Читать книгу Another Heaven - Annu Subramanian - Страница 7

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Ashville, Pennsylvania • October 22, 2009

The end of all means is the beginning.

What the hell does that mean? Tina wondered broodingly, running her nervous fingers through her long brown-black hair. She read the anonymous declaration, the end of all means is the beginning, again and again and again, but she still got stuck in a dead end. What did the terrorist mean by that? Feeling weary and frustrated, she returned to the unsavory task of reading another report on the most recent explosion.

…The number of casualties from the recent explosion in South India is increasing rapidly as more bodies are uncovered. The Express, about to arrive at Seloor, a small train station in Tamilnadu, India, did not deliver passengers where welcoming arms were eagerly waiting on the platform. It s uffered a miscarriage, triggered by a suicide bomber. According to a statement submitted by the police, the militants, in an attempt to create fear and panic just minutes before the bomb exploded, called the Town Police Station with an intriguing message: The end of all means is the beginning. The authorities suspect there might be a connection between Al Qaeda militants and the recent explosion. “Islamic Jihad is not just a catalyst for territorial destructions. It is also a global vehicle for anarchy and terrorism,” points out Dr. Augustine, a leading analyst who is periodically consulted by the officials.

Tina picked up a cup of cappuccino on the way to Professor Katz’s office. When she knocked on his door before entering his room, the end of all means is the beginning still followed her like a heavy, nauseating hangover, and she could not shrug it off.

“Hi, Tina, you brought your own coffee, I see. You don’t trust my brand?” asked Dr. Alan Katz, filling his mug with the freshly steaming brew from the small machine on the shelf. As he walked back to his desk, a strong whiff of peppermint pipe tobacco walked with him.

“It’s just that I wanted cappuccino today, Alan.” Tina’s eyes rested on her advisor as he wearily sat behind his desk, and she took the usual armchair. “You look tired.”

“Tired? Yes, I am. Might be the weather. Just look at that rain,” he sighed, staring at the foggy window. “It has been pouring with a vengeance. Another month and this would all be snow. I should probably listen to my wife and move to Florida, but it won’t be easy after spending most of my life in Pennsylvania.”

Tina’s affectionate glance settled on the man who had mentored her since the first day of her doctorate program. How old was he? Sixty-five? Seventy? His silver goatee and heavy-rimmed spectacles added a few extra years to his smiling countenance. And he could use a haircut, she thought, glancing at his Einstein-ish, frizzy, gray hair. But his broad smile that unvaryingly reached his eyes made him look like anybody but the mad scientist.

“And I’m sure you’re looking forward to your trip to India. At least, you’ll be away from the nasty cold weather for a while, Tina,” he continued. “I must begin to clean this mess if I need to retire in six months. It’s so cramped.”

“How long have you been here, Alan?” asked Tina, her glance flitting from the loaded bookshelves to the dusty desk.

“Close to forty years, my dear. I came here straight from Harvard, and I’ve been stuck here ever since. Now let’s get to business,” he suggested, switching to her forthcoming trip. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this internship. Dr. Augustine would be a great mentor, Tina. He is an excellent analyst, a very reliable researcher in the field of counter-terrorism, although I’m surprised that he is still plodding along with his work. He was in the hospital a couple of times last year. Cancer! But he is quite resilient. So, Tina, any last-minute concerns before you go to Chennai?”

“Nothing much. But I’ve been reading some old files on Lashkar, actually where we left off after our discussion last time.”

“And?” asked Dr. Katz, catching Tina’s anxious tone.

“The rebellion confuses me a little, Alan.”

“Still?”

“You see, when radical activity in Kashmir was at its peak in northern India, I think around 1987, most Kashmiri militants were considered nationalists who spoke on behalf of an independent Kashmir, not a submissive partner of Pakistan. The religiously motivated militant groups also advocated the same sentiment. I can understand territorial unrest, but the headlong collision to terrorism boggles my mind.”

“Which part of the activity confuses you?”

“That there are individuals who would pawn their lives to take Kashmir away from India. I understand the mindset, I understand the hatred, but I cannot understand the absolute abandonment.”

“That’s not easy to understand, and you know what motivates them. My dear, you’ve got to train your mind to look beyond religion, anti-religious sentiments, and territorial entitlement when you want to continue to study a terrorist’s motive. Remember, Tina, there’s a psychological motivation behind every terrorist’s decision. That has been the pivotal part of your thesis. Tina, THAT IS your thesis.”

“I know. I know,” she sighed, a little frustrated. Otherwise, why would she be sitting in his office, week after week, seeking his advice? “I understand the psychology behind such actions or whatever I can understand fundamentally, but…”

“Yes? What is it, my dear?” asked Dr. Katz, noticing her quivering lips. Her olive complexion was steadily turning pale, and her brown eyes furtively traveled from one corner of the room to the other.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be good at this. I don’t think I’m prepared to meet Dr. Augustine in Chennai and work with him…” Tina’s voice faded, zigzagging through an unfamiliar territory.

Dr. Katz got up instantly and sat on the chair next to Tina’s, taking her hand in a fatherly manner. “Not prepared? My dear, you’re one of the best students I’ve mentored during my long career as a Professor of Psychology. Why this doubt, suddenly?”

“It’s not a doubt, Alan, it’s…” Tina fumbled for words, tired of wiggling in and out of a winding, disturbing topic. “It’s the recent explosion that took hundreds of lives in South India.”

“I know. It’s news today, was yesterday, and will be tomorrow. The incident occurred near a railway junction, about three, four hundred kilometers from Chennai. Is that what’s worrying you, that the disaster happened somewhere in the same state you would be visiting?”

“No, I’m not afraid of that, Alan. You know me. I want to go there now more than I did before, but can I make a difference? Whatever I’ve been slogging to accomplish, my research...would it even make a dent in the...what am I saying?” asked Tina, making an effort not to burst into tears. And there were some unshed, unknown tears waiting to spill. She knew what was dragging her down—not her lack of confidence, not her apprehension of internship, and not the insane search for understanding the insanity of a radical’s twisted mind. Those eight maddening words, the end of all means is the beginning, were obstinately crawling back into her mind like a colony of ants.

“We can only hope that it would make a difference, Tina. Listen to me. Shrug off those doubts. You have to do whatever you can, and you must move on. You can’t stop, not until you’re tired of research. You’ll know when you come to the end of the road. Tina, you’re the best. I’ve told you that before, and I’m telling you again.”

“Thanks, Alan,” Tina smiled gratefully. “It’s that baffling statement made by the unknown leader of the terrorist group that destroyed hundreds of lives a few days ago: the end of all means is the beginning. I can’t get it out of my mind. I guess that suggestion of an endless cycle, a never-ending chain of terror, threatens my confidence, my sense of security.”

“That damned statement is what feeds the venomous fear, and,” continued Dr. Katz, grinding his teeth, “it’s exactly what causes terror in innocent minds and even courageous minds—yours, mine, and everybody’s. When you think about it, that terrorist’s declaration works. The fanatic feels victorious when minds tremble over that unceasing element of horror. That radical’s aim is to make our future dangle precariously on a thread of insecurity and lies. Lies, Tina, just lies. Where is the truth in violence?”

“Yes, yes, exactly!” smiled Tina, breathing deeply. “Where is the truth in violence? Only lies—lies and violence. That takes my mind to Solzhenitsyn and our discussion last week.”

“Ah, Alexander Solzhenitsyn. You somehow manage to come back to him. I didn’t realize his words have made such an impression in your mind.”

“They have. It’s your fault. You introduced me to his books. And his words are timeless, Alan. Didn’t he try to convince the world that violence thrives when it’s intertwined with lies? And we don’t need much convincing. That’s what we see everyday when we turn on the news. You know, it makes sense to me. The end of all means is the beginning. Nothing but the sum of all lies.” Tina took another deep breath. “It’s all lies. I’m not going to let it bother me. I guess I needed this discussion.”

“We all need such discussions occasionally, my dear. Where would we be without a dose of reassurance?” Dr. Katz patted Tina’s hand affectionately. “Now, when you return from this internship, you better take me to dinner and tell me all about it. And I’ll probably be looking at a different Tina Matthew when you return.”

“I promise you a dinner, and I’m sure I’ll have so much to tell you, Alan, but I don’t think I’ll change much in six weeks. I do hope I learn a lot from Dr. Augustine.”

“You’re leaving on October 25th from Pittsburgh?”

“Yes. I’m going home day after tomorrow, and I’ll leave right away.”

“Good luck, dear. Have a safe trip,” wished Dr. Katz, taking Tina’s hand warmly. “And stay out of trouble.”

d

Tina stuffed her laptop into her backpack and picked up her raincoat before locking the door. She took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the vending machine on the first floor for a cappuccino. The rain had ceased, but there was no sign of sun at all. It was a typical autumn day—chilly, bleak, and on the brink of turning very cold. She gathered the shawl around her shoulders and quickly got into her car. She thought the campus looked beautiful, despite the cloudy day, with the leaves turning yellow, orange, and red. She looked at the stately crest of the tall pine trees skirting the roads and felt, not for the first time, how lucky she was to be there.

When Tina reached her studio-apartment in the corner of Elm Avenue and State Street, the end of all means is the beginning continued to follow her like a lurking shadow. Unable to shrug it off, she warmed the canned chicken-noodle soup, took a handful of oyster crackers, and went to the couch to eat her supper. Her hand automatically reached for the remote and she turned on CNN. There it was again in the news, the horrific explosion in a small city in South India. Explosions of that caliber usually occurred in major cities, where militant activities sprouted like wild mushrooms. How did a small town in South India become a victim?

“Hi, Dad,” said Tina, answering her cell phone.

“Tina, how are you, my dear?” greeted Dr. Peter Matthew, with absolutely no anxiety in his voice. Years of conversations with his daughter, some most unpleasant, had taught him how to approach a problem where his daughter was concerned—at least how not to approach a problem. So he patiently waited for a good opening.

Tina, meanwhile, wondered if she had overestimated his paranoia. Her eyes fell on her father’s photograph, and she wondered how much older he looked—with a shock of grey hair, enough creases on his forehead to make a bracelet, and that undiluted smile. Tina often heard that she had inherited her father’s smile, and she was thankful.

“Are you busy at the moment? I should’ve called a little later. I’m sorry,” apologized her father.

“No, I’m not busy. I came to my apartment a little early. I needed an evening of rest.”

“Good. May be you should have a healthy dinner today for a change, Tina.”

“Dad, I just ate some rice, chicken, and vegetables,” Tina lied, feeling a little guilty, but there was no other way to bypass his constant anxiety. “Did you have a good day?”

“A couple of patients cancelled their appointments. I was glad to have a short work day after a few hectic weeks.”

He was silent for a few moments, and Tina waited anxiously. She knew why he called. And then Peter Matthew’s paranoia burst like an inflated balloon suffering under the pressure of a sharp needle. “Tina, I’m scared to send you there. You’ve to put yourself in my place. Won’t you please listen to me?”

“Dad, that disaster happened in a small city, several hundred kilometers from Chennai. Do you think I don’t know that? Why won’t you trust me?” asked Tina, frustrated from many years of haggling. A new exasperation rushed into her stubborn veins, and she desperately held on to her temper. “Don’t people visit New York after 9/11? Don’t you go to Mumbai after the disaster in 2008, although the memory of losing your friend in that explosion is still painful? We’ve got to be strong and move on, Dad. I’m going to stay in Chennai with Aunt Rita, who is your SISTER, and her husband, Uncle Theo. Where is the problem with safety? Besides, Dr. Augustine, my mentor in India, is Uncle Theo’s family friend. What could go wrong?”

“You promise me you’ll be safe?”

“Yes. I’m twenty-six, Dad. I won’t do anything impulsive,” Tina sighed wearily. “Are you calling from home? Where is Mom?”

“Yes, I’m home. Gia is teaching this evening. She’ll call you soon. Good night, my dear.”

d

Gia Matthew opened the trunk to help Tina with her suitcases. “Tina, your dad would have liked to be here. Too bad he has hospital duty today,” said her mother, pulling the roll-on suitcase along the sidewalk.

“Mom, I know he would have liked to be here to send me off, but he would be nervous and miserable.”

“He’s so proud of you, Tina. He loves you more than God loves his children,” laughed Gia, walking towards the terminal.

Tina entered the crowded terminal through the swivel doors after Gia.

“You’ve at least half hour to check in. Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Gia.

“Sure!” Tina followed her mother into Arnie’s Café, not far from Gate B.

While Gia went to the counter to place their order, Tina turned towards the television screen mounted on the wall. A reporter at CNN was recapping the recent explosion that was already haunting Tina.

…The number of casualties from the explosion in South India is still on the rise. Officials are intrigued by the statement made by the leader of the militants; the end of all means is the beginning. The authorities suspect a connection between Al Qaeda militants and the recent explosion, although reasons for such a speculation are yet unknown. Analysts have cautioned that Taliban and Al Qaeda cells may be extending their roots for a unified jihad. The district police also added that the hands of the security forces were tied due to a carefully planned suicide mission that left no suspicious trails…

Same old news and same old coverage, thought Tina, shutting her eyes as the camera focused on burnt, mutilated bodies at the scene of the blast. But the pain that dug into her heart was not the same old pain. A different agony possessed her, leaving her helpless.

Gia placed a small tray on the table in front of Tina. “Here, honey, I got you a chocolate scone.” The mother’s attention was briefly on the television. “You know, it’s a good thing that your father is not here right now, watching this gruesome report at the moment. He would have dragged you to the car and taken you home,” smiled Gia, a tiny crease crinkling that smile.

“Mom,” began Tina, a strange sentiment anxiously clinging to her, “I know you’re worried, probably as much as Dad is. I want to thank you for trusting me, for being brave, brave enough for yourself and Dad.” Tina observed her mother as though she were new to her. Gia’s sandy eyes twinkled when she smiled and they matched her cinnamon-brown hair perfectly. She was the Little Italian Woman, but there was nothing little about her warmth, elegance, and quiet beauty. To Tina, she was the perfect woman.

Gia took her daughter’s hand tightly into hers. “Tina, we women have a certain strength that men don’t have. That’s the way life is. But your father has other burdens, and he carries them like a champion. The problem is…when he loves, he loves with a passion, and when he doubts, he loses faith in the world. I’ve not come across an intensely sentimental man like him. You know, he loves you very much.”

“And he loves you, Mom!”

“I know. I scold that poor man at times because he’s like a child. The thing is he is such a child—insecure, anxious, and a little stubborn! But I can count on his affection, no matter what. And you know, Tina, that’s the most comforting part of our marriage? I hope one day you can find a wonderful man like him.”

“Paranoid and sheltering?” asked Tina, wide-eyed. “But I know what you mean. And I hope I find a kind man like you did.”

“Well, you’ll know him when you see him.” Gia’s eyes fretfully settled on the scattered crowd. “Tina, when you return from India, we must go somewhere for a vacation.”

“I’d love that, Mom. What time is it?” Tina quickly looked at her watch.

“I guess it’s time to go,” replied Gia, with the slightest quiver touching her voice. “Give me a hug, darling. Promise me you’ll be safe, and take care of yourself. And here is a special kiss from Dad. He wants you to stay out of trouble.”

“Bye, Mom. Now go home. Don’t wait in the parking lot until my flight departs, like Dad does.”

“I won’t,” laughed Gia, her firm hand still clinging to her child’s. “But please call me when you’re ready to board.”