Page 39 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

Convincing Jay to let me go alone was a battle. He wanted to go in my place. I refused because I don’t want him more involved than he already is. He has an important position at the hospital. And he has a full load of patients this morning, including two cesareans.

Today, the barbed entrance gate to Canara Enterprises is open. Inside, a lone woman in a sari and sweater blouse squats on the ground, patting clay into a wooden mold and dumping the formed brick onto the ground. She works quickly—probably because she gets paid by the brick—adding another row to a growing layer of bricks drying in the open air.

I dismount and walk Chandra into the clearing, stopping right next to her. She looks up but doesn’t stop her work.

Inamasteher. “You’re an expert at this.”

Her overbite makes her self-conscious, so she puts her hand in front of her face as she smiles and wags her head from side to side, pleased to be acknowledged.

I notice all the bricks have rectangular indentations in the center. I wonder why. “Who buys these bricks?”

When she looks confused, I try again. “Who are the customers—”

She waves a hand. “I don’t know,Ji. I see a truck take them away. The driver says he’s taking them to Chandigarh.”

“Arré!What are you doing out here?” It’s the young man from yesterday, the one who sits behind the counter. He casts a dark look at the woman, who hastily returns to her brickmaking. To me, he says, “Go to the office.”

I try to look apologetic, but I can tell he’s suspicious. He watches me until I’ve led Chandra to the office door. The saddlebags filled with gold are heavy, but I’ve practiced lifting them so it looks like I know what I’m doing.

I bring in one saddlebag, and then the other, placing them on the counter. The older man from the back office comes to take the bags. He carries them to his desk and closes the inner office door so I can no longer see him.

“How did you get those blue eyes?” the young man says.

I’d been so focused on the boss that I’d forgotten the younger man guarding me. “What?”

“We see eyes like yours in Kashmir.”

In Jaipur I’d often been asked about my blue eyes. People thought I might be Anglo-Indian (a group that fell out of favor once the British left the country). Or perhaps I wasn’t Indian at all? Might I be Parsi, or Afghani? But I’m not about to get into a conversation with this man about my heritage or tell him that blue eyes have been common in my family for generations. I simply say, “I’m not Kashmiri.”

Now he puts his elbows on the counter, leaning forward with a sly smile on his face. “You shepherds never consider yourselves Kashmiri or Punjabi or Rajasthani, do you? It’s your tribe that matters. But I’ve never seen another tribal member with blue eyes.” He cocks his head, considering me seriously. Then he says something to me in a dialect that I don’t understand.

The fine hairs on my arms rise. He’s trying to suss out where I’m really from. I can’t respond convincingly in dialect. The risk I’m already taking becomes dangerous if I’m exposed. My best bet is to act embarrassed.

I cast my eyes downward, draw my shawl tighter around my neck. “Please,” I say, “I am married.”

He turns playful once again. “And your husband lets you do a man’s job?”

I think about Vinay, his body splayed on the ground. “Only because he’s injured. Badly.”

His smile is coy. “You must be needing comfort in that case. And I—”

The inner door swings open and the older man appears. The flimsy bracelet on his wrist is made of colored thread—one strand red, the other gold colored. It’s likely that a sister made the amulet for him so he would protect her for the remainder of her life. But when he drops the empty saddlebags onto the scarred wooden surface with a scowl on his face, I realize I can’t count on the softness he might show his sister. “You’re missing two,” he says.

I raise my chin in question.

“There are only one hundred and fifty-four bars. There should be a hundred fifty-six.”

I can feel the sweat begin to gather on my upper lip. But I keep my voice firm. “We took two as payment.”

“Kya?You took payment in gold?” He straightens, frowns. “That wasn’t the bargain.”

I look at the younger man, open my blue eyes wider, appeal to his softer approach. “It’s a dangerous route. My husband fell. Broke his back. We needed a hospital. That’s why we’re late. We had no money. We used the gold to pay our bill.”

Now the older man slams his hand on the counter, making me jump. “That is not a decision you get to make.” Spit flies out of his mouth. “What am I to tell the next courier?”

I sense the fear behind his anger. I level a gaze at him. “Tell him the Shimla authorities have heard rumors about the gold running at the edge of town. Tell him two bars is fair payment for carrying gold along the route that the police are watching.”

We lock eyes. I’m out of breath and feel as if I’m about to faint.

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