by John Speed
He'd received it from a courier, who'd found him after they'd stopped to make camp-a letter from Pathan. The burak wrote that he was taking everyone away from Belgaum, as Lady Chitra had requested. He planned to make for his family's estate at Konnur, then to proceed on toward Sunag, and hoped to meet Da Gama there.
Of course Da Gama had no map-only the image he had formed in his head from travelling in these parts. But he had not traveled here long, and so had only a vague notion of how far it was to Sunag.
Da Gama did some calculations. If all had gone as Pathan planned, then Lucinda and Maya and the rest were at this moment at Pathan's home in Konnur-a cottage on his farm, Pathan had called it. Da Gama wondered how everyone would be comfortable there.
They might reach Pathan and the others by tomorrow, if they traveled quickly. Da Gama made up his mind to start at dawn. They would be turning west tomorrow, into the Gokak hills, and the going would be slower.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow we meet them. Tomorrow the reckoning begins.
Or the day after, he thought ruefully. For such reckonings are never prompt.
He folded the letter, and then drew the two twin bags close to the fire. Only a few flames licked the glowing embers. Da Gama glanced in all directions. Nothing. He wondered if the Three-Dot clan were really nearby, watching from the shadows. He listened and heard nothing but tree frogs and the screech of owls. Not even a dog's bark, nor a jackal's wail. The silence unnerved him. Then a rattling snore began in Victorio's tent, and Da Gama smiled, feeling suddenly at ease.
He opened the bags casually, as though unconcerned that anyone should see. He poured their contents into his hand, and spread the empty bags near the fire. Then, with some care he arranged them on his bedroll: two headdresses, pearls and diamonds woven by gold thread into a delicate web. That at least was how it looked a first glance.
How easy would it be to tell them apart? A eunuch could tell-isn't that what the jeweler had said?
The plan had been percolating in his mind for days now. Should I do it? Da Gama wondered. After all, he said to himself, now I'm Victorio's partner.
He shook his head. Partners come and go, he repeated ruefully. Why do I hesitate? None of them would hesitate to cheat me.
Da Gama knew what was holding him back. The real headdress, which he now felt certain was the long-lost Web of Ruci, belonged to Maya. How could he bear to hurt her, she so innocent, so beautiful? He tried to think of her face; he tried to imagine her blank hatred if he put his plan in action. But he found his faulty memory could not even recall her perfection. Instead he thought of Lucinda and recalled her with uncanny clarity.
Won't your plan hurt her as well, he asked himself.
She's a murderer. What difference does it make?
A murderer? Because Victorio says so? And you believe him?
Da Gama squeezed his eyes tight, suddenly furious.
He scooped the twin headdresses into their bags and shoved them in his pockets.
Who is looking out for me? Da Gama thought. Who can't sleep for fretting about my welfare? The world is cruel, and I'm old enough to know that I too must be cruel. It's time I begin to think of myself.
Then the thought occurred to him: his plan would hurt Victorio worst of all. While he savored this, he stomped the dying fire with his big boots, and the embers showered in all directions, flying in the air like stars.
Pathan and Geraldo rode ahead of the palki, two abreast. They never spoke.
From the palki Lucinda's gaze rarely left Pathan, though he never looked round toward her. The rigidity of his posture, usually so fluid but now so unyielding, convinced her that he burned with anger.
After rounding the Palace Lake, their road led through the town of Belgaum, and passed the dargah where Lucinda had gone with Pathan. It seemed to her now as if that had been someone else's life.
The whitewashed dome of the saint's tomb could just be seen above the compound walls. As they approached, Pathan placed his right hand on his heart, and bowed his head. Lucinda felt certain he would then break down and glance her way, but instead he straightened and looked steadfastly ahead. It struck her as a gesture of insolence, as if he hoped to show how little he cared for her, or for anyone.
Beyond the town, the road twisted through a mountain pass. Though not so dramatic and terrifying as the Sansagar pass, both women stirred with memories. Without a spoken word, they shifted their seats until they pressed against each other, and Lucinda curled her fingers around Maya's wrist. In that way they rode for miles as the sun soared in the cloudless sky; Lucinda staring at Pathan, Maya pretending to read.
On the plateau beyond the pass they stopped for lunch beneath a neem tree beside a tiny stream. While the women dipped their hands and washed, the palkiwallah spread out blankets for them, with packages of food wrapped in banana leaves bound up in twine. Pathan ate standing near his horse, apart from everyone.
"He hates me," Lucinda whispered.
"No," said Maya.
"Why won't he speak to me, or even look at me?"
It took a moment for Maya to reply, while parrots in the neem tree chattered and the small stream laughed. "He is a man, and helpless. It must be you who acts, sister."
Lucinda lowered her eyes. "Then it's hopeless."
As they rode east, Geraldo guided his horse closer to Pathan's. "I haven't been to this part of Hindustan before, Captain," he remarked casually.
"I understood you no longer wished to speak to me, sir."
"Forgive me, Captain. I spoke in haste."
Pathan considered the farang, then turned his face once more to the road. "I understand." But still they rode in silence for many miles.
At last Pathan turned back to Geraldo. "Desejo. What does it mean?"
Geraldo looked surprised. "It's Portuguese. Where did you hear it?"
"What does it mean?" Pathan insisted.
"It is a woman's word. Men would not use it." Geraldo watched Pathan's expression carefully before he added, "Hate. Eu desejo to-I hate you. What a woman might say to a lover before she abandons him forever."
Pathan stared at Geraldo for a moment, his eyes burning. "I understand."
. "Did Lucy. .
"If you were to forget I ever mentioned it, sir, I would be in your debt."
"Of course, Captain," Geraldo replied with a sweeping gesture. "Even so, I'd like to know ..."
But Pathan had spurred his horse, and now trotted ahead. He rode apart from the others for the rest of the day's journey.
As the sun lowered in the west and their shadows lengthened on the road before them, they reached the crest of a gentle rise. Lucinda's fingers tightened around Maya's arm when she saw what lay ahead, and Maya looked up, and her book fell from her fingers.
In front of them spread a great verdant valley. Aside from tall groves of ancient trees scattered here and there, every inch of soil burst forth with grapevines.
Now with the monsoons past, the vines exploded with new life: leaves of bright, clear green; flowers and tiny fruits of butter yellow; and fresh tendrils twisting in such profusion that from a distance the plants appeared like a mist above the ground. The least imaginative palki bearer looked around and sighed, for in those vines, those leaves, one saw the celebration of life by life. Silent, enthusiastic and triumphant, from the soil and the sun the vines made fruit. The valley pulsed; it sang with life.
"Hey, Munna," called the palkiwallah. "We're almost home!"
For the first time that whole trip, Pathan looked back. His face was radiant. Lucinda could not remember the last time he had smiled so. Munna, she thought. That is how they know him here. This is how he wished for me to know him. She forced herself to look away, so she would not see his smile fade if he should glance her way.
"Is your home near here?" Geraldo asked. Pathan nodded. "Da Gama said your family had a farm."
"This is my farm, sir."
"What part is yours?"
Pathan said nothing, but swept hi
s open hand before him across the whole wide vista. Geraldo let out a low whistle. "And a cottage, he said."
Again Pathan nodded, and lifted his hand toward a place below them where a dark row of trees extended from a dogleg in the twisting yellow road. "My cottage is down there, sir, amongst those trees. We shall be there soon."
The palki bearers walked more briskly now; home was close. As they trotted down the hill, the palki bounced. Lucinda found it oddly exhilarating.
Here the vines grew up to the very edge of the road: she could look through the rows of trellises as they passed and see the dark green shadows cast by the bright leaves. The air held a perfume reminiscent of wine and honey.
They made good time now, for the way was easier, and their bearers' hearts were lighter. At the bottom of the hill, in the valley's most fertile part, the vines were tall and the grapes already prominent. A few hundred yards ahead, Pathan turned down the drive of sweeping neem trees that sheltered the path to his home.
At the end of a tunnel of overhanging branches, they saw a long colonnade of graceful stone arches. As they came closer Lucinda realized that the arches were of marble of a pale pink-golden color. It reminded her of the color of her own flesh, and Maya's.
Pathan dismounted briskly, and came to Geraldo. "See that the women are comfortable, out of courtesy." His face looked so distraught that even Geraldo understood-he couldn't bear to face Lucinda. Pathan introduced him to his housekeeper, Shaheen, just as the palki bearers reached the clearing.
Shaheen looked as if she ate only bitter food, Lucinda thought, and not much of that. That would explain Shaheen's prominent collarbone and sternum, and the ropy veins on her thin arms, and her pursed and frowning lips. She eyed the visitors suspiciously.
Sour-faced Shaheen led them through the colonnade, which wrapped around the house. A servant carried the women's simple baggage. She gave a polite summary of the history of the family, and the house, and the vineyards surrounding. Lucinda got the impression that she did not like being so polite. She wondered what Pathan had told her.
From time to time they passed vaulted halls that led to an inner courtyard, and caught glimpses of its formal garden and splashing fountains. On the far side of the house the hill dropped away, and the verandah overlooked the valley rich with grapes.
"With all these vines, you must make wine-and yet the captain does not drink?" Geraldo said. He smiled to Lucinda and Maya, as if inviting them to share the humor of his ironic observation.
Shaheen tried to look pleasant, though in truth her face seemed unused to the expression. "It is the business of this family for many generations, sir. But Munna is a sheikh, so naturally he does not drink." She opened a doorway to a spacious, airy room. Through windows on the other side came the sound of water splashing in the fountains. "This will be your room, madam," Shaheen said to Lucinda.
"We would stay together, if that would be convenient," Maya said. Shaheen frowned but shrugged acceptance. "I'll show the gentleman his room and then come to see that you are comfortable." Geraldo gave the women an amused, ironic look, and followed Shaheen. They heard the fading echo of his bootheels against the stone tiles of the colonnade.
"His home is so beautiful," Lucinda said when Shaheen had left. Against the polished plaster walls, the room had two low beds. The floors were marble tiles set in a Persian star, and a half-dozen lamps with pierced shades hung from the high beamed ceiling ready for lighting. Lucinda felt tears welling as she moved to the courtyard window. A hummingbird whizzed past as she approached, and darted for the safety of a nearby rose bush. Water cascaded down a stairstep fountain, babbling cheerfully.
There was not much to unpack. Servants brought salvers and basins, and delicate towels of lawn. As they finished washing their hands, Shaheen reappeared. "I didn't mean to be abrupt. That man made me uncomfortable."
"He is my cousin, madam," Lucinda said.
Shaheen's face, so sour before, softened as she looked at her guest. "Munna told me a little."
"Who is Munna?" Maya asked.
"Pathan," Lucinda answered, and then looking at Shaheen, she blushed.
"The older servants still call him by his boyhood name," Shaheen said with a glance toward Lucinda. "I took care of him mostly, after his mother died. He is as a son to me." Shaheen again considered Lucinda. "Would you like to see his home?"
"Yes, please," Lucinda said. Then she blushed again.
Once alone with other women, Shaheen appeared much more at ease. Still her gaze kept drifting toward Lucinda. Lucinda supposed that Shaheen had not had much contact with farangs.
It was unusual, Shaheen reflected, for a woman to steward an estate like this, but her father had been steward to Munna's father, and the role had passed to her hands so gradually and completely that no one seemed to notice exactly when the change had happened. Some had voiced their disapproval, but her Munna had soon silenced them.
For Shaheen each tile, each column, each nick and crack in the polished plaster had a history attached. As they walked, Shaheen gave the house a voice. Pathan's house, Lucinda soon realized, held much of Pathan's memory, and that of all his family. From time to time Lucinda's fingers strayed to brush against a wall, as though the impressions lodged there might flow directly through her hands.
They spent a long time in the garden, where Shaheen named each flower and shrub, and often recalled whose hands had planted it. The low, gold light of the sun cast mysterious shadows. Bees and hummingbirds whirred past, attracted by the perfumed nectar everywhere.
Shaheen halted near some white roses to show them the very tile where Pathan's elder brother had tripped and broken his skull. "He died a few days later. My Munna was inconsolable. They had been playing, you see, running and shouting against their father's rule of quiet. My Munna felt responsible for Abu's death. It made him serious, and very melancholy." She glanced again at Lucinda, who grew uncomfortable beneath her gaze and turned her face.
After seeing the whole house, Shaheen guided them to some outlying buildings. "Have you a husband, Shaheen?" Maya asked.
"It was not my portion in this life." But she smiled and then said, "But I have my Munna. That must be enough, yes? I suppose I miss having a husband"-she gave a sly look to Maya-"but not so much, I think. My Munna is such a fine young man, I would always be comparing, I think. And who could compare, I wonder?"
Though she did not look toward Shaheen, Lucinda could feel again the housekeeper's gaze. She wondered at it, and guessed that Pathan had spoken of her to Shaheen. What had he said?
Shaheen showed the two the winepress, configured so an ox could power the squeezing of the grapes, and the storehouse-a long man-made cavern where by the flickering light of butter lamps they saw row upon row of red clay jars. "Here the wine is made. These jars will be sold soon." She glided past many racks of jars. "It's always cool here. Munna would come here and sit for hours in the summer. He said it reminded him of a tomb. But I think he simply wanted to avoid the heat."
They clambered up the stairs at the other end of the storehouse, and emerged in a kind of park-a wide lawn shaded by the great branches of old trees. To the east, the sky was darkening, to the west, erupting with color from the sunset. Shaheen led them toward a whitewashed wall, and through an iron gate. "Here are the graves of many of the family. Most everyone is buried here, near the home and vines they cared for."
It made Maya think of Lady Chitra's garden-so many trees, so many flowers clustered around the stark white marble graves. Many graves were marked, as Muslim graves often were, with simple triangular prisms of stone, about the size of a person. Some stones had a soft, uneven look from years of weather. Some were draped with cloth, and one or two were sprinkled with fresh flower petals.
A kind of house had been built at one end of the compound. Painted panels on its walls showed pitchers, and cups, and leaves, and twisting vines. Shaheen was saying who was buried there, but Lucinda's attention was drawn instead to a small domed building at the other e
nd of the compound. Without a word, she found herself walking toward it.
It was like a smaller version of the saint's dargah in Belgaum. Uncertain about the etiquette of the place, she did not pass the threshold, but peered into the shadowed interior. A wild notion popped into her mind that Pathan would be there, kneeling as he'd knelt at the dargah. But it was empty, though the grave cloth was heaped with fresh flowers, and the oil lamp's wick was newly trimmed.
"Come away!" Lucinda turned to see Shaheen behind her, frowning. "That is a saint's tomb, and women may not enter." Lucinda lowered her head, and followed Shaheen down the tile pathway, when she stopped and caught her breath.
She'd seen a figure kneeling, huddled by a grave, and supposed it must be a gardener. But when the man leaned back, she saw, of course, Pathan himself. He appeared not to notice her, nor anyone: his eyes were closed tight, and his folded hands pressed hard against his face. Shaheen raised a finger to her lips, and drew Lucinda from the place. She caught up with Maya, and then, still silent, led the two outside the gate.
As she hurried them back to the house, Shaheen whispered, "It is his wife's grave. He's never gotten over it, I think. She died giving birth. It would have a been son, if he'd been born alive. She was too young ... so pretty, so willing, but too young. My Munna made them place the baby in her arms and bury them together. His heart is very tender. He doesn't like for anyone to see him mourn, or even to know that he has visited her grave."
The women returned to find that the lamps in their room had been lit. They watched the last flames of sunset paint the twilight sky. Soon the flickering flames through the pierced metal shades were their only light.
Supper appeared. After they had eaten, Shaheen knocked, and asked if they had everything they needed. While the women expressed their gratitude Shaheen again turned prune-faced, and moved purposefully around the room, shuttering windows and straightening cushions. Maya, realizing from Shaheen's meaningful glances that she wished to be alone with Lucinda, told the others that she needed some fresh air.