The Moon's Complexion

by Irene Black

  “Because I didn’t want to study law.”

  “What sort of an answer’s that? Did it have to be law or medicine? Why not science? Or politics?”

  “Politics? You are joking. I’ve no time for such shenanigans. Let others make mischief, not me.”

  “You can’t pass the buck. We’re all part of the political system.”

  “Correct. I have my own opinions, and I use my vote whenever I can. But politicians are all crooks. It’s a question of damage limitation.”

  “You’re a cynic. Not that I disagree with you entirely. But if people like you leave the field open for the crooks, you can’t complain.”

  “And you, Hannah? Are you so different?”

  “I think so. I’m not a politician, but I’ve taken on a few crooks in my time.”

  “So you have. But I cannot afford to take such risks.”

  “Why not?”

  He glanced away. “Perhaps I have obligations that you do not have. It is hard for you to understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He half smiled and looked at her again. “My father wanted me to study law. But my interest lay in science. However, there is very less security in research these days. So I opted for medicine.”

  “Is security so important for you?”

  “It is paramount. My parents are not so young. Also there is my grandmother. In India, you see, we do not have social security as in UK. Our children are our security.” He paused. “I told you it is not easy for you to understand this.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Ashok. Of course I understand. And in a way I envy you. I’ve only myself to think about. This is the way of the West. Our parents give us life and at some stage release us into the wide world. They relinquish their obligations to us and hand us over to the state. We owe them nothing. If we’re lucky, or likely to inherit anything, the ties of our childhood endure, and we go through life holding on to those tenuous links of love and concern. If the links are too tenuous, the ties are broken.”

  “Now who’s being cynical? Have you broken all ties?”

  “Not all. But I was always taught to be independent. Right from when I was pushed into boarding school at the age of seven. My parents knew they couldn’t always be there for me, or I for them. Their work as archaeologists took them away. I had to learn to cope.”

  “And it has made you tough.”

  “Tougher than most, maybe.”

  “Tough but not hard.”

  “Are you sure? Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “Aren’t you the voice of battle scarred children and vulnerable women? If it is only fame and fortune you are wanting, there are easier ways of achieving it.”

  “You’re right. Fame and fortune are nothing compared with the feel-good factor. When things go right. It must be the same for you.”

  “Certainly. To see the face of an old lady blind with cataracts for years, when you take off the bandages; still it always gets me right here.”

  “Well, there you are. We’re not so different.”

  “You’re tougher than I am, Hannah.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I manage to look tough, but you’ve seen me crumple. You’re tough on the inside.”

  “I hope your faith in me is not misplaced.”

  “It isn’t. One thing my job’s taught me is to be a good judge of character. I knew I could trust you the first time I set eyes on you.”

  “A dangerous assumption, young lady. One day your instinct will let you down.”

  “Never has done yet.” Her eyes were steady on his face. “Tell me about your family.”

  Ashok stood up and stretched.

  “Later. I need to go for a wander. Stay put. Won’t be long.”

  Hannah felt a surge of frustration, but she kept silent. Alone in the compartment, she tried to paste together in her mind some of the fragments that she still recalled from Maighréad’s letters. She smiled sadly as she remembered.

  “…often think how fine it must be to have a proper family, like Ashok….”

  “…seems very proud of them but keeps them to himself.”

  “…did once show me a picture of his parents and his little sister outside their house—all in traditional Indian clothes, it looked like a film set…”

  “…hasn’t talked of taking me to India, but I hope he will, one day…”

  Hannah was not sure how long Ashok had been gone, but it seemed like ages. She began to get worried. She stood up and wandered along the corridor, peering into the other compartments. No sign of him among the dozing passengers. The train chugged steadily on. Hannah went over to the toilets, which were at the end of the carriage, opposite the exit door next to their compartment. Gingerly she tried the door to the first toilet cubicle. It swung open. Apart from the pungent stink of ripening urine, it yielded nothing. The second toilet was also vacant. She returned to her seat, by now feeling distinctly uneasy. Minutes passed, and still no sign of Ashok.

  Gradually she realized that someone was tapping on the outside window. Horrorstruck, she forced herself to look. There in the darkness was Ashok, clinging on for dear life. Hannah rushed out to open the door and hauled him in.

  “Christ Almighty! Have you gone mad?” she gasped.

  “Calm down,” he said, straightening his clothes and tidying his hair. “Used to do this a lot when I was a kid. Not quite at this speed, mind you. But I decided that if the chai-wallah could do it, so could I.”

  It was a few minutes before Hannah regained her composure. Ashok, it seemed, had never lost his.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Hannah finally blurted out.

  “Well, something was nagging at me ever since we got on the train. You know how it is. It’s not quite in your head and not quite out of it.”

  “Go on.”

  “When I got jumbled up in all that scrum on the platform—before you caught up—I had this strange feeling of déja vu. Almost immediately, in all that confusion, it passed, but while you were asleep I started thinking. And then I realized what it was. Someone pushed me aside to get onto the train.”

  “Someone? What someone?”

  “A man, a European. I knew I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where. I thought it might have been at a restaurant or in a shop. I assumed he was just a tourist. Then suddenly it came to me. He’d been on the flight from London—I met him coming out of the loo. He was looking like death in dark glasses. He’d pushed me aside that time, also.”

  By now Hannah was sitting bolt upright, her face tense, her hands flat each side of her on the seat.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. That’s why I went to double check. It was his eyes—or rather his lack of them that make me think it was same man. Those reflective glasses are quite distinctive. Also, I thought on the plane how very sickly-looking he was—for a youngish man, and the man on the platform gave a similar impression from the fleeting glance I had of him.”

  “You went to double check,” Hannah said slowly, “without telling me?”

  “No point in worrying you unnecessarily. I remembered the chai-wallah telling that the door between the carriages was locked.”

  “So you resorted to aerial acrobatics...”

  “Well yes, it was the only way to the next carriage, and besides it gave me a chance to get a good look at him in secret.”

  “And did you find out anything after all that? Was it worth your dice with death?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Luckily, he was in the first carriage. Presumably wanted to be as near us as possible. I flattened myself against the side and edged under the window—it was non-a.c., barred, open. Not like this one. The bars were useful to hang onto. I managed to pull myself up and peek in without him seeing me. The carriage was so crammed with people that nobody noticed me.”

  “So—describe him to me then.”

  “Average height, emaciated, very pale. Does it sound like your stalker?
”

  “Sorry, never got a real look at him—except in the dark with a mask or from behind. And in the taxi in Madras I only got a back view of the top half. But on all three occasions I got the impression of a stick insect. Could be a coincidence, of course.”

  “He’d taken the glasses off. That was the worst thing about him—those eyes, like lightly poached eggs. There was something creepy about him.”

  “Creepy.” Hannah shivered as she said the word. “Yes. So, are you convinced it was the man on the plane?”

  “Convinced, no. But ninety-nine point nine percent sure.”

  “If you’re right, and he’s the stalker, he’s been hot on my trail since before I left England.” Hannah stared at Ashok. “How the hell did he know which flight I’d be on? I told no one.”

  “No one? Are you quite sure? Think.”

  “I’m positive. Except...” Her face froze. “Except Duncan. But Duncan wouldn’t...”

  “Wouldn’t he, Hannah? You are sure? Spurned lover and all that?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. I guessed.”

  “Whatever made you...oh, never mind. But I told you. You can put that right out of your head. He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t lower himself.”

  Ashok shrugged. “If you say so. But you’ll have to come up with a convincing alternative.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. But I will.”

  Ashok said nothing, but his expression said everything.

  When the train finally rolled into Chennai, they waited at the carriage door and watched the passengers from the neighboring carriage spill out onto the platform, searching among the sea of faces for a thin man with poached-egg eyes or reflecting sunglasses. In vain. Their quarry had evaded them.

  * * * *

  At the Pandava, the receptionist, who recognized Hannah and seemed completely unruffled by her disappearance two nights earlier and sudden reappearance now, greeted them cheerfully. They retrieved Hannah’s rucksack and the camera from the hotel safe then booked in for the night. Ashok booked two rooms, Hannah’s previous room and the one next door.

  “Wouldn’t do to have one room only,” he explained on their way across the courtyard. “I’ll just dump most of my things in my room to make it look used. Don’t open your door to anyone but me.”

  Ashok closed the door of his room behind him and put down his bag. Alone in the sudden stillness, he sat down on the bed, feeling unaccountably weary. What the hell was he doing here? Whatever had possessed him to undertake this journey with a woman he hardly knew? The tentacles of reality gripped him. Had he been out of his mind to suspect the fellow on the train of some unspeakable act, merely because he’d seen him before? And the photographs? Did they really justify a chase across half the country? Come on, he said to himself, admit it. There’s another reason for all this. It’s an excuse, isn’t it? An excuse to make time alone with this crazy, charismatic echo from the past, away from the frenetic marriage market atmosphere at home and his father’s gentle but nevertheless sharp-edged probing.

  The telephone rang.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hallo? Who is this?”

  On the other end of the phone was silence, but it was an ominous silence. Ashok sensed a powerful presence intruding into his solitude.

  “Who is this?”

  Still no reply, only a few more seconds’ silence before the phone was slammed down.

  Chapter 6

  “Listen,” Ashok said, as they rested on Hannah’s bed at the Pandava, letting the fan cool their bodies, spent and soaking after making love in the night heat. “Something odd happened in my room earlier, just after we arrived. It’s probably nothing, but I think you should know.” He told Hannah about the telephone call, making as light of it as possible.

  Hannah listened, tight-lipped. “Great. Now I’ve put you in danger.”

  “I’m not in any danger. He’s just trying to spook me.”

  “How can you say that? After what he did to me.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t a danger to you.”

  “You can count on it. His plan to get me that night in the garden failed. Now he’s out to finish what he began. Whatever that may be.”

  Ashok reached up from the bed to the fan control switch on the wall. He turned the dial a little, until the steady whirring slowed and broke into a rhythmic, whooshing beat.

  “Perhaps.”

  “At any rate, if you had any doubts about the fellow’s existence before, at least today proves it’s not my imagination.”

  “Hannah—I always believed you—I told you that.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool. I’m not even sure I believed myself. I do now. The guy’s made his first mistake. If part of his strategy was to undermine my sense of sanity, he’s shot himself in the foot.”

  “If it was him.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “Well, whatever. Perhaps we’ll know more when we get that film developed.”

  “We’ve got to get back to Bangalore first. Another day gone. A couple of days at least till we get the film back...”

  “Hold on, hold on. I’ve been talking to your friend in reception. He was telling that he can get our film developed in one day. His brother has a studio.”

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Resourceful chaps, these receptionists. They all seem to have a brother or a cousin or some useful relative when you need one.”

  “I’ve been thinking that, if we drop it off tomorrow morning, we could take a car down to Mamallapuram for the day.”

  From outside the window came the indignant cawing of a crow, disturbed perhaps by an intruding squirrel as it roosted in the flame tree.

  “Mama...what?”

  “Ma-ma-lla-puram. Birthplace of temple architecture in the far south. There is a shore temple. Also other remarkable stone carvings and rock temples. I’d like to show them to you. Be nice to spend some time in a peaceful place, don’t you think so?”

  “Fine by me. I’m in your hands.” She held him close. “However, that phone call—I can’t help worrying, even though you said you don’t think he’s dangerous. I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  Ashok sat up and looked at his watch. “Look, it’s only eleven o’clock. Your friend will still be in reception. I’ll go and drop off the film and order a car for tomorrow. I can ask if anyone of our man’s description has booked in. I fancy a cold drink. How about you?”

  “Bring me one back, will you? I couldn’t go out again.”

  When he had gone, Hannah closed her eyes and tried to separate the conflicting emotions that were playing in her mind. How could she be so happy under the circumstances? It didn’t make sense. There was something else, too. Something about Ashok that she didn’t understand. Had Maighréad felt it, too? She forced herself to cast back her mind five years. Slowly, disjointed pieces of another letter started to slot together like a well-used but now neglected jigsaw puzzle.

  My darling Hannah,

  …your letter came…could hardly tear open the envelope fast enough …still weak…pathetic creature…can’t stand for more than a few moments…difficult to feed myself…Ashok has found this Amstrad for me…I can write a little more fully…easier than trying to hold a pen.

  Can you believe it’s three months…brought me here, to the John Rad-cliffe…How my life has changed.

  …Joy at receiving your letter…consternation when I read it. Darkness in your words…certain you did not intend.

  …Wonderful Indian doctor who has become my friend—and more… when I am strong again.

  …Rarely talks about his life in India…keeps it hidden…too strange and distant for me to understand. The little he does say sounds…romantic. Not at all like…but I don’t want to think about that.

  I want you to know Ashok as I know him…as much part of you as of me. You and I…indivisible. You think you’re “doing the right thing”… staying away…act of supreme self-sacrifice…so misguided…three of us…meant
to be.

  …police taking renewed interest in me…interviewed me several times over the last few days—seem to want to convince themselves of my statement…additional facts…can’t seem to get it into their heads… details crystal clear. Hannah. Please come…talk about you all the time …what you mean to me. He listens quietly…feels your absence as I do, though he says nothing.

  Please come.

  Your loving and faithful friend

  M

  Poor Maighréad, wrapped up in her self-delusion. Hannah’s absence from her sick bed had been nothing to do with self-sacrifice. It was a sense of the passing of things. It had been time to move on. For both of them. Hannah wanted to see Mark Salers’ trial through and finish A Small Life. Then her final link with Maighréad would be severed. She thought about the letter again, and Ashok. Was that it? Did he think it impossible for a Western woman to truly understand him? She shook her head. Maighréad, yes. That made sense. Maighréad was young and traumatized. She was also, Hannah admitted painfully to herself, quite unworldly.

  But did Ashok really believe that Hannah dwelt in an incompatible mindscape? No. Utterly impossible. Quite the opposite in fact. The empathy between them was uncanny. There was another reason for him to be holding back. Something he was keeping from her.

  * * * *

  Ashok described the man on the train to the receptionist, telling him that they were expecting a friend, and not forgetting to mention the glasses.

  “No, Sir. During time I am here, no gentleman of that description is arriving today evening. But there are plenty other hotels nearby. Maybe your friend is staying in one of those.”

  “Have you been here all evening?”

  “Short break I took, Sir, after signing you in.”

  “And the person who relieved you. When does he come back on?”

  “Tomorrow night only, Sir. He is helping out sometimes.”

  “Please look to see if anyone arrived while you were taking your break.”

  “One moment, Sir. What is name of your friend?”