by Amitav Ghosh
Zindi pulled the Bird-man in front of her, and held him tight against her chest, so that she could whisper into his ear without anyone else hearing. And then she pointed them all out to him. There was Abu Fahl, his one eye glowing a livid red, his jallabeyya tied around his waist with a scarf, like it used to be when he went into the fields to harvest rice. There was Zaghloul laughing, that laugh which used to drive the girls in his village mad; and there was Rakesh, worrying about his hair, smoothing his shirt. That was Professor Samuel there, worried, nervously fingering the calculator in his breast pocket. And there was Chunni squatting at the edge of the circle and Karthamma, enjoying herself while Kulfi looked after Boss at home. And of course, over there, sitting gravely on the platform, legs folded, next to the loom was Hajj Fahmy, solemnly counting his beads, for all the world like an elder sitting in council to settle a family quarrel.
And Alu?
She pointed him out, at the loom, weaving, his big head turned away from the crowd, ignoring the noise. And when he saw him the Bird-man stared and stared, like a timid falcon sizing up some unusual and frightening prey.
Hajj Fahmy asked Abu Fahl to speak first since he was the one who had been wronged. So Abu Fahl walked into the circle and, like a storyteller at a fair, he began to speak. He described every moment of it – what he had said, and what they had said, and how they drove at him, and how he shattered their windshield. It was masterful; the whole crowd was enthralled. At the end of it the courtyard rang to shouts and applause and the stamping of feet. Abu Fahl, of course, was as pleased as a new bridegroom: he was smiling and grinning so much you’d have thought he’d be happy to forgive Adil al-Azraq for giving him a chance to tell that story.
All through this, Adil al-Azraq and his cousin were sullenly smoking cigarettes and drinking tea in the centre of the courtyard. By the time Hajj Fahmy called on them to speak Adil was grinding his teeth so loud it was like the rattle of stones in a crusher.
Hajj Fahmy called him to the platform and said: What have you to say for yourself?
Adil stood up, with his cigarette in his hand, and went up to Hajj Fahmy. He blew a cloud of smoke straight into the Hajj’s face and said: You’ll find out what I have to say soon enough, you son of a whore. You’ll find out when my men come here tomorrow and tear your rotten old teeth out.
Hajj Fahmy was quite unmoved, but the whole courtyard gasped. Abu Fahl leapt on Adil and sent him sprawling across the courtyard. He would have taken him apart right there if Hajj Fahmy hadn’t gestured to the others to hold Abu Fahl.
The Hajj was quite angry. He pointed his finger at Abu Fahl and said: Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to fight in my courtyard? Do you think this is a market? There won’t be any fighting in my house.
Abu Fahl was furious, too; there were at least six men holding him and you could see they weren’t finding it easy. He shouted at Hajj Fahmy: I didn’t do anything to them at the embankment even though they tried to kill me. The others said we should bring them here, and I let them. But now that they’re here do you think I’m going to let them threaten us? Do you think I’m going to let them go? Just like that?
Hajj Fahmy looked at him very coldly and said: Since you can’t control yourself, you should let other people think about these things.
He held up his hand and looked around the courtyard. No one spoke. The Hajj said: We won’t have any fighting or beating here. But, still, it is true – these men are dirty. They’ve dealt in dirt so long you can see it caked on their skin. Fighting and beating won’t do them any good. What they need is a bath.
A bath? everyone said.
Yes, said Hajj Fahmy, a bath. A good proper bath, with lots of antiseptic to kill all the dirt that’s clinging to them. They’ll bathe themselves – we won’t do anything but watch quietly – and then they can go.
He sent a message to his wife, and soon she sent out four buckets. They were all full of water that was milky with antiseptic. Someone carried the buckets and two mugs to the centre of the circle and put them in front of Adil and his cousin. And then the crowd drew back.
Adil the Blue and his cousin were alone now, in the middle, each with their two buckets of water and a mug in front of him. The courtyard was so silent you could hear the waves breaking on the beach, in the distance.
And Alu?
Alu? Alu wasn’t weaving any longer, but he wasn’t watching, either. He was looking in front of him, totally bewildered. You had only to look at him to know that the whole thing was beyond him now. He could no longer understand what he’d started.
At first Adil and his cousin looked at the buckets and from them to Hajj Fahmy, in complete disbelief. Then Adil let out a loud, sneering laugh and shouted: Do you think Adil al-Azraq, who’s given you all work for the last fifteen years, has suddenly become a child that you’re going to make him bathe in public?
Hajj Fahmy looked straight at him, without blinking and without speaking. Adil and his cousin turned to their left and to their right and they laughed again, as though they wanted to share a joke with the crowd. Look, they said, he’s a mad old man – he’s lost his mind.
But their laughter returned to them, echoing hollowly in that bowl of silence.
They spun around then, appealing to everyone. This is crazy, they said. What’ll you get out of watching us bathe? We’ll give you some money instead. It’s true, we shouldn’t have tried to run down Abu Fahl. But it’s a simple thing and easily settled. How much do you want? Just tell us. How much?
No one took their eyes off them, and no one answered. Now they were running from one end of the courtyard to the other, like insects in a matchbox, clutching at people’s hands, Abu Fahl’s hands, begging, pleading.
Nobody moved, no one spoke.
Trapped in that storm of silence, they circled slowly back to the centre, looking around the courtyard like caged foxes. Slowly, as they began to understand the depths of their humiliation, the disbelief and mockery on their faces faded into terror. Weighed down by the silence they sank to their knees. Then suddenly they lifted up their buckets and drenched each other in antiseptic.
And at that moment the young bird-lover jerked himself free, and fought his way through the crowd. Once he was out of the lane, he began to run. He lost his way among the shacks but he kept on running, in circles, until somehow he reached the embankment. He stopped there to get his breath back, but also because he realized at last that he was lost.
Why did he run? Jeevanbhai asked incredulously. His eyes were glazed now and he was slumped across his paper-littered desk, with a glass clutched in one hand.
Why did he run? Was he scared?
No, said Zindi, tossing off another shot of whisky. He wasn’t scared exactly. He was shocked: it was as though the world had suddenly started moving backwards.
What did you do then?
Zindi could feel herself swaying on the chair, and she gripped the edge of her desk to hold herself steady. I found him near the embankment, she said. And I walked with him till we found a taxi. And all the way, like a child in search of a secret, he bombarded me with questions about birds.
Birds! Jeevanbhai snorted, curling his lip. That’s all they’re good for: birds, and their promotions and their postings. It’s no use expecting anything from them. A man has to do what he can for himself.
So, Zindi said, holding out her empty glass, I’ll be back at eight-thirty tomorrow. And you’d better have the papers ready, Jeevanbhai.
Wait, Jeevanbhai cried, with drunken petulance. That’s not all. You have to tell me more. What happens now?
What do you mean? said Zindi. I’ll come at eight-thirty, then we’ll sign the documents, and after that I’ll start work. And tell me: have you told Forid Mian yet?
No, no, I didn’t mean that. Jeevanbhai waved an impatient hand. I meant, what are they going to do next?
Zindi repeated with slow menace: Have you told Forid Mian yet? When are you going to tell him?
I’ll tell him to
morrow, don’t worry. There’s nothing to worry about. Now tell me: what are they going to do next?
Zindi poured a finger of whisky into her glass and sat back. Nothing much, she said. They were so happy with what they did to the mugaddams they’ve decided to celebrate. They’re all going to the Star tomorrow evening – half the Ras.
The room was suddenly swimming before Jeevanbhai’s eyes. He shook his head fiercely, in an effort to clear it. They’re going to the Star? he asked hoarsely.
Yes, said Zindi. They’re all going to the Star tomorrow. You know, they lifted the police cordon last week, so there’s nothing to stop them going now. They’re going to look at the room Alu was buried in. If they find the two sewing machines that saved him, they’re going to bring them out and give them to him as a gift. And the Mawali women are going to take fruit and bread and kahk biscuits to distribute at their sheikh’s grave, if they can find it in that mess. After that they’re all going on a shopping spree in Hurreyya Avenue – in all the foreign shops. Professor Samuel is going to take a briefcase full of money.
Jeevanbhai rose slowly from his chair, gripping the desk tightly. He stood still for a moment, testing his legs. Then he staggered over to Zindi’s chair and leant against her back.
I went to the Star once, he said thickly, clutching her shoulders. Only the Star wasn’t there then and I had to go by boat. Do you remember, Zindi?
I remember, Zindi said grimly, and brushed his hands away. They came back again, feeling their way unsteadily over her shoulders and neck.
Do you remember? Do you remember how I arrived in your house? Jabal and the Pathans were behind us. Abusa managed to get us on to a horse, and we raced away. Only, I fell off on the dirt path, where the embankment is now. But somehow I crawled into your house. Do you remember?
He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head, where her hair was thinnest. She jabbed her elbow angrily into his stomach. He lurched backwards and then fell to his knees beside her, hugging her arm.
Do you remember how you looked after me, Zindi? Do you remember that one time when you came to me at night and found me writhing in pain?
Zindi pushed him back: Stop this nonsense.
There were tears in his eyes now, and his face crumpled like wet paper. He caught her hand and lifted it to his cheek.
We lost that battle, Zindi, he said, and that war, too. Why did we lose?
Zindi snatched her hand away. Jeevanbhai, she snapped, be a grown man, in God’s name.
Jeevanbhai brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. Then he put his arm around her waist as far as it would reach, and sank his head into her lap.
Do you think I’d win now, Zindi, he said, if I tried?
Zindi did not answer and she made no effort to push his head away. He looked up at her. He said: Do you think I might win, once?
Zindi shook her head. Stop this now, Jeevanbhai, she said wearily. There’s nothing to win any longer.
Jeevanbhai reached up and pulled her head down. Zindi, he whispered into her ear, once more. Please. Just one more time, like the last one.
Zindi snapped her head back, startled. But where? she cried.
Jeevanbhai waved a hand at the records of his planned matings. I could spread them out on the floor, he said eagerly.
Zindi laughed: We’re too old, Jeevanbhai.
Zindi, he pleaded, just one more time.
She looked at him and saw a spark of hope glinting behind the fog of years of defeat and, despite herself, she drew his face towards her and kissed him gently on his moist forehead. Then she pushed him away: It’s too late now, Jeevanbhai.
He caught her hand and sat back on his haunches. As you like, Zindi, he said. But can I tell you something? I can tell you now because we’re both drunk and tomorrow’s so close. In my own way I’ve always loved you – as much as I can love, and with as much as I had to spare from my wife.
Zindi ran her hand over his papery cheek. No, Jeevanbhai, she said sadly. You’re like all men; what you loved was the reflection you saw of yourself in my eyes.
She rose from her chair and banged her glass on the desk. I have to go now, she said. Boss has to go to sleep; it’s very late.
Jeevanbhai darted to one corner of the room and began to rummage around in a stack of files. Wait, he called out after her. I’ve got another new bottle somewhere here.
Zindi went into the shop and pulled the collapsible gate open. The passageway was pitch dark. She lifted Boss into her arms and pressed him to her breasts.
Listen, she shouted into the inner room, I’ll be back tomorrow at eight-thirty. You’d better have the papers ready.
There was no answer. Growling to herself, she left the shop and walked down the passageway, trying to keep her steps even.
Zindi! a shout echoed down the passageway. She turned, pulled her torch out, and shone it towards the shop. Jeevanbhai was leaning against the collapsible gate, holding a new bottle of whisky in one hand. She turned back and hurried away towards the Bab al-Asli.
But his voice followed her: Zindi! Tell them I’ll meet them at the Star. Tell them they have nothing to worry about. We’ll win this time.
Chapter Sixteen
Dreams
At six in the morning the telephone shattered Jyoti Das’s thirty-two hours of sleep. The telephone was on a low table beside his bed. He tried to open his eyes and found them gummed together. Turning over he fumbled blindly around till his fingers touched the cold plastic of the sleek digital telephone, and found the right button. The electronic bleating stopped. He had no idea how long it had been making that noise; the sound had seemed to grow out of his sleep. It could have been hours.
Hullo? he said into the plastic flap which opened out of the receiver. His throat felt like clotted sand.
Hullo? Das? He recognized Jai Lal’s voice, crackling with urgency.
Yes, he said. He prised his eyes open with his fingers. The heavy curtains that he had drawn across the plate-glass windows yesterday were glowing, with the first morning light behind them.
Das? Jai Lal said. Listen.
Yes? said Das.
I’ve got something to do in your part of the town. It’s important. I’ll stop by your hotel on the way. It might interest you, too.
All right, Das said. Jai Lal disconnected before he could say anything else.
Stretching his arm out to put the phone back, he could feel an almost painful stiffness in his joints. The crumpled sheets of his bed had left their impression on his skin over the last day and a half; his arm was marbled over with wrinkles. He hadn’t slept through all of the thirty-two hours, of course. Twice yesterday he had gone down to the hotel’s restaurants. He had even thought of going out for a walk once, but when he reached the revolving glass doors which sealed the steamy Ghaziri air out of the hotel his resolution had failed him. He had looked through the glass at the swirling traffic, at the entrails of unfinished buildings festooned across the skyline, and the flow of people with their inexplicable nationalities, and all he had wanted was to get back into bed, back to peaceful, orderly sleep. He had meant to ring up Jai Lal but hadn’t got around to it; sleep had claimed him first. Besides, Jai Lal had made it clear that he was busy and wouldn’t be able to shepherd him around any longer.
But now he had to hurry to be ready for Jai Lal. He made his way unsteadily to the bathroom.
By the time Jai Lal knocked, he had shaved, changed and even ordered breakfast. Jai Lal, looking grim, forced a smile when he opened the door.
Hullo, Jai, hullo, Das said. Come and sit. I’ve just ordered breakfast – do you want some?
Breakfast? Jai Lal gaped at him in astonishment. Yar, this is urgent; I didn’t come to have breakfast.
Das grimaced. Sorry, he said. I was just asking. What’s the matter?
Jai Lal glanced around the room. Haven’t you got a radio or something? he asked.
Das pointed to a knob set in a perforated panel next to the bed. Jai Lal turned it and the hotel�
��s piped music tinkled out of the panel.
Sorry, said Lal. There’s no need really – it’s just a habit. I even do it at home sometimes.
There were two low chairs, upholstered in imitation leather, near the window. Das took one and gestured at the other.
What’s the matter? he said. What’s so urgent?
Jai Lal kept standing. I can’t sit now, he said. I just came to tell you: Jeevanbhai Patel has been taken in by the local security people. It happened early this morning – or, rather, very late last night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I may be able to find out soon. One of their security people, a Pakistani who I know a bit, rang up this morning. He didn’t say very much except that Jeevanbhai had said, during an interrogation, that I might be willing to stand bail for him. Don’t know what gave him that idea, and I don’t know what else he’s said. It could be quite tricky. He wants me to go there as soon as possible. Of course bail doesn’t have anything to do with it; it could hardly be anything bailable. Anyway, I’m going there now to find out. I thought I’d keep you informed, because I think – I’m not sure, but I think – it may have something to do with your friend, the Suspect. Something he said gave me that impression.
Das nodded thoughtfully. So, then, he said, do you think their security knows about the whole thing now?
Jai Lal shrugged: I don’t know. Maybe. I thought of taking you along, but the thing is I know this chap, and he might talk to me a little. He wouldn’t if someone he didn’t know was there, too. Anyway I’ll come back and tell you all about it.
Fine; I’ll wait here.
Jai Lal went to the door and opened it. I’ll be back as soon as I can, he said, and hurried away.
Das sat down to wait. Soon a waiter brought him his breakfast. Das looked at him curiously; he seemed Indian. He was a young man, with sandy skin and very dark hair.
Are you from India? Das asked him in Hindi.