People die, Max tells himself. They die everywhere. In old folks homes
all over America people are dying. In hospitals they are dying. The only
difference is he didn’t volunteer to watch them. But here in Calcutta
he has, and they are. He gets off the bus and re-adjusts his Phillies
cap. His forehead is sweating. He walks past the painted eyes of the
Kali temple.
He kept thinking how did I get here? But he knew. They were all there for those salaries. He had first gone to Asia because he wanted to see for himself the part of the world where his brother David had been killed. After two years in Sarkhan teaching he went to Iran where he had been offered a considerably higher salary.
Sarah entered her apartment after walking for most of the day. It was a relentless walk, obsessive, back and forth, the same streets, over and over. She was searching, looking around, trying to listen, seeking faint sounds, distant acoustic memories of events long gone. She was looking for something, more precisely someone, for the last week, a painful routine.
--William Shakespeare
