friends about you. Jeff’s death was a big deal after you left. It was in all the papers and Channel 5 even did a half hour thing on it. You’re only one suspect. Jeff had lots a enemies from his life. They even arrested someone. He was a drug dealer Jeff was using to get drugs. They let him go though. We all miss you here. Jason’s doing very well. He’s met a girl and they’re going to be married. I heard from Marcy at the corner grocery that the girl got pregnant and they have to get married, but I don’t know. He seems happy. He comes by and checks to make sure I’m okay now and then. He always tells me to tell you that he understands why you did what you did and that you were the best friend he ever had. He’s a nice boy. I’ve met someone too Eric. You’d really like him, his name’s Samuel and he owns a hardware store in Nashua. I’ve told him all about you and he wants to meet you someday and take you fishing. He doesn’t have any kids of his own but I think he’d be a good father.

  Anyway, I really hope you’re doing well. I hope you understand why I sent Thomas to help you. He’s a good man and was a good friend of your father’s, listen to what he says. I want to see you soon. Samuel says he wants to take me to Germany, where his family’s from. Maybe my family could be there too?

  Love always,

>   Carol

  P.S. If you need any money, tell Thomas and he’ll get in touch with me.

  Eric lowered the letter, tears filling his eyes. He folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket. A small boy was watching him from the street. Eric smiled and the boy smiled back before running off.

  CHAPTER

  30

  After he’d visited his room and brushed his teeth, which he hadn’t done in almost twenty hours, Eric took to walking the streets. The roads were well paved but the sidewalks were uneven and parts were made of cobblestones which, though charming, hurt his feet and ankles. The smells of the city were amazing. A mix of Hindu spices from the open markets, sweet vegetables broiling over spits, honey-tea coming from the tea houses, and the salt of the ocean air.

  There was a café not more than a block from the hotel and Eric sat on the patio in a metal chair and ordered a coffee from a slim woman with caramel skin. It was brought back with sugar, some milk, and a little powdery chocolate on a separate dish. As he drank, he watched the hordes of people moving through the street. It was as packed as Bangkok, but the people here didn’t have a sense of urgency. There were no honking car horns or angry shouting.

  Many of the people had hard faces, faces that had seen much of life. But there was little sadness in them. They had a fortitude that prevented sadness. Or maybe they were so busy surviving they just didn’t have time for such a wasteful emotion?

  Though the heat was boiling many of the women wore the traditional Hindu headscarves but weren’t sweating. It appeared they were working just as hard as the men, selling handmade items or carrying large jugs of water or food from here to there. In some ways they worked harder than the men because most of them had children by their sides. Some of them smiled and nodded hello to Eric, but most ignored him. He got the feeling that there was an implicit agreement between the street hawkers and the restaurants that they would not hassle the customers while they were eating.