Song of Kali

Chapter Two

Instead of the usual geometries of electric lights, Calcutta at midnight was ablaze with countless lanterns, open fires, and a strange, soft glow—an almost fungal phosphorescence—that oozed from a thousand unseen sources. Instead of the predictable urban progression of straight lines—streets, highways, parking lots—Calcutta's myriad of fires seemed

I noticed movement in the shadows. Something was moving stealthily just out of the circle of light. I lifted the candle and watched as a rat the size of a small terrier froze into immobility. Pausing at the edge of the landing, its long tail flicked wetly back and forth across the boards. Feral eyes gleamed at me from the borders of the light. It a

I read to Victoria every evening, alternating Mother Goose with Wordsworth, Keats, and carefully chosen excerpts from Pound's "Cantos." She showed a preference for Pound.

Something about the Calcutta night worked directly upon the darkest regions of my mind. Brief clutches of an almost childlike fear tugged at my consciousness and were forced down again by the adult mind. The sounds of the night held no threat in and of themselves—distant shouts, sibilant scrapings, an occasional muffled snatch of conversation as we

"I decided then that I wanted to live in a country where I would see no ghosts." "I hate to break it to you, kiddo," I said, "but Great Britain and New England are famous for having their share of ghosts." "Perhaps," said Amrita and rose with Victoria secure in her arms. "But I can't see them."

"There are a lot of children," I said. "And almost none," said Amrita so softly that it was almost a whisper. It took me only a few seconds to realize that she was correct. For most of the youngsters we saw, their childhood was already past them. They faced a future of rearing younger siblings, heavy labor, early marriage, and r

Before Victoria was born, I used to grumble about couples we knew who had been lobotomized by the birth of their children. Perfectly intelligent people with whom we'd enjoyed countless debates over politics, prose, the death of the theater, or the decline of poetry now burbled at us about their little boy's first tooth or spent hours sharing the en

Chapter Thirteen