by John Speed
"She can give her heart to him. That no one else can take from her. That is hers alone to give. And her body, too. If he does but ask." Her fingers stroked his hand, and then the length of his arm.
"You say this, Lucy? Can you know her heart so well?"
"I know her heart, Munna." Her trembling hand lifted his and placed it on her breast, she could feel its warmth through the silk. "We are not so different. Her heart beats like mine."
"Lucy, this is not right," Pathan whispered hoarsely, his eyes burning into hers.
"I no longer care."
At the end of the balcony, framed against the endless sky, two shadows merged into a single form.
That afternoon, Lucinda swayed, reclining against a velvet cushion on the platform swing in the ladies' garden. Her thoughts flowed in wordless shapes, formless as the shadows of the leaves that flickered on her halfclosed eyes.
The sound of approaching footsteps roused her. Lady Chitra, guided as always by Lakshmi, had come to the edge of the platform without her noticing. "Well?" Chitra said. "What did she say?"
Lucinda turned aside guiltily, and fiddled with the pleats of her sari. "I have not yet spoken to her, lady."
Chitra's eyelids lifted so wide they revealed the misshapen whites of her blind eyes. "Not yet? When, pray, do you mean to?"
After a moment's hesitation, Lucinda answered. "I do not mean to, lady. It is the movement of her heart. I cannot presume to guide it." She smiled, but realized how useless this gesture was with one who had no sight. "Maybe you will speak to her yourself."
Chitra's face was taut. "I tried. Did you think I would not try? She hears but does not listen. It is the folly of the young." Chitra grasped Lakshmi's shoulder. "You will betray me, too," she said sadly. Lakshmi pulled away, and rolled her eyes to Lucinda like they shared a secret. But Lucinda realized that Chitra spoke the truth. "It is in the Goddess's hands now. So. Never mind," Chitra sighed. Then she nodded to the girl, and Lucinda saw that Lakshmi carried a small cloth bag, which she now handed to Chitra. "Some people of mine found these things in the river. I showed them to the young farang. He said that they belonged to you."
The woman held the bag in the vague direction of Lucinda, who took it from her and set it in her lap. It was, she discovered, a big kerchief of dun-colored cloth, tied at the corners. When she undid the knot, she said nothing for a moment. Tossed in disarray on the dull cloth lay a set of vaguely familiar shapes. Then she gasped.
There were pieces of her blue glass bottle, which had held her belladonna. There was her golden locket, the cover bent on its hinge, which held the miniature portrait of her fiance, Marques Oliveira. His nose was black, eaten away by water.
And last, a little silver box that she had by now almost forgotten. It seemed to vibrate in her hand.
She touched the latch, and the fine lid snapped open, revealing the red paste inside, glistening as fresh as the day she left Goa. It seemed less full than she remembered. Before she realized what she had done, Lucinda swept her finger over it and touched a tiny dab to her tongue. The familiar feeling spread through her, a coldness on her heart and a dullness in her limbs.
"That box with the snapping lid. What is in it?" Chitra asked.
"A medicine that farang ladies take, lady."
"Hmmph. Your cousin kept some for himself. He seemed very pleased about it."
Although she was surprised to hear this, Lucinda didn't feel like answering any more of Chitra's questions about her arsenico, and decided to change the subject. "I never expected to see these things again, lady."
"They are a sign." Chitra's black, ever-roaming eyes rested once again on Lucinda. "The yellowing leaves of the rose in drought, the well so low the bucket brings up mud, the grain jar filled with maggots. A sign, sister, of troubles, and of worse to come." With that she and Lakshmi moved away, leaving Lucinda with her shadowed, wordless thoughts.
Perhaps Chitra in her blindness saw what Lucinda had only sensed, the way one senses a coming storm in the wind's change or in the sounds of rustling leaves. But by the time the sun set behind the mountains signs were everywhere: in the whispers of the maids and the glances of the cooks. As she waited for supper, Lucinda found herself drawn to the balcony near Geraldo's room, and found Maya there already, talking with Pathan, who wore a long, formal jama robe and a tight turban, as a man might wear to meet an elder. She could not tell from his dark eyes what he was thinking.
Maya reached up her hand, and pulled Lucinda to a nearby cushion. "What's happening?" Lucinda asked. Maya shook her head, and Pathan had already turned his eyes away to the shadowed mountains.
She did not recognize the sound at once. It had been so long since she had heard it: the click of leather bootheels on white tile, echoing like shots along the sandstone walls. Geraldo appeared, dressed again as a farang. He had worn only jamas since the bandit raid at the pass. This change, Lucinda thought, was not for the better. She wondered if his coat and pants had always fit so poorly, whether they had always made him look so furtive and squashed down.
He came with loud, broad strides to the edge of the carpet where the women sat. "A gift from Uncle Victorio," he said without a glance at Maya, and dropped a large flat parcel at Lucinda's feet. It landed with a thud. Lucinda stared at the ribbons that tied it, but did not move.
"So," Geraldo said, straightening his shirt. "I've had word. A parcel from Bijapur as you see," he said with a smile toward his new clothes, "and a letter from Da Gama." He reached into his doublet and took out a sheet of stiff, ivory paper.
"And?" Pathan gazed levelly at Geraldo, as though his thoughts were calm and elsewhere.
"And there is much news. His letter concerns each one of us. Since you ask, Captain, let me read that part concerning you."
"I myself will read it, if I may." Pathan reached out and after hesitating, Geraldo handed him the letter. The Muslim held it out and frowned.
"It is in Portuguese, Captain," Geraldo said, trying not to smile. "Allow me."
But Pathan turned away. "Lucy, you read it to me." He held the letter toward her.
She did not raise her lowered eyes. "I can't, sir."
After looking at her for a moment, Pathan passed the letter back to Geraldo.
"Here is the news for you, Captain. It concerns the bayadere as well." Maya's eyes shot up at the word, but Geraldo kept his focused on the letter. "My uncle Victorio sends his compliments and informs you that he will not complete the arrangement made with Wall Khan."
"What! Why not?"
"He has made a different agreement. The bayadere is to be sold to another party."
"This will not do!" Pathan exclaimed. "He has not the right!"
Geraldo shrugged.
"Who?" asked Maya softly.
Again Geraldo hesitated, as though realizing how his importance increased with each silent passing moment. "I should not say ..." he murmured.
"Who!" Pathan demanded.
"To the Khaswajara, if you want to know."
"What? A eunuch? What need has a eunuch for..." Pathan managed to recover his calm and let the question drop, but Maya's face had drained of color.
"The letter says that Da Gama, and Victorio, and their suite will come to Belgaum soon, and escort the bayadere back to Bijapur. Da Gama says, Captain, that you are welcome to come with us or go on alone as you may wish. He reminds you that with this new arrangement, your official capacity as hurak is ended."
"We shall see," Pathan muttered.
"Ended," Geraldo repeated with emphasis, "but our family will always remember your rescue of Lucinda, and therefore hold you in the highest regard."
"And this is how your family displays its regard?" Pathan glared at Geraldo, and then turned to Lucinda. But he found he could not maintain his indignation at the sight of her downcast eyes, and so frowned at Geraldo once more. "Who will act as burak for the Khaswajara?"
Geraldo could not conceal his amusement. "An old friend of yours, Captain. Slipper, the mukhunni."
Geraldo enjoyed Pathan's astonishment.
Lucinda felt Maya grasp her hand when Geraldo said the name. She looked up for the first time since the package landed at her feet. Maya's other hand was covering her mouth, and tears trickled from her gold-flecked eyes.
"And what of me, cousin?" Lucinda whispered.
Geraldo once more hesitated, looking Lucinda over before he spoke. "I hope you find it pleasant news, cousin. Your engagement to Marques Oliveira is ended."
Lucinda's shoulders sagged in relief, and she tore at the bent locket she had replaced around her neck. "Thank god I will not marry that disgusting old frog!" she cried, and threw the locket with all her might. It landed near the railing of the verandah, skittering over the marble floor.
"There's more, cousin. Another suitor for you, a different husband. One you know quite well," Geraldo said with eyes gleaming. "Da Gama says Uncle Victorio means to marry you.,,
"No!" Pathan blurted out the word, but no one looked at him.
Lucinda's eyes widened, and her mouth gasped open. "Uncle Victorio? He must be eighty!"
"I doubt he's much older than seventy, cousin." Geraldo's eyes glittered.
"How dare you take enjoyment in her suffering," Pathan burst out.
"You are a heathen and know nothing," Geraldo answered. "Apologize.
"I will not."
"Then never speak to me again." Geraldo eyes gleamed as Pathan began to stand. They looked at each other for a moment, the tension crackling between them, until at last Geraldo without a further word spun on his heel, and strode from the room, the clack of his boots echoing into the twilight.
"Lucy," Pathan said, reaching toward her, but she shook her head and did not stir. Maya placed a hand on Lucinda's shoulder, and Pathan watched with a sad envy.
"Things may yet work out, Lucy," he said softly. "The road is not certain, and the end of the journey cannot be seen." Lucinda could not look up. Pathan reached out again, then shook his head, stood tall and drew back his hand. He then spoke in a low voice, staring into the distance because he could not look at her for fear of weeping. "Why, the poet asks, is my road so drear? Why do the stones give me no rest? Why is my way so hard, Lord, when my brother's way is so pleasant? That is your task, the Lord replies. It has no joy, but it is meant for you. Only do your best, the poet says, then close your eyes and see God's face." With silent steps Pathan turned into the shadows.
"I hate his poems," Lucinda whispered.
Maya thought Lucinda would be weeping, but her eyes were dry. "Sister," Maya said, her face close to Lucinda's ear. "He is right. We must take the road prepared for us, however hard-there is no other way." At last, Lucinda nodded silently and squeezed Maya's hand. They sat quietly, each thinking her own thoughts. Maya at last sighed, and tried to change the subject. "Whatever is in that parcel?" she asked.
In answer, Lucinda only slid the package toward Maya's feet. "Open it if you like." As Maya began to tug at the knots of the sisal string, Lucinda spoke, almost to herself, "Once you said I was a slave, and I denied it. But now I see that I was wrong."
Maya pulled aside the strings, and unfolded the cotton cloth to reveal a new-made dress, and a pair of hose, and silk slippers, and a stiff corset. "What is all this, sister?" she asked.
"Those," Lucinda answered, "are my chains."
It seemed to Da Gama that they would never leave for Belgaum. He had sent the letter and clothing to Geraldo a week ago, promising to be there soon. How long could it take to find some palanquins, some horses, and a few guards? By himself, he could be in Belgaum in two days if he traveled hard.
He had not counted on the stubborn slowness of Victorio, or the ways that Mouse would find to make the simplest tasks impossible. Packing took forever: clothes could not be packed until they were clean; and the old trunks must be newly painted, and so on and on. Vittorio went along with anything the eunuch asked.
"But we should move quickly. We don't know what's happening in Belgaum," Da Gama told him angrily.
"You worry too much," Victorio answered. "You'll become old before your time." Victorio motioned for Da Gama to come close, as though to whisper a secret. "Be attentive to my eunuch. Listening to Mouse has made me young. By the Virgin, I woke up hard as a rock this morning. He has some marvelous potions! I can't wait to get that little murderess to my bed. Pleasure is the best revenge!" Da Gama took a moment to realize that Victorio was speaking of Lucy. He tried to hide his face.
And suddenly there were eunuchs everywhere, it seemed, Slipper in the lead. The fellow had come up in the world, it appeared, for he had servants of his own, even a little black African boy who followed him like a puppy. For a while, Slipper pretended to make suggestions, to ask polite favors. It took only a few days before he was telling Da Gama how to make arrangements, and turning red if his words were not accepted.
Slipper had decided to go along to Belgaum. The eunuch had observed how Pathan had traveled with the caravan, and intended to follow the captain's lead. "After all I am Whisper's burak, you see, just as Pathan was the burak for Wall Khan. But in my case, I shall finish the job and we will have the settlement. Then I shall be a settlement man myself, Deoga! You must look out or I shall have your job!" His servants all laughed at Slipper's jokes, except for the African boy, who did not speak Hindi, but was as beautiful as a doll.
Then Victorio, old and slow as he was, decided he must also go to Belgaum. What should have been a simple suite quickly became a caravan. Da Gama would have traveled light, sleeping under the stars on the way to Belgaum and stopping in dharmsalas when he returned with the women. But Slipper would have none of it: Tents, he demanded, and of course, Victorio, under Mouse's influence, went along. Tents meant assemblers, of course, and bearers, and cooks and serving women, and soon a couple of dozen men were required, and schedules and deposits and all the rest.
When Mouse had demanded that in honor of his master's betrothal a wedding parade accompany the caravan, complete with horses and musicians, Da Gama had enough. After arguing with the eunuch for a quarter hour, he took out a pistola and began to clean it with his handkerchief. "Not to worry," Da Gama told Mouse as the eunuch eyed the wavering barrel nervously. "I'm sure it's unloaded. In any case they don't go off when I clean them-not unless I'm very, very careless." Mouse had to run to the latrines to keep from soiling himself. After that, Mouse's suggestions dwindled to a trickle.
Slipper let it be known that he once more was Whisper's second-incommand. No one knew why after leaving in disgrace Slipper was so honored on his return. But Da Gama knew, or thought he did. The answer lay hidden in Shahji's house, and with mounting delays, a plan began to form in Da Gama's mind.
One day he went back to Shahji's palace. Shahji had gone out, which suited Da Gama. He gave the servants an apologetic story and a little baksheesh, and in no time he was in the guest room where he spent his first night in Bijapur. He pried up the loose wall panel he had found that night, and retrieved from its hiding place the headdress that Maya had given him.
Then he went to the bazaar. He walked, because it cleared his thoughts to walk. People turned to stare at a farang striding in long boots through the streets, pistolas shoved into his belt; Da Gama ignored them. Every few yards he took his bearings and asked directions, for the center of the city was a warren of shops and alleys. The advice he received was cheerful, enthusiastic, and usually wrong.
Each street had a different character. After passing the meat markets with their abominable smells and fly-blown carcasses on iron hooks, he found stalls of fruits piled into pyramids. Beyond these were the working boxes of the flowerwallahs, who strung garlands as they sat cross-legged in piles of roses and marigolds. Next came the opulent, pillow-covered stalls of Gold Street, where jewelers hung earrings and necklaces on velvet boards, and weighed out their value on tiny scales. In one of the stalls, a woman in translucent veils stretched out her wrist while a goldwallah fitted it with heavy jeweled bangles. Nearby, her husband stood and frowned.
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br /> He kept walking. After a few yards the stalls grew less grand; here the merchants sold silver. In the street beyond that, Da Gama found what he was looking for; the shabby stalls of traders in gilt and lead and glass, where barefoot women peered at jewels that gleamed as no real gem had ever done.
Da Gama glanced at the faces of the proprietors of these stalls as they sat and worked tailor-fashion, at miniature anvils. He chose one who seemed both busy and dull. He sauntered over to the counter, pulled off his boots, and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Let's do some business," Da Gama said.
"I won't like it," the proprietor said. He put down a pair of tiny pliers and rubbed his eyes. "Whatever you're here to ask me for, I won't like it. Farangs only come here by mistake. They want only gold, or what can pass for gold. I make baubles for the poor to wear when they marry. I have nothing you could want."
"This is what I want," Da Gama answered. He took Maya's headdress from his pocket, wrapped in a white kerchief, and tossed it casually into the proprietor's lap. "I need a copy," Da Gama told him. "Fast."
The proprietor lifted the headdress and whistled. "This is quite good. Quite good. For a moment I thought it was real." His hands played through the web of gold. The pearls and diamonds caught the light.
"Sure. Those are real jewels. It's the Web of Ruci."
"The what?"
"Never mind. If it were real, would I be here? How much for a copy?"
The proprietor looked at the design. "For this, three hundred rupees."
"Fifty. And I need it tomorrow."
"Impossible. Two hundred, and it will take me a week."
Back and forth a few more times until, as they both knew from the start, the price was set at a hundred rupees. But still the jeweler shook his head and said, "Look, I'm telling you like my own brother, I need at least a week."
"It must be sooner."
"The copy will suffer. Even a eunuch will see that it is a fake."
Da Gama's eyes opened wide. "Why do you say that ... about a eunuch seeing?"