At this time of day the path dissecting the lawn at the side of the house was scorched by sunlight. A veranda shaded the grass closer to the house. Although Akim, her father’s gardener and man of all trades, disapproved, she walked on the grass in the deep, dark shade.
A car she recognized was parked at the front of the house; her father had visitors, and Mr and Mrs Grantley-James had a son. His name was Vincent. He was thickset, wore glasses and was terribly self-opinionated for a young man of nineteen. His chin jutted forward like a square mug.
Sometimes she talked to him, though usually at a safe distance. Vincent had wandering hands and lips like fat, wet oysters.
On his last visit he’d caught her unawares. She’d been dancing in the shade of the pergola, humming to herself as she carried out the well-practised movements Shanti had taught her.
‘My,’ he’d said, his lips making a disgusting smacking sound as he brought them together. ‘You’re absolutely ripe for it!’
He’d lunged at her, slipping one hand as far up her skirt as possible, his other groping her breast.
He’d found out just how ripe she was when she brought her knee up into his groin.
‘Ow!’
Unfortunately he recovered quickly.
‘You could have damaged me for life, you know. I might never have children. Look!’ In a trice he’d undone his flies and flashed his member, pointing to the tip of it.
‘And the world will probably be a better place for all that,’ Nadine had snapped, determined not to blush. ‘Now put it away. I’m not going to examine it any more closely. It’s ugly. Like a tiny toadstool!’
She turned smartly away, grinning from ear to ear. Vincent shouted after her.
‘You bitch. You bloody bitch!’
He was devastated. She smiled to herself. The day was suddenly brighter. She’d hurt Vincent’s pride plus his manhood and thoroughly enjoyed doing so. However, no doubt he’d have his revenge.
She was right. He’d complained about her. He’d actually had the nerve to complain about her!
Her father ordered her to report to his study.
‘Vincent said you attacked him in a very unladylike manner. I’m neglecting my guests because of you.’
She eyed her father disdainfully, noting how the flesh of his face hung sparingly on his cheekbones. It gave him a jaded look, as though nothing much surprised him and life was sometimes tedious. At one time she’d respected him, never loved him. He’d been too distant for that. Since Shanti’s death she had felt only a cold, hollow contempt.
‘I was merely protecting myself against his unwanted attention.’
‘I don’t think you should play so hard to get. He’s a good catch and quite frankly, the sooner you’re married off the better.’
‘Vincent Grantley-James disgusts me.’
‘He’s a gentleman.’
‘He was not being very gentlemanly at the time. He got his privates out in front of me. I found it quite disgusting.’
‘Nadine!’ His mouth dropped open but he quickly collected himself. ‘Young women should not speak in that manner. Your mother…’ He stopped himself. The truth flushed his face.
Nadine’s eyes glittered. ‘My mother…?’
Recalling that the truth was out, he changed tack immediately.
‘All the same… under the circumstances, I think you should not condemn him out of hand.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘He said you led him on.’
‘I…? I would sooner swim in a cesspit!’
Speechless with anger, she turned her back.
‘Nadine!’
The house shook when she slammed the door behind her.
Her father had not sought her out or had anything to do with her for the rest of the day. Perhaps he thought she would attempt to make amends in her own good time, perhaps bump into Vincent again. He certainly had him visiting enough just lately.
It was late afternoon when she saw him heading around the back of the house. She guessed he was going to relieve himself in the old privy where wire was still secured over the drains and in the seat of the bowl to stop snakes coming up.
With revenge in mind, she waited what she judged to be a reasonable passage of time before following him.
She slid behind a rose-covered trellis, the flowers still dripping moisture from the second soaking they’d had that day – not from natural rain, of course, but by virtue of Akim, their dark brown gardener who talked to the plants as he went about his work. Rarely acknowledging human contact, Akim tended the garden to his own timetable, regardless of what her father ordered him to do.
Spying a discarded snakeskin in the shade at the side of the house, she had an amusing thought.
The snakeskin was quite large; pity the poor creature, she thought, how tight his old suit must have felt. The head was almost intact; no eyes or noticeable nose, of course, and no flickering tongue. She formed a fork shape from dried grass. This she inserted into a small hole where the snake’s top lip used to be. Gleefully imagining Vincent’s surprise, she crept towards the privy.
As she neared it, she heard groaning and put it down to Vincent not having the benefit of a daily dose of laxative.
Just as she was about to thrust the crisp monster up into the drain, causing Vincent to spring from his seat, a rustle in the bushes to her left drew her attention.
A tiger?
She turned her head very, very slowly – barely an inch at a time.
Velvet-brown eyes blinked back at her, and she blinked in response. A slim girl slipped out from behind the bush and into view.
Normally tradespeople and peddlers would stay outside the gate. The only way she could have entered the garden was through the hole in the wall.
This girl reminded Nadine of a stray mongoose, long and lean. She wore heavy earrings, a stud and an ornament dangling from her nose. She looked no more than fourteen years of age though it was hard to be sure. Girls in India grew up so quickly.
Nadine addressed her in Urdu. ‘Who are you? Don’t you know you’re trespassing?’
She tried to sound superior – just like her father.
The trembling of the privy walls behind her distracted her attention. Vincent was groaning as though his relief was close at hand and the privy was rocking enough to send it crashing from its foundations.
The girl responded.
‘I am waiting for my sister.’
‘Is she in there?’ Keeping her voice low, Nadine gestured at the rotting wood of the privy.
The girl opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by Vincent’s voice.
‘Who’s out there? Go away, whoever you are, or it will be the worse for you, mark my words!’
He spoke in English, but faltering, spewed out along with a quick expelling of breath.
Nadine ignored him and addressed the girl again.
‘What is your sister doing in there with Vincent? Surely she is not helping him pass a stool?’
The girl shook her head. ‘Oh, most certainly, no!’
‘No. I didn’t think so.’ Nadine grimaced as she imagined Vincent and the girl’s sister doing something similar to the Hindu temple carvings she’d seen – though not too vigorously. Not in that space.
Eyeing the privy, she said, ‘Their vigour is such that this flimsy structure is likely to fall to pieces.’ Nadine frowned as a very important thought occurred to her. ‘Why is your sister doing this? This sahib is not the most handsome of men.’
The girl shrugged. ‘He saw her dance. He wanted her and paid to have her. That is all.’
She said it as though it were the most natural business transaction in the world. She had the knowing look of a small adult, a worldly woman in a young girl’s body. She was wearing thin silky garments of pale green edged with gold and pink. Her feet were hennaed. Her eyes were outlined in thick black kohl.
‘My name is Nadine.’
‘Ah! Nadine. Yes. My name is Zakia.’
She bowed greetings in the acknowledged way. Nadine returned her greetings.
‘You are dancers, Zakia?’
‘That indeed is our caste, our lot in life decreed by the gods. My sister, Sureya, and I are both nautch dancers and are very sought after, my sister more than I as you can see.’
Inspired by the entranced look on Nadine’s face, Zakia warmed to her subject. ‘We entertain the most important men in the city – maharajahs and even sahibs though my sister says they would never admit it. We’re banned, you see. Taboo.’
‘She is “entertaining” Vincent Sahib?’
Zakia jerked her chin in that knowing way and held her head to one side. ‘Vincent Sahib always asks for her – even if it is only to dance. But today he wishes relief. My sister does not sell her body, only her hand.’
Detecting Nadine’s ignorance obviously gave pleasure to the jangling, dancing girl. She laughed and explained further.
‘You know?’
She made a backwards and forwards action with her clenched fist. ‘He wishes her to pull on his snake until it spits milk, you know,’ she added, noticing Nadine’s confusion. ‘The snake that crouches here.’ She made a pouch with her hands and held it against her groin.
Nadine recalled the sight of Vincent’s penis and laughed.
‘This size,’ she said, cupping her hands to make a much smaller pouch.
Understanding immediately, Zakia laughed too.
Nadine recalled that last day at school when she’d told Jennifer that she intended to become a dancer, dancing the steps taught to her by her mother, her ayah, her darling Shanti.
One thought tumbled upon another and the rudiments of a plan formed in her mind, a plan that must be kept secret.
She was not aware that her mouth was hanging open until a particularly persistent insect perched on her bottom lip. She waved it away. Covetously, she scrutinized Zakia’s pendulous earrings and the smudge of dust on one cheek.
‘Did you crawl through the hole?’
The girl grinned, her teeth startlingly white against her gleaming brown skin. ‘Yes. I wriggled through like a great python. Shall I show you how?’
Nadine nodded. ‘Yes.’
The girl proceeded to demonstrate, her sinuous body writhing in the manner of a cobra rising to the plaintive notes of a flute. The girl’s hands made the shape of the flamingo’s neck, the flying wings of the wild swan, the flapping of the limbs of a turtle.
Nadine’s eyes misted over. If she narrowed them she could almost believe that Shanti was alive, whirling and twirling again, just as she used to, Nadine joining in. As dusk fell, unseen by her father, the two of them would dance until it was too dark to continue.
Nadine sighed. How well she remembered!
The right foot came to land in front of the left, knees bent, hands brought together and clasped above the head.
The dance was over.
Nadine turned and hammered on the side of the privy. Vincent shouted.
‘Didn’t you hear me? Go away. Go… a…’
The rest of his words were smothered in a groan of sheer ecstasy.
Nadine looked down at the discarded snakeskin, then up to the croquet lawn, the hoops white and rigid in the fading sun. The flower-covered pergola where Shanti had first taught her how to dance stood at its narrowest point.
‘Follow me,’ she said to Zakia. ‘We will dance.’
Nadine strode across the grass, reassured by the tinkling of ankle bells and jangling jewellery that Zakia was following on behind.
The pounded earth of the pergola was warm beneath their feet.
‘Take off your shoes. You cannot dance like that,’ said Zakia, pointing a hennaed, pink-tipped finger at Nadine’s feet.
Nadine did not contradict her or tell her just how well she knew these dances.
As the girl pointed, she twisted from the waist, thrusting her abdomen to her right, her chest to the left. Her feet, Nadine noticed, did the same, one set of toes pointing right, one left, and the heels tight together but at an uneven angle.
Taking off her shoes and then her stockings, she pretended that she needed to practise at achieving the same position. Pretending wasn’t easy when you knew a dance so well. In order to maintain the illusion, she toppled slightly.
‘Look!’ Zakia’s voice was sharp staccato. She pointed at a row of bushes. ‘There is your audience. They are rich handsome princes wearing diamonds and gleaming sapphires. They own many palaces, many elephants and even motorcars of many different colours. If you are lucky you might become a great favourite. If so, he will give you many presents and perhaps take you with him each time he progresses from one palace to another. You will see many sights.’
The way her new friend spoke and the promise of seeing a wider world was far more attractive than jewels or a handsome face. With a liberal dose of imagination, the bushes became beings, handsome faces decked in colourful gems and finery.
‘That is good,’ cried Zakia, as Nadine executed a perfect imitation, thrusting the halves of her body in opposing directions, placing her feet and curling her toes, adding sensuality by positioning her hands in front of her face – just as Shanti had taught her.
‘It would be better with music,’ she remarked.
‘You are a fussy woman!’ Zakia frowned as she said it, but Nadine could tell it was only in fun. The frown disappeared, her smile widened and she began to sing a wordless song, the sound imitating the insistent twang of a sitar.
Like mirror images, they danced, heads shifting from side to side, hands layered beneath chins, their bodies twirling and curving as though like the cobra, they were mesmerized by music.
‘Zakia!’
A slim figure clad in a full skirt of the richest red matched with a shiny green bodice called from the path leading towards the bougainvillea.
Zakia’s dark eyes glittered with pride. ‘That is my beautiful sister,’ she said. ‘Every man wants her. Her body is like elephant grass, it bends with the wind. I too am going to dance as well as her.’
She turned to go.
Nadine’s heart leapt in panic. ‘Do you have to go? Right now? When will I see you again?’
It could have been urgency or sincerity, but whatever it was, Zakia seemed to recognize the well of emotion in Nadine’s voice.
‘You are right. We must meet again. We dance so well and look so alike – just like sisters. You are only a little paler.’
‘Zakia!’ Her sister called more urgently.
Zakia’s bright face shone. ‘We will dance again? Will you be able to leave your duties in the house? Will the memsahib scold you?’
She let Zakia believe she was only a servant. ‘I can get away.’
Nadine surged with excitement. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Nadine watched breathlessly as the girls bundled their skirts around their waists, and ducked beneath the bushes.
Despite the languorous heat of late afternoon, she stood there long after they’d gone, staring at the hedge.
Chapter Four
Dancing became a habit, their exploits undetected. The pergola was hidden behind a rhododendron with a trunk the size of an oak tree, its basic form obliterated by a variety of climbing plants. No one could see them from the house nor did anyone care where the sahib’s daughter might be. They had too many duties to do. The gardener was the only man they needed to fear, but he could be heard approaching, talking to the flowers or grumbling at the holes left by vermin and mongoose. Her father seemed to prefer that she kept out of his way. She was no longer required to attend the school for young ladies. Whatever plans her father had for her he was keeping to himself.
On the few occasions when she did bump into him, he would eye her thoughtfully but say nothing. Until such time as he spelled out what her future was to be, she would spend her time dancing.
Zakia’s sister never came after that first day when the Grantley-Jameses had been visiting. Nadine asked Zakia the reason why.
‘She has to work.’
‘What does she do?’
‘Please men,’ Zakia said matter-of-factly.
‘And they pay her well?’
Zakia made a kind of scooping motion with her chin – yes with emphasis. ‘My sister knows how to make a man pant for her,’ Zakia explained. ‘The missionaries did not like the nautch dancers – oh, no, they did not. Some scorn us where once they desired us. My sister said so. It is hard to make a living dancing now. That is why she does the other thing. But only sells her hand,’ she said, wiggling her fingers.
‘Does she like it?’ Nadine asked as they sat in the shade drinking lime juice which she’d taken from the kitchen. ‘You know. Using her hand to make a man’s snake spit milk.’
Zakia gulped back most of the jug. ‘If she particularly likes the man she will do more, though she has to like him very, very much. It is a very worthwhile job. Better than sweeping the street or living in a house with a baked-mud floor and a husband who grumbles about his lot in life.’
‘She has no husband?’
‘Of course not. She is married to a tree.’
Nadine burst into laughter. ‘Mr and Mrs Tree!’
Her laughter faded when she saw by Zakia’s expression that she was quite serious. ‘In the old days nautch girls danced at the temple and were married to trees, but their favours were available to anyone who would resume the role of the god. It is not so common now, but still acceptable. Coupling with a woman married to a tree is like fornicating with a god. She is holy because the god is holy.’
Nadine had learned something of Hinduism from Shanti, but couldn’t remember any of this. It occurred to her that Zakia perhaps wasn’t being strictly accurate or was teasing her.
Afternoons with her new friend passed pleasantly. Her dancing improved enormously; submerged memories seeming to break out from a deep well within and run like fluid through her body.
She also learned that Sureya had three children and Zakia one. They had no husbands. The news had shocked her. They were so young.
East of India Page 3