Notes

The rain came back in the evenings. The days were dry, mostly, but the nights were wet and heavy.

The days turned into a routine. Meerka cooked. Ned ate. The house was clean.

But the nights were bad.

Ned heard her through the wall. Small sounds. Whimpers. The sound of someone running in their sleep.

He waited for a Tuesday. Tuesday was a good day for business.

He sat at the kitchen table. Meerka was chopping onions. She was crying.

-Stop chopping, Ned said.

She stopped.

-Sit down.

She sat. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

-I am sorry, Ned. The onions.

-It isn't the onions.

He put a notepad on the table. Yellow paper. Blue lines.

-Who put you out in the rain? Ned asked.

Meerka looked at the paper. She looked at the wall.

-My husband, she whispered. He took the dowry. He took my identity. He left me.

-And?

-My sister. Reshma. He... he knows where she is.

Ned clicked a pen. He slid it to her.

-Names, he said.

-Ned, he is a dangerous man.

-Me too, Ned said. Most dangerous men are just crooks. Write the names.

She picked up the pen. Her hand shook. She wrote a name. Then an address. Then another name. Reshma.

She pushed the pad back.

-What will you do?

-Paperwork, Ned said.

A knock came at the door. Meerka jumped.

-It is the police!

-I know, Ned said. I called.

He walked to the foyer and opened the door. A man in uniform stood there, looking like he was waiting for a beer.

-Evening, Ned.

-Constable.

Ned tore the page off the notepad. He handed it to the officer.

-I need a location on the girl, right?

-And the man? the Constable asked, reading the name.

-Locate him, Ned said. Don't arrest him. Just bring him.

-Alive?

-Breathing.

The Constable nodded. He pocketed the paper.

-Give me two days.

He left.

Ned turned back to the kitchen. Meerka was standing by the stove, clutching the towel.

-He works for you?

-He works for safety, right?

He picked up the half-chopped onion and tossed it to her.