She felt her resentment and stiffness slowly receding. No wonder he had corrected her then. It was only natural that he should. A – man in love.
She went out to the verandah, where, by the sounds of chatter and china, breakfast was now being taken. Her resentment was gone. Her stiffness. She determined to ignore that odd little ache.
Jim conducted class under a peepul-tree, but was soon joined by a small boy in a pink tunic and baggy pants. When Krishna... that was his name ... ran off again, Jim looked relieved, considering his own two quite enough, until Chandra blithely informed him that Krishna had gone on Chandra's invitation to fetch his `cousin-brothers' from their houses in the valley, since they, too, might like to join in the lessons.
`Was friendliness a prominent trait in Yaqub?' Greer asked the Senhor when she came back to the house. 'And must I include any newcomers in the swimming lessons?'
He answered the latter question first. 'They will be able to swim, have no fears. As for character, you could speak with the grandparents.'
`Grandparents?' she queried.
`The parents of Yaqub. The grandparents of one of the boys.'
`But where are they?' she asked, surprised.
`Why, here, of course. In Stuyva. That is why I selected
my country residence in this district. I think I told you we used to spend vacations here with Yaqub. I grew to like Stuyva so much I chose it for my resort.'
`A Portuguese choose a resort that's not by the sea!' she taunted.
`I assure you we do not always keep to character, that is the character that has been internationally assumed for us.
`Was seafaring only ever assumed, then?' She did not know why she was parrying with him like this.
`You know it was not,' he said reproachfully, 'you know we had knowledge of the seven seas when you were barely leaving your harbours.'
`Oh, yes. Except that your namesake didn't venture south, Australia would be— Well, what would it be, senhor?'
He shrugged in annoyance. 'You are in a difficult mood. I am just trying to tell you that when it comes to facets in character . . . right?'
`Right.'
`We have as many as the British. For instance our formality is always taken for granted.'
`But aren't you formal?'
He ignored her. 'Also, as a race, although proud of our dark beauties, we are reputed to find a dangerous softness in us to the fair Anglo-Saxon type.'
Emphasis on the fair, Greer thought. She said impertinently, not knowing why she did, 'And do you?'
His face had darkened at her bantering tone. 'Yes, senhorita,' he said deliberately, 'indeed I do.' He looked hard at Greer's dark brown, not pale, hair.
The cousin-brothers of Krishna's did not turn up after all, nor did Krishna, so the small swimming pool was not overcrowded. It proved a delicious place, gaining in the musical tinkle of its cascading water what the turquoise pool gained in its gleaming tiles and modern touches.
Refreshed, they came back to the house, then, the meal over, the Senhor told Greer that he was driving the boys
across to see the grandparents of one of them, and that he wished her to come.
She did not obey with much alacrity. Her initial feeling of repulsion at the post he had asked her to take on, that anger she had known that first day in his office because of the 'observations' she would be expected to make, came flooding back again. Once more she knew she liked nothing about this business, this child selection as it were. All children, she thought again, all children were love.
It made it much worse, she thought next, that the small boys, seated in the back of the car, were quite happy about it all. They spoke cheerfully between themselves of `Your grandfather, perhaps' . . . 'My grandmother as she may be.'
`It's wrong,' Greer said softly to herself.
`It does not fret them,' the Senhor, who heard her in spite of the softness, shrugged.
`They should never have learned of the situation.'
`That is regrettable,' he admitted, 'but the tragedy received much publicity, and sooner or later they would have known. Much better for them, it was decided, to have grown up with the story than to be acquainted with it when they were adults.'
There were several houses like the Senhor's tucked in the dents of the hills, Greer noticed, and he told her that Stuyva was considered a favourable district for relaxation.
`It is healthy, and older couples often retire here. Younger couples make it a second or holiday home.'
He drew her attention to the architecture. 'These houses,' he said, 'are bungalows. Originally they were erected in Bengal and known as Bengal houses. It diminished to bungalows, and Europe . . . Australia, too .. . copied the name.'
Greer quite liked the simple structures, mostly a central room around the outside of which was a continuation of verandah covered by an extension of the roof.
The Gupta house when they reached it was a similar
style, only much larger and more elegant, many arches and lattices had been added, screens and frescoes. It was painted white.
The Guptas came out to greet them, and Greer noticed that their embracing of the two boys was strictly equal.
Tea was served in the little courtyard where there was actually a peacock, and this entertained the boys while the older ones talked. The Guptas spoke at once of Greer's curious assignment. They were extremely intelligent, and assured her that they very much regretted the knowledge the boys had of the affair.
`But it was very publicized,' sighed Mr. Gupta, saying what Vasco had said. 'What else could we do? Also, children usually accept a fact, whereas—'
Greer, sorry for their distress, discarded her previous attitude and said warmly, 'It doesn't worry them, they're both very outgoing little boys.'
`Yes,' said Mrs. Gupta, puzzled, 'which Yaqub was not. He was a dreamer. Withdrawn, really.' She got up and came back with some books. They were their only son's compositions. Greer read them through, impressed by the feeling and the fluency.
`We love both these children,' Mrs. Gupta said. 'Whichever is our son's son, it will make no difference to our love. But we would' . . . she touched the books . 'like to give these to Yaqub's own son.'
`Of course,' Greer said softly; she felt different about it all.
The peacock was putting up its tail, but instead of being inspired by the colours, the boys were arguing how long it could keep it up.
`It is possible,' Greer said thoughtfully, 'that mechanics will appeal more to both of them.'
`We realize that,' they nodded. 'A gift or talent does not necessarily have to be handed on.' But the eyes of both the older people went wistfully to the volumes in Greer's hand, and she knew what they were feeling.
On an impulse Greer said sincerely, 'I do understand,
and I will try to help you. I admit I did not agree with your wish at first, but when I read your son's poem "Bwali"—'
`Ah, yes, "Bwali",' nodded Mrs. Gupta. 'How he loved Bwali.'
The words were very beautiful,' Greer assured her.
`As it is beautiful, even though it is not a shrine any more like Madura's, like— But of course' ... nodding at Greer . . . 'you will see it.'
`I would like to some time.'
`While you are here,' Mr. Gupta assured her. 'At Stuyva. It is only a very moderate distance.'
Bwali is?' Greer felt an odd pounding in her heart. All at once she was a schoolgirl again, and turning over the pages of a travel book, and there it was : The Pool of the Pink Lilies.
She raised her eyes and met the eyes of the Senhor. For a moment their glances merged.
`But it is not the lily time yet,' Mrs. Gupta was saying. `Yet soon, would you say?' She looked at her husband.
His reply was drowned in the boys' shrill laughter as they chased each other to tickle the other with a feather the peacock had discarded. It was an opalescent feather of royal blue and green, a really beautiful thing. Greer wondered if Yaqub would have used the feather for this tickling
purpose, and smilingly said so.
The grandparents said yes ... but he would have written a poem as well.
They were delightful people, and Greer was glad Vasco had taken her to meet them. Now she felt quite assured that if a solution happened, if it ever could happen, it would make no possible difference.
Going back in the car the Senhor said, 'You are satisfied?'
`Yes. Mrs. Gupta told me that if they learned a fact, it would not even be made known to anyone. Only the books and poems would be willed later on.'
`That is true, but I don't think they can learn,' he said.
`No,' she agreed .. but she was thinking suddenly of Bwali, Bwali to which the father of one of them had spilled words from his young eager heart.
Bwali! The odd excitement throbbed up in her again, yet not odd really, for in all the years since she had read that travel book, she had remembered, remembered vividly, turning that page.
She was going to take the boys to the shrine, she knew. Take them and observe them. The Pool of the Pink Lilies. She half-closed her eyes in a delight she did not really understand; could only sense.
The cool fingers of the Senhor aroused her. They had come back to the house and he was helping her from the car. She knew she should tell him her plans, for that was what she was here for, to help him in this observation, but stubbornly she determined not to. She did not even look at him as she stepped out, though she knew he was looking at her.
She went into the house . to Holly sitting on a chair and the doctor sitting on the chair's arm, his arm intentionally around her.
Now Greer did look at the Senhor, and her glance flicked remindingly at him.
`You are very wrong, of course,' he had said, 'they are not that. Not a fine pair.'
She smiled coolly, meaningly, but receiving no acknowledgment, she turned and went to her room.
She did not sleep much that night. The knowledge that somewhere quite near her lay the Pool of the Pink Lilies, that first girl dream, and that dream ever since, kept coming back to her. She longed to ask Where? How one got there? But the person who would know most of all was the one she could not bring herself to approach. She could not ask Vasco Martinez and she could not have said why.
It was not a punishment not to sleep here in Stuyva, she thought, staring into the tropical darkness. The moon
was a golden flower, the stars bigger than she had ever seen before. Birds, too, entertained at night as well as day ... jars, owls, the curious-noted brain-fever birds.
So warmly relaxed was the air, so inviting, that she got silently up, pulled round the happy coat, and went and perched on the verandah rail.
She could hear the squirrels foraging . . . or perhaps it was monkeys. She blinked a few times to sharpen her night vision.
After a while she glimpsed a bright black eye and a floating tail, so knew it was a squirrel, for the monkeys either curled or extended their tails, not used them in graceful floating movement like this. She watched the flicking and floating as the little creature rummaged for seeds or berries, holding the find delicately in its hand to eat it at once, its bright eyes darting watchfully as it did so.
One of those quick darts focused Greer and at once the Indian squirrel froze where he perched, pretending by his stillness not to be there.
Greer was fascinated ... she saw the berry still held aloft but the paw not moving. She could not refrain from letting out a soft giggle.
A very unusual thing happened . . . or so Vasco told her soon afterwards.
The squirrel fell. Personally, the Senhor said later, he had not seen one fall before, but watching Greer watching him, the squirrel must have lost his balance. Greer was upset. The little fellow appeared to fall quite hard. She jumped down over the rail and ran to pick him up, but a voice came out of the darkness, a quiet but firm voice: 'No, not that way. This way.' It was Vasco Martinez. With an experienced hand he was picking up the little thing. 'They have long sharp teeth,' he explained, `they can inflict a wound. Scared and hurt like this, it is likely he will turn and dig in those rodent teeth.'
`How hurt?' asked Greer, distressed. The squirrel had been such a bright-eyed little fellow.
`By rights he shouldn't be hurt at all, squirrels should
fall quite lightly, they can if they try, but this fellow's fall took him completely by surprise, and it will be the shock, not the injury. Can you fix up a soft bed for him to curl up on?'
`Of course.' She was hurrying into the bungalow finding a box and a cushion. Behind her came the Senhor, bearing the inert squirrel. He seemed to be experienced in animal-carrying, and Greer said this.
`Yes, Terry, Yaqub and I doctored many animals when we stayed at Stuyva, though not, as I said, a tumbled squirrel. I think Terry first got his doctoring urge from attending these small emergencies. Though it was Yaqub who had the bush knowledge. For instance from Yaqub we learned that death comes for animals as it does for humans, and that is mainly in the night-time. If you can sit with them, even if you are not a friend, even if they do not understand you, often they will recover.'
`Then let me,' said Greer quickly, and he smiled back at her, but a completely different smile now, no banter in it, no innuendo. Just two people anxious over a squirrel.
`We will both sit, Senhorita Greer. You do not mind missing your sleep, then?' He had brought across a cushion and put it down for her on the floor. He sat down himself.
`It is no hardship, senhor,' she said. 'Indian nights are –they are—' She could not find a word.
`Yes,' he agreed. 'But' . . . looking at her closely . . . 'was it only the beauty of the night that kept you awake this night?'
It was not, and Greer had a suspicion that he knew as well as she knew, she remembered how their eyes had met and merged when Mr. Gupta had said : 'While you are here you must see Bwali.'
But for the same inexplicable reason as before, Bwali, between them, between her and the Senhor, could not be spoken.
`The nightjars awakened me,' she evaded. 'And then
that other bird.'
The brain-fever,' he nodded. He bent over the little squirrel. 'I do not think it is badly hurt, but even without an injury, if we left it alone probably in the morning it would be dead. Need is a powerful thing, you agree, senhorita?'
She said, 'Yes, senhor,' in a low voice.
`And this squirrel has need of us. Undoubtedly if he recovers he will turn and hurry away from us, and without a backward glance, but now . . .' He gave a little shrug.
Several times in that night vigil his hand went to his pocket for his cheroots, then he remembered their sick ward and with a gesture of contrition he withdrew his hand.
Once he got quietly up and brewed some coffee.
In between he spoke about India, told her things that left her waiting, breathlessly, for more and more . . . the walled city of Orchha . . . the impact of the Taj Mahal. the Pearl Mosque of Aurengzeb where the Great Mogul had had inscribed : 'If there is a paradise on earth, it is here, it is here.'
The little squirrel gave a deep breath and the Senhor said, 'I believe he's snoring.'
They laughed softly together.
`It is here, it is here,' Greer repeated dreamily. She liked the sound of the words.
`They are written in Delhi,' explained Vasco, 'but I think there could be paradise much nearer Stuyva.' He was looking at her obliquely again.
Hurriedly Greer said, 'Yes, I must see Stuyva. We went through so quickly.' She knew though, that it was not Stuyva that Vasco had been talking about.
`Yes, do so,' he invited. 'There is a goldsmith's shop that will interest you.'
`A goldsmith? In a small place like this?'
`In India even if people are shabby they still must have jewels. Besides being an investment they have a love for them just for their beauty. Yes, you must go into Stuyva
and inspect their ankle chains, necklaces, ear, finger, toe-rings. They will delight you.'
`Only gold?'
`Silve
r as well. Precious and semi-precious stones.' He paused a moment. 'Do you drive, Senhorita Greer?'
`Yes.'
`Then I will lend you one of the small cars I have here. You may care to drive your sister around at times while the boys are at lessons. Already the tutor has a car, and he is planning outdoor studies for his pupils. Perhaps, too, you will occasionally go along with them. Children are often revealing in their attitude to nature.'
`Yes, I will, senhor, but the one car surely would do, I mean we could all use it.'
Not in this little model,' he smiled, 'and certainly you would never want Chandra and Subhas in the goldsmith's. It would be like' . . . he thought a moment .
`a bull among pottery. Right?'
`We say in a china shop. But' . . . a smile . 'I see your point. Thank you, senhor. A car would be nice.' Because she knew that, being the Senhor, he would be thinking of one journey in particular she was planning, she found she could not look up at him. Hastily, so hastily it must have shown, she started on another trend.
At the first buttering of dawn a curious thing happened. The squirrel, without any preliminary trying out of injured limbs, simply stretched, then streaked from his bed on to the verandah. From the verandah to the nearest tree. The bounding, flowing movement was so quick that one moment they had a squirrel, the next an empty box.
`I told you,' said Vasco. 'They are ungrateful children.'
`But alive,' Greer rejoiced. She yawned and tried out her cramped limbs. The verandah sleepers were waking up, so it was no use thinking of catching up on lost hours.
Anyway, the bright daylight would soon see to that.
Refreshed by coffee, Greer took a walk with the boys,
then when they were claimed by Jim she spent some time in the class with them.
`Senhor Martinez tells me you, too, have a car at your disposal,' Jim said as the boys worked on a composition. 'I was afraid of that.' At her look of inquiry he grinned, `They are very mini cars. There has to be an extremely close settlement.'
The Pool of Pink Lilies Page 13