“Yeah, Mads. I get it.”
“Besides. You’re right.” He beckons me over with a finger and points to the open suitcase. “I do fight you every step of the way.”
I spy a bright-orange drawstring pouch and shake my head at him. “Did you actually bring that damn jacket to Vienna of all places?” I ask, untying the drawstring, laughing as I pull out the puffy coat.
“It’s for just in case,” he answers, smirking at me.
“Incorrigible. This is incorrigible behavior.”
His bright grin makes me smile, though I can’t help but notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It might be jet lag, or maybe it’s loneliness, but he’s not entirely happy. And God, that bothers me.
“So, when is your meeting?” I ask, knowing the answer.
He sighs, sounding like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. “They should be coming to get me in a few minutes.”
There it is again, that look. Tired and maybe a little sad. “Totally could've been an email, absolutely could have been a Zoom call, but the new attaché from India insists we have a face-to-face, even though my answer will not change.”
“Do you think they'll budge on the human-rights issues with the new factories?”
“They'll have to because if they don’t, I'll make a big deal of the fact that they’re losing out on hundreds of jobs for the region.”
“Well, why not move all of it to the US?”
“I have. Well, at least as much of it that makes sense. However, some of the elements of the polymer come from just outside the Kashmir region, and it's been pretty expensive to export the mineral to the US. It’s forcing me to do business in places where the human-rights records are uneven at best. And sue me, but I’d like to make sure that the people responsible for my vast wealth are well taken care of.”
“And India is playing hardball.”
Frustration marks his features. “When you were getting changed, I was informed that India tripled the export costs on the mineral. They’re doing it to force our hands without any guarantee of workers’ rights.”
“You’re from Northern India, correct?” I ask, as though I haven’t already Google-mapped the area from his records.
He nods. “My family lives in a really beautiful area in Himachal Pradesh, with the Himalayas in our back yard.”
There's a knock on the door, and a young man greets Mads and says something in Hindi. Mads responds in kind, and I realize in all the months we've worked together, I've never heard him speak his mother tongue.
It’s more affecting than I would have guessed.
Mads sends me a look, and I can tell that, at this moment, he’d rather be almost anywhere else. Even though I bulldozed my way into this trip and the protocols here prevent me from even walking him to his meeting, I hope my being here makes him feel less alone.