Breakfast with the Nikolides

by Rumer Godden

  He started limping down the path and presently he began to run, but every few moments he would stop and say, ‘Excuse me. I am not to be interrupted. I am going to see Indro.’

  When Professor Dutt came down to assist at the Examination Hall he could not get in. The students were lying down in the road outside and on the steps.

  He did not attempt to insist. He turned round and went home and put his umbrella away.

  Narayan’s house was preparing for the puja. Each side of the door were fresh plantain trees standing in pitchers of Ganges water with green coconut; mango leaves were strung across the lintel. Tarala was busy with rituals of her own in the courtyard, but most of the work had to be done by Shila; there were many things that Tarala as a widow must not touch. Shila loved to do them; she had made the platter of ball-cakes, molasses rolled with coconut, that stood cooking near the window; she had folded innumerable betel leaves, and now she had chosen her best Benares sari to wind below the dais of the Sree. Now she went into the garden room where the materials were ready, and loosening the folds of her sari a little because she found it hard to kneel now, she went down upon her knees to make the Sree.

  It was modelled of rice-flour and Ganges water and it needed clever fingers; she took a lump of the paste to knead in her hand and rolled it on her palm, round and round with the other, her thumbs held back; the movement grew into a rhythm, and the rhythm grew into a song and presently she began to sing.

  The tuneless happy sound carried to Narayan in the study, and he began to draw it in shapes on his blotting paper. He was writing an account of what he had spent on puja presents and it was far too much, but as his pen went round and round his gloom left him and he tore the sheet out of his account book and threw it on the floor. Shila heard him and, taking it for impatience, stopped singing at once.

  Narayan was sorry. Now he liked to hear Shila in the house; he liked the feeling of festivity. Here, on the river, the morning had signs of the cold weather, there had been mist on the river, and mist in the dew. Already, before the pujas had come, the wind said, ‘After the pujas are over – after the pujas are over we shall start again … After the pujas my son will be born—’ and he was intensely and superstitiously glad, in spite of his extra expenses, that he had given that money to Shila to spend.

  Attending a dog at my house … (Destroying a dog at my house.)

  Until that day I worked to save life, never to destroy. My cases have died, but that was in spite of me – not because of me … what a fuss! What a fuss to make about a dog when men were dying, men and women and children, crushed from existence, hundreds at a time … But it is the same – even if it is one dog and a hundred men. It is against not for; it is counter – an offence against life. By my guilt I have laid more guilt upon mankind overlaid with guilt already; and this, when each one of us should be a rock against evil. Each of us – soldier, sailor, tinker, thief, black man, white man, nigger-boy, Chink … I have done violence, and the stain is deepened because of me … And he passed to the thought of himself (and he cried, ‘Don’t let it bring bad luck!’ and he shut his eyes and prayed from the bottom of his heart).

  He opened his eyes; and as if he had been dropped from the ceiling, there was Anil in his room.

  ‘Anil … You!’

  ‘Indro – give me some water. Some water, Indro, please.’

  He was terribly out of breath, gasping painfully, with sweat running down his neck from his hair, in which were caught a few dishevelled jasmine flowers; his shirt was torn across the shoulder, but it was his face that most startled Narayan; under its dust and sweat, and the vermilion that had run from the mark on his forehead, was a look of the wildest excitement that Narayan had ever seen, his nostrils and his eyes were dilated and his eyeballs were red, bloodshot.

  ‘Anil – are you very ill?’ Anil shook his head, too out of breath to speak. ‘Where have you been? What has happened?’ A suspicion crossed his mind. ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘Water. Water, please.’

  On the desk was the tray that Shila always put ready with water and a dish of nuts; he poured out water and Anil drank in gulps, but Narayan was looking at the clock. ‘Anil, look at the time. What in the world has happened? Look at the time.’

  Anil wiped his face in his sleeve and spat, clearing his throat. He did not go outside but spat untidily on the floor, and sat looking dully at the stain.

  ‘What – time? Why?’

  ‘The Examination. Have you forgotten the Examination?’

  Anil lifted his head and the excitement came back into his eyes. ‘That is exactly what I came here to tell you. I remember now. There will be no Examination held today.’

  ‘Why? For God – why?’

  ‘We are on strike,’ said Anil, and he said it with a kind of primness that had such pride and wanton mischief behind it that Narayan cried out: ‘You are behind this – you!’

  ‘Yes. It is all because of me.’

  ‘You fool. You worse than fool. What has possessed you? You have everything and then you throw it away. Why have you done this, you fool boy?’

  ‘Wait till you hear the reason.’

  ‘I don’t care for the reason.’

  ‘Listen. Listen.’ His voice was uneven, high with excitement, then husky. ‘Indro – last night I was out – I came in late – and—’

  ‘And? And? Go on then.’

  ‘I met – one of Charlie Chang’s daughters.’

  ‘—?’ said Narayan.

  ‘No. I tell you it is not what you think,’ cried Anil violently.

  ‘Then why is the trouble …?’

  ‘Wait. Listen.’ He became rhetorical. ‘She was a child. She wept. I comforted her.’

  ‘How comforted her?’

  That put Anil off his flow. He said uncertainly, ‘I – don’t remember.’

  ‘Did you touch her?’

  ‘And what if I did? I am not poison, am I?’

  ‘How old was she?’ Anil was picking at the nuts, shelling them and throwing them on the floor. ‘Big? Little? Perhaps thirteen?’

  ‘Perhaps, but listen, Indro—’

  ‘Why was she out?’ Narayan demanded angrily. ‘What were they doing to let her out alone?’

  ‘She was searching for her dog.’ Narayan flinched, but Anil said, puzzled, ‘And yet I think she said her dog was dead; then why was she searching for it? It hurts in my head if I have to think of these things. Don’t ask me questions. Listen, Indro—’

  ‘Tell me what is true. Tell me what really has happened.’

  ‘But listen, but listen.’ Anil could not remember in the least what had happened. He could only repeat what they had shouted in the College, what now they said he said had happened. ‘I comforted this frightened child, so small and so afraid. I took her in and then – the woman, Mrs Pool, abused me – in a most beastly fashion. She insulted me. She is my worst enemy. I brought the child to her. She would not listen. I was not permitted to explain – her husband came – he threatened me—’

  ‘Is all this true?’ Narayan was dazed.

  ‘True? They came to arrest me. I am to be flogged. Incarcerated.’

  ‘This is disgraceful.’ Narayan was catching fire.

  ‘Think of my father and my name. I am ruined—’

  ‘But who – who has done this to you? The Principal? The Police? Mr Pool? He has not the power, I think. Has he lodged information about you? Whose orders are these? Who gave them?’

  Anil’s excitement snapped, his voice dropped to an odd dull languor as if he could hardly speak. ‘No one.’

  ‘No one? No one! Then why, for God, have you done all this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Narayan stared at him in amazed silence. Anil’s eyes were shut, his hands were round his throat, his lips fixed open, and between them a bright round bubble of saliva winked in the light like a third eye come from the inside of Anil to look at him while his eyes were shut; it trembled and exploded, leaving a smear of spit
tle on his chin. ‘Why are you in this state?’ cried Narayan.

  Then the gate closed with a wooden thud and someone came down the path to the door. Anil sat up with open eyes. Facing them at the bottom of the steps was Emily.

  Her sudden apparition seemed to surprise her as much as themselves. She had come to see this Dr Das; she was forbidden to go out alone but she did not think it mattered now what she did. She had been waiting outside trying to make up her mind to go in and at last she had precipitated herself in at the gate. Now her entry disconcerted her as much as it disconcerted them and they stared at one another in surprised silence. Then – ‘This is the girl,’ said Narayan in vernacular. He said it as a fact, not as a question, and Anil nodded, staring at Emily.

  It was obvious that she did not recognize him. Anil’s heart gave a pang … I thought she was pretty – how ugly she is! At least he wanted her to be pretty and he could see from Narayan’s face that to him she looked ugly too: tall and lanky, all knees and elbows, and her hair was no colour and her white face glistened with sweat. Where was his graceful little ghost? She had been small, light-boned in his arms. Now he barked at this gawky stranger: ‘Why do you come here? What do you want?’

  She opened her lips. They were dry and for a moment nothing came through them. Then she said, ‘I want to see Dr Das.’ Her voice was the same, with the same clear, slightly imperious bell-like tone, a way in which no Indian girl would ever speak; the voice that had told him at once she was English in the darkness by the tank. In spite of himself he softened. ‘Mr Das? There he is.’

  ‘Oh no! Oh no! No!’ said Narayan unexpectedly; he had retreated behind his desk.

  ‘Come in,’ said Anil to Emily.

  ‘In – my shoes?’ asked Emily. She had never been in an Indian house before.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Anil rudely. ‘Mr Das is Westernized. He does not mind what dirt you bring into his house.’

  Neither Narayan nor Emily heard his rudeness. Emily came in gingerly as if she were treading on unfamiliar ground and Narayan watched her helplessly. She came straight up to his desk and said seriously to him, ‘I want to ask you a question, Dr Das.’

  ‘Not just now. Not just now,’ said Narayan. ‘You must excuse me. I have no time to answer now, Miss Pool.’

  ‘It won’t take you a minute.’

  Her eyes examined him with a child’s particular searching-out gaze, quite unabashed; her eyes were some years younger than her voice and he looked back into their foreign green-flecked clearness and the feeling of wrong and shame came up in him so that he said as if she had spoken, ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Dr Das, my mother’s Pekingese have been coming to you here for injections?’

  The question moved his attention from her eyes to her.

  ‘What disease did you inject them for?’

  ‘Hydrophobia.’ She looked puzzled and he said, jocose in his nervousness, ‘You don’t know what that is, I bet you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hydrophobia. That is rabies. That is madness.’

  The eyes flinched, then they came back to him more searching than ever. ‘Were they mad?’

  ‘No, no. It was prevention – against the bite of a mad dog.’

  ‘Had they been bitten by a mad dog?’

  ‘No. I do not think so.’

  ‘Then why did you inject them?’

  ‘Your mother asked for it.’

  ‘My mother.’ Again Anil heard the edge to that; even now he was sensitive to her.

  ‘Dr Das, you came to our house the day – that my dog died.’

  Narayan answered carefully, ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Did you – bandage up his wounds?’

  ‘He had no wounds.’

  ‘No wounds!’ In her surprise the word hung on her lips.

  ‘It did not hurt him,’ said Narayan. ‘It was all over in a matter of seconds.’

  ‘As quick as that?’ Her voice was incredulous.

  ‘Yes. I tell you, he did not feel anything at all.’

  ‘Then – why did he die?’

  Narayan stopped and looked at her. ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘They told me he died in a fight.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  ‘After you said hydrophobia, I thought he died in a fight with a mad dog.’

  ‘Perhaps, in a way, he did.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well you see,’ said Narayan slowly, and he picked up a pencil and tapped it so that he need not look at her eyes, ‘we had to put him down, put him to sleep, because we were afraid that he had been so bitten.’

  ‘Had he?’

  ‘He showed certain signs. Your mother thought—’

  ‘Did you think so?’

  ‘I don’t know. Still, I do not know. She would not wait for proof … proof,’ said Narayan, and once more something was ringing in his mind, pressing to be remembered. He grew angry. ‘No one can tell what the outcome of this will be, but there has been nothing but trouble and loss. Your mother gave no time for reason or sense …’ He grew angrier. ‘Your mother is very difficult and headstrong. You should ask her to answer you for this—’

  Emily was still and into her face came an expression of shock and with it of triumph. ‘Mother!’ she said in a long whisper. ‘Mother!’ she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Narayan, ‘I think I will go home now,’ but Narayan was looking over her head at someone behind her.

  ‘May I come in?’ said Charles.

  The whole of Anil’s body gave a quick nervous start. He glared at Charles; he stood on the edge of the verandah, clenching and unclenching his hands.

  ‘Good morning, Das … Good morning,’ said Charles to Anil.

  ‘Really, really,’ said Anil offensively, ‘it seems, Indro, that your house is to be turned into a rendezvous of Pools.’

  Charles’s hand came inside Emily’s arm – ‘I came to see you, Das. I did not know that Emily was here.’

  ‘So you take no better care of her than formerly,’ said Anil.

  Charles propelled Emily away. ‘Wait for me in the garden.’ And he said. ‘You are not to go home without me.’ Emily had not even heard him. He ignored Anil and said, ‘Das, I have come from Sir Monmatha Ghose – to speak to you.’

  Narayan was trembling, but he stood up with his hands on the desk; it was easier to stand up to Charles if he had his hands steady. ‘I also would like to speak to you. Most shocking things are reported to me, Mr Pool. A most shocking thing has been said to this boy.’ His voice, now that he had achieved it, was over-blustering.

  ‘And you have believed everything he told you?’

  ‘Unfortunately it is only too likely,’ said Narayan bitterly. ‘I too have had experience of Mrs Pool. Because he was Indian the worst suspicion came into her mind. Without waiting, he is convicted—’

  ‘He is not convicted.’ Charles was sharp.

  ‘This may very well go to law,’ said Narayan, taking refuge in a side issue. ‘There is libel. There is defamation—’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. You let this boy run away with you, Das. I have come to you—’

  ‘You thought that I should help against my friend? You thought that I should hush him up?’ Narayan was now truly run away. ‘Or did you track up your own daughter who came following him here?’

  ‘You are not to speak to me like that—’

  Narayan buried his face in his hands. It was not in this way that he had meant Charles to come. Everything was loud, noisy, rude and untidy; the room was a litter of nutshells and stains where Anil had spat. He cried, ‘It is horrible. Horrible.’

  ‘It has been made so,’ said Charles. ‘The College is in an uproar. Four students are under arrest – I had hoped—’ He asked wearily, wonderingly, ‘How did it have to grow into this?’ And he asked Anil, ‘Why couldn’t you keep your promise?’

  But all this while Anil had been struggling, searching, struggling to find his head. It was necessary for him to
find it because he could not breathe without it; the noise of the pain in the gap took all breath; there was hurt in the noise now, agony that blinded him. He screamed.

  ‘My God! What is the matter with him?’

  They caught him and held him between them. He felt their hands, gripping him in every place and doing nothing to help his head. He tore away from them, beating at his throat with his hands, screaming without a sound coming from his lips. How could there be a sound? He had no lips – because he had no head … They were there. With a rush of air into his throat, his head was back again. He lay sucking in air, and his lips were wet – and curiously stiff.

  ‘Anil.’ Narayan was bending over him and he said to someone behind him, ‘Water.’ A hand passed a glass of water and with those odd, stiff-feeling lips Anil drank. ‘That is better.’ Narayan’s face was anxiously looking into his. ‘Anil, can you speak to me? Have you pain? Where is trouble? Tell.’

  Anil wanted to tell. He wanted to complain of his head that had come back to him with those strange lips, of his mouth that felt so stiff, and of his throat, and the noise, and the pain in the noise, but all he could do with his mouth that would not move properly was to croak, ‘My toe. My toe is swollen.’

  ‘Your toe?’ But Narayan went down on one knee to examine it; though he tweaked it and pulled it Anil did not feel it and he cried again querulously, ‘My toe.’

  ‘Nothing is the matter here except the toe is bruised.’ Narayan examined the foot and the ankle and then he saw at the side of the shin a small pale scar. He saw it; he looked at it; at Anil; back to it. His face changed, into a dreadful silent stare. He had remembered.

  XII

  Emily, sent away by Charles, went round the corner of the house. The sun striking off the river blinded her; she stood still, holding on to the plaster, and the red hurting glare of her eyes exactly suited her. She was angry; angry with a good right anger; it was in her legs and in her face and stomach and hot in her heart, but it would not overflow until she meant it to overflow. She was compact with rage, dangerous, ready … I am coming, Mother. I have found out everything I wanted to know. This time you are going down to me, not I to you. I am up. I am right. There is no mystery left. All of it has been cleared away from you. I see you, Louise. I see you exactly as you are. You are larger than I am and powerful, but you cannot crush me now …