‘Is there anything special?’
‘Well . . . ’ he said, reluctantly.
‘Tell me.’
‘Anjali – Bhagat’s daughter – she went for the exams.’
‘How’d she do?’
‘She came top. And not just top of her class, mind you, but top of the whole Maharashtra State.’
‘Smart kid.’
I remembered the little girl she was, years ago, when she’d helped me from time to time in the free clinic. The twelve-year-old kept the names of all the patients in the slum in her head, hundreds of names, and became a friend to every one of them. In visits to the clinic in the years since, I’d watched her learn and grow.
‘But smart is not enough in this, our India,’ Johnny sighed. ‘The Registrar of the university, he is demanding a baksheesh of twenty thousand rupees.’
He said it flatly, without rancour. It was a fact of life, like the diminishing numbers of fish in fishermen’s nets, and the daily increase of cars, trucks and motorcycles on the roads of the once genteel Island City.
‘How much have you got?’
‘Fifteen thousand,’ he replied. ‘We collected the money from everyone here, from all castes and religions. I put in five thousand myself.’
It was a significant commitment. I knew Johnny wouldn’t see that money repaid in anything less than three years.
I pulled a roll of American dollars from my pocket. In those days of the rabid demand for black market money, I always carried at least five currencies with me at any one time: deutschmarks, pounds sterling, Swiss francs, dollars and riyals. I had about three hundred and fifty dollars in notes. At black market rates it was enough to cover the shortfall in Anjali’s education bribe.
‘Lin, don’t you think . . . ’ Johnny said, tapping the money against his palm.
‘No.’
‘I know, Linbaba, but it’s not a good thing that you give money without telling the people. They should know this thing. I understand that if we give without praise, anonymously, it is a ten-fold gift in the eyes of God. But God, if He’ll forgive me for speaking my humble mind, can be very slow in passing out praise.’
He was almost exactly my own height and weight, and he carried himself with the slightly pugnacious shoulder and elbow swing of a man who made fools suffer well, and fairly often.
His long face had aged a little faster than his thirty-five years, and the stubble that covered his chin was peppered with grey-white. The sand-coloured eyes were alert, wary, and thoughtful.
He was a reader, who consumed at least one new self-help book every week, and then unhelpfully nagged his friends and neighbours into reading them.
I admired him. He was the kind of man, the kind of friend, who made you feel like a better human being, just for knowing him. Strangely, stupidly, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that. I wanted to do it. I started to do it a few times, but wouldn’t let myself speak the words.
My exile heart at that time was all doubt and reluctance and scepticism. I gave my heart to Khaderbhai, and he used me as a pawn. I gave my heart to Karla, the only woman I’ve ever been in love with, and she used me to serve the same man, the man we both called father, Khaderbhai. Since then I’d been on the streets for two years, and I’d seen the town come to the circus, the rich beg paupers, and the crime fit the punishment. I was older than I should’ve been, and too far from people who loved me. I let a few, not many, come close, but I never reached out to them as they did to me. I wouldn’t commit, as they did, because I knew that sooner or later I’d have to let go.
‘Let it go, Johnny,’ I said softly.
He sighed again, pocketed the money, and led the way outside the hut.
‘Why are Jewish people putting penicillin in their chickens?’ he asked me as we gazed at the lowering sky.
‘It was a joke, Johnny.’
‘No, but those Jewish people are pretty smart, yaar. If they’re putting penicillin in their chickens, they must have a damn good –’
‘Johnny,’ I interrupted, with a raised hand, ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too, man,’ he grinned.
He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug that woke every one of the wounds and bruises on my arms and shoulders.
I could still feel the strength of him; still smell the coconut oil in his hair as I walked away through the slum. The smothering clouds threw early evening shadows on the weary faces of fishermen and washerwomen, returning home from the busy shoreline. But the whites of their tired eyes glowed with auburn and rose-gold as they smiled at me. And they all smiled, every one of them, as they passed, crowns gleaming on their sweated brows.
Chapter Thirteen
When I stepped into the laughing broil of Leopold’s, I scanned the tables for Lisa and Vikram. I couldn’t see them, but my eyes met those of my friend Didier. He was sitting with Kavita Singh and Naveen Adair.
‘A jealous husband!’ Didier cried, admiring my battered face. ‘Lin! I’m so proud of you!’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ I shrugged, reaching out to shake hands with him and Naveen. ‘Slipped in the shower.’
‘Looks like the shower fought back,’ Naveen said.
‘What are you, a plumbing detective now?’
‘Whatever the cause, I am delighted to see sin on your face, Lin!’ Didier declared, waving to the waiter. ‘This calls for a celebration.’
‘I hereby call this meeting of Sinners Anonymous to order!’ Kavita announced.
‘Hi, my name’s Naveen,’ the young detective said, buying in, ‘and I’m a sinner.’
‘Hi, Naveen,’ we all replied.
‘Where to begin . . . ’ Naveen laughed.
‘Any sin will do,’ Didier prompted.
Naveen decided to think about it for a while.
‘It suits you, this new look,’ Kavita Singh said to me as we sat down.
‘I’ll bet you say that to all the bruises.’
‘Only the ones I put there myself.’
Kavita, a beautiful, intelligent journalist, had a preference for other girls, and was one of the few women in the city who was unafraid to declare it.
‘Kavita, Naveen will not reveal his sins!’ Didier pouted. ‘At least tell me some of yours.’
She laughed, and began reciting a list of her sins.
‘Those rocks in your shower,’ Naveen remarked quietly, leaning close to me, ‘did a professional job.’
I glanced at him quickly. I was ready to like him. I already did like him. But he was still a stranger, and I wasn’t sure that I could trust him. How did he know that I’d received a professional beating?
Reading my expression, he smiled.
‘All the hits, on both sides of your face, are bunched up in a tight pattern, left and right,’ he said quietly. ‘Your eyes are blacked, but they’re still open, and you can see okay. That’s not easy to do. Your wrists are marked, too. It’s not hard to figure that somebody who knew what he was doing smacked you around pretty good.’
‘I’m guessing there’s a point in there, somewhere.’
‘The point is, I’m hurt.’
‘You’re hurt?’
‘You didn’t invite me.’
‘I wasn’t the one sending out cards.’
‘Likely to be any more parties?’ he smiled.
‘I don’t know. You feeling lonely?’
‘Count me in, if you need a date, next time.’
‘I’m good,’ I said. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘Please!’ Didier insisted as a glowering waiter slammed the drinks down on the table. ‘Stop whispering, you two. If it’s not an illicit lover or jealous husband to boast about, you’ll have to offer another sin to discuss.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Kavita encouraged.
‘Do you know why sin is ba
nned?’ Didier asked her, his blue eyes glittering.
‘Because it’s fun?’ Kavita offered.
‘Because it makes fun of people who ban sin,’ Didier said, raising his glass.
‘I’ll make the toast!’ Kavita announced, raising her glass to Didier’s. ‘To tying people up and giving them a good smack!’
‘Excellent!’ Didier cried.
‘I’m in,’ Naveen said, raising his glass.
‘No,’ I said.
It wasn’t the day to toast people being tied up; not for me.
‘Okay, Lin,’ Kavita snapped. ‘Why don’t you make the toast?’
‘To freedom, in all its forms,’ I said.
‘I’m in again,’ Naveen said.
‘Didier is always for freedom,’ Didier agreed, raising his glass.
‘Alright,’ Kavita said, banging her glass against ours. ‘To freedom, in all her forms.’
We’d just put our glasses back on the table when Concannon and Stuart Vinson joined us.
‘Hey, man,’ Vinson said, offering a handshake like a good-natured smile. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘Someone kicked his fuckin’ arse,’ Concannon laughed, his Northern Irish drawl prowling. ‘And it looks like they threw in his head, n’all. What ya been up to, boyo?’
‘He has shower issues,’ Kavita said.
‘Shower issues, does he, indeed?’ Concannon grinned, leaning close to Kavita. ‘And what issues do you have?’
‘You first,’ Kavita replied.
He grinned again, as if he’d won.
‘Me? I take issue with everything that isn’t already mine. And since I’ve let that cat out of the bag, I repeat, what issues do you have?’
‘I have loveliness issues. But I’m in treatment.’
‘Aversion therapy is said to be very effective,’ Naveen said, staring at Concannon.
Concannon looked from one to the other, laughed hard, seized two chairs from a neighbouring table without asking, dragged them to our table and pushed Vinson down into one of them.
He turned his own chair around backwards, and rested his solid forearms on the back of it.
‘What are we drinkin’?’ he asked.
I realised that Didier hadn’t called for drinks, his habit whenever anyone joined him in Leopold’s. I turned my head and saw him staring at Concannon. The last time I’d seen Didier look at someone that hard, he’d had a gun in his hand. Thirty seconds later he’d used it.
I raised my hand to call the waiter. When the drinks were ordered I moved the subject across Didier’s eye line.
‘You look good, Vinson.’
‘I’m damn happy,’ the young American replied. ‘We just made a killing. Fell right into my lap. Well, into our laps, Concannon’s and mine. So, hey, the drinks are on us.’
The drinks arrived. Vinson paid and we raised our glasses.
‘To sweet deals!’ Vinson said.
‘And to the suckers who sweeten them,’ Concannon added quickly.
Our glasses clashed, but Concannon had soured the toast.
‘Ten thousand American dollars each!’ Concannon said, slamming his glass down hard on the table. ‘No better feelin’! Just like comin’ in a rich girl’s mouth!’
‘Hey, Concannon!’ I said.
‘There’s no call for talk like that,’ Vinson added.
‘What?’ Concannon asked, his arms wide with wonder. ‘What?’
He turned his head and leaned the side of his chair toward Kavita.
‘Come on, darlin’,’ he said, his smile as wide as if he was asking her to dance, ‘you can’t be tellin’ me you’re a stranger to the experience. Not with a face and a figure like yours.’
‘Why don’t you talk to me about it?’ Naveen Adair muttered through clenched teeth.
‘Unless you’re a fuckin’ lesbian!’ Concannon continued, laughing so hard that his chair tilted sideways and almost fell.
Naveen began to stand. Kavita put a hand against his chest, holding him back.
‘For Chrissakes, Concannon!’ Vinson spluttered, surprised and confused. ‘Like, what the hell’s the matter with you? You brought me a solid-gold customer, we made a bundle of cash, and we’re supposed to be, like, happy and celebrating. Stop antagonising everybody already!’
‘It’s alright,’ Kavita said, staring evenly at Concannon. ‘I believe in free speech. If you put a hand on me, I’ll cut it off. But if you just sit there, talking like an idiot, hey, you can do that all night long for all I care.’
‘Oh, so, you are a fuckin’ cunt-licker,’ Concannon grinned back at her.
‘As a matter of fact –’ she began.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Didier interrupted her, ‘it’s none of your business.’
Concannon’s grin hardened at the edges. His eyes glittered, sunlight on the back of a cobra’s hood. He turned to face Didier. The menace in his expression was clear. The rudeness to Kavita had been a ruse to provoke Didier.
It worked. Didier’s eyes were indigo flames.
‘You should powder your nose and put on your dress, sweetheart,’ Concannon growled. ‘All you fuckin’ homos should wear dresses. As a warning, like, for the rest of us. If you get fucked like a woman, you should dress like one.’
‘You should have the courage, if not the honour,’ Didier replied evenly, ‘to discuss this privately. Outside.’
‘You’re a fuckin’ unnatural thing,’ Concannon hissed, through barely parted lips.
We were all on our feet. Naveen reached out to grab Concannon’s shirt. Vinson and I separated the two men, as waiters rushed at us from all corners of the bar.
The waiters at Leopold’s had a unique internship in those years: if they put on boxing gloves and lasted two minutes in the back lane with the very big, very tough Sikh head waiter, they got the job. Six of those waiters, directed by the very big, very tough Sikh head waiter, surrounded our table.
Concannon looked around quickly, his hard smile widening to show an uneven set of yellowing teeth. For a few seconds he listened to the voice within, urging him to fight and die. In some men, that’s the sweetest voice that ever speaks to them. Then the viciousness softened into cunning, and he began to back away through the circle of waiters.
‘You know what?’ he said, stepping backwards. ‘Fuck yez! Fuck yez all!’
‘What the hell was that all about?’ Vinson gasped as Concannon stomped out into the street, pushing shoppers aside.
‘It is obvious, Stuart,’ Didier said as we slowly sat down again.
He was the only one of us who hadn’t stood, and the only one who seemed calm.
‘Not to me, man.’
‘I have seen this phenomenon many times, Stuart, in many countries. The man is almost uncontrollably attracted to me.’
Vinson spluttered beer foam across the table. Kavita howled with laughter.
‘Are you saying he’s gay?’ Naveen asked.
‘Does a man have to be gay,’ Didier asked, giving him a look to tan leather, ‘to be attracted to Didier?’
‘Okay, okay,’ Naveen grinned.
‘I don’t think he’s gay,’ Vinson said. ‘He goes to prostitutes. I think he’s just crazy.’
‘You got that right,’ Kavita said, waving her glass in front of his bewildered frown.
Sweetie, who’d been standing well away from the confrontation, slapped a filthy rag on our table as a sign that he was ready to take our order. He picked his crooked nose with his middle finger, wiped it on his jacket, and let out a sigh.
‘Aur kuch?’ he menaced. Anything else?
Didier was about to make an order, but I stopped him.
‘Not for me,’ I said, standing and collecting my keys.
‘But, no!’ Didier protested. ‘One more, surely?’
‘I didn’t finish the last one. I’m riding.’
‘I’m with you, cowboy,’ Kavita said, joining me. ‘I told Lisa I’d call around tonight. I’ll come home with you, if you don’t mind?’
‘Happy to have you along.’
‘But . . . can a gay man go to prostitutes, like, a lot?’ Vinson asked, leaning toward Didier.
Didier lit a cigarette, examined the glow for a moment, and then addressed Vinson, his eyes narrowing.
‘Have you not heard them say, Stuart, that a gay man can do everything that a man wants?’
‘What?’ Vinson asked, adrift as an iceberg.
‘They also say that ignorance is bliss,’ I said, exchanging a smile with Didier. ‘And I’m gonna follow my bliss home.’
We left the bar and made our way through the crush of shoppers to the parking area, where I’d left my bike.
As I put the key into the ignition, a very strong hand reached out and seized my forearm. It was Concannon.
‘Fuck him, eh?’ he said, smiling widely.
‘What?’
‘Fuck him. The French mincer.’
‘You’re crazier than you know, Concannon.’
‘I can’t argue with that. And I don’t want to argue. I’ve got that money. Ten grand. Let’s go and get drunk.’
‘I’m going home,’ I said, pulling my arm free to put the key in the ignition.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun! Let’s go out, you and me. Let’s go pick a fight. Let’s find some really tough bastards, and hurt them. Let’s have fun, man!’
‘Attractive and all as that –’
‘I’ve got this new Irish music,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s fuckin’ grand. The thing about Irish music, you know, is that it’s so good to fight to.’
‘No.’
‘Ah, come on! At least listen to it, and get drunk with me.’
‘No.’
‘That Frenchman’s a fuckin’ faggot!’
‘Concannon –’
‘You and me,’ he said, softening his voice and forcing a smile almost exactly like a scowl of pain. ‘We’re the same, you and me. I know you. I fuckin’ know you.’
The Mountain Shadow Page 14