Chapter 6: India

"I was always afraid as a child," she said. "I couldn't sleep if the light was off or if it was too quiet."

Wolfgang watched her talk, observed her. With anyone else he would have felt a pang of envy at her words – after all, his childhood was dominated with fear as well, a different strain of it. One interwoven with dodged glass bottles and seven-on-one fights and rich cousins that always seemed to get what they wanted. With anyone else, Wolfgang wouldn't have been able to listen. But she was so sincere, so joyful in her nostalgia that Wolfgang found himself swept away in the tide of it, unable to take his eyes off her.

"I – I don't like the quiet," she went on. "I used to fall asleep in my father's restaurant," and she looks down, abashed, and Wolfgang feels an overwhelming urge to encourage her, to touch her – "I've always hated being alone." Her voice cracks on the last phrase, and she looks out, away, remarking in a much softer tone, "It's one of the reasons why I love the festival."

Wolfgang feels something rising within her, rising within him, the beat of drums, music, the smell of paint, of bodies, of humanity. Flashes of a multi-limbed deity flit through Wolfgang's mind, a swirl of colors disappearing as soon as it comes. And Wolfgang is warm, young, small. He is traveling into somewhere – something?

Ganesha.

Wolfgang is somewhere else. He sees beauty everywhere, in the joyous celebration of a rippling tide of people, in the paint-splattered children free to roam among high-spirited vendors, in the men stacking on top of each other to dance in a fashion he has never experienced. Wolfgang takes in the view, with floats in this foreign parade, and so many statues. His young coffee eyes see them all, take them in, perched in a place so high and sacred no one can touch him. The mounting feeling builds to a crescendo deep in Wolfgang's chest, the immense feeling of togetherness and belonging and believing reverberating through him like the echo of a long-forgotten chord.

And Wolfgang is back, staring at the swirling dark tendrils of the woman who has brought it all to him, to them both.

She looks over at him, and their eyes meet once more, the brief flash of contact lending air to a spark Wolfgang is powerless to extinguish.

"It made me a believer."

"But – you're a scientist." Wolfgang protests, the cynic within him crying out.

"I am." A crease forms between his brow, and Wolfgang feels confusion pulling at the edges of his mind once more. His head shakes unconsciously, and Wolfgang can still feel his eyebrows drawing together as she says, "My love for science doesn't preclude my faith. For me, science is another language we use to talk about the same miracles that faith talks about." She exhales, and Wolfgang is glued to the sight of her beautiful mouth, to the words that didn't seem to equate to Wolfgang what they seemed to equal for her.

"But…" Wolfgang shifts his eyes away, conviction swelling within him. "… one language makes sense, the other doesn't."

She fixes him with a searching gaze, and suddenly she smiles, a gentle smile, as though Wolfgang had just given her the easiest test in the world. "Sense? Like quantum physics? Like a particle that can be here and not here?" And Wolfgang finds himself staring once more, ensnared without a hope, without a want of extracting himself. "Or sense like gravity?" The woman goes on, and Wolfgang leans infinitesimally closer, her eyes flickering down to skim over the surface of his lips. Wolfgang feels the scrutiny like a phantom kiss, his lips tingling with the sensation of touch. "A force that no one knows why exists." Wolfgang's lips are parted, the Mumbai breeze washing over him like a warm blessing. "Only that if it didn't exist…" and the woman moves imperceptibly, closer, closer… "If there wasn't this mysterious attraction… this pull between objects…" The space between them has coalesced into an intimate breadth, an atmosphere of shared exhales and the lingering presence of parted lips. "… then none of this would exist either."

"Thank God for gravity."

"Exactly."

And Wolfgang feels the brush of her skin on his own skin, the gentle line of her jaw skimming the coarse stubble gracing his own jaw –

"Hey Wolfie. Where the fuck are you?" Felix's words hit Wolfgang like a physical slap, sudden and hard, and he is left reeling to take the impact of the unexpected blow.

"What?" Wolfgang is dazed, lukewarm rain dripping over the bridge of his nose. His eyes are loathe to focus, so desperate to catch another glimpse of the world they were torn from. Felix's hand is on his shoulder, and the body language isn't encouraging.

"I heard from Abraham."

"And?" Wolfgang's gaze finally snaps back together, just in time to see the look of elation spreading over Felix's face.

"He'll take the rest of the diamonds!" Felix's hands are crushing Wolfgang's cheekbones, cupping his face in a bruising grip. But Wolfgang can't seem to care, he is laughing, amazed.

"When?"

Felix's exuberant demeanor floods the air around them. "I don't know, but we're going to be fucking rich!" Felix stops in his excitement, seemingly unhappy with Wolfgang's less-than-ecstatic response. "Hey!" He exclaims. "This is great fucking news!"

"It is."

"So why do you look like someone took a piss in your beer?" Felix's initial ecstasy is finally wearing off, and he plops into a chair next to Wolfgang, mystified.

Wolfgang pauses for a moment, considering. "I've been thinking I want to get out of Berlin for a little while." Felix makes a sound and Wolfgang rushes on, before he could lose his nerve – "I need to take a trip."

"Where?" Felix is subdued, supportive, and the look he gives Wolfgang reminds the man that there's a reason Wolfgang trusts Felix with his life, with his secrets.

"India."