Interpreter of Maladies

pinkish tint to them, and carried a big straw bag, almost as big as her torso, shaped like a bowl, with a water bottle poking out of it. She walked slowly, carrying some puffed rice tossed with peanuts and chili peppers in a large packet made from newspapers, Mr. Kapasi turned to Mr. Das. 
    "Where in America do you live?" 
    "New Brunswick. New Jersey." 
    "Next to New York?" 
    "Exactly. I teach middle school there." 
    "What subject?" 
    "Science. In fact, every year I take my students on a trip to the Museum of Natural History in New York City. In a way we have a lot in common, you could say, you and I. How long have you been a tour guide, Mr. Kapasi?" 
    "Five years." 
    Mrs. Das reached the car. "How long's the trip?" she asked, shutting the door. 
    "About two and half hours," Mr. Kapasi replied. 
    At this Mrs. Das gave an impatient sigh, as if she had been traveling her whole life without pause. She fanned herself with a folded Bombay film magazine written in English. 
    "I thought that the Sun Temple is only eighteen miles north of Puri," Mr. Das said, tapping on the tour book. 
    "The roads to Konarak are poor. Actually, it is a distance of fifty-two miles," Mr. Kapasi explained. 
    Mr. Das nodded, readjusting the camera strap where it had begun to chafe the back of his neck. 
    Before starting the ignition, Mr. Kapasi reached back to make sure the crank like locks on the inside of each of the back doors were secured. As soon as the car began to move the little girl began to play with the lock on her side, clicking it with some effort forward and backward, but Mrs. Das said nothing to stop her. She sat a bit slouched at one end of the back seat, not offering her puffed rice to anyone. Ronny and Tina sat on either side of her, both snapping bright green gum. 
    "Look," Bobby said as the car began to gather speed. He pointed with his fingers to the tall trees that lined the road. "Look" 
    "Monkeys!" Ronny shrieked. "Wow!" They were seated in groups along the branches, with shining black faces, silver bodies, horizontal eyebrows, and crested heads. Their long gray tails dangled like a series of ropes among the leaves. A few scratched themselves with black leathery hands, or swung their feet, staring as the car passed. 
    "We call them the hanuman," Mr. Kapasi said. "They are quite common in the area." 
    As soon as he spoke, one of the monkeys leaped into the middle of the road, causing Mr. Kapasi to brake suddenly. Another bounced onto the hood of the car, then sprang away. Mr. Kapasi beeped his horn. The children began to get excited, sucking in their breath and covering their faces partly with their hands. They had never seen monkeys outside of a zoo, Mr. Das explained. He asked Mr. Kapasi to stop the car so that he could take a picture. 
    While Mr. Das adjusted his telephoto lens, Mrs. Das reached into her straw bag and pulled out a bottle of colorless nail polish, which she proceeded to stroke on her index finger. 
    The little girl stuck out a hand. "Mine too. Mommy, do mine too." 
    "Leave me alone." Mrs. Das said, blowing on her nail and turning her body slightly. "You're making me mess up." 
    "All set," Mr. Das said, replacing the lens cap. 
    The car rattled considerably as it raced along the dusty road, causing them all to pop up from their seats every now and then, but Mrs. Das continued lo polish her nails. Mr. Kapasi eased up on the accelerator, hoping to produce a smoother ride. When he reached for the gearshift the boy in front accommodated him by swinging his hairless knees out of the way. Mr. Kapasi noted that this boy was slightly paler than the other children. 
    "Daddy, why is the driver sitting on the wrong side in this car, too?" the boy asked. 
    "They all do it here, dummy," Ronnie said. 
    "Don't call your brother a dummy," Mr. Das said. He turned to Mr. Kapasi. "In America, you know... it confuses them." 
    "Oh yes, I am well aware," Mr. Kapasi said. As delicately as he could, he shifted gears again accelerating as he approached a hill in the road. "I see it on Dallas , the steering wheels are on the left-hand side." 
    "What's Dallas ?" Tina asked, banging her now naked doll on the seat behind Mr. Kapasi. 
    "It went off the air," Mr. Das explained. "It's a television show." 
    They were all like siblings. Mr. Kapasi thought as they passed a row of date trees. Mr. and Mrs. Das behaved like an older brother and sister, not parents. It seemed that they were in charge of the