Charmed Particles Read Free

facilities.
    The hallway was silent, every door closed, and Sarala wondered about the other people living behind those closed doors. “Divorce apartments,” she had heard the clerk at the front desk call them. The few times she’d encountered other guests in the elevator or lobby, they had all been men. She’d thus far met no women, no children.
    Still, in the halls she’d now and then caught a familiar smell. Ginger and garlic one night, coming from room 219. Green chilies and coriander, she guessed, the next evening, from 256. But overwhelmingly, the smell of America, she had decided, was the smell of nothing—carpet, cardboard, wallpaper, framed paintings of lakes and animals, bedspreads with bright floral patterns. Even the small slivers of soap wrapped in paper in the bathroom seemed to be entirely without a scent, Sarala thought, peeling open the wrapping and holding the small white rectangle up to her nose.
    She prided herself on being adaptable, one of the many qualities she felt was necessary in a good wife, and so did not allow room for the question of whether she was or was not homesick.
    When the laundry was dry, Sarala loaded it back into the small basket and returned to their rooms. Since her arrival, she’d grown familiar with the plotlines of a number of the soap operas that aired during the long, quiet afternoons while Abhijat was away. Her favorite was Search for Tomorrow , and she watched as she folded, anxious to find out whether Joanne would regain her sight in time to identify her captors.

    The realtor had arranged to pick them up at the hotel to begin house hunting , as she called it when Abhijat phoned to make an appointment. Her car was a plush, champagne-colored Cadillac. Abhijat sat in the front seat, and Sarala, in the back, leaned forward to hear them speaking.
    â€œWhatever neighborhood you settle on, the schools will be great,” the realtor said. “District 220 schools are all top of the line. Some of the best in the state.”
    Abhijat made a note on the pad of paper he kept in the breast pocket of his blazer. Most of the other foreign scientists at the Lab were there temporarily—they and their families were housed on the Lab campus or, like he and Sarala, in small hotel-style efficiency apartments. However, as Abhijat was to be a permanent hire, he and Sarala would need to find a permanent home.
    The realtor had a pleasant voice, Sarala thought, noting also her delicate perfume, hair the color of straw, sculpted and set, flipping up at the collar of the shirt she wore under her muted, neutral suit. Sarala ran her hand over the smooth beige velour of the seat as they drove, the realtor pointing out here and there the benefits and drawbacks of each neighborhood.
    â€œWell, of course, you’ll want to be close to the Lab,” the realtor continued, “which makes Eagle’s Crest an excellent choice. Just across Route 12, and one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the community.”
    By the second day in the realtor’s car, Sarala was certain they had been inside every home for sale in Nicolet. And how strange it had seemed to her, to be allowed to walk right into the homes of these strangers, to wander through their rooms, imagining her own future there, her clothes hanging in the closet.
    At the first house, Sarala and Abhijat had stood uncomfortably in the foyer, even as the realtor strode off into the living room, assuming they would follow. Finding herself alone in the room, and looking back to find Abhijat and Sarala still standing, rooted in the entry, she’d had to explain: “It’s okay to come in and look around.”
    Sarala knew she was supposed to be imagining her own life in each of the houses the realtor pulled up to, fiddling with the lockbox on the front door, then leading them through the rooms one by one, each house a different possible world for her and Abhijat, but Sarala found herself distracted