The Mountain Shadow (102 page)

‘Maybe you’re right. She almost kissed me that night, remember?’

‘She told you to shut up, and kiss her. Maybe you should do that.’

‘You know,’ he mused, ‘the new Diva, man, she’s taking some getting used to. I always knew what the old Diva was thinking, and what she’d say. Happy, smiling Diva is impossible to read. It’s like snow on the radar. It’s like I have to fall in love with the same woman all over again.’

‘You know, I read a book once, called
Women for Idiots
.’

‘What did you find out?’

‘I couldn’t make head or tail of it. But it confirmed a point from my own messed-up experience, which is that you can’t know what’s in a woman’s mind, until she tells you. And to do that, you have to ask her. One of these days, you’ve gotta ask that girl if it’s a serious thing.’

‘You think I should take the job?’

‘Of course not. You worked for her father. Now, you’re on your own. She’ll respect a
no
more than a
yes
. She’ll probably find another way to keep you close.’

He stood to leave, offering to wash his glass. I put it back on the table.

‘You’re a good man, Naveen,’ I said. ‘And she knows how good you are.’

He turned to leave, but spun around quickly, boxer-ballet.

‘Hey, don’t forget the race tonight.’

‘What race?’

‘You haven’t heard? Charu and Pari went to the slum, and I challenged Benicia to race me. It’s all set.’

‘Benicia agreed?’

‘She’s into it.’

‘Did you meet her?’

‘Kind of. See you later.’

‘Wait a minute.
Kind
of?’

He relaxed again, but avoided my eyes as he leaned against the door jamb.

‘I set up a meeting with her, to buy jewellery,’ he said. ‘It’s the only way to see her. She’s not an easy girl to reach. She sat me down on a carpet, in this very old apartment. She rents it for her business. And she did the whole transaction in a niqab.’

‘The full black cover, or just the black mask?’

‘Just the mask. And those eyes, man, I swear.’

‘Is she a Muslim?’

‘No. I asked her that, and she said no. She just digs the niqab. It’s not really a niqab. It’s actually just sunglasses that cover her face, and only leave the eyes unshaded. She must’ve had them specially made. Those eyes, man, I swear.’

‘A masked hero. Karla’s gonna love her.’

‘Those eyes, man,’ he said again. ‘I swear.’

‘Settle down, Naveen. How did it go, with Benicia?’

‘I did the deal, and bought a bunch of Rajasthani jewellery as a show of good faith, and then explained the situation to her. She agreed, but on one condition.’

‘Ah, terms and conditions always apply.’

‘I have to go on a date with her.’

‘If you win, or if you lose?’

‘Win, lose or draw.’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘No, I’m serious.’

‘Damn, Naveen. Diva’s not gonna see it in a rosy light that you’re on a date with an enigma, who happens to ride a vintage 350cc motorcycle faster than anyone in Bombay.’

‘Anyone but me,’ Naveen said. ‘I’ve been practising, Lin. I’m fast.’

‘You better be fast, when Diva hears about the date.’

‘It’s a done deal,’ he said.

‘Well, Diva will definitely kick your ass for this, but you’re racking up some legend points with Didier, kid. He’s gonna go nuts when he hears about it.’

‘He already knows. Everybody knows. Everyone . . . but Diva. I thought
you
knew.’

I didn’t know. No-one had told me. Somehow, I was disconnected from a world of friendship I’d helped to build.

‘Where’s the race?’

‘Air India building, Marine Drive, Pedder Road, and back again, three times.’

‘Where are you turning on Pedder Road?’

‘The last signal before Haji Ali.’

‘When?’

‘At midnight.’

‘The cops are gonna love it.’

‘The cops are helping us. They’re maintaining traffic security, and we’re so grateful for their cooperation, so to speak, that we paid them what they asked, which wasn’t cheap. We had to bring them in. We needed their police radios to call the race. There’s a lot of money on this.’

‘Some of it mine,’ I laughed.

‘You know,’ he said hesitantly, ‘on the spur of the moment, with the race in my mind and all, I totally didn’t think about what Diva would make of it, if I went out with Benicia on a date.’

‘You can’t blame this on the moment, Naveen.’

‘But, if I was still with the old Diva, you know, who hit me in the balls every time I stood up, it couldn’t have happened.’

‘Bring new Diva along on the date. Benicia might like her. And Diva likes jewellery.’

‘It’s not that kind of date Benicia has in mind.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Those eyes,’ he said. ‘She did this . . . she was . . . you had to be there, but there’s no mistake. It’s more than a date she’s got in mind.’

‘And you agreed to that?’

‘I told you, I was carried away.’

‘Call off the bet.’

‘I can’t do that. Too many people have put too much money on the race. I’ve gotta give it all I’ve got.’

‘Well, when you have the date with Benicia, tell her you’re in love with another girl. Tell her then what you should’ve told her when she asked for a more-than-date, through her sunglasses niqab.’

‘I feel shitty,’ he said.

‘Don’t feel shitty. Win the race, and make it right.’

He hugged me so intensely that I was standing in a river, and water was rushing past me, chest high, just gently enough not to knock me off balance.

He dashed through the door.

‘See you there!’ he said, starting down the stairs.

‘Wait!’ I called, and he sprinted back to stand on the top step.

‘That girl, Vinson’s friend, Rannveig.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, standing on one foot, a deer waiting for velocity. ‘I spoke to him before. He’s with Didier, in the office.’

‘She’s a friend of
mine
as well. If you’re trying to find her, go spiritual. That’s where I’d start.’

‘Okay, spiritual. Got it. Anything else?’

‘No. Run.’

He jumped and bumped his way down the stairs.

For some reason, I wanted to close the door, lock the locks, clean my gun, sharpen my knives, write things, and get drunk enough to miss the race. In that moment, I didn’t want to know anything else, about anyone else’s love drama.

I stood up and walked toward the door, but Vinson beat me to it.

‘Got a minute?’

‘Fuck it, man, who hasn’t got a minute? And who doesn’t know that it’ll take a lot longer than a minute? Everybody. So leave your self-deprecating passive aggression at the door, come in, park your carcass on Oleg’s sofa, have a beer, and tell me what’s on your mind, or what’s on Oleg’s mind, if you’d care to guess.’

‘You’re in a mood,’ he said, sitting.

I threw him a beer.

‘Nice couch,’ he said. ‘Who’s Oleg?’

‘What’s on your mind, Vinson?’

He talked about her, that girl from the North Lands who carried the ice in her eyes wherever she went. He blamed himself for being overprotective, for making her feel like a prisoner, for withholding his affection, and for all the other wrong things.

‘
You’re
the prisoner, man,’ I said.

‘
I’m
the prisoner?’

‘You’re chained to what you do, Vinson. And she’s a free bird.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t want to talk about Rannveig unless she’s here to join in the conversation,’ I said. ‘But I’ll just say that I think she’s a sensitive person, and what you’re doing hurts something inside her. Her last boyfriend died at the business end of heroin, remember?’

‘I don’t take heroin.’

‘You’re a drug dealer, Vinson.’

‘I’ve kept her away from it,’ he said defensively. ‘She doesn’t know anything about what I do.’

‘Well, knowing that girl the little that I do, I think it matters to her what you do. I don’t know, Vinson, but I think it might come to a choice you’ll have to make, between the money and the girl.’

‘I can’t, like, live the way that I do, you know, without the money I make. I live big, Lin, and I like it.’

‘Live smaller.’

‘But Rannveig –’

‘Rannveig will love it, so long as you bring the maid. She likes your maid.’

‘I’ll have to find her, first.’

‘You’ll find her. Or she’ll find you. She’s a smart girl. She’s stronger than she looks. She’ll be alright.’

‘Thanks, Lin,’ he said, standing to leave.

‘What for?’

‘For not thinking I’m stupid to care so much. To love her so much. The cops think I’m crazy.’

‘The cops think that anyone who walks into a police station voluntarily is crazy, and they’ve got a point.’

‘Do you really think she’ll come back to me?’

‘She might come back to you, but not to what you do.’

He walked down the stairs slowly, shaking his worried head.

Faith is unconditional love, and love is unconditional faith. Vinson, Naveen and I were men in love, without the women we loved, and faith was a tree without shade. I hoped Vinson was lucky, and that Rannveig wanted to be found. I hoped that Diva would give Naveen the shelter of certainty. And I hoped that Karla’s scheme, whatever it was, wouldn’t cost us what we almost had.

Chapter Sixty-Five

I
ALMOST HAD THE DOOR CLOSED,
but Didier pressed his hand against it from the other side, and pushed it open.

‘I have a problem,’ he said, throwing himself on the couch.

‘I should charge this couch by the hour,’ I said. ‘It’s busier than I am.’

‘There is a special party, tonight.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘A costume party.’

‘I’m closing the door, Didier.’

‘There were only two costumes left, at the best costumier, and I have put them both on hold, but I cannot choose.’

‘What did they have?’

‘A gladiator, and a ballerina.’

‘I don’t see the problem.’

‘The
problem
? You do not see the problem? Didier is perfect for both roles, quite obviously, so it is impossible to decide between them.’

‘I see.’

‘Lin, what shall I do?’

‘My advice,’ I said, channelling the energy of Oleg’s couch, ‘is to wear the gladiator to the waist, and the ballerina from the waist down. You’ll be a gladerina.’

‘A gladerina,’ he said, rushing to the door. ‘I must try it on, immediately.’

He shuffled down the steps, and I shuffled to the door, finally succeeding in closing it for a while. And I should’ve been happy, but I wasn’t. I didn’t like closed doors, pretty much anywhere. I didn’t like the closed doors in my dreams: the ones I pounded on, night after night.

I settled in my chair, but I couldn’t write. I stared at the locked door for a minute too long, and I was all the way back there in a cage.

Every blow struck against a chained man, every injection to pacify rebellion, every electrocution of will is an insult to what we’ll be, when we become what we’re destined to be. Time is a membrane, a connective tissue, and it can be bruised. Time can’t heal all wounds: Time
is
all wounds. Only love and forgiveness heal all wounds.

Hatred always leaves a stain on the veil. But sometimes the hatred isn’t your own. Sometimes you’re chained, and the hatred beaten into you is another man’s, grown in a different heart, and it takes longer than a fading bruise to forget.

Even if we find a way, some day, to weave the strands of love and faith we find along the way, a blemish always remains on the skin of what can’t be forgotten: the yesterday that stares back at you, when you look at a closed door.

For a while I was a lost son, drifting away from friends, drifting away from love, turning a key in memories of fear, anger, uprising, a prison riot, the chapel burning, guards in armour, men willing to die rather than put up with another day of it, just as I was ready to die, when I stood on the wall, and escaped.

Time, too, will die, just as we do, when the universe dies, and is born again. Time’s a living thing, just as we are, with birth, longevity, and extinction. Time has a heartbeat, but it isn’t ours, no matter how much of ourselves we sacrifice to it. We don’t need Time. Time needs us. Even Time loves company.