1977 (37 page)

while we’re at it we may as well have in a few extra tins of stuff from Jalal-ud-Din’s. Here is

the extra money, and do, Ibrahim, please get a tonga back, because you can’t possibly carry it

all. If you find things more expensive than I’ve put down tell Jalad-ud-Din I’ll settle the

balance during the week.”

“Memsahib, what of drink?”

“Well, yes, we’ll need more drink, but I think that is Burra Sahib’s responsibility. I’ll discuss

it with him when I get back, round about 10.15 or 10.30. What I want you to do directly I’ve

gone is give him his tea and then make his breakfast, and then go down to the bazaar. We

can all meet up again at about 10.30 and have a little conference, and then Sahib can take

Bloxsaw for a walk and buy the booze.”

She checked her handbag. She had the money to pay Susy. She had the scarf to put round

her newly set head in case there was a breeze when she came out of the Seraglio. She

collected her things, went down the steps to the path—and paused.

The canna lilies are in bloom again
(she thought)
such a strange flower
. That was from
Stage Door
:

that lovely scene when Katie Hepburn had just been told that Andrea Leeds had killed

herself because she’d so badly wanted the part Katie was to play. She was told just before

she made her entrance; and went on to a personal triumph no one had expected.

“Ibrahim?” she called.

“Memsahib?” He came down.

“Shouldn’t these have been watered this morning? They look so terribly dry and parched

poor things.”

“I will tell
mali
, Memsahib.”

He watched her go. She took the side path to the side entrance where the Shiraz loomed.

She paused again, bent and touched the petals of a potted petunia. Then he went indoors,

put a kettle on, set up Smalley Sahib’s breakfast tray. At eight-thirty he took the bed tea in

and opened the curtains. He went to the garage to let Bloxsaw out. The creature slunk to the

verandah and lay down again. Then he cut bread for toast, put the water for Sahib’s boiled

egg on to simmer in a pan. Simmer or boil over. Who could tell?

Ten minutes later Mr Bhoolabhoy was back in his cubby-hole with a flea in his ear and the

letter to retype. He said to himself: I do not care. It is all up with me, too. Why should I

bother myself about Colonel and Mrs Smalley?

Dear Colonel Smalley,

Beg to inform you this hotel and annexe currently subject of planning development under

new company ownership and notice hereby given that as from July 1 next coming tenancy of

Lodge only extendable on weekly basis with one week’s notice. I therefore advise you in

good time to look for alternative accommodation in very near future. Meanwhile please

accept this letter as notice to be prepared to quit on June 30 next coming.

Yours faithfully,

L. Bhoolabhoy. Prop.

Even this short version took him a long time and several attempts to compose. By the time

he’d got it right and had nothing more to do than make a clean top copy for Mrs

Bhoolabhoy to sign, plus an extra carbon for Mr Pandey to take back to Ranpur on the

midday train, it was nine o’clock.

“Sahib,” Ibrahim called, placing Tusker Sahib’s tray on the verandah table. “Breakfast.”

Tusker Sahib, dressed but not yet shaven, was down in the garden, just below the verandah,

looking at the canna lilies. Bloxsaw was meandering, dogging Tusker’s footsteps. “Oh, for

God’s sake bugger off,” Tusker Sahib said, and pushed the creature with his foot. “Ibrahim!”

“Sahib?”

“The canna lilies haven’t been watered. Why the hell not?”

“Memsahib asking same question, Sahib. Answer from
mali
is that pukka watercan this

morning not available. He has found old watercan, but badly leaking. Now being repaired.

Presently he will water canna lilies.”

The Sahib clumped up on to the verandah. He had to kick the dog out of the way again.

“You don’t need a watering can just to water a bed of lilies. There’s such a thing as a bucket

or is there a hole in that too? And why isn’t the pukka watering can available?”

Not wanting to get involved in a discussion about the availability or non-availability of

tools or about whose
mali
was whose he said, “Perhaps leaking worse than old one. Sahib,

breakfast.”

“Well I’m not blind. Where’s Memsahib?”

“Gone to hairdresser. Back 10.30. Sahib has all needed? Tea, toast, marmalade, four-minute

egg.
Times of India
?”

“
Dak
?”

“No
dak
this morning yet, Sahib.”

“Why not? Not even a bill? Never did enjoy breakfast when there’s no
dak
. Go and write

me a letter you lazy sod. Better still get this damned dog off me and take him for walkies.”

“Yes, Sahib. Soon I will do. Just now I shut Bloxsaw in garage.”

“I said take him for a walk,
now
. You can get me a new stick of shaving soap in the
bazaar

while you’re at it. And hurry back.”

“Yes, Sahib. I will do this. I will take Bloxsaw for a walk. But not in the bazaar, Sahib. He is

not a well-trained dog. If not on lead he runs hither and thither after other dogs and gives

trouble to all and sundry because thinking only of copulation.”

“Then put him on the lead.”

“Sahib, the point is that I cannot for the moment take Bloxsaw for a walk on or off the

lead. To begin with there is the live chicken to bargain for and I would not put it past that

shaitan of a dog to gobble it up on the way home.”

“I asked you for a stick of bloody shaving soap not a live chicken! “

“This is understood, Sahib. It is Memsahib who ordered the chicken.” He got the lists out

of his pocket. “And all these many things. Many arms full, many baskets. Memsahib has said

I must come back with them in a tonga. I do not see how I can buy all these things and

come back with them in a tonga with the dog sitting at the front or trotting behind.”

He smiled, assuming that Tusker Sahib would see the point and smile too. But the Sahib

didn’t smile. He said, “Show me the list.”

“Dinner for tonight, Sahib,” he reminded him. “Also stocking up for visitor from Yookay.”

Tusker Sahib studied the list. He said, “Did Memsahib give you the money?”

“Yes, Sahib.”

“Give it to me.”

Ibrahim did so.

“You can forget all this. Just take Bloxsaw for his walk and buy my stick of shaving soap.”

He poured himself a cup of tea. “
Bus
.”

Bus
. Meaning that’s all. Bugger off. Get lost. Scram.

“Sahib?”

“I said
bus
. And get this sodding dog from under my feet.”

Shaitan
, Ibrahim thought. Male isshovanist pig. Like his own brother-in-law. In Finsbury

Park his sister had cried and begged him to bring her back to India with him that time the

law caught up with him because he’d outstayed his welcome and his visa. His brother-in-law

was a shit. Eight pounds a head from twelve tenants and only one loo, none daring to

complain because from time to time there were more heads in the house than there should

have been, some living in cupboards. His brother-in-law was a blackmailing swindling

bastard who treated his wife like a servant. Englishmen Like the Sahib were just as bad. As

bad as Muslim bugger-fellows, Brahmin bugger-fellows, Western Punjabis, Banyas, Bengalis

and Rajput princes. All bugger-fellows.

“I said
Bus
!” Smalley Sahib repeated.

“Ibrahim is not yet deaf, Colonel Sahib.”

“Well sod off then, and take the bloody dog with you. And get my shaving stick.”

“Sahib, it is a question of shopping first and walking dog afterwards. Also Memsahib is

saying Colonel Sahib will take Bloxsaw for walk when going to get the booze.”

As if cued by an invisible and ill-intentioned prompter the dog began to whine and pace up

and down. Tusker Sahib shot out of his chair, grabbed the dog’s collar and dragged it down

the steps and into the garage and there locked it in. When he got back he said, “You’re

fired.”

Ibrahim sighed and put his hands behind his back. “Yes, Sahib. But shopping for

Memsahib first, then fired, then three weeks pay due.”

The next bit amazed him. Tusker Sahib took his wallet from his trouser pocket, counted

money, handed some notes and said, “Now get out. Go on get out. Pack your things and

go.”

Ibrahim did not take the money at once. “Why are you doing this to me, Colonel Sahib?”

he asked. “What is a man to do who is told this thing by the mistress and another by the

master? One moment it is imperative to go to the bazaar and bargain for chicken and have

its throat slit and feathers plucked and get it dressed and by the will of Allah get it cooked

and serve it cold with salad and hors d’oeuvres and anchovies on toast to follow and the

next moment it is a question of shaving soap and taking the dog for a walk. Ibrahim can

have coped with all these things but not all at once. Whose orders is he supposed to obey?”

“If you’d ever been a soldier you wouldn’t ask that,” Tusker shouted. “The last order.

Always the last. And you know what that is. Get out!”

Ibrahim picked the money up from the table where Sahib had thrown it. It was best not to

prolong these scenes. “May Ibrahim ask before he gets out how Memsahib will manage to

arrange dinner for four this evening?”

“No, Ibrahim may not ask. It’s no bloody business of Ibrahim’s. Who do you think you

are? I’ve paid you off. Get off. Get out. Piss off.”

Ibrahim went. He glanced at his watch. 9.15. He waited for a moment inside the bungalow

in case the Sahib cried for help because the egg was off, but the only sound was that of

Bloxsaw beginning to whine. He went out to find Joseph and tell him to pack his bags too.
I

do not want the garden to go jungly. I have no intention of letting it go jungly
, Memsahib had said. In

spite of being paid off on the spot for once, the business of reinstatement should not take

long. “He is, after all, my
mali
,” Ibrahim murmured. “One out all out.”

At the back of the bungalow he came face to face with Minnie. She gave him an envelope

which was addressed to Smalley Sahib.

“Much trouble,” she said.

“Good. Good. For me also, my dove, much trouble. Sacked again.” He nibbled at her ear

and tweaked her nipples and muttered his tale so that she laughed, pressed herself against his

hardening organ and ran. A little stooped, he went back to the Burra Sahib.

“A letter, Sahib. Just now come.”

“I told you to get out! You’ve got your money, so go, now.
Ek dam
.”

“From management,” Ibrahim said, putting the letter on the breakfast table. “Shall not

trouble household further. Only performing last duty. The world collapses around one’s

head. So it is written. Salaam Aleikum.”

Bloxsaw was now banging the garage door. Ibrahim waited inside The Lodge for a few

moments. Then he heard Burras Sahib shout, “The bitch! The bloody bitch!” and scrape his

chair back to go and sort her out. Smiling, Ibrahim left by the back way, found
mali
behind

the garage still at work on the watering can and said, “Leave that. We are dismissed. One out

all out.”

Fifteen minutes later they were squatting outside the Shiraz, with bed-rolls and token

luggage, waiting for the Memsahib to emerge so that negotiations could begin.

Mr Bhoolabhoy backed away from the bed of crimson canna lilies where Tusker lay, dead

eyes open, face purple, one hand stretched out, the letter clutched in it, so that the hand

looked like something alien planted among the lilies and the letter like the white flesh of its

unexpected, unplanned for flower. And Mr Bhoolabhoy ran wild. He ran wild through The

Lodge and found it empty so ran out again to the garage where the howling creature he had

been sent to complain about suddenly began pounding on the door. This terrified him. He

backed away and turned, was again confronted by the body in the canna lily bed. He ran wild

across the garden, back into the hotel, pushed into Lila’s room, pushed Minnie out, slammed

the door and approached the bed on which his wife lay writhing like an enormous pink

caterpillar. He gathered her into his arms.

“My Love,” he whispered, “My Love, my Lila. He is dead, he is dead.” He closed his

mouth on hers before she could protest and got his hands round her neck, shaping them for

strangulation or adoration. He pressed his body on her with all his strength to keep her

pinioned. But she was the stronger. He felt himself being lifted and heaved. He fell on the

floor with a thud. She sat up.

“Who is dead?”

He told her. He described it.

“Where is the letter?” she demanded, leaning over and breathing into his face.

“In his hand.”

She reached down and grabbed his shirt. “Get it!”