Six Suspects

7 The American

TODAY IS the happiest day of my life. Even better than the day Vince Young led Texas on a fifty-six-yard touchdown drive against USC in the game's final minutes to give the Longhorns their greatest ever victory in the Rose Bowl.

I am finally going to India. Land of maharajahs and mutton curry. Home to elephants and kangaroos. And to the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world. Sapna Singh, who will become my wife in two weeks' time.

I really dig Indian weddings. Just rented that flick Monsoon Wedding the other night. I love the way Indian girls dance and the wild music simply drives me crazy.

My mother's a great believer in marriage. She's had four already. But she wasn't too keen on my marrying an Indian. 'They're dirty, they're smelly, and they speak bad English!' was her verdict, till I showed her Sapna's pictures. Since then she's been broadcasting all over town that her son is all set to marry Miss Universe.

Me and Mom are closer than ticks on a hound. We've been this way ever since my pa ran off like he did, leaving Mom and me all sad and alone, and so poor we didn't have a pot to piss in. After he disappeared we had to sell the ranch and all the cattle and move to a run-down old trailer, where we lived for six years till Mom married that nice man from the Welfare Office and we moved into his house on Cedar Drive. I really don't think much of my pa. I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. But no point getting all worked up. Not on the day I will finally meet Sapna.

How I met my dream girl is one heck of a story. I'm convinced that all marriages are made in heaven. And it's God who decides who will marry whom, and when. So he makes some guys, like my old school mate Randy Earl, who have no trouble at all in scoring with girls. And then he makes some, like me, who, well, have to wait a bit longer, being shy and all. Guess I was just born that way. Not that I am bad looking or ugly, like Joh

Anyway, Mom was getting seriously worried about me turning twenty-eight and still being a bachelor and had begun wondering whether I might be gay, till the folks at International PenPals fixed all that. In return for a nominal membership fee of $39.99 (payable in four instalments of $9.99 each), they gave me the addresses of seven beautiful girls who wanted to become friends with me. Now that's what I call too much of a good thing. I mean, try juggling seven girlfriends all at once. The girls were from all over the world, including places I didn't even know existed. In ABC order, I had Alifa from Afghanistan, Florese from East Timor, Je

Gathering all the courage I could muster, I proposed to her in June this year. Amazingly, she accepted, making me happier than a rooster in a hen house. I began learning Hindi. She began learning how to make chocolate brownies, my favourite dessert. We fixed a date for the wedding in India. She requested five grand to make the preparations. I was broke as a church mouse, but I begged and scrimped and saved and wired her the money. Three weeks ago she sent me our wedding card. And now I'm off to New Delhi to marry the woman of my dreams.

'Hi y'all! Howdy!' I greeted the two pretty air hostesses who welcomed me on to the United Airlines plane that was taking me to India. The aircraft was huge, almost as big as the Starplex Cinema in Waco. Another tall air hostess directed me to my seat, 116B. It was one of the best seats in the plane, right at the end, and very conveniently located too, bang next to the john.

I put my bag underneath my feet and settled down. Today really seemed to be my lucky day. I was in the middle seat, flanked by a blonde sitting next to the window and a dark, Indian-looking guy wearing a red Hilfiger T-shirt and a Dodgers baseball cap.

The blonde was reading a magazine called Time. 'Excuse me, Ma'am.' I doffed my hat and tapped her arm. 'Where are you headed to?'

She shrank away from me like I had the chickenpox and gave me a look which would make a porcupine seem cuddly. I turned to the youth on my left, who seemed more friendly.

'So how's yer momma and them?' I asked him.

He looked at me like a calf at a new gate. 'Excuse me, what did you say?'

Quite clearly the guy wasn't from Texas. 'Aap kehse hain?' I asked in my best Hindi.

'I am fine,' he replied in English.

'Kya aap bhi India jaa rahe hain?'

'Hey man, why are you talking to me in that strange lingo? I don't speak Hindi.'

'But… but you are Indian!' I blurted out.

'Correction, dude. I'm American,' he said and whipped out a blue passport from his front pocket. 'See the bald eagle on the cover? That's American, man.'

'Oh!' I said and fell silent.

Before the plane took off, the air hostess did some hand exercises and made us watch a safety video. I was busy memorizing the instructions given on the card in the seat pocket, but none of the other passengers seemed to be bothered about what would happen to them if the plane fell into the water. And before I knew it, we were flying.

The air hostess returned after a while, trundling a metal buggy loaded with bottles and cans.

'What would you like to drink, Sir?' she asked me sweetly.