A Division of the Spoils

by Paul Scott

  Without even looking Susan said, ‘That’s the one he couldn’t wear. The new one. The one they said was much better, a much more modern design. But if you look at it you’ll see it can’t have been worn more than a few times.’

  Sarah thrust it back into the chest and closed the drawer.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, Mr Perron. Talking about his arm. But you see he never, never, wore it in bed. He took it off every night. He had to be very careful not to let the stump get too inflamed. I know what a relief it was to him to get out of the harness, and sometimes what torture it was to put it back on in the morning. He wouldn’t have worn it while he was laid up after his riding accident.’

  Perron said, ‘Perhaps the accident explains why it’s not here, Mrs Merrick. It could have been damaged and sent away for repair.’

  ‘Oh.’ She considered him gravely. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She smiled. ‘Ronnie was quite right. He always was. He said women have instincts, they know when something is wrong or not properly explained. But men work things out logically much better. It struck me as odd when I couldn’t find it, because to put it brutally I couldn’t see them putting the arm on, just to take – just to take his body to the mortuary for the post-mortem. And there had to be a post-mortem because he was found dead in bed and people thought he was getting better. I blame Dr Habbibullah, but daddy says I shouldn’t. He said no one can foresee a clot of blood. But why was there a clot of blood? Unless there was an internal injury from the riding accident that Dr Habbibullah hadn’t diagnosed?’

  ‘Well you know, you can seem in perfect health one minute, and then –’

  ‘Drop dead the next. Oh, I know. But all these doctors protect themselves and each other don’t you think, Mr Perron? I mean whether they’re English or Indian. And I do blame Dr Habbibullah even though Ronnie himself once said he was one of the best doctors he’d ever come across.’ She looked round at Sarah. ‘Khansamar would know about Ronnie’s harness, Sarah. Whether it was damaged.’

  ‘I don’t think we should worry Khansamar over a thing like that, Su.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s a servant. When you ask servants what’s happened to something it always sounds as if you’re accusing them of stealing. I’ll ask Dr Habbibullah if you really want me to.’

  ‘Yes, I do. But what about the other things that are missing? Where are his Pathan clothes? He was very fond of his Pathan clothes.’ She turned to Perron again. ‘He had to choose Pathan clothes because of his blue eyes. He had two sets but only one pugree and only one embroidered waistcoat.’ She looked at the scattered stuff. ‘There’s only one set here, these trousers and this shirt. The other set’s missing, and so are the pugree and the waistcoat. And the sash. And the little axe.’

  ‘He probably gave them away,’ Sarah said. ‘It must be years since he used them.’

  ‘Oh no. He went out in them in Mirat too. With one of his spies. He had to have spies, Mr Perron. I’m sorry if it sounds melodramatic, but this is a very melodramatic and violent country. If you’re a police officer and take your job seriously you can’t just sit in an office like a deputy commissioner. You have to get out into the bazaars and listen to what people are saying. You have to do all sorts of things that so-called pukka members of the raj pretend don’t have to be done. Of course if you like you can leave it entirely to subordinates, but Ronnie wasn’t like that. He knew it was his duty to get out and see and hear for himself. I expect a lot of people who sing his praises now for what he did to settle Mirat when he first came here would pretend to be shocked if they knew he ever had to go out at night dressed as an Indian servant. But he was prepared to do that for the job’s sake. It was very dangerous. That goes without saying. That’s why he never told me. But I found out. Shall I tell you how I found out, Mr Perron?’

  ‘Only if you want to.’

  ‘Yes. I think I do. I don’t know whether you know, but I haven’t been very well. For quite a long time. I can’t sleep without taking something. He was so understanding about that. And sometimes when there was any kind of trouble brewing or crisis or flap on, anything that kept him working late or might mean his being called out, he’d sleep in another room, so as not to disturb me, once I’d taken my pills. But the pills don’t always work. And then I go through phases of not wanting to take them at all because you can’t spend the rest of your life taking pills just to get to sleep. And one night I didn’t take any pills at all, and Ronnie was working late and sleeping in this other room, and I just lay here trying and trying to get to sleep naturally. And that’s terrible. When you’re so tired, but can’t sleep and you toss and turn and the night just seems to be slipping away and you start imagining all kinds of silly ridiculous things and there’s this awful temptation to take not just one or two of the pills but enough to make you sleep forever. So I went to Ronnie’s room to see whether he was still awake, so that I could tell him I had this awful temptation, and when I got to the door I saw the light was on. And at four o’clock in the morning that was just as if he’d stayed awake in case I needed him and I felt terribly beholden to him. But when I opened the door it didn’t seem to be Ronnie there at all, but this terrifying Indian just standing there staring at me. But of course it was Ronnie. That’s why I lost my nerve though, a while ago, when Edward ran in dressed just the same way. I don’t mean I didn’t know Edward had the same little kind of outfit, I only mean it was like seeing Ronnie again, and just at the moment I was wondering where his own Pathan clothes were.’ She turned to Sarah. ‘Can’t we ask Khansamar even about the clothes?’

  ‘No, we can’t. That would be worse than asking him about the harness. The car must be here. I’ll go and see. Then we ought to be getting back. Khansamar can put all this away.’

  Sarah went.

  Susan said, ‘My sister isn’t very intuitive.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. You see, Mr Perron. Ronnie’s missing arm and Ronnie’s missing clothes are like the dog that didn’t bark in the night.’

  ‘Conan Doyle?’

  She smiled brilliantly.

  ‘My favourite as a child was The Speckled Band. I used to read it by torchlight under the bedclothes at the school Sarah and I went to at home. The Speckled Band reminded me of India. Because of the snake. When Aunt Fenny told me last week that Ronnie was dead I thought first of a snake. Or of a scorpion. I’ve always been terrified of scorpions.’

  ‘I’m terrified of both.’

  ‘Oh, men always say terrified. But they’re only pretending. Ronnie was afraid of nothing.’

  ‘I imagine not.’

  ‘I depended on him, Mr Perron. You see, I’ve always been terrified of almost everything.’

  To his alarm he saw that quite suddenly tears were falling down her cheeks. But they fell as if her eyes were at a different season from the rest of her. She still smiled. Her voice altered not at all. She remained physically still. She said, ‘I’ll never meet another man who understands – I mean who understood me so well. He seemed to guess things about me that no one else in the family ever guessed, not even my sister. It was like living with someone who’d lived with you always, even in your secret life and knew the nice things and the not so nice things. Even things you’d forgotten and even the things you’d dreamt. Until I met Ronald I’d no idea a man could be so patient and understanding. It was a long time before I could help him with his arm. I mean help him to put it on and take it off, and help him with the salves and powders. He understood that. When I’d learned how to help him we became very close. Very close. Closer than at any other time. I’ve never been so close to anyone before. He realized that. I think he realized that helping him with his arm was a way of helping me to become close to people. Which is what I’d never been. Never felt. His arm was very important to me, Mr Perron. I prefer to think of it being damaged, not just thrown away. Although if it was damaged in the accident I expect it has been thrown away because people don’t understand the importanc
e of symbols. But wherever we went, he was admired and respected. Especially here in Mirat. You see, he never pretended. He always said what he thought, so people knew where they stood with him. Some of them didn’t like where they found themselves standing, but they couldn’t blame him, or accuse him of being two-faced. He wasn’t always easy on people. At one time I used to get upset when he was angry or disapproving or cold. But he was only angry when he found people out cheating or lying or pretending. And it was good for me. I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. I don’t know what will happen now, though, but at least he’s left me with Edward. When you look at Edward now you wouldn’t credit what a poor miserable little boy he used to be. With nothing to say to anyone. Terrified of animals.’

  The tears had dried. ‘At least, at first. He grew out of that. Perhaps that’s my one contribution. We had a labrador puppy and Edward became quite fond of him. But we had to get rid of him in Rajputana. Ronnie didn’t like animals in the house.’

  ‘Your son’s certainly a friendly little boy.’

  ‘I’m glad you think that.’ Briefly she made that gesture more familiar in her sister: one hand reaching out to clutch the elbow of the other arm. ‘But it’s time he went home. He’s very precocious. It’s what happens out here. And you shouldn’t order other people about like that. I remember doing it myself as a child. But that was because I was afraid of them.’

  ‘I don’t think Edward’s in the least afraid.’

  ‘No. But you can’t tell. Aggression can be a sign of insecurity. Ronnie was never able to help me over that sort of thing. He was the most secure person I’ve ever known and when Edward talks to servants the way he does I sometimes think he’s just copying Ronnie. Ronnie was always very firm. But fair. Don’t misunderstand. The servants always adored him. What is it, Sarah?’

  ‘The car’s here,’ Sarah said from behind. Perron wondered how long she had been standing there. ‘We ought to go.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. If Khansamar bolts the shutters and locks the door we can leave all this just as it is until tomorrow. I know in my heart he’s trustworthy really, because Ronnie always said how reliable he was and he was a good judge. I was just telling Mr Perron, Sarah, how good Ronnie was with the servants.’

  She stirred. Perron got up. He helped her to rise. As she came level and stood near him he felt that she was as taut as a bent bow.

  ‘When we first came here,’ she said, accepting his arm, and allowing herself to be led out, ‘that’s to say when I and Edward came down from Pankot to join Ronnie, he’d already had the old bungalow cleared and decorated. He’d started furnishing it, with Dmitri’s help of course. Everything except the hall-carpet belongs to Dmitri. The whole compound at the back had been cleared too. Of course at that time it looked as if we might be here for quite a while but in any case that was the way Ronnie worked, to make a home whereever it was, however impermanent. He was so much better at that sort of thing than I’ll ever be. He said it was a terrible mess when he first got here. Nobody had lived here for ages and at that time he only had Khansamar. Well. There was a cook and a sweeper, and a bhishti and a mali, but only as temporary people. He said it was for me to decide how permanent they should be. But I couldn’t fault his choice. He had that knack of looking at people and knowing whether they’d be any good or not. So really from the start we had a full complement. But unemployment in the state is a terrible problem and I remember how week after week these young men and boys used to turn up, begging for a job. Ronald had such a good reputation for paying a fair wage and treating servants properly that they came here first rather than anywhere else. You’d have thought that eventually they’d have given up. But they never did.’

  She stopped abruptly, in the dim entrance hall.

  ‘Where are all the servants, Sarah? I’ve only seen Khansamar.’ But she did not seem to need a reply. She placed one hand just below her throat. A theatrical little gesture, Perron thought. But in Susan, all such gestures were probably mute cries for help. ‘The whole place is so quiet. As though everyone has gone.’ She turned, offered her hand. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Mr Perron. For being so logical. For being here. For knowing Ronald.’

  It was an exit line. She went quickly across the hall out on to the verandah and then down the steps to the car. For a moment Sarah stayed with Perron in the hall. Then she murmured, ‘Thank you, Guy,’ and went out too.

  III

  He was dressed by five to seven and on the verandah as the second-hand of his watch ticked up the hour. It was a clear sunny morning.

  At ten past he heard the growl of a vehicle being changed down to enter the compound. A jeep swept in. A khaki-clad figure was riding shot-gun on the high rear seat. Sarah was driving. Her head was bound in a silk scarf. She wore khaki too. She braked but kept the engine running and smiled up at him. This was the old Sarah of Area Headquarters who knew a thing or two about getting a move-on.

  ‘Where’s the horse?’ he asked. She patted the seat on her right as though it were a saddle. He climbed in over the low port. She wore a khaki skirt too. In fact she had on her old WAC(I) uniform. He could see where the stripes had been. The Indian with the rifle was a soldier. His shoulder tab said Mirat Artillery. His face was pitted by smallpox. He looked cheerful. Sarah re-engaged gear, gave a burst of power and drove the jeep down to the exit.

  Coming out on to the road he saw that the maidan opposite – the rough ground that stretched from the walls of the palace grounds to the walls of the old city – was now populated by military vehicles and groups of soldiers and armed police. He expected her to turn right, imagining that the horses were waiting somewhere on the maidan. But she turned left, passing the Dewani Bhavan and then the palace wall, going in the direction of the lake, but suddenly turning left again into a rough unmetalled road. The wind flicked her scarf and the collar of her khaki shirt. She drove very well. A bumpy road, but a smooth ride. Clearly she was familiar with the route.

  Coming in from the right, a little way ahead, and from the left, were the spurs of two low wooded hills. Otherwise the countryside was open, poor, unfertile. There was no visible habitation. The land was tawny, flecked with patches of dusty olive green scrub. As the jeep entered the section of road enclosed by the two wooded spurs, Sarah slowed. The road was straight and there seemed no reason for her caution; until, a long way ahead, he saw an elephant plodding rhythmically towards them. As they drove nearer he saw the elephant was pushing or urging something ahead of it with swings of its trunk. Sarah slowed almost to a crawl. Behind the elephant were two men and ahead of it, its calf, an absurdly small creature. Seeing the jeep the mother elephant advanced protectively and the calf went under the shadow of its huge head. Now that they were close Perron saw that the animal’s hide was almost black, but red from the dust of the tawny earth. Just before they came level the elephant swung into a side-track, followed by the men. And Sarah drove on.

  She said, ‘They’re the Nawab’s. They belong to his forestry department. No one can build here. A hundred years ago it was all forest.’

  The road began to descend into an area of scrub-jungle. The horizon was already blurred and violet with the day’s promise of heat. A twist in the road brought them to an area of rising land, almost devoid of trees. On the brow of the hill Perron saw two horsemen, as still as statues. Sarah drove a little further and then pulled in behind an army truck and a large closed-in van: a horse-box. A couple of soldiers, with rifles slung, were standing on the opposite side of the road.

  ‘We can watch from here,’ she said, getting out. From the dash-board she took a pair of binoculars and handed them to him. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Now you can see something of the old India.’

  Even in close focus the horsemen seemed perfectly still. The lenses blurred the colours slightly, isolated purple refraction so that the profiles of the men’s faces seemed to be outlined by a dim reddish-blue glow. They were brown faces. What was so extraordinary was the lack of movement, the intensity o
f concentration. One of the men was turbanned, the other bare-headed. The turbanned man was dressed in what looked like a studded leather jerkin and tight dark pantaloons. The younger man with the bare head (Ahmed surely?) wore an ordinary pale blue shirt, corduroy breeches and riding boots. Around his raised left forearm was a leather shield which ended in a glove. Upon the forearm sat a hawk. Perron fancied that he could see the feathered shift of its neck, the gleam of its fierce eye.

  Then the vision in the binoculars suddenly blurred and Perron lowered them and just caught the end of the flighting movement of Ahmed Kasim’s arm, citing the hawk at its prey – a movement that produced in the bird apparent momentary lack of co-ordination, quickly righted, and developing into a powerful and breath-taking ascent, a great arc, the beginning of a spiral of such formal beauty that Perron caught his breath and held it until he discerned in the empty heavens, through the planned geometry of the hawk’s attack, the objective, the intended point of killing contact: a dark speck intent on escape.

  He felt Sarah’s hand groping for his. But she only wanted the binoculars. He let them go and then gave all his attention back to the aerial hunt, one that left no vapour trails but reminded him of a summer that had mapped them. The hawk plummeted. Its shape merged with the speck. Sarah cried out, with pleasure and pain. He looked at her. All he could see was her hand gripping the binoculars, her slightly open mouth, the brave little thrust of chin and the tautened throat.

  She gave the glasses back to him and said without looking at him, ‘You must watch this.’

  He took the binoculars and readjusted the focus. The horsemen had put their mounts forward at a slow walk. He searched the lower sky in the direction they were heading and, almost too late, picked up the image of the hawk just descending. The prey was invisible. The hawk’s wings were still at stretch, but folding back in slow motion, in satisfaction. And then they were at stretch again, beating against gravity, intent on ascent. He followed its course, saw Ahmed throw something. It swooped down, clawed at ground level, attacking something with its beak. The older horseman was riding in the direction of the kill. Ahmed, motionless, watched the hawk swallow its gift – presumably an appetising and bloody piece of raw meat. Presently there came the far-off sound of Ahmed’s voice, a sound like Tek, Tek, Tek-Allahallahallah. The hawk was now beating at the air again, rising, circling once round Ahmed, flirting at the lure of his leathered forearm, and then gently turning and coming in to alight. It ducked its head, arched its wings, then allowed itself to be brought near to Ahmed’s face: the likeness of a kiss.