The Mountain Shadow (33 page)

‘Really, Lin, these people are
insupportable
!
I
sit here every day, and every night, year after year. I have urinated rivers in the lavatories here, and subjected myself to food so miserable, for a Frenchman, that you cannot imagine, and all in the cause of a dedicated, and I think it not
too
immodest to say, magnificent, decadence. Me, they treat like a tourist. Abdullah comes only once in a year, and they are dying of love for him. It is infuriating!’

‘In the years that you have been here,’ Abdullah said, sipping his fresh juice, ‘they have come to know the limit of your tolerance. They do not know the limit of what I will do. That is the only difference.’

‘And if you stopped coming here, Didier,’ I added, ‘they’d miss you more than anyone else in the place.’

Didier smiled, mollified, and reached for his glass.

‘Well, you are right, of course, Lin. I have been told, more than once, that I have an unforgettable character. Let us make a toast! To those who will weep, when we are gone!’

‘May they laugh instead!’ I said, clinking glasses with him.

As I sipped my beer, a street tout named Saleh flopped into a chair across from me, knocking Abdullah’s glass, and spilling juice on the table.

‘What a fucking idiot that foreign guy is,’ he said.

‘Stand up,’ Abdullah said.

‘What?’

‘Stand up, or I will break your arms.’

Saleh looked at Didier and me. Didier flapped his fingers at him, suggesting that he stand. Saleh looked at Abdullah again, and slowly stood.

‘Who are you?’ Abdullah demanded.

‘Saleh, boss,’ Saleh answered nervously. ‘My name is Saleh.’

‘Are you a Muslim?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Is this how a Muslim greets people?’

‘What?’

‘If you say
what
again, I will break your arms.’

‘Sorry, boss.
Salaam aleikum.
My name is Saleh.’

‘
Wa aleikum salaam
,’ Abdullah replied. ‘What is your business here?’

‘I . . . I . . . but . . . ’

He wanted to say
what
again, and I hoped he wouldn’t.

‘Tell him, Saleh,’ I said.

‘Okay, okay, I’ve got this camera,’ he said, putting an expensive camera on the table.

‘I do not understand,’ Abdullah frowned. ‘We are sitting here to take refreshment. Why do you tell us this?’

‘He wants to sell it, Abdullah,’ I said. ‘Where did you get it, Saleh?’

‘From those fucking idiot backpackers behind me,’ he said. ‘The two skinny blonde guys. I was hoping you’d want to buy it, Lin. I need money quick, you see.’

‘I do not see,’ Abdullah said.

‘He cheated the backpackers out of their camera, and wants to cash in here,’ I said.

‘They totally fell for my story,’ he said. ‘Fucking idiots.’

‘If you swear again in my company,’ Abdullah said. ‘I will throw you into the traffic.’

Saleh, like any street guy in the same circumstances, wanted to escape. He reached out to take the camera, but Abdullah raised a forbidding finger.

‘Leave it there,’ he said, and Saleh withdrew his hand. ‘By what right do you disturb the peace of other men with your commerce?’

‘R-right?’ Saleh stammered, mystified.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘People come up to me with business all the time, Abdullah.’

‘It is unacceptable,’ he grumbled. ‘How can you do business with men like this, who have no respect, or honour?’

‘Honour?’ Saleh mumbled.

‘See, Saleh, it’s like this,’ I said. ‘
You
see backpackers as victims, ripe for victiming, but we don’t see them that way. We see them as emissaries of empathy.’

‘What?’

Abdullah grabbed his wrist.

‘I’m sorry, boss! I didn’t mean to say it!’

Abdullah released him.

‘What’s the furthest you’ve been from Colaba in your life, Saleh?’

‘I went to see Taj Mahal at Agra once,’ he said. ‘That’s far.’

‘Who went with you?’

‘My wife.’

‘Just your wife?’

‘No, Linbaba, my wife’s sister also, and my parents, and my cousin-brother and his wife, and all the children.’

‘See, Saleh, those guys sitting over there, they’ve got more guts than you have. They put their world on their backs, go into wild places alone, and sleep under the protection of people they only met a few hours before.’

‘They’re just backpackers, man. Meat on the hoof.’

‘The Buddha was a backpacker, travelling around with what he carried. Jesus was a backpacker, lost to the world for years in travelling. We’re all backpackers, Saleh. We come in with nothing, carry our stuff for a while, and go out with nothing. And when you kill a backpacker’s happiness, you kill mine.’

‘I’m . . . I’m a businessman,’ he mumbled.

‘How much did you pay them, Saleh?’

‘I can’t tell you
that
,’ Saleh demurred, his face dissolving in sly. ‘But I can say that it wasn’t more than twenty per cent. I’ll take twenty-five, if you’ve got it.’

Abdullah seized him by the wrist again. I knew the grip. It started out bad, and got worse.

‘Are you refusing to tell the truth?’ Abdullah demanded.

He turned to me.

‘Is this how you do your business, Lin brother? With untruthful men? I will give you this man’s tongue, in your hand.’

‘My
tongue
?’ Saleh squeaked.

‘I have been told,’ Didier recollected, ‘that a certain loathsome woman, named Madame Zhou, uses a human tongue as her powder puff.’

Saleh pulled his hand free and ran, leaving the camera. There was a pause, while we hummed the incident in silence.

‘Please, Abdullah,’ I said after a while, ‘don’t cut out his tongue.’

‘Something more lenient?’

‘No. Let it go.’

‘I always say,’ Didier observed, ‘if you can’t say something nice about someone, rob him and shoot him.’

‘Sage words,’ Abdullah mused.

‘Sage words?’

‘It is self-evident, Lin,’ Didier said.

Abdullah nodded agreement.

‘Just because you can’t find something
nice
to say about someone?’

‘Certainly, Lin. I mean, if you cannot find even one nice thing to say about a man, he must be an absolute swine. And all of us, who have experience of life, know that sooner or later, an absolute swine will cause you grief, or regret, or both. It is simply a prudent precaution to beat and rob negative people, before they beat and rob you. Self-defence, it seems to me.’

‘If these waiters knew you as we do, Didier,’ Abdullah said, ‘they would treat you with more respect.’

‘That is undoubtedly true,’ Didier concurred. ‘The more one knows Didier, the more one loves and respects Didier.’

I stood, leaving my glass.

‘But, you’re not
going
?’ Didier protested.

‘I just came in to give you something. I’ve gotta get home, and get changed. We’re going out to dinner tonight, with Ranjit and Karla.’

I unsnapped the stainless steel bracelet from my wrist, and slid the watch off over my hand. For a moment I felt the little clench of regret in losing something that I’d wanted too much. I handed the watch to Didier.

He examined it, turning it over to read the text on the back, and then held it to his ear, listening to the click-whirr of the mechanism.

‘But . . . it is a fine watch!’ Didier gasped. ‘A beautiful instrument. Is it . . . is it really for
me
?’

‘Sure, it is. Try it on.’

Didier snapped the bracelet shut on his wrist, and turned his hand up and down, left and right, to admire the watch.

‘It suits you,’ I said, standing to leave. ‘You coming, Abdullah?’

‘In fact, my brother, there is a beautiful woman, sitting in the corner,’ Abdullah said gravely, his eyes fixed to mine. ‘She has been staring at me, for the last fifteen minutes.’

‘I noticed.’

‘I think I will remain here with Didier, for some time.’

‘Waiter!’ Didier called out quickly. ‘Another pomegranate juice! No ice!’

I scooped up the camera and took a step away from the table, but Didier stood as well, and rushed to stop me.

‘You will see Karla tonight?’ he asked, leaning in close to me.

‘That’s the plan.’

‘This is
your
idea?’

‘No.’

‘It is
Karla’s
idea?’

‘No.’

‘Then, who would do such a diabolical thing?’

‘Lisa set it up. Kind of a short notice thing. I only heard about it an hour ago. I got a note, while I was sitting at Edward’s bar. What’s the problem?’

‘Can you not find some excuse? Some way not to be there?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t know what she has in mind, but Lisa’s note said she wants me to be there.’

‘Lin, it has been almost two years since you have seen Karla.’

‘I know.’

‘But . . . in matters of the heart, of love –’

‘I know.’

‘– those two years are simply two heartbeats.’

‘I –’

‘No, please! Let me say it. Lin . . . you are . . . you are in a darker place than you were two years ago. You are a darker man that you were when you first arrived in Bombay. I have never said this to you. I am ashamed to say that a part of me was glad to see it, at first. It was comforting. I was glad of the company, you might say.’

He was almost whispering, and speaking in a fluid rush of syllables so swift that it was more like a prayer, or incantation, than a shared confidence.

‘What are you talking about, Didier?’

‘I feel for Karla, perhaps as much as you do, in my way. But being away from
her
did this to you. Loving her and losing her sent you into this shadow, and made you a darker man than God intended you to be.’

‘God?’

‘I worry, Lin. I worry about what will open, inside you, if you see her again. Some bridges, they should remain burned. Some rivers, they should not be crossed.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Perhaps, if I were to accompany you? I’m more than a match for her wit, as the world knows.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Then, if you are determined to see her, perhaps I should arrange a rather inconvenient accident for Ranjit? One that prevents him from attending?’

‘No accidents.’

‘An unfortunate delay, then?’

‘How about we let nature take its course, Didier.’

‘That is exactly my fear,’ he sighed, ‘if you see Karla again.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Well . . . ’ he murmured, lowering his eyes, and glancing at the watch I’d given him. ‘Thank you for the watch. I will always treasure it.’

‘Look after Abdullah, with that pretty girl in the corner.’

‘I know. We tough guys, we fall fast, and we fall hard. Alas, it is the story of my life. I remember the time –’

‘So do I, brother,’ I laughed, turning to leave. ‘So do I.’

I passed by the two thin backpackers, who were eating for four, with four hands. I put the camera on the table.

‘It’s worth a grand, US, in the stores here,’ I said, ‘and any street guy in Bombay will get six for it, and an honest one will give you five back.’

‘He gave us a hundred, and promised to get more,’ one of the men said.

‘He’ll be hanging around,’ I said. ‘And he’ll want his hundred back. There’s a waiter here, named Sweetie. He does a little on the side. He’s a surly motherfucker, but you can trust him. You can do the deal, give Saleh his money back, and be in front. Be safe.’

‘Thank you,’ they both said.

They looked like brothers, and wherever they’d been in India, it had hungered them.

‘Will you join us?’

‘I’m on my way to dinner,’ I smiled. ‘Thanks all the same.’

I walked outside to the bike. Abdullah and Didier raised their hands in farewell, Didier holding an imaginary camera, and sarcastically taking my photo, for helping out two strangers.

I turned away, watching the traffic shuffle beside the bullying shoulder of a bus. Didier and Abdullah: men so different, and yet brothers, in so many ways. I thought of the things we three unwise men had done, together and alone, since we’d met as exiles in the Island City. There were things we regretted, and things buried. But there were also things of triumph, and light. When love cut one of us, the others cauterised with sarcasm. When one had to become two, the others brought their guns. When hope faltered in one, the others filled the hollowness with loyalty. And I felt that loyalty like a hand on my chest, as I looked back at them, and I hoped hard for them, and for myself.