The ripper

The shadow of death

Chapter 21 The ripper

Mr. Krebling Singh drove up in his 5 tonne lorry and parked it outside the cafe that they were to meet. He was a big man, about 5 foot 9 inches in height and may have weighed in excess of 250 pounds. He swung down from the driver's seat and slammed the lorry door.

He walked into the restaurant that Charles was in, causing Charles to look up, at the way the light from the outside, was blocked out.

With a grunt of acknowledgment, he sat opposite Charles, at the table. His balloon-like belly rested on his thighs.

“I'm on a serious matter,” he said. Charles already knew that when the man called on the phone.

“You brought my wife to a hotel and fucked her.”

He pulled at his shirt which was pasted on his chest with sweat.

“We didn't actually f**k,” said Charles in his defense.

“How can you say that?” the man asked, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “She told me about this yesterday and cried. She has never been unfaithful to me.”

Charles raised his palms and placed them back to back and he said, “ what we did was to lean on each other's back and jerk off.”

Mr. Singh considered that for a moment.

“Achah,” he said in his native tongue. “But you should not have touched her that way. She is a married woman.”

Charles denied touching, as the sensation of touching with hands was something special.

“We merely let our backsides touch each other.”

Again Mr. Singh paused to consider the situation. He thought of the many times he himself had touched his back with others, like in a crowded mall, bus and so forth. The matter appeared most puzzling to him.

“You shouldn't have taken my wife to a hotel,” he said.

Charles replied that they went there for a drink.

Mr. Singh shifted his position on the chair, a few times, as he spoke.

Charles realized that he had to be more forthcoming.

“Your wife and I were students in UCLA. We had a brief love affair. I wanted to marry her but she had other plans. When we met again recently, it reminded us of the love that we had for each other.”

Mr. Singh kept shaking his head from side to side, but he didn't say anything.

He had left after that, in a manner that can only be described as tentative and in great uncertainty of the issues.

Three days later, as Charles parked his car at his apartment, he spotted Mr. Singh's lorry parked a short distance away. He walked towards it and spotted Mr. Singh in the load area, grappling with some metal objects, that clanked loudly on the bed of the lorry.

When he spotted Charles, he immediately, covered, what appeared like machetes, with a canvas.

“Mr. Singh,” Charles called out. “What are you doing here?”

He alighted from the lorry and stood belligerently facing Charles. His eyes were blood shot and the weight of his body heaved in large gulps as he seemed to be grasping for air. His breath carried the vapors of beer like it was a freshly opened bottle.

“Mr. Mohan,” he called loudly. “I haven't been able to sleep, eat or do my work. I have become very upset.” He pulled on his shirt that had pasted itself on his body.

“I don't know what to say,” Charles replied.

“I spoke to my brother-in-law who is visiting us from America,” he said. “He told me that everybody in America is doing it. I told him not to speak about my wife that way. She didn't do anything. I love my wife. My mother loves my wife. Now I think we cannot live with my mother anymore because of what happened.”

He paused for breath.

“My wife has gone out to look for a duplex house, this morning. “We are both very upset.”

Charles realized that the man was unable to manage his emotions. He had to be distracted.

“Where are you moving to?” he asked.

“Its a new housing area, near the school, in bear mountain area.” He said without hesitation.

“I'm from America.” Charles said,” I am here to study how we are modernizing our ancient beliefs. Your name is not a popular Sikh name, these days,” he enquired. “What does it mean?”

He was stunned for a while but replied, “Its Krebling,” he said, “ its an old name. It means the baby that was born in this house was exchanged for a baby that was born some where else. It was an ancient culture between the the Indians and the Bactrians.”

“That's changeling culture,” Charles said, then with an after thought added, “ its a crib....its cribbling. That may be the actual spelling of your name.”

The effect was quite startling. A man's name in Asia comes to carry a great deal of attention as to meaning, in his mind. He suddenly calmed down. Charles reflected about the phenomenon we sometimes encounter, which refers to our understanding of who we are. It obviously had a powerful effect on mind and body.

“You may now be moving from the house that you were born in, to another house,” Charles said. “ Its a big matter and a big change in a person's life.”

Mr. Singh was silent and considered what he had just heard. Traditions come in all shapes and sizes these days and cannot always be anticipated or resisted against, on account of the new way that they present themselves.

After a while, he nodded.

“This feels like I have died and my wife is being looked after by my brother.” It was an ancient custom among the Scythians, for the brother to marry the wife, when the husband has died in battle.

They left the matter there. Mr. Singh got into the lorry and drove away.