Report from Planet Midnight Read Free Page A

weekend. The gallery owner has to drag me away to be interviewed by the guy from
Art(ext)/e.
I grin at Kamla and leave her digging happily in the dirt.
    While I’m talking to the interviewer, Kamla comes running up to me, Sunil behind her, yelling, “Kamla! Don’t interrupt!”
    She ignores him, throws her mushroom-shaped body full tilt into my arms, and gives me a whole body hug. “It was you!” she says. “It was you!” She’s clutching something in one dirt-encrusted fist. The guy from
Art(ext)/e
kinda freezes up at the sight of Kamla. But he catches himself, pastes the smile back on, motions his camerawoman to take a picture.
    “I’m so sorry,” Sunil says. “When she gets an idea in her head …”
    “Yeah, I know. What’d you find, chick?” I ask Kamla.
    She opens her palm to show me. It’s a shell. I shake my head. “Honestly? I barely remember putting that in there. Some of the artifacts are ‘blanks’ that trigger no stories. The dig where I got it from used to be underwater a few centuries ago.”
    “It’s perfect!” says Kamla, squeezing me hard.
    Perfect like she isn’t. Damn. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this!” she tells me.
    “What, is it rare or something?” I ask her.
    She rears back in my arms so that she can look at me properly. “You have no idea,” she says. “I’m going to keep this so safe. It’ll never get out of my sight again.”
    “Kamla!” scolds Sunil. “That is part of Greg’s exhibition. It’s staying right here with him.”
    The dismay on Kamla’s face would make a stone weep. It’s obvious that it hadn’t even occurred to her that I mightn’t let her have the shell. Her eyes start to well up. “Don’t cry,” I tell her. “It’s just an old shell. Of course you can take it.”
    “You shouldn’t indulge her,” Sunil says. “You’ll spoil her.”
    I hitch Kamla up on my hip, on that bone adults have that seems tailor-made for cotching a child’s butt on. “Let’s call it her reward for asking some really smart questions about the exhibition.”
    Sunil sighs. Kamla’s practically glowing, she’s so happy. My heart warms to her smile.
    When the phone rings at my home many hours later, it takes me awhile to orient myself. It’s 3:05 a.m. by the clock by our bedside. “Hello?” I mumble into the phone. I should have known better than to have that fifth whiskey at the opening. My mouth feels and tastes like the plains of the Serengeti, complete with lion spoor.
    “Greg?” The person is whispering. “Is this Greg?”
    It’s a second or so before I recognise the voice. “Kamla? What’s wrong? Is your mum okay?”
    “They’re fine. Everyone’s asleep.”
    “Like you should be. Why the fuck are you calling me at this hour?” I ask, forgetting that I’m talking to a child. Something about Kamla’s delivery makes it easy to forget.
    “I’ve been on the Net. Listen, can you come get me? The story’s about to break. It’s all over YouTube already. It’ll be on the morning news here in a few hours. Goddamned Miles. We told them he was always running his mouth off.”
    “What? Told who? Kamla, what’s going on?”
    Cecilia is awake beside me. She’s turned on the bedside lamp.
Who?
she mouths. I make my lips mime a soundless
Kamla.
    “It’s a long story,” Kamla says. “Please, can you just come get me? You need to know about this. And I need another adult to talk to, someone who isn’t my caretaker.”
    Another adult? “Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
    Kamla gives me the address, and I hang up. I tell Cecilia what’s going on.
    “You should just let her parents know that she’s disturbed about something,” she says. “Maybe it’s another symptom of that DGS.”
    “I’ll talk to Babette and Sunil after Kamla tells me what’s going on,” I say. “I promised her to hear her out first.”
    “You sure that’s wise? She’s a child, Greg. Probably she just had a nightmare.”
    Feeding our child has made