by Amitav Ghosh
Zachary paused so that his revelation, when it was made, would have the maximum effect: ‘He is the brother of your friend from the Ibis – Ditty.’
Paulette drew back, in shock. ‘I do not believe you, Mr Reid,’ she said, in a wavering voice. ‘You have misled me many times before – why should I repose any trust in what you say?’
‘Because it is true, Miss Lambert. The havildar and I travelled here on the same ship, the Hind. Somehow he found out that I had been on the Ibis. He came to speak to me about his sister and I told him what I knew. He asked me not to tell anyone about it, and I have respected his request, till today. But you at least should know who he is – for perhaps it will help you to remember that it was because of Ditty that you came to my cabin that night, on the Ibis; it was for her sake that you begged me to let her husband escape, along with the other fugitives. I did as you asked, and for that I have had to spend many months in confinement, sleeping on cold stone floors, while you’ – now, as the memories of all his old grievances came flooding back, Zachary’s tone sharpened – ‘while you were lying on a bed of flowers and roses, having been adopted by a rich man.’
Stung into silence, Paulette could think of no retort.
‘Yes, Miss Lambert,’ Zachary continued, ‘the Ibis has left us with many secrets and I have been faithful in keeping them. I may not be as much of a betrayer and liar as you think.’
Listening to him Paulette was suddenly, blindingly aware of the import of his words: she understood that no matter how much she might want to be finished with Zachary, she would never be free of him – the bond of the Ibis was like a living thing, endowed with the power to reach out from the past to override the volition of those who were enmeshed in it. It was as if she were being mocked for harbouring the illusion that she was free to decide her own destiny.
Before she could think of anything more to say Zachary tipped his hat at her and bowed: ‘Good day, Miss Lambert. I do not know if we shall meet again but if we do you may be sure that it will not be by my design.’
*
A burst of applause rang out as the sepoys’ salute drew to a close. When it had faded Mrs Burnham, who had been sitting beside Shireen, on the quarter-deck, rose to her feet: ‘The sepoys have performed so splendidly that I feel I should thank the havildar myself.’
This proposal received an enthusiastic endorsement from her husband: ‘Of course you must, dear,’ he said. ‘And we must make sure that they are served some refreshments.’
Down on the maindeck, by dint of habit, Kesri was tracking the flow of people on the Anahita’s decks as though they were troops on a battlefield. For the most part his attention was centred on Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham: they were like the standard-bearers, providing points of orientation in the midst of the dust and smoke of battle; he kept track of their whereabouts almost without being aware of it. He had noticed that after their initial meeting beside the side-ladder – when his own, speedy intervention had saved the captain from making a fool of himself – the two of them had stayed well away from each other. Now, seeing that Mrs Burnham was coming towards him, Kesri snapped to attention, fixing his eyes on a point in the middle distance. When she said – Salaam Kesri Singh! – he snapped off a salute, without looking directly at her.
Salaam, memsah’b.
You and your men performed very well, Kesri Singh.
Aap ki meherbani hai; you are kind to say so, Cathymemsah’b.
Then passed a moment of silence and when she spoke again it was in a completely different tone, flat and urgent. Kesri Singh, she said, we have very little time and I do not want to waste any of it.
Ji, memsah’b.
I want to ask you something, Kesri Singh. It is about Mee-sahib.
Ji, Cathy memsah’b.
Is he married?
No, Cathy memsah’b, he is not.
Oh.
She paused and her voice fell: Then maybe he has a … a … kali-bibi, ‘a black wife’?
I cannot say, Cathy memsah’b. He is my kaptán-sah’b. We don’t speak about such things.
Even as he was saying this Kesri guessed she would not be taken in; as a military daughter she was sure to know that such matters were impossible to conceal within a battalion.
Nor was he mistaken; he could tell from her face that she had interpreted his response as a rebuff.
So you don’t want to talk to me, Kesri Singh, is that it?
There is nothing to tell, Cathy memsah’b. Mee-sah’b is not married and there is no woman in his keep.
Has he ever spoken of me?
Not to me, no, memsah’b.
Is that all then? You have nothing else to say to me?
The desperation in her voice stirred Kesri’s pity.
There is one thing I can tell you, Cathymemsah’b, said Kesri.
Yes?
Ek baar, said Kesri, one time, twelve years after that winter in Ranchi, Mee-sah’b was wounded in some fighting. I was beside him and I was the one who removed his koortee. In the pocket, near the breast – Kesri raised a hand to touch his heart – there were some papers.
She gasped: What papers?
I think it was your letter.
My letter?
Yes, Cathy memsah’b. I think it was the letter you gave me, to give to him, all those years ago, in Ranchi.
Kesri knew, because two shimmering dots had appeared at the lower edge of his vision, that her eyes were glistening. And at the same moment he saw that Captain Mee was coming down the companion-ladder, advancing towards them. In an attempt to warn Mrs Burnham, he allowed his eyes to flicker away. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that the captain was heading in their direction; she turned quickly away to busy herself with her reticule.
‘Ah Mrs Burnham,’ said Captain Mee, in a tone of forced banter. ‘I hope my havildar is not giving away all our battalion’s secrets? He seems to have a lot to say to you.’
‘Why Captain Mee,’ said Mrs Burnham, speaking as he had, in a bantering tone. ‘I trust you’re not jealous of your havildar?’
Then suddenly the air seemed to go out of her lungs.
‘Oh please, Neville,’ she said in a soft, shaky voice. ‘How long must we pretend?’
The directness of her tone caught Captain Mee off-guard, wrecking his composure. Like rings on a pond, the pain, yearning and disappointments of the last twenty years seemed to ripple across his face. When next he spoke, his tone was like that which Kesri had heard in his tent, a few days before: the voice of a hurt, bewildered nineteen-year-old.
‘Cathy, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been waiting so long – and now …’
From under the brim of her hat Mrs Burnham shot Kesri a glance that brimmed with gratitude. Then slowly they moved away.
*
‘There you are, Reid!’
Throwing an arm over Zachary’s shoulder, Mr Burnham led him aside. ‘Have you been able to have a word with Captain Mee yet?’
‘Not yet, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘It may be difficult here, with so many people about, but I’ll try.’
‘Best to do it now,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘If we don’t get to him soon you may be sure that someone else will.’
With that Mr Burnham went off to talk to a guest while Zachary took a turn around the crowded quarter-deck, looking for Captain Mee. Seeing no sign of him, his eyes strayed to the maindeck and landed instead on Mrs Burnham: he saw, to his surprise, that she was deep in conversation with – of all people! – the sarjeant of the Bengal sepoys.
Zachary had watched Mrs Burnham from afar at many parties and levées: it seemed to him now that there was something odd about her bearing; her posture was not at all like that of her usual, social self. Her head was cocked in such a way as to suggest that she was hanging on the sepoy sarjeant’s every word.
But what could a havildar have to say that would be of such interest to her?
Even as he was mulling this over, Zachary noticed that a uniformed figure was heading towards the pair. A moment
later he realized that this was none other than Captain Mee.
Zachary froze. Standing riveted to the deck, he watched as Mrs Burnham and Captain Mee spoke to each other. When they moved away from Kesri, he leant forward, his knuckles whitening on the deck-rails. At that point Mrs Burnham happened to turn her head so that the glow of a paper lantern fell directly on her face. Zachary had to stifle a gasp – for the countenance she had turned to Captain Mee was not her public visage but rather the one that Zachary had himself come to recognize in her boudoir. So far as he knew there was only one other man who had ever been privy to this other aspect of Mrs Burnham – and that man was a soldier, a lieutenant, she had said, her first and only love.
Zachary noticed now that Captain Mee’s red-coated shoulders were also inclined towards Mrs Burnham in a manner that suggested a more than casual acquaintance. Suddenly suspicion boiled up in him, to be followed by an onrush of jealousy so intense that he had to hold on to the rails to steady himself.
What were they talking about, looking at each other so intimately?
Zachary had to know; the curiosity that had taken possession of him was too powerful to be resisted. Before he was aware of it, his feet were moving, carrying him down the companion-ladder to the maindeck. Plunging into the throng of guests, he began to work his way towards the couple. But he was only a few paces away when he thought the better of it: if Mrs Burnham spotted him she might well guess what he was up to.
He came to a halt, thinking about what to do next, and just then his eyes fell on the white uniform of a fifer: a moment later he realized that it was Raju – the boy was wandering about as though he had lost his way.
‘Hey there, kid-mutt!’
‘Hello, sir,’ said Raju in a small, scared voice.
‘How are things with you?’
‘All right, sir.’
‘Do you like being a fifer?’
‘Yes, sir. I like it. Most of the time.’
‘But not now? Is that why you’re wandering around like a lost puppy?’
‘Sir, the drummers told me to find them some grog. They said the youngest fifer always has to do it. But I don’t know where to find a bottle of grog, sir, and I’m afraid they’re going to be angry with me.’
Dropping to his heels, Zachary squatted close to Raju’s ear. ‘Listen, kid-mutt – I’ll find you a bottle of grog, I promise. But you’ll have to win it from me fair and square.’
‘How, sir?’
‘By playing a game.’
‘What game, sir?’
Zachary inclined his head towards Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham. ‘Do you see those two over there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All right, so the game’s this – you have to sneak up behind them and listen to what they’re saying. But they can’t know that you’re there. It’s a secret game, right? Only you and I are playing.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You think you can do it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go on then.’
Leaving Raju to work his way across the deck Zachary cornered a steward and slipped him a Spanish dollar: ‘Can you bring me a bottle of grog? Jaldee ekdum?’
‘Yes, sir. Ekdum jaldee.’
As he waited for the steward to return Zachary saw that Raju had circled around the deck and was eavesdropping unnoticed on Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham. Then the bottle of rum arrived and Zachary beckoned to Raju to come back.
Dropping into a squat again, he said: ‘Did you hear anything, kid-mutt?’
‘Yes, sir. Mrs Burnham was talking about a milliner’s shop, near the St Lazarus Church in Macau. She said that she often goes there.’
‘Oh? And what did he say to that?’
‘He said he would meet her there.’
‘Anything else?’
‘That’s all I heard, sir.’
Zachary patted Raju on the back and handed him the bottle. ‘You did good, kid-mutt; you’ve won the grog fair and square. But remember, it’s a secret – not a word to anyone!’ ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
*
Not for a moment after setting foot on the Anahita’s quarter-deck had Shireen been able to forget that Bahram’s accident had happened here; that it was from this very deck that her husband had fallen to his death. Through the duration of Mr Burnham’s oration and the ceremony that followed, she had wondered whether it was from the jamná side that he had fallen or the dáwa. Or had he perhaps tumbled over the stern? In thinking about these things she was seized by a strange disquiet – a feeling that only deepened when she saw Freddie leading Paulette towards her. But once introductions had been made Shireen took a liking to her; she invited her to sit on the bench and for a while she listened quietly as Zadig and Paulette talked about gardening.
Then at last Shireen gingerly broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind: ‘Is it true, Miss Lambert, that you were on the island the day my husband died?’
‘Yes, Mrs Moddie,’ said Paulette. ‘I was up in the nursery that day and I saw this ship, the Anahita, at anchor below. Although there were many ships in the bay that morning, the Anahita was the one that caught my eye.’
‘Why?’ said Shireen.
‘Because there was a ladder – a rope-ladder – hanging out from an open window, at the back.’
‘You mean from my husband’s suite? In the stern of the ship?’
‘Yes,’ said Paulette. ‘That was where it was.’
Taken aback, Shireen cried: ‘But why would there be a ladder in his window?’
‘I cannot tell you why it was there,’ said Paulette. ‘It seemed very strange to me too, because there was nothing below but water.’
Shireen turned to Freddie and Zadig. ‘Did you know about this ladder?’
Zadig shook his head. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it, Bibiji.’
‘I did not speak of it to anyone,’ said Paulette. ‘To be truthful, I had forgotten about it until Freddie asked me.’
‘But how would Freddie know?’ cried Shireen, turning towards him. ‘Had someone told you about the ladder, Freddie?’
‘No,’ said Freddie. ‘No one told me. But I see in my dreams, lah, the ladder, hanging from the window. That is why I ask Miss Paulette, ne? Then she tell me, yes, she saw in the morning, but after an hour it was gone.’
‘Vico must have taken it in,’ said Zadig. ‘But he never uttered a word about it to me.’
All of this was completely incomprehensible to Shireen. ‘‘But why would there be a ladder there? Do you think there was some foul play?’
‘No,’ said Zadig, with a shake of his head. ‘If there had been foul play the ladder would not have been left hanging. And anyway there was no sign of a struggle in the cabin or on Bahram-bhai’s body.’
‘But what happened then?’ said Shireen. ‘Why would there be a ladder hanging out of his window? What was its purpose? To climb up or go down?’
Nobody said a word, so Shireen turned again to Freddie: ‘You know the answer, don’t you, Freddie? Tell me what the ladder was for, please.’
Freddie did not answer at once: his eyes were closed and he seemed almost to be in a trance. When he spoke again his voice was very soft.
‘I think Father went down the ladder because someone call him.’
‘Who?’
‘My mother.’
‘Your mother?’ cried Shireen. ‘But that’s impossible. Hadn’t she died some years before?’
Freddie shook his head: ‘Did not die, lah, my mother,’ he said. ‘Was murdered, ne? By men who came looking for me. She help me get away and did not tell them where I went. So they stabbed her and threw in the river – the Pearl River. There was no funeral, nothing, so she is still in the river, still in the water, this water that we are on. I see her sometimes, she has not found rest, so she comes to me. That night, when Father come here from Canton, in this ship, I think she come to him too and call him away. He went down the ladder to go to her. I have seen it so in my dreams, lah.’
‘No!’ Shireen’s head was spinning already, and it began to turn even faster now as she jerked it violently from side to side. ‘No! I cannot believe it. I will not believe it.’
Then all of a sudden, everything went dark.
*
The fuss on the quarter-deck was loud enough to cause Kesri some concern. He kept a careful eye on it and when he saw a prone body being carried away he realized that there was no reason for undue alarm: a lady had swooned and was being taken inside.
Shortly afterwards he spotted a memsahib in a black dress and bonnet coming towards him. He did not make too much of it; several sahibs and memsahibs had already approached him with complimentary words about his squad of sepoys: he assumed that this missy-mem was going to do the same.
But when she came face to face with him she said nothing; she just stood there silently, staring.
Thinking that she was unsure of whether he understood English, Kesri said: ‘Good evening, memsah’b.’
That was when she began to speak – and not in English but Hindustani.
It is true, isn’t it, she said, that you are Deeti’s brother? I can see it in your face, your eyes. She used to draw pictures of you. I saw one once, she had drawn you holding a bundook.
Now Kesri too lost his tongue for a moment. When he regained it, all he could say was: How did you know? How did you know about Deeti – that she is my sister?
Mr Reid told me, said Paulette. I was on the ship too, you know – the Ibis. Your sister was my friend; we talked a lot, especially in the last days, before we reached Mauritius.
You were with her? Kesri shook his head incredulously. Did Deeti tell you why she ran away from her village after her husband’s death?
Yes, she told me all about it.
Kesri was seized with panic now, thinking that there might not be enough time to hear the whole story.
Tell me; tell me what Deeti said. I have been waiting so long to hear – tell me everything.
*
The twilight had turned to darkness now so Raju did not see Baboo Nob Kissin’s saffron-clad figure until it was almost on top of him.
Here, boy! Come aside – I have to talk to you.
Leading Raju to the bulwark, Baboo Nob Kissin knelt to whisper into his ear: Raju, listen, this is very important. Among the guests at this party there are some friends of your father’s. They might be able to help you find him.