MONEY TREE

by Gordon, Ferris,

  ‘I can’t do this,’ said Abraham Kubala.

  ‘Me neither,’ replied Charlie Easterhouse.

  The men pulled in Stanstead’s limp body and laid him gently down on the soft grass. They stepped back, staring at their fallen leader. Stanstead’s eyes flickered and cleared. He took a deep shuddering breath and got to his knees. Then with all his remaining strength, and fighting the terrible gravity of his leaden limbs, he battled to his feet. He glared at them, eyes full of derision. He wiped the spittle from his mouth.

  ‘True to the last. All of you. You didn’t even have the guts to do this, did you.’

  He pointed his finger at each one of their slumped chests in turn.

  ‘It was always me, wasn’t it. I had to wipe your asses. I had to take all the risks. Right?! Well this is how you do it.’

  He turned, took hold of the rail and with his former athlete’s skill, leapt up and balanced with a foot on either side of the rail. He raised his arms high above his head, brought his trailing foot over to the outside, and steadied himself. The men behind were glued.

  He bent his knees slightly, then sprung forward in a perfectly executed swallow dive. The four men rushed to the rail and looked down. They saw his dive position change. Saw his limbs buffeted by the increasing wind of his descent. Then his body took a new shape. He began to make pumping movements with its arms and legs. In his mind, Warwick Stanstead wasn’t falling, he was running.

  FIFTY NINE

  A week later and the small plane roared down the runway and tipped up into the air. The great sprawl of Delhi eddied below them and was gone. They banked and turned south and Ted turned to Erin and asked,

  ‘Why didn’t we travel like this before?’

  ‘Because Meera thought it would be good for our pampered Western souls?’

  They landed at Bhopal airport and with their newfound insouciance at travelling in India, batted off the beggars and touts. Outside, waving from the running board of her battered Land Rover, stood Meera. They embraced and were off down the road towards Chandapur in a buzz of excited conversation, catching up on events since the demonstration a week ago.

  ‘How’s Anila?’ Erin was the first to ask. ‘Did the paperwork do the trick?’

  ‘You will soon see. Ask her yourself.’ Meera smiled at her in her driver’s mirror.

  Ted broke in, ‘But we’re still worried about Oscar. We’ve heard nothing since the big night.’

  ‘Isn’t he just lying low? Didn’t you say the FBI was going to take some persuading?’ Meera asked.

  ‘That might be it. I wouldn’t blame him for steering clear till things settled down some. Joey swears on his mother’s life that they hadn’t found him, far less harmed him.’

  ‘Not that we believe any of Joey’s claims about having a mother,’ called out Erin from the back.

  ‘Joey?’ asked Meera.

  ‘Joey Kutzov. Stanstead’s hit man.’ He turned to Erin. ‘But he did deliver Veronica Yeardon.’

  ‘Only to save his lizard skin.’

  This time there was no pretence about fetching water. The women squatted on their heels under the neem trees in small groups, knees tenting their saris. They were chattering excitedly. There was much to be excited about. First there had been the huge row in front of Anila’s hut a week ago. That horrible mother and her lazy son had met their match in Anila’s new friend from the bank. They had been left spluttering in the dust as Anila and her daughter had sailed off to Delhi in the wonderful jeep. Anila’s mother had simply barricaded herself inside the hut till the pair of them were hoarse shouting at her closed front door. They’d stomped off to stay with the only friend they had in the village – a distant relative – to wait for Anila to come back.

  And the next thing, there is Anila Jhabvala and her daughter on television! What was happening to the world? The whole village had shut down for the day until everyone had a chance to see the hourly news shows with Anila telling the whole country about this wonderful bank of hers. Her mother-in-law and sweaty husband had hardly known what to do. Anila’s fame was burning a hole in the fat husband’s soul. But Anila’s importance meant that she had to have even more money than they thought. Anger and avarice wrestled for control.

  Two days later everyone saw the jeep coming from miles away, and the mother and son took up position outside Anila’s hut, standing and holding hands. The jeep bounced up the lane and rocked to a halt sending a last cloud of dust over the two waiting figures. Meera climbed out, holding a briefcase, and walked confidently round to meet the Jhabvalas. Anila followed, sheltering behind Meera’s upright figure. Aastha sat in the car to watch. From both ends of the lane, villagers began to crowd round to see the fun.

  Dilip’s mother was the first to speak.

  ‘So you have come back, have you. With your fancy car and your important friend.’

  Dilip jabbed his finger at Anila. ‘- and you think you are important now too, don’t you, wife of mine!’

  Meera put her arm round Anila’s shoulders, and replied.

  ‘But Mr Jhabvala, Anila tells me you divorced her. You threw her and her daughter out of your home.’

  ‘Well, that was to teach her a lesson. I did not officially divorce her. She still belongs to me.’

  ‘I see, then you must listen to what we have to say.’

  Dilip’s mother raised an accusatory finger to Anila ‘No, we are not listening to what you have to say. Who are you anyway, miss high and mighty. Our business is with that person there!’

  Meera moved her body in front of Anila.

  ‘I am Anila’s lawyer, and I think you had better listen to what I have to say.’

  That stilled them. It was of course an embellishment; her degree was in business law and she wasn’t actually a practising lawyer. But it held enough of the truth for Meera to sound convincing. Looks of unease were filling their faces. Meera grabbed the initiative. From inside her briefcase she drew out a slim sheaf of papers. She separated them into two sets and gave one set to Anila. She took two steps towards the pair, causing them to flinch. She held out the papers.

  ‘This is a legal injunction drawn up by the magistrate’s court in New Delhi. It has authority here. It tells you that you must leave Anila Devi, formerly Anila Jhabvala, alone. That you must not touch her or her daughter or her mother and that you must not harass her or harangue her. That means you are not allowed to come near her or shout at her, do you understand?’

  She went on before the woman exploded. Dilip was grabbing his mother’s arm with both hands in his agitation.

  ‘If you seek to harm her or even look at her in a bad way, she will call the police. Anila, show them your satellite phone.’

  Anila dug into her shoulder bag and with some embarrassment, pulled out a smart cell phone and waved it at the stunned pair. Meera continued. ‘You saw that I was able to get the police here before? And you saw what happened to the old money lender and his wife?’ She left the threat hanging.

  But the old woman wasn’t finished that easily.

  ‘This is my son’s lawful wife. She must do as she is told, as his wife. What about our money? What about our dowry? He has a right to his money.’

  Meera shuffled through the papers and thrust them into the woman’s unwilling hands.

  ‘You will also see here that Anila has filed for divorce. Properly this time. She has good grounds; desertion and grievous bodily harm to start with. You may of course contest this, but it will only prolong this sad business and cost you a great deal of money in lawyers’ fees. My bank will pay all Anila’s. If however you accept the inevitable then you will receive all the remaining dowry money that you are owed. But not until Anila’s divorce has come through.’

  The pair grabbed the papers and rifled through them. They looked very official with lots of red stamps on headed notepaper.

  ‘And don’t think you can just tear them up. That is an official copy. We have the originals.’

  The mother and son stepped bac
k several paces and a furious but indistinct argument broke out. Mother seemed to be gaining the upper hand. She led her sullen offspring back to stand in front of Meera and Anila. Cunning had stolen onto her old face. She waved the papers.

  ‘We do not trust you. And we do not know if these are proper legal papers. We will find out. But if they are, there is interest due on the outstanding amount. And what about recompense to my son? He has been left without a wife or a daughter. It is only right that his wealthy wife makes some recompense for his cruel loss.’

  Meera had clearly been expecting this move. ‘We will pay five per cent per annum for the three years the so-called debt has been outstanding.’

  ‘Compound!’ demanded the woman.

  Meera sighed, ‘Compound. But there will be no recompense. Not unless you want me to go back to the courts and seek recompense for Anila. For all the years of mistreatment. It would probably mean that your son would be arrested and have to stay in prison till his trial came up. One of those nice overcrowded prisons in Bhopal. And you know how clumsy our policemen can be when they arrest someone. And they might – just might – have to arrest you too for harassment of Anila and her mother. What do you think?’ she asked calmly.

  The pair seemed to deflate in front of them. Meera almost felt sorry for them. Almost. The woman grabbed her wide-eyed son and hauled him past his former wife and her clever lawyer. They barged their way through the now-laughing and crowing crowd.

  SIXTY

  That had been four days ago, and now there was more excitement. The bank lady had returned with the beautiful Scottish woman and the big American. Both of them had been on the television with Anila. They walked in procession from her hut, Anila holding Meera’s hand and Ted and Erin behind her. The boy, Ranil, had shown up and was proudly sporting the Yankees T shirt and baseball cap Ted had had FedExed to Delhi. He was holding the big American’s hand and jabbering excitedly at him.

  Their arrival stilled the waiting women, like the approach of a man sends silence into a tree full of birds. Anila kept telling herself that this was the same group she’d spoken to just a few weeks ago, telling them of the amazing first trip to Delhi to seek a loan. That nothing had changed. But everything had! She took up position under the tree where a space had been left for her and her companions. The big American went off and sat at the back of the group so as not to disturb the women too much. Just as well; the ones nearest him were casting eyes at him and giggling among themselves. The boy joined him.

  Meera and Erin sat down leaving Anila standing in front of her. This was how they’d planned it. Anila looked round the womenfolk and caught the eye of Leena and Divya and was encouraged by their smiles. She took a deep breath and was about to began when Sandip called out.

  ‘Look, it is the famous film star! Can we all have your autograph, Anila?’

  The women broke into laughter and applause. It was just what they’d all wanted to say. Cries of well done and congratulations echoed round the little square. When they had quietened, a flushed Anila faced them again.

  ‘Thank you. I am not here for autographs. I told you that the bank would send someone soon. To look after our loans and maybe see if they could help other women. Well as you know, the bank has kept its promise. Meera Banerjee came all the way from Delhi and helped us get our money back from that thief of a money lender.’

  Meera made a steeple with her hands and bowed to the women. The applause burst out again, and more chattering and smiles. Anila looked embarrassed and thought she would never get to say what she wanted at this rate.

  ‘Those of you who saw her on the television will know that Meera’s father is the Chief of the People’s Bank. But today, she is here in her own right as the bank’s district manager, and she has come back to talk to you about the bank. And you can ask her questions.’

  Anila felt weak, and gladly stepped into the shadow of the tree and took up the seat vacated by Meera.

  ‘Well done Anila. That was just right,’ whispered Meera as she took Anila’s place in front of the women. If she was nervous it didn’t show. But there was no hint of arrogance either.

  ‘Good morning, ladies. I have come to tell you about the People’s Bank and what we are going to do here for Anila and her two friends whom we gave loans to. I also want to talk to the cooperative that Anila set up. And I am very happy to talk to anyone who needs some help with money.’

  ‘That is everyone here!’ called out Sandip to much laughter.

  Meera launched into a description of how her bank worked, keeping the ideas simple but not hiding anything. She told them about the principles of micro-credit and got much shaking of heads in agreement. She told them why the bank preferred to work with women and the heads shook even more vigorously with many side comments between the women. At the end of it there were several questions from the crowd culminating in the key one from the irrepressible Sandip:

  ‘This is all very fine, and sounds simply terrific. But what happens now? Are you going to stay here? Who will look after us if we want to use your bank?’

  Meera smiled and turned and asked Anila something. Anila got up and stood shyly beside her. Meera continued.

  ‘I am not going to stay here. I will be based in Sagar looking after the whole district, but I will visit here every two or three weeks. However we will leave a representative of the bank here.’

  She reached out and touched Anila on the shoulder.

  ‘I am very pleased to tell you that Anila Jhabvala – sorry, Anila Devi - has agreed to be the village representative for the bank.’

  There was a roar and an outbreak of dizzying clapping. Meera and Anila explained the exciting future: a bank in the village with internet access for all. It would bring new ideas and new teaching methods and opportunities to pull themselves out of the mire of poverty.

  The crowd of women tried the new ideas from every angle. There was excitement and incredulity among them as they broke up and went their way. Some of the women came up to Meera and asked if they could talk with her about loans.

  Erin and Ted left them to it, and walked to the edge of the village. They stood gazing out over the dried fields and were enveloped in the thrumming of the insects.

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘My lenses. You know what the dust’s like around here.’ She dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘I’m happy too. For Anila. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anyone so deserved to have good things happen to her.’

  They were quiet for a while, each reluctant to broach the next question.

  ‘Well that pretty well wraps things up, Ted Saddler. What are you going to do now?’

  Ted had been thinking hard about just this. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t care what he did next as long as it was near her. But he was scared. Like a kid. Scared she’d laugh at him and tell him he was too old and fat and useless. That the intimate outpourings on the roof and the kiss in her hotel room had been born of the moment, like a war time affair, but not so grand, and this war was over.

  He looked round at the torn earth and the distant trees and wiped the sweat from his brow. He pulled up his trousers and cinched his belt another notch. He’d ducked the question already from Erin in the last few bewildering days. It had been easy to shelter behind the round of constant interviews and reports as the trial collapsed and the Indian government itself began to disintegrate.

  There had also been the nagging 24 hours after finding a snivelling Joey Kutzov waiting for them in the lobby of their hotel. Joey knew when a game was up and was offering Warwick’s head in exchange for his own, though by then it was a little irrelevant. The news of Stanstead’s suicide was blazing across all channels. But Joey’s surrender was just in time for Veronica Yeardon. The FBI had found her alive – just – in a log cabin deep in the Everglades guarded by two of Joey’s goons.

  Ted blew his nose. In some ways, the answer to Erin’s question had become easier. She had been spending more and more time with Ramesh and his col
leagues in the aftermath of the court order. It had been little surprise to hear her declare her intent to take a marketing role in the People’s Bank. At Meera’s prompting she’d even tried on a sari for dinner at the hotel with Ted and Ramesh. The growing line of red in her hair only added to the exotic sense of her. Ted had never seen her look better, and saw heads turn as she walked into the restaurant.

  So he’d planned to save up his answer for the final fleeting moment in the departure terminal. Save it so that when he told her, there wouldn’t be time enough to debate it or mull it over. He’d just say it, check her reaction and then get on the plane. After that would depend on her. He could coat his answer in maybes and easily change his mind when he got back to New York. He didn’t want to be pressed into it yet, so he was evasive.

  ‘Well, I’m taking a trip out to Denver. Go visit the folks and my brother. Then,’ he took a big breath, ‘call me crazy, but I thought maybe I’d ask Stan if I could take a sabbatical, make a start on that book. I’ve got plenty of new material.’ His hand swept the scenery and encompassed their last few weeks.

  ‘I think you should, Ted Saddler. I think that’s exactly what you should do.’

  He didn’t know how to take that. But it didn’t sound like an offer of any sort. He let it go at that and brushed a fly from his face and tried to count his blessings.

  SIXTY ONE

  The light was sending a glare across the screen of his laptop, and Ted got up to pull down the blind. It was late morning and the December sun had finally snuck round and was reflecting off the snow that lay in a 200 foot carpet from the condos up to the tree-line. He was glad he’d paid the extra for an apartment with the spare room and the view up the mountain. Even though it entirely blew his half of the money from the sale of the New York apartment.