The Call

Sudha wearily turned the key in the lock, and pushed open the door to her apartment. The traffic had been a mess as usual, and it had taken more than an hour to get home. Bharat would not be in anyway. He came in much later; indeed sometimes so late that she would have fallen asleep on their rather soft but comfortable sofa, watching yet another indifferent sitcom. She kicked off the heeled shoes she loathed, dumped the bundle of mostly junk mail on the table, and struggled out of her rather tight coat. She was dying for a cup of tea, and thought longingly of her mother greeting her with a steaming cup back home.

“Oh bother!”, she thought crossly. “I have to do everything around here! I wish I had a housemaid to do all the running around for me.”

She crossed over to the kitchen, and the mess which greeted her only served to worsen her mood. She had felt lazy to do the dishes last night, and this morning there had been no time, so there they were, stacked up in the sink. The cereal box was lying on its side, a few flakes scattered here and there. Crumbs were all over the toaster. The coffee stains on the formica had dried into brown tear-drops. The pickle jar had been left opened with a spoon stuck in it.

Surveying the scene, Sudha almost felt like crying. “Damn it! I just want a cup of tea! I just hate this stinking place!”, she went back and sank into the sofa. Flinging her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. Obediently, she breathed in and out deeply, attempting to blank her mind out. Thoughts crowded in like passengers swarming into a long awaited bus. Stray ideas shot across like shooting stars. A dusty whirlwind stormed her brain.
“It’s useless!” she got up disgusted. “There’s no escaping it. Might as well just do it!”

Not bothering to change out of her office clothes, she rolled up her sleeves, and plunged right in. Just half an hour later, the kitchen was spotless, everything exactly where she wanted it, and all the dishes done. A steaming cup of tea in hand, she sat down on one of the dining chairs, feeling much better. She could spend a few minutes in her little paradise before she got down to the ordeal of making dinner and messing up the kitchen once again.

Sudha’s thoughts wandered back to the days when she had first come to the US. When Bharat was away at work, she spent the whole day in the house, feeling utterly lonely, desolate, and depressed. Was this what she had left everything near and dear to her in India and got married for? When he was with her however, she wondered why she had ever had those doubts.
Then she began driving and got a job, and it was like a resurrection.
The novelty of the new place and new people wore off however, and soon it seemed to be one endless grind, a mechanical routine that just stepped you through the days of the week, and the weekend flew by with chores and laundry and cleaning. Everybody was busy, just managing to catch the flight to the next activity marked down on their bulky organizers.
Little by little, she lost contact with her friends and relatives, only making the mandatory weekly call home to speak to her parents. Nobody ever called, or dropped by, though she made it a point to call some of her friends at least once in a respectable length of time. That happened to be usually on a Sunday when rates were low, and invariably she would be greeted with the cheery tones of the answering machine. Whatever happened to the fun-loving, gregarious girl she had been, she wondered morosely, as she downed the last of her tea, and rose.

It was then that the red blinking light of the answering machine caught her eye. She stopped, feeling a little taken aback at her own feeling of shock. Maybe it was because initially, when she came home everyday, she would first check it out, hopeful that someone had called. Gradually, she had given up even noticing it. So today, it came as quite a surprise.
“Who could it be?”, a little tingle of excitement shot through her. She jabbed the square button marked Play, and listened carefully. Initially, there was just some static and then what sounded like shaken breathing. Then the voice of an old man almost whispering, came on.
“Sam… Sam… I want to talk to you. Just this once”.
A long pause, with just the sound of his breathing.
“I… need you. Please…call.”
The click of the phone.
The tape noisily started rewinding.

Sudha just stood there, staring at the machine.
“What was that all about?” she wondered aloud.
She played the message again, listening carefully.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” she exclaimed indignantly, as the tape rewound faithfully. “He should have at least left his number, I could have called him up and told him that there’s no Sam here!” She shrugged, shaking her head. “After so many days, I get a call, and it’s a wrong number! So much for hoping!” She turned away, rolling her eyes, and headed to the closet to change.

It was nine o’clock when Sudha flopped down on the sofa yet again, remote in hand. Dinner had been a simple affair, with just some rice and dal, with some vegetable curry left over from the previous day. She had eaten, and neatly packaged the rest into microwaveable plastics boxes, so that when Bharat came, all she had to do was just pop it into the microwave to reheat it. She had cleaned up the house too, and sorted out all the junk mail from the bills. There was nothing else to do, except watch TV and wait. Surfing restlessly through the channels, she couldn’t find a single program which interested her, and finally she settled down to a program on excavations in Egypt on Discovery.

Her thoughts again began meandering through the day’s events, when she suddenly remembered the old man’s message.
“That was so weird!”, she thought.
“I wonder who Sam is. Maybe it’s his son? Why did he want to talk to him, ‘just this once’?”
She sat up, a little worried.
“Oh dear! I hope it’s not something serious. He sounded so old.”
Now her imagination took free rein.
“Maybe he was dying or something. Perhaps Sam is his son, and he’s had some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe he wants to make up. Or maybe he wants to tell him something very important.”

By the time Bharat got home, Sudha had worked herself up into an anxious bundle of nerves. One look at her, and Bharat knew something was wrong.
“What happened? Why are you looking so worried?” he asked.
“It’s a little crazy”, she laughed nervously. “But we got a message today”.
“What message?” he asked as he took his shoes off.
“Listen” she pressed the Play button for the umpteenth time. Bharat listened to it and then looked at her in askance.
“What?” he raised his eyebrows. “It sounds like he’s got the wrong number to me”.
“Yes I know”, she replied. “It’s just that… what if it’s something serious?”
“Oh! Come on!” he took off his tie.
“No really”, she persisted. “Maybe it’s a matter of life and death. It seems to matter so much to him. I’m sure there’s something going on. He really wanted to talk to this Sam. He was almost begging him to”.
“What do you want me to do now?” she could tell he was getting testy now, and she couldn’t blame him.
“I don’t know…we should be able to do something. I won’t be able to sleep all night. I mean, if anything should happen to him… Shouldn’t he be told somehow that he has left the message at the wrong number?”… she was feeling very confused.
“Sudha, listen to me” he took her by the shoulders. “There’s no way we can reach him. Even if something should happen to him, there is no way you will know about it. Stop imagining all sorts of things, and let’s just get on with our lives”.
Much as she knew that what he was saying was absolutely right, she couldn’t stop herself.
“But… can’t we do something?” she protested.
“I don’t know! You tell me!” he walked off exasperated.
As Sudha stood there, feeling very foolish and defeated, the phone suddenly rang out, jangling sharply in the silence. She almost jumped out of her skin, and then rushed to get the call.
“Hello!” No response. “Hello?”
Just the sound of breathing, and she could feel her skin crawling.
“Hello…”, she said, more tentatively.
Suddenly there was a click, and then the voice of a young woman came over the phone.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number”.
“Oh!…That’s OK!” Sudha automatically responded.
Then on an impulse, she added hastily…
“Excuse me, I just have a question..”
“Yes?”, the woman sounded naturally surprised.
“Is there an old man there who wants to talk to someone called Sam?”
The question sounded ridiculous even to her own ears, as it was met with silence.
“I know this may sound a little absurd,” she tried to explain, “but we got a message today from an old man who wanted to talk to Sam…”.
“I’m sorry, there’s no one like that here. Sorry I called the wrong number.” The woman interrupted sharply and slammed down the phone.
Sudha slowly put the receiver down, as Bharat came, wiping his wet face with a towel.
“Hungry?” she asked, as he smiled and nodded, and put his arms round her waist.


Sudha was in a tearing hurry the next morning, when the phone rang again. Balancing the phone with a contortionist’s skill between her ear and shoulder, she struggled to zip up her skirt, pull up her pantyhose, and slip into her shoes, all at the same time.
“Hello?” Her voice was abrupt and breathless.
“Sam…?” The old faint voice sounded bewildered.
Sudha froze.
“Hello, who is this?” her voice was still breathless, but gentler.
“Sam – I want to speak to Sam”. The quavering voice now took on a sense of urgency.
“There’s…Look…I’m sorry”, she stumbled over the words.
“There’s no one called Sam here. Who are you?”
“Please…please call Sam – I ….need….to…speak…” the voice was fading away, pleading.
“I’m really sorry, there’s no one called Sam here. What’s your name? Can I help in some way….?”
The sudden click at the other end left her standing, staring at the phone in her hand, her mind screeching like a Ferrari on the last lap.
She called Bharat later that day.
“I don’t know what’s going on – it just doesn’t seem quite right” she argued.
“Hey, don’t worry. What can we do – go to the police?” he laughed.
“That’s not such a bad idea, you know” she mused.
“Just forget it, if you ask me! No point in getting all bothered about this. If it recurs again, let me do the talking, ok?”
Sudha didn’t have much time to think about it anyway, she was neck-deep in work throughout the day. She didn’t even remember it on the drive home, but as soon as she turned the key in the door, it came back to haunt her. Yes, the red light was glowing again. She jabbed the button and the quavering voice filled the darkened room once again. It felt eerie listening to the voice echoing off the empty walls, so clear and yet so indistinct. Sudha sighed wearily, and pressed the Erase button. Switching on just the lamp, she flung off her shoes and sank into the sofa. Her eyes traced the shadows playing light and seek on the curtains, as she wondered again about the caller. Who was he? Why did he want to talk to Sam so desperately? Her head ached with the unanswered questions.
She must have dozed off when the jangling of the phone startled her. For a minute, she didn’t quite realize where she was. She half-rose, and fell back to the sofa dizzily, her eyes blankly wide open. Collecting her wits, she grabbed the receiver, checking the time. Gosh! It was 8.30 already!
“Hello?” she automatically responded.
“Sam… is that you?” the faint voice made her wide awake.
For some inexplicable reason, guided by some unknown force, she heard herself answering.
“Yes, this is Sam. Who is this?”
“Sam…Sam!” The voice rose in a joyous bleat. “Oh! Sam, Sam! It’s me! I knew you would talk to me finally”.
Sudha just sat there foolishly, not knowing what to say next. Whatever got into me, she wondered fiercely, to do such a stupid thing!
“Er…” she just started to respond when the voice came back, a little stronger.
“Sam…, whatever happened, happened so long ago. I was proud and stupid. Please, please forgive me.”
The long silence that followed betrayed Sudha’s utter confusion. Her emotions swirled like chutney in a blender. She just looked up at the ceiling, debating whether she should just put the phone down.
“Sam…are you still there? I know what I did was wrong – so wrong and so terrible. Please, can you forgive me? I beg you… I loved you – I always loved you…. please….I beg you, let me go in peace...” the voice died in a whisper.
Sudha cleared her throat nervously.
“It’s all right – I forgive you…”, she answered in a low voice, her throat suddenly very dry, fighting back the compelling feeling of coming clean with him.
A barely-there whisper cut her short, “Thank you…Oh God! Thank you….bless you…”.
The click left her staring at the large buttons on the phone, her insides churning in a surreal manner, the impersonal dial tone echoing in her ears.