Things then started going from normal to abnormal. Normally she would change clothes in the other room and then go for her bath – and it was the nor... that the door to that room would be slightly ajar and nothing visible from my study table except the godrej Almirah of that room – that evening (by accident or on purpose I still do not know and I never asked her) the door to the cupboard was partially open – what this did was that on the mirror fixed to the Almirah door, the corner of the other. Cindy didn’t either. We were clean. Some memory when we were young and Dad had fewer bottles: fill the washtub with hot water from the wood stove, temper – yes I knew that word and many others – the hot water with cold water from the pump. Take the bath together, Cindy and I. Eight, we were just kids. Twelve, we were boy and girl… but still just kids. Sixteen, the year Dad left forever – though it was two years before Cindy and I agreed that he was really gone forever – Cindy was embarrassed. The training drew a large crowd of pilgrims, and the visiting women joined in the cheering and laughing. By dinner time, the muscular warriors wore me out and I felt bruised and sore over my entire body. The perky women were full of jesting and teasing throughout our sparring, and I enjoyed myself immensely. We trooped to the temple and I invited the guards to join me in the sacred pool to relax. They cheered me and I had a wonderful time in the pool as each woman found a patch of my skin to. Ultimately, like all conversations where some anxiety or anticipation is present, the topic we returned to often was the weather. And, ironically, it was an appropriate subject. It was hot. And, it wasn't going to get any cooler. Through the whole summer, we had exchanged letters. We often met on weekends and had frequent retreats to motels. Sometimes motels could wait, sometimes hotel rooms were paid for in haste with no real sleeping involved, and sometimes we bummed around Indianapolis first.
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