Lucky T (9 page)

Makeshift stands lined the streets. There was a man selling bananas and mangoes from an open cart. Another man sat on the sidewalk surrounded by pots, stirring up some kind of concoction for the brave tourists who hovered around him. Nearby a pair of children sold sweets from a table, their mother hovering behind them as they made their sales.

"I can't believe how loud it is!" Celia shouted above the din on the street.

"I know!" Carrie agreed. "It's more crowded than the Hal oween parade back home!" She leaned forward as far as she could without totally smushing Doreen. "Is there something special going on?" she asked Prandya.

"Something special?" Prandya asked.

"Yeah, like a parade or a huge sale or something," Carrie said.

Prandya looked confused for a moment, gazing out the windshield as a pair of old men with long beards tottered by with wooden canes. They were wearing nothing but sheets wrapped around them to cover the strategic areas. One of them looked up and smiled as he passed, flashing a single, yellow tooth.

"Oh, you mean because of all the people!" Prandya said finally, letting out a hearty laugh. "Oh, no, my dear. It is always like this. There are more than twelve mil ion people in Kolkata."

"Wow. That's unbelievable," Carrie said, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to find her shirt among twelve mil ion souls. She wanted to stay positive. Believing you could do something was half the battle. That was one lesson she had learned on the many courts she'd competed on.

As she looked out the window again, she spotted a group of about twelve women coming out of a cozy shop. They were all dressed in elaborate saris and wore rows of glittering bracelets and colorful bindis on their foreheads. They all looked so exotic and beautiful as they chatted together and walked down the street. Carrie looked down at her plain jeans and white tank top and wondered if she would ever be able to pul off something like that. Maybe she would have to do a little shopping while she was here--if there was time.

The car made another sudden stop and Carrie's stomach lurched. Instantly all thoughts of international fashion flew out the window.

Oh, no, Carrie thought. Please not now. Not on my first day here. Carrie had always been prone to car sickness and between the sensory overload, her empty stomach, and the bucking of the car, she was suddenly extremely nauseated. She could only imagine what Teensy and Prandya would think of her if she barfed in their car. Not to mention the huge laugh Dor-mean would have at her expense.

Leaning back in her seat, Carrie breathed in and out slowly in an attempt to quiet her stomach, but it didn't help. The air was thick with humidity and a heady concoction of tangy, sour, and spicy smel s that only made the sick feeling more intense. Suddenly there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to heave. The question was, would it be right here in the car, or would the gods be kind and let it wait until they got to the hotel?

Finally, mercifully, Prandya turned off the crowded street and onto a much less packed side road. As the car picked up a bit of speed, Carrie rolled down her window and stuck her head out, letting the breeze blow her knotty hair back from her face.

Suddenly the buildings started to come farther and farther apart and open air was again a reality. Prandya turned onto a wide, paved, tree-lined street and Carrie's jaw dropped. Where had these houses come from? They were huge and grand, made of real, solid brick and mortar with windows and flower boxes and paved pathways up to the doors. Carrie saw a maid in full uniform beating out a rug on one of the many verandas.

A gleaming Mercedes pulled up to a gate, which slid open automatically to let the car through. Carrie breathed deeply and smelled nothing but clean air and sweet flowers.

Wow, what a beautiful neighborhood, Carrie thought.

Prandya made another turn and the car splashed through muddy water before finally squealing to a stop in front of a tall, sorry-looking structure with windows that yawned open toward the street. A couple of skinny teenage boys kicked back on the steps, smoking cigarettes. The car backfired, sending a pack of birds squawking from the rooftop. Then the engine fell silent.

"Well, how is that for luck, huh?" Prandya said, turning in her seat. "We just made it!"

Carrie blew out a relieved sigh. Actually, the fact that she was able to avoid puking had to be the best luck Carrie had experienced in a while. Could being in the same country as her lucky T have some effect on her karma?

"Is this our hotel?" Carrie whispered to Celia as they got out of the car.

"This is a hostel, dear," Celia replied. "We're staying here with other volunteers. It'll have a rustic charm, I'm sure."

"Fine," Carrie said, nodding. "Great."

She had heard of hostels before. Carrie had always thought they sounded kind of cool and romantic in a way--like a dorm packed with kids from around the world, everyone roughing it together. Piper's collegiate cousin Maxine spent time backpacking throughout Europe last summer and came back with a ton of stories involving bathrooms shared with hot Irish guys and breakfasts of bread and hot chocolate eaten at huge tables with girls her age who were fascinated about America and wanted to test their English. There were huge parties where all kinds of languages were spoken, bad beer was swilled, and kissing games were an inevitable conclusion.

But this place took the phrase "roughing it" to the extreme. As Carrie yanked her bags from the back of the car, she looked up at the three floors of windows, some of which had been shattered, then duct-taped back together. Toward the base of the building, parts of the outer Sheetrock had crumbled away, revealing the bricks underneath. A couple of dogs scrounged through some boxes and trash bags in the alleyway, the sounds of their snarling and munching doing nothing to help Carrie's weakened stomach. She was fairly certain that no one she knew had ever stayed in a place that looked remotely like this one.

Suddenly a loud, wailing sound split the air and Carrie nearly jumped with fright. Across the street a pair of men paused on the sidewalk. They pulled rolled- up mats from their bags, laid them on the ground, and knelt down to pray. A pair of women who were walking and talking stepped around them, never pausing in their conversation.

"What is that?" Carrie asked, wincing against the sheer volume.

"That's the Muslim call to prayer," Prandya explained. "There's a mosque a block away and the call happens five times a day."

Carrie watched the men as they closed their eyes and bowed again and again, touching their foreheads to their mats. Five times a day? That took a level of devotion she could barely imagine. It took a lot of discipline and motivation for her to train for basketball and that was only once a day, sometimes even less than that. So far, India was completely foreign and utterly fascinating.

"Why aren't you praying?" Carrie asked.

"Oh, dear, I'm not Muslim. I'm Buddhist," she said with a smile. "We have all kinds of religions here, just like you have at home, I am sure."

"Come on, girls," Celia said, wrangling Carrie and Doreen, who was also intrigued. "It's impolite to stare."

Carrie tore her eyes from the praying men and shuffled toward the building, lugging her bags. One of the two teenagers stood, hiked his pants up, and clenched his cigarette between his teeth.

"Al ow me to assist," he said, reaching for Carrie's suitcase.

"No, that's okay, I got it," Carrie said, wary of letting anyone take her bags. There was no way a pilot's daughter was going to ignore her "don't give your bags to anyone else" reflex. She'd hold on to her own stuff, thank you very much.

"Please. I can help," the guy said, smoke pouring out through his nose.

Carrie swal owed back a new wave of nausea. "No, really. I got it," she said, wondering where the nearest bathroom was.

"I see. Skinny American girl is too good for my help?" the guy said.

"No, it's not that at all . You see, my dad's an airplane pilot and--"

Without any warning, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a stream of acrid smoke directly into her face. The smoke went up her nose, into her mouth, and gagged her for real.

Carrie felt the final heave. Her face burst into flame. This was it. This was where it was going to happen. She dropped her bags, slapped her hand over her mouth, and ran for the side of the stairs. Grasping at the wooden handrail, she leaned over, tried not to think of how mortifying this was going to be, and lost all three of her airplane meals into a tangle of weeds and trash.

So much for the being-in-the-same-country-with-the- lucky-T theory.

Behind her, she could hear the boys laughing, Prandya "tut-tutting," and Teensy muttering something in Bengali that cracked the guys up even more.

The only thing missing from this humiliating moment: a tremendously loud cackle from Dor-mean. Too bad for her that Celia was standing right there, because otherwise she would have given Carrie the beat-down of a lifetime. Instead Doreen just put her hands over her mouth to stifle the gargantuan guffaw that she was so close to unleashing.

"Oh, my dear! Are you all right?" Celia asked, laying a comforting hand on her back when she was finally through.

"I'm okay," she said, nodding. Her eyes were thick with tears and her throat hurt from all the gagging. "I could use some water, though."

"Of course," Prandya said. "Ali! Get her bags!"

The kid with the cigarette grabbed Carrie's stuff and followed her as they walked inside. Carrie didn't dare look him in the eye. She was embarrassed that she had thrown up right in front of him but even more so that after all her refusal, he had ended up carrying her bags anyway.

"They have to boil the water here," Doreen whispered to Carrie. "You never know what might be swimming around in it."

Oh, the humanity, Carrie thought, wishing her health- nut mom was around to rescue her. "Doreen, what did Teensy say about me just now?"

"How should I know?" Doreen replied. "Those tapes don't teach you how to understand the language when it's spoken at warp speed."

Ali leaned his head over Carrie's shoulder and grinned. "She said, 'That's what happens when you eat the sacred cow,'" he told her. Then he laughed all the way up the stairs.

"Ha!" chuckled Dor-mean.- "That's a good one."

"Glad I'm here to amuse you," Carrie said.

Celia stayed behind on the first floor to meet a few people with Teensy while Prandya showed Carrie and Doreen to their room. She lumbered up the two flights of rickety stairs, arousing ominous squeaks and squeals from the floorboards. At the end of the surprisingly wel - lit hal way on the third floor, Prandya opened a small door.

"This will be your room, girls," she said.

Doreen plowed straight in and dropped her bags on one of two small cots that were pushed up against the side wall s. Ali had already deposited Carrie's things on the other cot, which was sagging in the middle--the headboard and footboard looked as if they were straining to meet each other over her bags. Carrie hovered in the doorway, unsure of whether she would actually fit in there along with Dor-mean, her crappy attitude, and all their stuff. The room, while clean and bright and equipped with a writing desk and one dresser, was roughly the size of Carrie's closet back home.

"What's that?" she asked Prandya, pointing to a contraption on the floor that looked like an oven burner.

"That is a mosquito coil," Prandya said. "We get a lot of bugs in the rainy season, so I suggest you light that before you go to bed."

"I brought tons of mosquito repellent," Doreen said with a proud little smile.

"Someone did their research," Prandya said brightly, causing the smile to widen.

Carrie rolled her eyes.

"Come along. I'll show you the bathroom," Prandya said.

Yes! That's exactly what I need, Carrie thought. First I'll take a long shower and then I'll go right to sleep. She didn't even care about eating anymore after watching all her other meals come back up.

Prandya opened a door at the opposite end of the hal way. The foul stench hit Carrie so hard she almost col apsed. She held her nose and backed up a few steps.

"Ali! Tell Gehra the toilet is backed up again!" Prandya shouted, slamming the door closed before Carrie even got a look at the shower. "I'm sorry, girls," she said. "The flusher goes out from time to time. It should be fixed very soon."

Stay positive, Carrie told herself. Or more important, stay calm. Do not--I repeat--do not. . . freak . . . out. . . . "That's okay," she said, still holding her breath.

"No problem," Doreen said brightly.

Carrie was surprised that Doreen hadn't studied plumbing in third world countries before the trip. How thoughtless of her!

"So, let's get you some water," Prandya said, wrapping her arm around Carrie's shoulders.

"Actually, I think I'm just gonna go to bed if it's okay with you," she said. "Jet lag and all that."

"But we will be having dinner soon," Prandya said.

Carrie felt weak, exhausted, parched, hungry, and sick all at the same time. But all she really wanted to do was go to sleep and recharge her tired, frazzled batteries.

"Save me something?" Carrie asked.

"Of course," Prandya replied.

"Thanks."

"Don't forget to light the mosquito coil!" Dor-mean called after Carrie.

"Yeah, yeah," she said under her breath. "Coil this!"

Carrie wasn't too concerned about the bug situation. Mosquitoes didn't bite her. It was one of those odd phenomena in her family. She and her mom could go hike the redwoods with ten people and come back without a single bite while everyone else was covered in them.

She walked into her room, threw everything on the floor, and rested her head on the small but soft pillow. Lately, when Carrie crawled into bed, she tossed and turned for hours. Thoughts of her lucky T, Piper, Jason, and her mom and dad would fil her consciousness, preventing her from dozing off. This time was different. Within fifteen seconds she was out.

That evening Carrie awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep, jolted awake by a loud noise. She blinked around in confusion. There was dark, grainy wood where her cream- colored wall was supposed to be, and the dim light coming in through the window was all wrong. In fact, the window was in an entirely different place. Where was she? Where was that singing coming from? Why was her face so close to the wall ? What was that delicious smel ?