by John Speed
When they were alone, Shaheen sat across from Lucinda, so close their knees nearly touched. "You leave tomorrow at the break of dawn, so I have no time to waste on pleasantries. I must know: What have you done to my boy? Why did you spurn his love?"
Lucinda felt as if Shaheen had stabbed her. "Who are you to ask this? Why do you accuse me so?"
"Do you know how hard it is for him to love? His is a great heart, and so it takes a great flame to heat it, and it then takes a long time to melt. Yet you have melted his heart. I know this. I don't know why he loves you. No matter. It is his great heart that matters to me. He is all the family I have left." Shaheen lifted her face to Lucinda, and its earnestness was unnerving. "He loves you. Do you love him?"
Shaheen's pronounced the question with such gravity that Lucinda could not answer. As she stared back mute, Shaheen's harsh face softened. "Oh, you are but a girl," she sighed. "You don't even know your power over him. He is in turmoil over you."
"How was Ito know this?"
"Is such ignorance common to farangs? I ask you quite sincerely. Do you really not know?"
"How should I know it? He has not spoken to me all day ... not even looked at me all day!"
Shaheen reached out and placed her hand on Lucinda's. "Even a farang should know. You should know it by the way he has not spoken to you ... the way he has not looked at you."
"Did he speak to you about me?" Shaheen nodded, and was about to answer when Lucinda lifted her hand. "Don't tell me what he said. I could not bear it."
"They were most pleasant words ..."
"Then even less could I bear to hear. Did he not tell you? I am pledged to another. I am on my way to meet my husband."
Shaheen sat straight and stared at Lucinda as if seeing her for the first time. Then she lifted her hands to her head, and began to rise. "I was wrong to come. I did not know."
Lucinda felt tears spill down her cheeks. "He is my uncle and an old man. That is my portion in this life."
Shaheen shook her head. "I will go now."
She had reached the door when Lucinda called after her. "Every day I will think of him."
She never found out if Shaheen had heard.
"What did she want?" Maya asked when she returned.
"She'd never seen a corset," Lucinda lied. She had curled up on the low rope bed and drawn the blanket over her. Maya frowned at the answer-she thought about it for a while but then let it go. "What difference does it make?" Lucinda added later, as if she'd never stopped thinking about answering. "We'll be gone tomorrow, so what difference does it make?"
"I don't think we're going, sister. Not tomorrow. A storm's brewing out there."
The shutters rattled all night. Wind keened through the cracks around the doors and windows, and for several hours, the rain beat drumlike on the roof. Then thunder: sometimes like a rumbling snore; sometimes like the crack of great bones snapping.
"I thought the monsoon was over," Lucinda said.
"I've heard of late storms in the mountains."
"Just when you think it's over, it starts up again," Lucinda said into the noisy darkness.
"What's wrong with that?" Maya laughed. But Lucinda did not answer.
Maya was right; the storm rained so fiercely the next morning that they could not travel. Shaheen brought shawls of Kashmir wool, soft and warm. Her eyes never met Lucinda's. This is how she apologizes, Lucinda thought, coming round in silence, standing close but never looking at me. Shaheen's behavior explained much about Pathan's.
After breakfast she and Maya walked along the verandah. The wind blew fresh and wet and cold, and after a long night's fitful sleep, Lucinda felt refreshed. Rain danced across puddles that had formed at the veran- dah's edge, and sometimes Lucinda and Maya had to jump over one to keep their feet dry.
As they turned a corner, Lucinda saw Pathan. He stood with his back to them, looking over the verandah at the mist swirling through the valley. Lucinda hoisted up her heavy rag-hooped skirts and ran away. Near her door she passed Geraldo and with neither look nor word pushed past him, closed the door and threw her back against it.
She had barely caught her breath when she heard the gentle knocking. She could not stop herself from hoping, and so was disappointed when she opened the door and found Geraldo, with his ironic smile and neat mustache.
Reluctantly she let him in. "You must learn to trust me, Lucy." She sat on the foot of her low bed, watching as he walked idly around the room. "Who else is so honest with you as I? You know all about me now-I have revealed all."
He turned and faced her, and she saw the same attractive friendly face she had first seen in Goa a few weeks before. And it was true: he had never hidden his intentions, nasty as they were. She wondered what he was up to now.
"I know you have feelings for the burak. Do you want me to help?"
"Why would you help me?"
"We are cousins, are we not? And among these strangers, the only farangs. Surely that places a burden on us to help each other." He looked aside, and said as if casually, "Besides, some day you may be in a position to do me a good turn."
Lucinda's eyes closed slowly as she realized how much she had changedno longer Aldo's baby cousin nearly grown up, now Lucinda had become another angle he must play; another source of wealth and power where he could beg favors.
So this is how it is, she thought. I will make the best of it.
"Yes, cousin. You might do me a good turn. Give Pathan a message for me." She then spoke Hindi. "Tell him that my feelings are the same as his. Tell him I regret that he ever thought differently."
Geraldo's eyebrows went up, and he gave Lucinda an approving look. "You have grown up, cousin." He bowed with a flourish and rose with his infuriating smile.
Lucinda glared at him. "Do not betray me, Aldo. Do this honestly or don't do it at all."
Geraldo tried to appear hurt. "Would you doubt me? Don't you know that in the future we shall be quite close? This confidence will bring us even closer. Besides, if I cared to bring your man a false message, I need not have even spoken to you."
"Tell him exactly what I told you."
In Hindi, Geraldo repeated, "That your feelings are the same as his? That you regret that he ever thought differently?" Then in Portuguese, he said. "Really, cousin, I'm offended that you mistrust me. I'll deliver your message just as you say. I shall do so right now."
"Then I shall be forever in your debt."
"That you shall, dear Lucy. I shall enjoy collecting what you owe." When he reached the door he smiled again, his even white teeth sparkling in his dark face. "With any luck, you'll enjoy it, too."
Geraldo easily found Pathan, for he had not moved since Lucinda saw him. Geraldo found a wall to lean against and began to chat with him. He focused all his charm on the burak, and even Pathan crumbled beneath it.
They spoke of everything: starting with the weather, they soon turned to trade, and politics; and to the personalities of people that they knew and did not know. Pathan paid special attention to Geraldo's description of Victorio. "An old man of nasty disposition-that's how I remember him, sir, though it was years ago."
The rain continued to fall, though the sun had risen enough to turn the clouds above them a painful glaring gray. And as Geraldo hoped, it was Pathan who first brought up Lucinda's name, and only after a few uncertain, diffident remarks did Geraldo begin to speak of her earnest.
"But you had feelings for her, sir," Geraldo said as if genuinely concerned, "Maybe you still do?"
Pathan looked at him, and his mouth worked before he spoke, as if the words were hard to say. "I did. I was ... I was fond of her."
"How do you feel now, sir?" Geraldo asked. "Hateful perhaps? Hostile?"
Pathan's eyes flashed. "I feel"-he struggled to find the word"indifferent. What is it to you?"
"Because I bring you a message, sir. From Lucinda. I wanted to understand your feelings first."
"Tell me!"
Geraldo gave Pathan a long, se
arching look that he hoped appeared sincere. "Remember, these are her words to you, sir. I promised I would tell them exactly as she told me. She says: tell Pathan that my feelings are the same as his. She says: tell Pathan that I regret that he ever thought differently." Geraldo lifted his hands and shrugged. "Cruel words, I thought at first-but now I see that you too are indifferent toward her. So maybe it is all for the best, sir?"
But Pathan turned to the swirling mists and stared silently into their depths until Geraldo slipped away.
The storm moved off in the afternoon, leaving the air thick and cold with moisture, that dank cold that takes away all warmth and chills the soul.
Lucinda still had the shawl Pathan had lent her. That day now seemed far away. She pulled it round her shoulders, and sat on the low divan, and waited.
Maya, once more in a corner with the Gita on her lap, watched her. "But what are you waiting for?"
"Good news. Or bad," Lucinda answered.
When the knock came, Lucinda leaped to her feet, nearly tripping on her heavy skirts. But she stopped before she opened the door, to breathe, and pat her hair, and set her face.
Neither woman wanted to see the man that stood there. "This could make a fellow lose his confidence," Geraldo said, glancing at their faces. "I gave him your message," he then said softly to Lucinda. "As I promised you, I used your very words."
"And?"
"He gave no answer."
Time changed for Lucinda. Perhaps she waited only for an eyeblink, perhaps an hour before her thoughts began to work again. At last she managed to speak. "He said nothing?"
"Nothing, my dear cousin. He seemed ... perturbed." Geraldo glanced at Maya, who had carefully buried her eyes in her book, and then took Lucinda's hand and kissed it. "He does not realize what treasure he has cast aside."
"Men are fools." It was Maya who spoke, without lifting her face.
"Yes," Geraldo said, looking uncomfortable. "Yes, we are fools." He nodded to Lucinda, and stepped out the door.
That night instead of sleeping, Maya and Lucinda lay on their low rope beds and talked in the dark. Shaheen, along with supper, had brought news for them: they would leave Konnur tomorrow, and would likely meet Da Gama, Victorio, and Slipper by sunset. So in the dark, they talked, like sisters who would soon be parted.
They spoke of seeing one another in the howdah for the first time, of meeting Da Gama and Geraldo, of Slipper. They remembered Silvia, and Brother Fernando's long embraces. They remembered the bandits, and Da Gama's bravery and Pathan's. Lucy cried a little then.
They spoke of Belgaum, and the strange magic of the place-Maya's dreams, and blind Chitra, and Lakshmi, and the palace by the lake. And when they spoke of Geraldo, Maya wept.
They wondered what would happen to them now, and those thoughts were dark. Maya wondered what the eunuchs meant to do with her. She could not bear to say what she expected.
For her part, Lucinda tried to imagine Tio Victorio ten years older than the last time she had seen him. Then, aloud, she wondered what it would mean to be his bride.
It was hard to think such things, and they felt sleep call to them. In the dark cold air of night they could hear the sound of a lone voice singing a qwali. "That's coming from the graveyard," Lucinda said. The song poured out like the sound of a heart breaking, the far-off voice alternately quavering and strong, full of grief and triumph. Death seemed close, like an uninvited guest.
Finally one of them mentioned the word. And then they could not sleep.
Then they whispered, those two women, so young and full of life, for they spoke dreadful thoughts: Did it hurt to die by arsenico? How long would one suffer? To poison another, or to kill oneself-which brought the greater comfort?
And if another was to die, then who deserved it most?
At last they fell asleep, their dreams full of poison and of death.
They awoke to find that Da Gama had come.
Shaheen brought the news with breakfast. After she set down the tray, she opened the shutters. Bright morning sun streamed through. She hurried them out of bed, saying Da Gama was waiting in the courtyard. She clearly liked him, even though he was a farang, and though she had never met him before. Maybe Pathan had given her some sign of his affection for old Deoga. As she left, she urged them to hurry.
Perhaps it was the way Shaheen's excitement lit up her sour face, or perhaps it was the brightness of the morning that dispelled last night's dread. They rushed like children: washed, dressed, packed up their few belongings, ate a bite of breakfast, and arm in arm hurried along the verandah.
"My dear daughters!" Da Gama called out when he saw them. He held out his arms as a father might, and they ran to him and embraced him. Then he stepped back and looked them over, shaking his head.
"Why, Deoga, whatever's wrong?" Maya asked. She had never seen his face so troubled; in truth she had rarely seen a man whose face showed so much anguish.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," Deoga said, turning away. "I am so happy to see you.
"We know why you cry," Lucinda answered. Maya looked at her, and was surprised to see how Lucinda's face grew taut and her eyes narrowed. "We have wept as well."
Da Gama faced Lucinda, and his voice trembled. "You know nothing about me, nor about my tears." Suddenly he turned gruff. "Get in the palki. We'll be going."
"Is Pathan going with us?" Maya asked.
"I didn't think you'd care, daughter." Da Gama shook his head. "Not with us. He says he'll follow later, on horseback. It seems he doesn't like the company."
Pathan watched from the verandah. He only came forward when he saw that the women settled in the palki. He approached from behind where they could not see.
Da Gama realized his tactic, and went to join him. "What happened between you?"
"It is nothing, Deoga. They have mixed feelings about departurewhy should I add more trouble?"
Da Gama stared at Pathan. Then he lifted his hands as if to show that Pathan could have his secrets. "You are kind to lend me your palki and bearers. I thought to hire one in Belgaum. I didn't expect to meet you so soon."
"You need not explain again, sir. It is the least a friend may do. Treat the bearers with kindness, as you would treat your own servants."
Da Gama laughed. "No, I'll have to treat them better than that!" Again he looked quizzically at Pathan. "Are you sure you are well?"
For a long time Pathan did not answer, but stared at the palki, "I would have done anything, you know, Deoga. In the end, I was ready to take on any burden, or to give up everything. My heart no longer cared for me. It had become hers. In the end I would have sacrificed all, but she spurned me. Why then do I still yearn for her?"
"What? Have you fallen in love? Not with the nautch girl?"
Pathan drew back his gaze from the palki. "You must be off, Deoga. Here comes your man Geraldo."
"Are you sure you're well, Pathan? Come with us, why don't you? At least say goodbye to the women?"
Pathan's face grew stern. "No. Let them go with no more intrusions." Then he drew himself up stiffly. "I shall meet you in Bijapur for the settlement, Deoga. Wall Khan's concerns must be addressed, sir, and I still am his burak. Until Wall Khan's interests are satisfied, I shall not be satisfied. If your master, Victorio, tries to renege, I myself shall settle matters properly!" Though he raised his voice, all this while Pathan smiled broadly at Da Gama as if business were now the only bond between them.
Da Gama felt suddenly weary. He shuffled his feet and at last looked up. "Look, Pathan, you've told me often that you owe me a favor ..."
Pathan lifted his hand. "I love you, sir, but do not ask for what I cannot give. Take what you will from me-I offer all my wealth to you, even my life. But I cannot give what is not mine. Do not ask me to rob my master for you. Do not take away my honor."
"Very well, sir. We'll sort things out in Bijapur. We should be there in three days' time."
Pathan looked crushed. "Ask a different favor, Deoga. Let me repay you.
"Never mind. I've always said it was a trifle. Not worth all this fuss."
"Someday I will repay you. Until that time, salaam." Pathan lowered his head and raised his hands in deep formality, and then turned and walked back to the long low stairs of the verandah. He did not turn, nor wave.
"Aleichem salaam," Da Gama whispered after him, and then he turned to the palki. Whatever pleasure his arrival had brought initially now had faded: the women's faces were as grave as his own. Da Gama leaned in to Lucinda and nodded toward the house. "Don't you want to say goodbye, Lucy? He saved your life."
She took so long to answer, Da Gama began to wonder if she were well. "No," Lucinda said at last. "He took it from me." She pulled the curtain of the palki closed.
Da Gama's shadow appeared in the curtain as an unfocused silhouette. Maya leaned across the cushions to Lucinda. "It was not Pathan who took your life, sister. It was Vittorio," Maya whispered. "I have not yet even met him, and he has taken mine as well."
Neither moved for a long time. Lucinda stared into Maya's goldflecked eyes. It was as if they no longer needed words, as though in silence they had formed a pact.
The rain had cleaned the air and the morning light sparkled sharp as diamonds. Puddles lingered in the road, reflecting the crisp blue sky. Cleaned by the rain, the sword grass poked from the ground glinting wet. Every green leaf glistened in the morning sun.
Da Gama mounted, and rode once round the courtyard, checking the palki and the bearers, and then drawing up next to Geraldo's horse. "Let's go," was all he said. The palki bearers grunted and hoisted the palki onto their shoulders; inside its railing, the women lurched.
"It's not far," Da Gama told Geraldo. "We made good time yesterdayit was all downhill from Sunag, or so it seemed." Geraldo smiled indulgently. "What happened, Geraldo? What happened to Pathan?"
Geraldo shrugged. "The man has problems, sir. He is lonesome and melancholy. It is a risky combination."