by John Speed
"Yes, Uncle," Lucinda answered, placing her hand on his. His skin felt thin, cool and slightly damp. He'd been cleaned, and his hair combed back, but even so a smell of vomit and feces hovered in the air. "We'll go then as you say.
"Wait," Carlos said placing his other hand on hers. She saw the white bandage on his forearm covering the wound where the doctor had bled him. "They thought I was dying last night. They said it was poison. Bah. Too much wine for an old man, that's all. But when the priest placed the chrism on my forehead, do you know what I thought?"
Lucinda hid her surprise. No one had told her about the priest. "What, Uncle?"
"Not about my sins or the Virgin. No, I thought about you." A tear glistened on his cheek. "You're so perfect, Lucy. So pure. Family is everything. I see that now more clearly than ever. You're all I've got now, dear one."
"And Geraldo, Uncle."
"What?" Carlos said, blinking as if he'd been asleep.
"Geraldo ... He's family too, isn't he? And Victorio, your brother, don't forget him."
He stared at her for a long time before he finally answered. "My brotherin-law, yes." His hand moved from hers. "Yes. I only meant..."
"Yes, Uncle?"
He sighed and closed his eyes, and for a frightened moment Lucinda thought that he had died. Then he mumbled, "I thought you'd understand."
"I do," she answered.
Carlos waved his hand. "Go now. Carry my good wishes to Victorio. Enjoy your journey."
"Thank you, Tio Carlos." She leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"One thing," he gasped as she was about to leave. "Da Gama. Be careful. Don't trust him."
Lucinda started when she heard these words. She yearned to hear more, but she could see that her uncle was weak, too weak to talk, and if the truth were told, she was anxious to start her adventure. "Yes, Uncle," she said brightly. "I'll be fine."
Outside she shook Geraldo's shoulder. "Get up. We're leaving."
"Will he be all right?" Geraldo said, his face grave.
"It will take more than flux to kill Tio Carlos," she said. But Geraldo's face seemed full of worry, not relief.
When a Goan said, "We'll leave at dawn," everyone understood it was a figure of speech. By the time goodbyes had been said and trunks unlocked once more to be stuffed with an assemblage of forgotten items, dawn had long passed. The Muslim horsemen had unfurled their prayer rugs toward a west-facing wall. Then the trunks had been loaded and tied onto the bullock carts, then untied and unloaded, and loaded once more, and now the sun was high and the animals thirsty and impatient.
She was so used to Goa and its cascade of unexpected delays that Lucinda couldn't understand Captain Pathan's increasing frustration. Pathan sent servants for water for the animals, but the Goans, used to a siesta, moved so slowly he at last sent his own men.
Then the elephant defecated in the street, and there was no one to clean it up, for Dasana's servants had by that time wisely disappeared to shady corners, and, after the insult of carrying water, the Muslim guards ignored their captain's soft request and he had not the heart to make it a command. Eventually some nobodies came and carried off the mess in wide baskets that they balanced on their heads, but the stink lingered.
Da Gama, who might have helped, for some reason sat in the shadow of a doorway, letting Pathan fend for himself. "He's had more luck so far than I would've, Lucy," he explained when Lucinda questioned him. He seemed amused by it all. Lucinda wondered if he'd been drinking.
As for Geraldo, after his sleepless night, he had given orders not to be disturbed until all was set, and napped in his room with the drapes closed.
As noontime came, instead of being on her way, Lucinda found herself arranging lunch for the travelers. Fortunately she stopped the servants before the platters of cold meats left the house, sending them back to the kitchen where she had the ham and beef placed on separate plates, for the Hindi Christians despite their conversion would not eat cow, and the Muslims would not eat pig. The Portuguese, of course, ate anything.
By the time the golden bell of Santa Catarina struck two, it seemed that all was prepared. She sent Helene to be sure everyone was gathered up for travel, and then Lucinda took a moment for herself and hurried back to her uncle's room. Before she turned the corner she heard shouting.
She nearly ran into Geraldo being shoved by Tio Carlos's angry valet. Despite Geraldo's size and strength, he seemed no match for the toothless valet's righteous anger. "Adolfo," Lucinda said. "Explain this!"
"He was trying to sneak into the master's bedroom, senhorita," Adolfo said, giving Geraldo's chest another angry push.
Geraldo, to Lucinda's surprise looked shocked, guilty even, not angry or amused as she would have expected. "I only wanted to say goodbye," he said, holding out his hands to her helplessly. "Who knows when I'll see Tio Carlos again?"
"He was up to no good," the valet insisted. "Look what I found on the floor by his feet!" Adolfo cried, opening his fist below Geraldo's nose, and then showing it to Lucinda: a tiny silver box.
"My arsenico!" Lucinda said.
"Poison!" Adolfo cried, waving the box. "Villainy!"
"So now you accuse Senhorita Dasana?" Geraldo said, snatching the box from the valet's palm. "You say my cousin poisoned our uncle?"
Adolfo's mouth formed into a wide, toothless O. "That's not what I meant! "
"Come with me, Lucy," Geraldo said, taking her arm firmly and guiding her away. Over his shoulder he called, "I will send a very stern letter to my uncle about this insult to his niece."
"Come back," Adolfo wailed, waving an empty fist.
"How old is that fool?" Geraldo said, his dark eyes burning.
"He must be sixty, maybe seventy years old."
"Well," Geraldo said with a sigh as if to calm himself. "Maybe that explains it."
"He's been with Tio Carlos for ages. Don't be too harsh with him."
"You're right, as usual, Lucy. I'll let it go this time." When he smiled, his teeth gleamed in the sunlight like pearls. "Forgive my temper. I care about you too much, I suppose." He pressed her arm gently, and handed her the box of arsenico. "This is yours, I think. I'll meet you downstairs."
As he strode off to his room, Lucinda tried to settle the jumble of her thoughts. And while an older or a wiser woman might have wondered about Geraldo and his sneaking, or the mysterious appearance of her silver box at Geraldo's feet, Lucinda's mind still reeled from the way he said he cared about her. The way he called her Lucy echoed in her ears just as a golden bell will vibrate softly for hours.
At last all was ready. Lucinda was giving one last goodbye to Carvallo and his wife when she heard Helene screaming in Hindi near one of the bullock carts. A crowd formed, blocking her view, but she heard women's voices calling each other terrible names. Da Gama waved for her to come over.
There stood Helene, hands on hips and feet planted firmly on the ground, pointing and shouting at someone Lucinda could not well see. "She's your servant, Lucy," Da Gama said, urging her forward.
Lucy finally saw that the other figure, though it spoke with a woman's voice, was not a woman as she had supposed, not unless it was a woman dressed as a man, and a short and fat one at that.
"What's wrong, Helene?" she demanded in Portuguese.
Helene's face was twisted in anger and disgust. "First that jackal dog tells me I must ride like a sack of flour in a bullock cart!" she snapped back in coarse Hindi, pointing angrily at Captain Pathan, who stared skyward and said nothing. "Then they tell me I must ride with this hijra! I am not to be insulted so! Let her walk!"
"Please, Aya, please calm down," said Lucinda in Portuguese, walking toward her.
Helene pulled away. "Nahin!" she answered angrily. "I'll not travel with a hijra!" With that she crossed her arms and sat on the ground.
The other-man or woman, whichever it was-looked over to Lucinda with a round face full of hurt and sadness. "It is my cruel fate to be treated so, madam," the piping voice said-a
voice, Lucinda thought, more like a child's than a woman's.
Of course, then she realized. In Hindi, hijra was a word said in answer; it meant "neither this nor that." Now as she looked at the strange figure standing sadly near her maid, it dawned on her. "Hijra, " she murmured.
"A mukhunni, madam, if you please," the figure said in offended Hindi, lifting his head high. "That is the proper term. I was a eunuch of the first rank in the seraglio of the sultan of Bijapur. And I am a he, obviously, not a she!" Helene rolled her eyes.
Not knowing what else to do, Lucinda made a small curtsy, which the eunuch answered by lifting his hands to his forehead. "Excuse my bad manners," she said, knowing from Helene's teaching that apologies were always the best place to start a conversation in Hindi. "You are the first ... er ..."
"Mukhunni, madam," the eunuch answered, lifting his head high and exposing a tiny neck. "It means `short-tusked' and is the proper greeting for one deformed as I."
While he stared at her, Lucinda became aware that the circle that had formed to watch the argument had now begun to critique her. She could hear the whispers.
Her maid, seated grumpily on the ground. A eunuch dressed in silks, waiting proudly as if daring her to speak. The Muslim captain staring at her with disdain. The chuckling eyes of Da Gama. The whispers of the circle.
Would no one help her?
And just then she felt a firm hand grip her arm gently, and heard a whisper. "I'm here with you."
It was Geraldo.
Geraldo snapped his fingers at Helene. She looked up, offended. "Stand up, now, woman, and get into the cart as you're told," he said in perfect Hindi.
Helene's eyes grew wide. "Not with that hijra. I will not."
"You'll do what your mistress commands," Geraldo said. His voice, though soft, hinted at harsh action.
Now all eyes turned to Lucinda, who whispered to Geraldo, "But, cousin, why is that eunuch here?"
"He's here to look after the ... the cargo," Geraldo whispered back.
Of course, Lucinda would later regret that she'd never inquired about the caravan's cargo. But on hearing Geraldo's reply, the answer to the problem burst into her head. "Very well then. If you will not ride together, then one of you must travel with the cargo."
At this Helene's eyes grew wide, but the eunuch, to Lucinda's amazement, burst into a wide, relieved smile. "Oh thank you, madam, thank you," he squeaked. He hurried off, but then returned and haltingly pressed Lucinda's hand between his chubby palms. "I never expected such courtesy from a farang. Forgive me." With that he puffed toward the elephant. Lucinda stared at her hand.
"As for you," Lucinda said to Helene, squeezing her face into a frown, "how dare you make such a scene in front of everyone? To refuse to ride with someone-why? Because he is a little different? Christian charity teaches us to love others, not condemn them." She might have said this in Portuguese, but instead she spoke plain Hindi, determined to embarrass Helene for her defiance. Helene glared back furious. Lucinda eyed her coldly. "We are none of us free of fault, Helene. But I won't stand for insolence. You will remain here, Helene."
"But my little bebe! How..."
"No more! You've heard me. Get your baggage from the cart and go inside!"
Lucinda waited. She expected an immediate apology, but none came. A moment passed, and then another, but still Helene was silent. In fact, while they waited for her maid's luggage to be removed, Lucinda noticed a coy, triumphant look in Helene's dark eyes.
Now what have I done, Lucinda wondered. What do I do without her?
Before she could change her mind, however, Captain Pathan urged everyone to take their places. He turned his horse toward Lucinda. "You ride up there in the howdah, madam," he said in Hindi, nodding toward a silver ornamented ladder leaning against the elephant's side. She looked back desperately at Helene, but Pathan stepped between them. He said to her softly, "That was justly done and wisely, madam. To show respect for our fellows, even those who differ from us, that is the Prophet's teaching. You make me ashamed, madam."
"You? Ashamed? What of?" she answered in surprise.
His voice seemed strained. "Here I am in the land of Christians, I who should show the tolerance enjoined by the Prophet. But I berate, I criticize, I condemn. Because you are a little different from me. Because you worship the Lord one way and I, another."
They had reached the ladder, and Pathan slipped smoothly from his horse, taking her arm to help her up. Her heavy skirts, flounced with padded hoops to emphasize her tiny waist, bunched over her little shoes, and she was glad of his touch, reassuring but firm.
"I am the man. I am the Muslim. Yet here I must be learning from a Christian, and a woman. And so I am ashamed."
"Well," said Lucinda. "That's very nice, I suppose."
For the first time that she could remember, Pathan smiled. It was not a smile like a Portuguese. There was something more difficult about it, as though pleasure were earned, not free, but more relaxed, as though once earned that pleasure could be savored. "You are most tolerant, and most wise, madam. It is my privilege to be your escort."
By now she'd reached the top of the ladder. The mahout rose from his seat on the great beast's head, and stood with his bare feet on the elephant's ears. He thrust aside the howdah curtains with his pointed brass ankus; with his other hand took her firmly by the arm. Few men ever touched her so: his grip felt strong and dry.
"Please enter, madam," Pathan called from below.
For suddenly Lucinda was frozen, staring into the howdah. They can't be serious, she thought. I can't be expected to ride here. Not here. Not with them.
There on the cushions and throws, behind the silk curtains that billowed in the ocean breeze, sat the eunuch, smiling and bowing. And next to him, half-naked, it seemed to Lucinda, sat the cargo.
A bayadere, she thought. A nautch girl. A common whore.
From below Captain Pathan gazed at her with something close to reverence.
Well, I wanted an adventure, she thought.
With the mahout and the eunuch's help, she clambered in.
"This is the nice farang woman I spoke of," the eunuch said to the bayadere, his high voice bubbling. "Come in, come in, come in," he told Lucinda. "Isn't this nice? Our own little house." Then with his pudgy hands he took Lucinda's, offering more enthusiasm than support, and fussed with the curtains as she crawled to take a seat on the howdah floor. "And she speaks Hindi," the eunuch added, as if he'd never stopped speaking to the bayadere.
He beamed at Lucinda. In the muted sunlight that filtered through the howdah's silk curtains, Lucinda saw that the eunuch had an odd face, as though the face of a slender boy had been swathed in rolls of custardy fat. She could make out the pointed, dimpled chin that seemed to swim amidst an ocean of jowl.
"There should be a nicer way to get up here, don't you think? Undignified to make one scramble so." He leaned over and poked his head outside the curtain, giving Lucinda a view of his billowing form, like a fat little boy's, blown up like a balloon. "Move the ladder, Captain; move it now; we're all aboard." His large bottom wiggled as he called.
Lucinda saw the bayadere make the subtlest nod to indicate the eunuch's outlandish form, as though they as women could share a joke.
"Now maybe we can go," the eunuch said as he sat down again, his jowls flushed pink. "Waiting around all day. Do we have nothing better to do with our time?"
"It's all one," the bayadere said softly. Her face seemed utterly serene. Lucinda noted that she was younger than she first thought-about Lucinda's age, in fact. On her lap she held what seemed to be a bundle of palm leaves.
"Now: introductions first, I think," said the eunuch. "This is my new mistress, the famous devadasi . . ." but the bayadere cut him off with a barely perceptible lifting of a finger.
"You must call me by my new name, my nautch name, or how shall I get used to it?"
"No, mistress . . . ," the eunuch protested, but again she silenced him, this time by closing her
eyes.
"I am Maya, a nautch girl, that is all."
"But mistress, she should know. You were ..
"I was many things. But now. . ." she lowered her eyes with a sigh "I am Maya the nautch girl." She greeted Lucinda by lifting her folded hands. Lucinda was about to say something when from outside the howdah's curtains, the unseen mahout called out, and the elephant lurched forward. Lucinda spilled backward, into the profusion of cushions scattered everywhere.
"We're off," the eunuch exulted.
Lucinda had just managed to right herself when the eunuch extended his pudgy hand to help her. He seemed offended that she did not take it, even though now she had no need.
Maya lowered her eyes and whispered to herself. Laughing at me, Lucinda thought, but then she changed her mind. No, she's praying, saying a mantra for the journey, Lucinda decided. When she looked back the eunuch was staring at her with eager, merry eyes.
"My name is Slipper," he told her earnestly.
"Maybe you should tell her your real name," Maya said.
"Oh, what difference does that make now? In a few days we'll be home and no one cares what I used to be called." He blinked at Lucinda and turned away, whispering to Maya. "Anyway, that was supposed to be our secret."
"Ahcha," Maya answered, wobbling her head. "Forgive me. I won't mention it again."
The elephant trumpeted. Lucinda had forgotten how the great beasts swayed when they walked-the howdah lurched like a boat on a windblown sea. "It takes some getting used to," Slipper said, as if reading her thoughts. "But it's so much nicer up here than in one of those dusty old bullock carts. We have cushions," he added, waving his hand toward them as if Lucinda had not already tumbled among them, "And nice shade. And food." He uncovered a basket of custard apples, grapes, and sweet limes with a pleased flourish. "And of course, company, which is the best comfort of all."
"Yes," said Lucinda pleasantly, and again she caught the glance of Maya's amused eyes. "Can we open the curtains? I'd like to see."