Another Heaven. Annu Subramanian

end of the road. Tina, you’re the best. I’ve told you that before, and I’m telling you again.”

      “Thanks, Alan,” Tina smiled gratefully. “It’s that baffling statement made by the unknown leader of the terrorist group that destroyed hundreds of lives a few days ago: the end of all means is the beginning. I can’t get it out of my mind. I guess that suggestion of an endless cycle, a never-ending chain of terror, threatens my confidence, my sense of security.”

      “That damned statement is what feeds the venomous fear, and,” continued Dr. Katz, grinding his teeth, “it’s exactly what causes terror in innocent minds and even courageous minds—yours, mine, and everybody’s. When you think about it, that terrorist’s declaration works. The fanatic feels victorious when minds tremble over that unceasing element of horror. That radical’s aim is to make our future dangle precariously on a thread of insecurity and lies. Lies, Tina, just lies. Where is the truth in violence?”

      “Yes, yes, exactly!” smiled Tina, breathing deeply. “Where is the truth in violence? Only lies—lies and violence. That takes my mind to Solzhenitsyn and our discussion last week.”

      “Ah, Alexander Solzhenitsyn. You somehow manage to come back to him. I didn’t realize his words have made such an impression in your mind.”

      “They have. It’s your fault. You introduced me to his books. And his words are timeless, Alan. Didn’t he try to convince the world that violence thrives when it’s intertwined with lies? And we don’t need much convincing. That’s what we see everyday when we turn on the news. You know, it makes sense to me. The end of all means is the beginning. Nothing but the sum of all lies.” Tina took another deep breath. “It’s all lies. I’m not going to let it bother me. I guess I needed this discussion.”

      “We all need such discussions occasionally, my dear. Where would we be without a dose of reassurance?” Dr. Katz patted Tina’s hand affectionately. “Now, when you return from this internship, you better take me to dinner and tell me all about it. And I’ll probably be looking at a different Tina Matthew when you return.”

      “I promise you a dinner, and I’m sure I’ll have so much to tell you, Alan, but I don’t think I’ll change much in six weeks. I do hope I learn a lot from Dr. Augustine.”

      “You’re leaving on October 25th from Pittsburgh?”

      “Yes. I’m going home day after tomorrow, and I’ll leave right away.”

      “Good luck, dear. Have a safe trip,” wished Dr. Katz, taking Tina’s hand warmly. “And stay out of trouble.”

      d

      Tina stuffed her laptop into her backpack and picked up her raincoat before locking the door. She took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the vending machine on the first floor for a cappuccino. The rain had ceased, but there was no sign of sun at all. It was a typical autumn day—chilly, bleak, and on the brink of turning very cold. She gathered the shawl around her shoulders and quickly got into her car. She thought the campus looked beautiful, despite the cloudy day, with the leaves turning yellow, orange, and red. She looked at the stately crest of the tall pine trees skirting the roads and felt, not for the first time, how lucky she was to be there.

      When Tina reached her studio-apartment in the corner of Elm Avenue and State Street, the end of all means is the beginning continued to follow her like a lurking shadow. Unable to shrug it off, she warmed the canned chicken-noodle soup, took a handful of oyster crackers, and went to the couch to eat her supper. Her hand automatically reached for the remote and she turned on CNN. There it was again in the news, the horrific explosion in a small city in South India. Explosions of that caliber usually occurred in major cities, where militant activities sprouted like wild mushrooms. How did a small town in South India become a victim?

      “Hi, Dad,” said Tina, answering her cell phone.

      “Tina, how are you, my dear?” greeted Dr. Peter Matthew, with absolutely no anxiety in his voice. Years of conversations with his daughter, some most unpleasant, had taught him how to approach a problem where his daughter was concerned—at least how not to approach a problem. So he patiently waited for a good opening.

      Tina, meanwhile, wondered if she had overestimated his paranoia. Her eyes fell on her father’s photograph, and she wondered how much older he looked—with a shock of grey hair, enough creases on his forehead to make a bracelet, and that undiluted smile. Tina often heard that she had inherited her father’s smile, and she was thankful.

      “Are you busy at the moment? I should’ve called a little later. I’m sorry,” apologized her father.

      “No, I’m not busy. I came to my apartment a little early. I needed an evening of rest.”

      “Good. May be you should have a healthy dinner today for a change, Tina.”

      “Dad, I just ate some rice, chicken, and vegetables,” Tina lied, feeling a little guilty, but there was no other way to bypass his constant anxiety. “Did you have a good day?”

      “A couple of patients cancelled their appointments. I was glad to have a short work day after a few hectic weeks.”

      He was silent for a few moments, and Tina waited anxiously. She knew why he called. And then Peter Matthew’s paranoia burst like an inflated balloon suffering under the pressure of a sharp needle. “Tina, I’m scared to send you there. You’ve to put yourself in my place. Won’t you please listen to me?”

      “Dad, that disaster happened in a small city, several hundred kilometers from Chennai. Do you think I don’t know that? Why won’t you trust me?” asked Tina, frustrated from many years of haggling. A new exasperation rushed into her stubborn veins, and she desperately held on to her temper. “Don’t people visit New York after 9/11? Don’t you go to Mumbai after the disaster in 2008, although the memory of losing your friend in that explosion is still painful? We’ve got to be strong and move on, Dad. I’m going to stay in Chennai with Aunt Rita, who is your SISTER, and her husband, Uncle Theo. Where is the problem with safety? Besides, Dr. Augustine, my mentor in India, is Uncle Theo’s family friend. What could go wrong?”

      “You promise me you’ll be safe?”

      “Yes. I’m twenty-six, Dad. I won’t do anything impulsive,” Tina sighed wearily. “Are you calling from home? Where is Mom?”

      “Yes, I’m home. Gia is teaching this evening. She’ll call you soon. Good night, my dear.”

      d

      Gia Matthew opened the trunk to help Tina with her suitcases. “Tina, your dad would have liked to be here. Too bad he has hospital duty today,” said her mother, pulling the roll-on suitcase along the sidewalk.

      “Mom, I know he would have liked to be here to send me off, but he would be nervous and miserable.”

      “He’s so proud of you, Tina. He loves you more than God loves his children,” laughed Gia, walking towards the terminal.

      Tina entered the crowded terminal through the swivel doors after Gia.

      “You’ve at least half hour to check in. Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Gia.

      “Sure!” Tina followed her mother into Arnie’s Café, not far from Gate B.

      While Gia went to the counter to place their order, Tina turned towards the television screen mounted on the wall. A reporter at CNN was recapping the recent explosion that was already haunting Tina.

      …The number of casualties from the explosion in South India is still on the rise. Officials are intrigued by the statement made by the leader of the militants; the end of all means is the beginning. The authorities suspect a connection between Al Qaeda militants and the recent explosion, although reasons for such a speculation are yet unknown. Analysts have cautioned that Taliban and Al Qaeda cells may be extending their roots for a unified jihad. The district police also added that the hands of the security forces were tied due to a carefully planned suicide mission that left no suspicious trails…

      Same