The Death of Vishnu

briefs.
    “Look the other way, and I’ll do it.”
    “See, you’re embarrassed, too.”
    “It’s not the same. It’s different for men.”
    “You expect me to take off my sheet, yet you won’t take off your underwear.”
    “Oh yes? Well, here.” With one quick sweep, Vinod tried to pull his briefs off, and got them all the way to his feet, where they became entangled in his toes.
    A cry escaped Sheetal’s mouth, and she covered her eyes with her hands. She looked through her fingers and began to laugh as she saw Vinod try to cover himself by crossing one leg over the other.
    “What do you have there?” Sheetal said, pointing at his nakedness and laughing.
    Vinod uncovered himself to show her. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
    Sheetal screamed as he placed her hand on his cock and closed his thighs over it.
    He held it there. “It feels so good,” he said, and Sheetal’s face turned a dark crimson.
    Still holding her hand in his crotch, so that she couldn’t move away, Vinod sidled next to Sheetal. He slipped his leg under the sheet and rubbed it against hers, feeling the coarseness of his hairs against her smooth skin. Hooking his foot around hers, he slid closer, until his chest was touching hers. Carefully, he peeled the sheet off her body, as if uncovering a sleeping child.
    Sheetal pressed her arms over her breasts. She crossed her legs just as he had done a minute ago, keeping her gaze focused on the pillow next to her head. She bore his kisses silently, in her hair, at her brow, on her lips. As his mouth left hers, she turned to face him. Visible beyond the reticence, Vinod was surprised to see, was the unmistakable glint of curiosity.
    He couldn’t remember the instructions his brother had given him. Something about kissing, something about caressing, something about pressing their bodies together until they fit correctly. He kissed Sheetal’s cheeks, her nose, her lips, but that didn’t seem enough. He tried rubbing himself against her body, but stopped, because it was bringing him too close to the edge. He suddenly became terrified that he would ejaculate all over her body. He imagined his white semen squirting uncontrolled over her abdomen, like some pubescent emission, pooling in her navel, running down her thighs.
    Apparently, Sheetal had received some advice as well, because she took him in her hand and guided him into her body. He felt the warm compactness of her, and smelled her odor, like freshly cut yams, that he would forever associate with sex. He came almost immediately, his body twitching, eyes rolling back in his head, Sheetal holding him tight in her arms, so tight he could hardly breathe. He pulled out and managed to focus on her, and was embarrassed at the confusion flushing her face.
    “Next time will be better,” he said, unable to bring himself to watch if the confusion was giving way to understanding, to disappointment.
    “It’s okay,” Sheetal said, as she wiped herself clean. She got out of bed and put on her nightie.
    “Good night,” she said, as she got into bed and turned to face the window.
    “Good night,” he replied, looking at the small of her back, unable to reach out to comfort her. As the minutes ticked away, he stared at the motionless contour of her body and waited for a dog, a car, a mosquito, anything, to break the silence that hung over the room.

    W HEN MRS. JALAL opened the door and saw the expression on Mrs. Asrani’s face, she knew it was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
    “Could I speak to Salim?” Mrs. Asrani asked, in a tone that was polite, but as primed as a sitar string.
    “Uh, he’s not in right now.”
    “Oh, where is he, may I ask?”
    “I don’t know. He’s gone away for a little while.”
    “Do your children often go away without telling you where they’re going?”
    “My son is an adult. He can come and go where he wants. I don’t insist on keeping tabs on his every move like some people.”
    “Well, maybe you should. Unless you think being an adult means he can carry away other people’s daughters.”
    “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    “You heard me. Carry them away in the middle of the night. Like a dacoit, in the darkness, when everyone is asleep.”
    “Keep your voice down, please. My husband is not feeling well.”
    “And maybe your husband would like to explain what he was doing with my daughter’s dupatta wrapped around his head?”
    “I don’t know what you