Chapter 1
The old man on the street was great company. He could talk about his life for hours. All my friends insisted that he was a bit – you know. But I liked him. He said that he co-founded GoDuck. GoDuck? That big building there? With the cool cars and the fancy suits? What suits, he would always ask. He said that he knew Umesh Thadani. The Umesh Thadani. And he would always insist that Umesh was a great man. He said they rode together in cars bigger than his house. His old house. The smaller one. The one with all the hardships and the crying. The one where they kept the shirts. The shirts, the shirts, the shirts they would sell door to door. They would jump out of moving choppers. Only after selling shirts of course.
Heck, they even spent nights on the streets together. Maybe he gets his stories mixed up at times. When you’re as old as me, memories of waking up in jail and waking up in a mansion all seem the same, he says. The feeling is the same. A pulsing, throbbing, right behind the eyes. No idea how we got here.
Looking around for Umesh. That was always the first thing he did when he woke up. That’s what he was doing when the idea first came to him. Looking around for Umesh. He says that the duck saw him long before he saw it. The Duck saw him. Looked into his eyes, right into his soul and squawked. A loud shrill noise that he can still hear. With those words (they were words to him)the duck walked away, walked straight into the water. And didn’t stop walking. To him, that felt like his eureka moment. If a duck can do it, why can’t we? As luck would have it he found Umesh already there at the pond. He pitched the idea to Umesh. Umesh said, this is an important meeting. Do not mess up again. We need this. The old man said yes, he would like to see the sun setting off the Grand Canyon. Or was he getting his stories mixed up again? He remembered brown. That he remembered clearly. Brown bags, brown tables, brown chairs and a brown courtroom. A black judge, a black lawyer and black ink on paper. And waiting, looking, searching. Looking for Umesh. Waiting for Umesh. He was late.
When Umesh finally arrived he had a beer in his hand. Umesh had sold 15 shirts that day. The old man could only sell 10. He didn’t mind. Umesh was always better with the business end of the deal, the legwork. It was evening already. The day was over and the old man’s eyes were closing. I offered him Pepsi, it was all I had. Of course he couldn’t see it. I handed him the drink and asked him when that happened. When had he lost his eyesight? He said it was around the time he signed that document. Before he went to jail alone. After Umesh had a son and a family. A different family. A new family. The old man stood up from his spot. His trusty stick helped him up. “I am going to go look for him”, said the old man as his stick felt for the ground. He left, searching for his friend. Looking around for Umesh. The old man was such good company.
