Page 55 of Six Days in Bombay
The young man grinned. “But that’s fantastic. You’ve come all this way to see Petra? How do you know each other?”
Petra cut him off in Czech and stood up, gathering her silver cigarette case. I stood up too, not knowing what I was meant to do.
Pavel said to me, “Are you coming to Petra’s exhibit tonight? It’s going to be a big splash.”
“She’s not interested.” Petra’s reply was curt.
“But I am,” I said. “Perhaps there will be others there who knew Miss Novak.”
“Mira?” Pavel’s face lit up. “We all know Mira. She’s so famous now. And we’re all famous by extension. Isn’t that so, Petra?”
Petra narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. Just then, another one of Petra’s friends came in. She kissed the woman on her cheek and turned to me. “Well, thanks for coming.” She was dismissing me?
Pavel said to Petra, “That’s it? This woman has come all the way from India—” He turned to me. “We all know about Monsieur Gandhi. We admire what he’s doing. India deserves her freedom.” He turned to Petra again. “And you’re leaving her here?”
I looked from Petra to Pavel and back again, as if I were watching a badminton game.
The other young woman, who had gone up to the bar to order her coffee, now returned, looking from Petra’s darkened face to Pavel’s confused one. “What’s going on?” She eased herself onto a chair at Pavel’s table and opened a fresh pack of cigarettes.
Pavel spoke rapidly in Czech. Petra rolled her eyes and walked to the door. I stood, watching her leave the café, wondering what had just happened.
Now Pavel switched to French. “She speaks French, Martina. She knows Mira.”
Martina expressed the same enthusiasm Pavel had upon hearing Mira’s name. She said, “You know Mira? She’s brilliant. I always wanted to paint like her, but my talent lies more in photography. I like taking pictures of people.”
I didn’t want to dampen their spirits, but I did want to explain why I was in Prague. I told them what had happened to Mira. Pavel’s face was halfway to a smile before he realized I was serious. He reached for Martina’s cigarette carton and matches. Martina’s face was frozen, aghast.
“Comment?”they both said at once and then looked at eachother. “Wasn’t it just two years ago she was here for that retrospective? She’s too young. And healthy.”
I hadn’t been invited to sit at their table, but I pulled up a chair anyway. The waiter appeared with their orders and left as quietly as he had come.
Pavel cleared his throat. “We all went to the same schools. Did things together. But Mira and Petra—” He stole a look at his companion. “They were very close. Petra worshipped the ground Mira walked on. And more than that. She had a thing for Mira. Mira just laughed it off, but for Petra it was a big deal. Then Paolo came along.” He smiled and so did Martina.
My ears were ringing. This was Mira’s Paolo.
With a raspy chuckle, Martina brought the fingers of one hand together and said in an exaggerated Italian accent, “Pa-o-lo!” She continued in French, “Mira couldn’t stop talking about him. She must have been—oh—fifteen? When she went to Florence to study with him—”
Pavel almost choked while taking a sip of his coffee. “Her mother went to Florence to study Paolo and dragged Mira along. Her mother was crazy about him.” He and Martina shared a laugh.
This was not news to me. Mira had told me of her mother’s infatuation with Paolo. Was that why Mira had made a play for him as well? To get back at her mother for her inattention, her jealousies?
The café had maintained a steady stream of customers going in and out, friends greeting friends. Sitting with Pavel and Martina, I could almost pretend this was how I lived my life. As if I spent afternoons gabbing with friends, drinking hot chocolate, munching on pastries. Gossiping about people we had in common. My actual existence seemed so staid. Home. Hospital. Home. Market. Home. Without my job and without my mother, was that even my life anymore?
The waiter came around and Pavel ordered in Czech. Martinasaid something to him, pointing to his stomach. Pavel gave her a sideways look as if to say,Leave me alone about my eating.
“Did Miss Novak enjoy studying with Paolo?” I asked.
They laughed again, Martina leaning against Pavel. “She enjoyedstudyingPaolo.” Her laugh turned into a cough. I recognized the signs of a chain-smoker.
When she recovered, Martina cleared her throat and said, “She could talk of nothing else. She was completely—” She asked Pavel something in Czech.
He said, “Smitten.”
“Smitten!” Martina said, holding her cigarette aloft.
“Did he love her back?” It was bold of me to ask, but I wanted to know. Mira hadn’t given me a clue either way. She’d only talked about how she would always love Paolo whether they were together or not.
Martina made a face. She turned to Pavel. “As much as he loved anybody, I suppose. We never met him. Only heard about him.”
