An old photo album with a faded brocade cover sat on one of the couches and caught Binji’s eye. She picked it up and dropped into the couch. Then, hands shaking, she opened it.
Even for a person as dramatically expressive as Binji, the storm that raged on her face as she looked at the pictures was a lot. And it got worse and worse. Finally, she closed her eyes and shut the album.
When she opened her eyes, she looked at Rishi Seth so steadily it was like she hadn’t just practically vomited with emotion over the album. “These look like the stills from a period film. Is this your new project?”
This was obviously the last reaction he’d been expecting.
Cullie shrugged when he looked at her. Don’t look at me; I have no idea what’s going on. Then she realized what she was doing and glared at him.
“It’s a film my grandfather made back in 1974,” he said in the gentlest voice. “It was destroyed in a fire. A fire he himself set and then put out with his bare hands, because he couldn’t finish the job.”
When no one spoke, he sat down next to Binji, who had gone ashen again. “He was obsessed with retrieving lost and damaged films. My earliest memories are of him talking about it, and I became obsessed with it too. For years we found celluloid reels and married prints with no dupes and stored them in a climate-controlled facility. We restored stock with minor nicks and damage. I went to Switzerland for five years when I was eighteen to study cinema and preservation. Then I met Bijou, a grand master who was an expert in fire rescue, and trained under him. I didn’t know then that this was the film Dada had been doing everything for.”
Cullie had never seen Binji hold herself this still. Nothing moved in or around her, and yet it was like watching an implosion. Cullie had been fascinated with demolition videos in high school. Rishi’s word’s fell on Binji like the precision explosions that made the giant concrete-and-steel towers collapse inward.
When Binji didn’t ask the question, Cullie did, speaking to him for the first time. “How do you know this was the film he’d done all that for?”
He turned to her, eyes grateful and somber, filled with memories and grief. “He had a stroke ten years ago. Soon after that I met Bijou. It seemed to give Dada a second wind. He fought hard on his rehab, pushed himself to recover with renewed force. Within a year, you couldn’t even tell that half his body had been paralyzed. He had another stroke two years ago. We’d been able to restore the first of the destroyed scenes by then. This stroke was a bad one. The doctors said it was impossible for him to survive this one. But he hung in there until all four of the destroyed scenes were restored. The morning after he watched the full cut in his home theater, I found him in his bed. He’d passed in his sleep.”
Binji’s hands trembled in her lap. Her lips trembled, but her eyes were tinder dry. The very air around her felt tinder dry.
Cullie sat down next to her and took her hand.
For the longest time no one spoke. Then Rishi disappeared into a room and came back with what looked like a hat box from an old movie, except it was square.
“I was the last one he spoke to.” His voice was gruff with pain. “He told me where to find his journal and all the stills and notebooks from the making of Poornima. The last thing I remember him saying was, ‘Promise me that no one will see this before Bhanu sees it. Whatever you do with it. Make sure she gets to decide what happens.’”
“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Binji?” Cullie asked, not because she didn’t know the answer.
Binji stood, and swayed lightly on her feet. “Everything.”
Rishi held out the box. “That’s why I had to meet you in person. So I could give you the journals and the film.”
Binji stared at the silk-covered box but didn’t touch it. “I can’t.”
“Please. It was Dada’s last wish. One he dedicated the last decades of his life to. It was worship to him.”
“Don’t pressure her.” Cullie put her arm around Binji.
“Sorry.”
The look Binji gave Rishi was filled with so many feelings, a painful lump formed in Cullie’s throat.
“What do you want from me?” Binji asked.
He opened the box and extracted a leather-bound diary. “This is his journal. I think you’ll want to read it.” He held it out. “There’s an envelope in there with your name on it. It’s unopened.”
Binji took the journal and clutched it with both hands, her breathing labored. Then suddenly she gave him a hard look. “Okay. And?”
He looked confused. “I just want you to read the journals.”
“No, you don’t,” Binji said. “What else do you want?”
He smiled and caught Cullie’s smile in her eyes.
They watched him, waited.
“And I want you to watch the film.”
Binji’s grip tightened on the journal, but her gaze was clear and strong again. “Why?”
“Why?”
“You want me to watch the film and then put it away in my cupboard?”
He looked guiltier than a puppy who’d pooped in the house. “Just watch it first. Please.”
“Don’t manage me. Don’t treat me like I’m some little old lady.” It was a phrase Binji hated more than anything.
“I would never do that.” He looked at once terrified and delighted, and Cullie’s heart did another slow melt.
“What do you plan to do with it?”
He tried to look innocent, but Binji’s eyes stayed sharp on him.
“Just tell her the truth,” Cullie said.
“I want to make a documentary about the making of Poornima. With you.”
“Absolutely not.” For the first time she sounded like herself. Her Badass Binji.
“There’s a Blu-ray DVD of the film in there. Just watch—”
“I said no. Thank you for finding me and telling me about Oscar.” Her voice caught. “But this is far behind me. I have no interest in digging it up.”
“But—”
“Oscar said I get to decide.”
He looked at Cullie for help. Cullie had no idea what the film was about or why a man had dedicated his life to rescuing it after trying to destroy it himself. But evidently it was not something Binji wanted to revisit. She wasn’t going to budge.
“Will you at least think about it?”
“No.” Binji fixed him with a look.
Silence hung in the air.
Binji didn’t make a move to leave. Cullie realized she didn’t want to leave.
“You shouldn’t have lied to my granddaughter,” Binji said, finally breaking the silence. “Oscar would have been ashamed of you for that.”
“I know.”
“Then again, he would have been proud that you didn’t go through with it.”
Rishi’s eyes met Cullie’s. “That had nothing to do with Dada.” Every bit of charming commiseration was gone from his voice. The sincerity that had felled Cullie was all that was left, his heart naked in his eyes. The heartzap in Cullie’s chest felt like live wires shoved into her flesh. “I didn’t do that for him. I did it because I couldn’t bear to lose Cullie. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”