A Garland of Marigolds (4 page)

Fortunately I didn
’
t have to make any comment because at that moment the men squashed
themselves
in on top of us and the taxi moved off, with a
curious limping
motion, toward Delhi. I had never been close
to
Gideon before and the experience was a curiously unnerving one. His frame was as hard as the unpadded sides of the taxi and
there
was
little
to choose as to which was doing the more damage to my own more sensitive frame.

The
road from Palam
Airport
ran through miles of deserted land.
I
craned my neck to see the state of the soil, but all I could see was
empty
country, lying idle, the occasional tomb and a few obviously new housing developments.

Then
we
were in New Delhi itself, a large, sprawling garden city,
with lots
of trees and large flower gardens and, apparently, not many
people.

“
Disappointed?
”
Gideon asked. His mouth was so close to my ear that
I jumped
despite myself.

“
I can
’
t see
very much
of it,
”
I answered.

He leaned
back obligingly
and pointed out the main sights to me.
“
That
’
s
the Prime Minister
’
s
house.
”

I peered
around him in time
to see the white stuccoed house with its guards in
white and crimson
with terrific, highly starched turbans.

“
Where are all the
people?
”
I
asked aloud, and then wished I hadn
’
t, because it
sounded so silly and
naive.

He smiled and his
face lost all trace
of its
former
hostility.
“
It surprised me at
first, too,
”
he
admitted.
“
Actually most of the people are in Old Delhi,
but Indian crowds
are always silent. I
’
ve seen several millions crowding
onto the
banks of the river on a holy day and there
’
s hardly been a
sound.
”

I felt a tingling sensation of excitement
at the
picture his words conjured up, but I had no time to daydream then, for the taxi arrived at the hotel. We drew up with a flourish, the doors flew open and suddenly we were standing on the burning pavement outside
the
imposing Victorian entrance to the hotel. A doorman stepped forward
with
incomparable dignity.

“
Sahib Wait, you are expected, sir,
”
he greeted us.
“
And all your party,
”
he added expansively.

We were led toward the reception desk and then taken to our rooms in a very grand procession. It appeared that each of us had been allotted separate rooms that looked out onto a mutual terrace where we could all meet
for
breakfast.

Camilla, highly delighted
with
her new surroundings, sighed with satisfaction.
“
I can almost believe we
’
re here.
”

Her brother grinned.

“
We
’
ll go across into Old
Delhi and
then you
’
ll completely believe it!
”
he told her.

“
Is it terribly old?
”
she asked him, her eyes round with excitement.

“
Well, no, I suppose not,
”
he admitted.
“
There have been nine Delhis within historical memory, which is one of the reasons one
can
spend so much time getting from one place to another. New Delhi
was built by the
British, Old Delhi by a Moslem overlord, and
the rest are mainly of archaeological
interest
only.
”
Camilla
eyed him uncertainly.
“
You planned this deliberately,
didn
’
t
you? So that we should see it?
”

Gideon shrugged his shoulders.
“
There won
’
t be much time once we start work,
”
he explained.
“
I
’
m afraid it may be dull for you.
”
But Camilla shook her head, her eyes glowing.

“
Never!
”
she averred.
“
I
’
m completely happy to
be
here.
”
He smiled at her with real affection.

“
Good,
”
he said.

I moved away from them and went into my own room. It was large and spacious, and I was secretly rather impressed that it should have been allotted to me. The bed was enormous, a relic from a previous age, elaborately carved with trumpeting elephants. Over it hung a mosquito net, tied in a neat knot
to
keep it out of the way. On the floor were several Indian rugs and a number of rickety tables with collapsible legs. I fingered them experimentally, admiring the heavy worked-metal
tops,
especially the one made of copper that glowed almost pink in the dim light. Evening was approaching.

From the window I could see the city spread out before me, with
its
wide streets and the pleasant flower gardens left behind by the British. Once again I marveled at how few people there were about and wondered where they were hiding. A young woman dressed in the Punjabi pyjama trousers, worn very tight, moved slowly past on a bicycle. I leaned out a little farther to see her go, wondering if she were a common sight or one of the few emancipated women who went about on her own.

As I turned away from the window there was a sharp rap at the door. I went over and opened it carefully. Joseph Groton grinned cheerfully at me.

“
I thought I
’
d come along and get to know you,
”
he began.
“
May I come in?
”

I stood back to let him enter, a shade doubtful as to whether it was a good idea to have him in my room.

“
Where are the others?
”
I asked.

He strode over to the window and peered down into the street.
“
I suggested they go off on their own and see some of the sights. Camilla hasn
’
t had much time with her brother.
”
He glanced at me over his shoulder.
“
Do you mind?
”

I shook my head, still a little wary.
“
Why should I?
”
I asked abruptly.
“
It
’
s none of my business.
”

He swung around on his heel.

“
What a prickly creature you are! You wouldn
’
t be averse to making it your business, would
you?
”

I frowned at him.
“
I have always found it best,
”
I said coldly,
“
to leave members of any family alone together.
”

To my surprise he laughed.
“
My, my, what virtue!
”
he mocked.
“
Actually, the reason I told you was so you would understand
why
your evening entertainment rests in my capable hands.
”

“
You don
’
t have to put yourself out for me, Mr. Groton,
”
I said. His eyes narrowed with temper.
“
What
’
s the matter with
you?
Are you always like this? Or did someone slap you when
you
expected a kiss?
”

I flushed. His words were nearer
the
truth than I
liked.
“
I
’
m sorry. I suppose I
’
m tired after
all
the
traveling.
”

He was easily placated. His features relaxed and he
smiled.
“
It doesn
’
t matter,
”
he assured me.
“
I
’
ve been looking
forward
to showing you around. And
please, it
isn
’
t Mr. Groton,
it
’
s just
plain Joe as far as you
’
re concerned.
”

He was very sweet, I thought.

“
My name is Susan,
”
I told him.
“
Most
people
call me
Suki, though.
”

“
Okay, Suki!
”
He extended
his right
hand
and we
solemnly shook hands.

“
Hello, Joe,
”
I replied.

He was very easy to be
with.
From
one of his pockets
he produced one of those neat
guides that Americans always
seem to have, packed with facts
written in an easy-to-read style.
He leafed through
it
with
deep concentration until he came to the
section he wanted.

“
Ah, Delhi,
”
he
muttered.
“
We have quite an evening
in front of us. I think we
’
d better
get a taxi and go over to Old
Delhi first. Does that
suit you?
”

I abandoned,
quite easily, my previous idea of an
early night. It would be
much
more
fun to go with Joe.

Old Delhi was the
India of my dreams. The
ancient Mogul mosques
bore
witness
to the Moslemic religion,
by
no means the only immediately
visible
creed. The
Jains,
who refuse to kill any living creature, had erected bird
hospitals beside
their temples and, it seemed to me,
there
were a
hundred more
religious structures, all equally
colorful and quite unlike anything
I had ever seen. The people, too, were
truly of the East. The
raucous traffic strove with
a
thousand
bicycles, the walking
skeletons of the holy cows, and the Indian conviction
that he
would be better off in the middle of the road no matter
what the
hazards. The rickshaws, pulled along by hungry-looking
individuals
on bicycles, wove in and out of the high-powered
cars
with
a breathless
unconcern for life and limb. While there
were cars by the
hundred, the Indian heart and mind was still
with
the
ox cart and a
more sober pace of living. Speed and
death merely gave
a tang to the endless excitement of living.