‘Is she still alive?’ Karla asked.
‘She is.’
‘Is there anything we can do?’
‘I don’t think so, Karla,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘Unless you’d like to help her punish the acid throwers, which she’s doing now, as we speak. It will go on for some time, yet.’
‘You caught the acid throwers?’ Karla asked. ‘Did anyone get burned?’
‘We threw blankets on them, and kicked them until they shoved their acid bottles out from under the blankets, and then we dragged them away.’
‘And the twins jumped in to help them,’ I said, ‘thinking you were a threat to Madame Zhou.’
‘They did. We didn’t realise they were protecting Madame Zhou. We didn’t care. We wanted the acid throwers. Madame Zhou ran away, and we let her run. We stopped the twins, and grabbed the acid throwers.’
‘You stopped the twins for good?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do with them?’
‘We left them there. That’s why I have to leave soon, Inshallah.’
‘Whatever you need, it’s yours,’ I said. ‘How did you think to tell me about this?’
‘We took the acid throwers to a slum. Four brothers and twenty-four cousins of the girl they burned are all living there. And the girl is living there, with a lot of other people who love her. We questioned the acid throwers. We wanted a list of every girl they’ve ever burned.’
‘Why?’
‘So we could visit the families, later, one by one, and tell that them those men are dead, and will never do it to another girl. And then to visit every one of the clients who paid them to burn girls, and make them pay in cash for the hell they spat on them, and give the money to the girls they ordered burned, Inshallah.’
‘Blue Hijab,’ Karla said, ‘I know we only just met, but I love you.’
She put her hand on Karla’s wrist.
‘When the acid throwers started talking,’ she said, turning to me, ‘we heard your name on their list. They told me they’d been following you for the Madame, that woman in black who ran away. I got the acid throwers to tell me where you live, and I came to warn you about the woman.’
It was a shock, a lot of shocks, and one of them was the thought of the acid throwers, being tortured to death by people they’d tortured. It was too much to think about.
‘Thanks for the heads-up, Blue Hijab,’ I said. ‘You’re leaving tonight. How can we help you?’
‘I have everything I need for myself,’ Blue Hijab said, ‘but I must be far away from here, by morning. My problem is Ankit. I can’t go on with him, because the sudden change in plans allows for only one of us to be smuggled at a time. I know he will insist on staying, and letting me go on, and that is what I have to do, but I’m afraid to leave him.’
‘No-one will harm him if he stays here with us,’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid to leave him, because he’s so violent.’
I thought of the amiable night porter with the delicate anticipation of others’ needs, the debonair moustache and the perfect cocktail, and I couldn’t put it together.
‘Ankit?’
‘He’s a very capable agent,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘One of the best, and most dangerous. Not many made it to grey hair in this war. But it’s time for him to retire. His last assignment was almost three years as the night porter in a hotel, where every journalist enjoyed a drink, and liked to talk. But he’s too well known now. That was his last assignment. I was supposed to take him to contacts in Delhi, where he can find a new life, but shooting the twins changed the plan.’
‘Is he wanted?’ I asked. ‘Should we hide him?’
‘No,’ she frowned. ‘Why would he be wanted?’
‘Two dead twins come to mind.’
‘My comrades and I shot the twins. He’s not involved at all.’
‘The twins were hard men to stop. You shot them with that little gun?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, taking the small automatic from the pocket of her skirt and holding it in her palm. ‘I only shoot my husband with this gun. That’s why he stole it from me.’
‘But you had it in your hand when you said hello,’ I smiled.
‘For a different reason,’ she said, her thoughts dreaming into the pistol in her hand.
‘Can I see it?’ Karla asked.
Blue Hijab passed the small pistol to her. Karla looked it over, finding the place in her palm where lines of intent meet the power of consequence. She allowed her eyes to drift slowly upward until they met mine.
‘Nice,’ she said, passing the gun back to Blue Hijab. ‘Wanna see mine?’
‘Of course,’ Blue Hijab replied. ‘But I want you to keep this pistol. I’m going to meet my Mehmu soon, Inshallah, and I know I won’t need it this time, or ever again. We’ve been talking, and things are very good now, Alhamdulillah.’
‘You want me to have it?’ Karla asked, taking the small automatic back.
‘Yes, I was planning to give it to Shantaram, but now that I met you, I think it should go to you. Do you accept my gift?’
‘I do.’
‘Good. Then I would like to see your gun.’
Karla had a matt black snub-nosed five-shot .38 revolver. She took it from beneath a flap of carpet beside her, flipped the chamber open, let the cartridges fall into her lap, and snapped the empty chamber back in place.
‘No offence,’ she said, handing the gun to Blue Hijab. ‘Hair trigger.’
Blue Hijab examined the small, deadly weapon expertly, and handed it back. She felt the heft of her own gun again reassuringly, closing palm to fingers, while Karla reloaded the snub-nosed pistol.
For a few seconds they both looked up at me, guns in hand, their expressions thoughtful, but strangely blank at the same time. For me, it was a wall of womanness in their eyes, and I had no idea what was going on. I was just glad to be a witness; to see two wild, strong-minded women meet.
‘Blue Hijab,’ Karla said, after a while, ‘please let me give you a gift in return.’
She pulled the long spike from the curl at the back of her head, shaking panther-paws of black hair free to prowl.
‘For when you’re not wearing a hijab,’ she said, offering the hairpin. ‘Be very careful. Only ever hold it by the jewel, as I am. Hair trigger.’
It was a blowpipe dart. There was a small ruby fixed into a brass collar at the blunt end.
Karla stood up quickly, skipped to her bedroom, and returned with a long, thin bottle in red glass. There was a Mayan design set into the screw cap.
‘Curare,’ she said. ‘I won the dart and the bottle in a word game with an anthropologist.’
‘You won this playing Scrabble?’ Blue Hijab asked, holding the bottle in one hand and the dart in the other.
‘Something like that,’ Karla replied. ‘You leave the dart soaking in the Curare overnight, once every full moon. And hey, wear it carefully, I scratched myself once and had wide-awake dreams for a couple of hours.’
‘Wonderful,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘Is it so fast acting?’
‘Jab it into a man’s neck and he’ll only follow you six or seven steps. Overcomes the disadvantage of high heels.’
‘I love it,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘Can I really keep it?’
‘You must.’
‘Thank you,’ Blue Hijab said shyly. ‘I’m very pleased with your gift.’
‘What do you and Mehmu fight about, when you’re duelling at dawn?’ Karla asked.
‘The hijab,’ Blue Hijab said, sighing memories of past fights.
‘He thinks it’s too orthodox?’
‘No, Karla, he doesn’t think it’s cool enough. He’s so much into fashion. He has twelve pairs of jeans, and fights for the poor in all of them. He wants me to take the hijab off, and look as cool as the others,
who come from Europe, and have long blonde hair.’
‘You do look cool,’ Karla said. ‘That’s a great blue, by the way.’
‘But not as cool as the other comrades,’ she growled.
‘The other comrades?’
Blue Hijab looked at me, then back at Karla.
‘Shantaram didn’t tell you anything about me, did he?’
‘I don’t know anything,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what colour your flag is, and I didn’t ask.’
‘You don’t have loyalty to a flag?’ Blue Hijab asked, frowning.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But very often to the person holding one.’
‘Mehmu, Ankit and I are communists,’ she said, turning to Karla again. ‘We were with the Habash group. We trained with Palestinians from the PFLP in Libya, but we had to break away. They got too . . . emotional, in what they were doing.’
‘What’s a Tamil girl from Sri Lanka doing in Libya, with Palestinians?’ Karla asked. ‘If I can ask it without stepping into your garden.’
‘Learning to defend our people.’
‘Did it have to be you?’ Karla said softly.
‘Who will take up the guns, if we all lay them down?’ Blue Hijab replied bitterly, trapped on a wheel designed by revenge to keep rage rotating.
‘You and Mehmu really fight about the hijab?’ Karla asked, changing the mood with a smile.
‘All the time,’ Blue Hijab smiled back, covering her girl-mouth with her soldier-hand. ‘The first time I shot him, it was because he said that the hijab put ten pounds on me.’
‘Walked into that one,’ Karla laughed.
‘You don’t think it does, do you?’
‘Your hijab has a slimming effect,’ Karla said. ‘And you have a lovely face.’
‘You think so?’
‘Wait a minute,’ Karla said, springing up quickly and skipping to the bedroom.
‘You’re a lucky man,’ Blue Hijab said.
‘I know,’ I smiled, my eyes waiting for Karla to come back. ‘And so is Mehmu.’
‘No,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘I mean, you’re a lucky man because your name was the next on the acid throwers’ list.’
I turned to face her, reading dark things in her eyes that she knew darkly.
Karla padded back to sit with us. She had a small blue velvet pouch with her, and she pressed it into Blue Hijab’s hands.
‘Lipstick, eye make-up, nail polish, hashish, chocolate, and a little book of poems by Seferis,’ Karla said. ‘For when you get wherever you get, and can close the door.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Blue Hijab said, blushing.
‘We girls have gotta stick together,’ Karla said. ‘Who else is gonna save our men? Tell me about the second time you shot your husband.’
‘The second time was because he said that one of the girls from the East German delegation insisted that he touch her long, silky hair, and that he liked it, and wanted me to take off the hijab and show my hair.’
‘I might’ve shot her,’ Karla smiled.
‘I can’t shoot her for suggesting it,’ Blue Hijab said seriously, ‘Mehmu is a handsome man. But I justifiably shot him for doing it.’
‘Where did you shoot him?’ Karla asked, hazardously.
‘In the bicep. Men hate losing their big muscles for six months, and it doesn’t do much permanent damage. You use the small-calibre pistol, press it against the inner side of the bicep, aim outwards, and let one go. All you need is a good wall on the other side to stop the bullet.’
‘Have you thought of marriage counselling?’ Karla asked thoughtfully.
‘We’ve tried everything –’
‘No, I mean, have you thought about becoming a marriage counsellor,’ Karla said. ‘I think you’re a natural, and there’s another office free, downstairs, in this building. We could link it to my business.’
‘Which is what?’ Blue Hijab asked. ‘If I can ask it without stepping into your garden.’
‘I’m a partner in a company called the Lost Love Bureau. We find lost loved ones, and reunite them with their families. Sometimes, finding is as strange as losing, and reunited lovers need counselling. It’s a good fit, and you’re welcome to fit in.’
‘I like this idea,’ Blue Hijab said shyly. ‘I’ve been looking for a new window, one that isn’t covered with newspapers. I’m . . . very tired, and so is Mehmu. When it’s safe to return, I will visit with you and discuss it again, Karla, Inshallah.’
I was trying not to be noticed, and doing a good job. Their secret women’s business was being acted out in front of me, and men don’t get to see that, unless invited. Then they noticed me, and kind of uninvited me. Karla was smiling, but Blue Hijab was scowling, the poisoned dart in her hand.
‘You, ah, you said you had a problem with Ankit?’ I asked.
‘The escape route is only for me, now that the plan has changed,’ Blue Hijab said, softening a little, and turning to Karla. ‘I can’t take him with me. But I can’t just abandon him. He’s a good comrade. A good man.’
‘I’ll find him a job in the black market, if you like,’ I suggested. ‘He’ll be okay, until you come back for him.’
‘I’ll hire him,’ Karla said. ‘He was the night porter of a large hotel for three years. Those talents are always needed.’
‘Or, he could work in the black market, with me,’ I repeated, defending my gutter.
‘Or not,’ Karla countered, smiling at me. ‘Under any circumstances.’
‘Either way he’ll be okay with us,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
Blue Hijab fixed the jewelled hairpin into the cap of the long thin bottle, and screwed the deadly thorn shut. She slipped it into another invisible pocket in her skirt.
‘I have to go,’ she said, standing up a little unsteadily.
Karla and I rushed to help her but she held us away, her hands like anemones.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘I’m fine, Alhamdulillah.’
She straightened up, patted her skirts into place, and walked out with us to Jaswant’s desk.
Ankit was nowhere in sight. Jaswant wasn’t at the desk: he was eating snacks from his own survival stash. He turned to face me, crumbs in his beard, biscuits in his hands.
‘Where’s Ankit?’ I asked him.
‘Ankit?’ he gasped, as if I was accusing him of eating him.
‘The cocktail captain. Where is he?’
‘Oh, him. Nice fella. A bit shy.’
He drifted off, shaking biscuits from his beard, and staring at the pattern they made on the floor.
‘How many cocktails did you have, Jaswant?’
‘Three,’ he said, four fingers in the air.
‘Hang up the Closed sign,’ I said. ‘You’re on the chemical ride. Where’s Ankit?’
‘Randall came up here, had a couple of drinks, and took him downstairs to show him the car. Why?’
‘Where’s Naveen? And Didier?’
‘Who?’
I turned to Blue Hijab and Karla.
‘I can take you to Ankit on your way out,’ I said.
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t say goodbye. Too many times I said goodbye, and never got to say anything else. Is there another way out of this hotel?’
‘Take your pick,’ I said. ‘There are several ways out.’
‘I’ll escort the lady myself,’ Jaswant said, cocktailed enough not to be scared of Blue Hijab. ‘I need to take a walk to get my head clear.’
‘Would you like us to come with you, Blue Hijab?’ Karla asked.
‘No, please, it’s better when I’m alone. I’m safer when I only have to fight for me, Alhamdulillah.’
‘Until you join your husband,’ Karla said. ‘And then you’ll be together, and maybe you’ll do something happier, like marriage counselling. Hav
e you got money?’
‘All I need, Alhamdulillah,’ she said. ‘I will see you again, Karla, Inshallah.’
‘Inshallah,’ Karla smiled, hugging her.
Blue Hijab faced me, a smile glowering in a frown.
‘I cried for my Mehmu and me, that day in the car,’ she said. ‘But I also cried for you. I’m sorry that the girl died while you were away, and I couldn’t tell you. I liked you. I still do. And I’m happy for you. Allah hafiz.’
‘Allah hafiz,’ I replied. ‘Take care, Jaswant, okay? Look sharp. You’re three sheets to the wind, man.’
‘No problem,’ he smiled back. ‘Security guaranteed. I’ll put it on your bill.’
When we were alone, Karla sat behind Jaswant’s desk. Her finger hovered over the third button.
‘You wouldn’t,’ I said.
‘You so know I would,’ she laughed, throwing the switch.
Bhangra rumbled from the speakers, shoulder-shaking loud.
‘Jaswant’s gonna hear that, and charge me for it,’ I shouted.
‘I hope so,’ she shouted back.
‘Okay, you asked for it,’ I said, pulling her up from Jaswant’s chair. ‘Time to dance, Karla.’
She eased up out of the chair, but leaned against me.
‘You know bad girls don’t dance,’ she said. ‘You don’t wanna make me dance, Shantaram.’
‘You don’t have to dance,’ I shouted over the music, dancing away from her a few steps. ‘That’s okay. That’s fine. But I’m dancing, right over here, and you can join me, any time you get the urge.’
She smiled at me and watched for a while, but then she began to move, and she let it loose.
Her hands and arms were seaweed, surfing waves made by hips. She danced over to me and around me in circles of temptation, then the wave lapped against me, and she was all black cats and green fire.
Bad girls do dance, just like bad guys.
She was dreaming the music at me, and I was thinking that I definitely had to get this music from Jaswant, and maybe his sound system as well, when I danced into a postman, standing in the doorway.
Karla threw the switch and the music stopped, leaving us with the hissing echo of sudden silence.
‘Letter, sir,’ the postman said, offering me his clipboard to sign.
The Mountain Shadow Page 82