A Fine Balance (45 page)

Evening deepened the shadows in the room, but Maneck did not bother with the light. His whimsical thoughts about chess suddenly acquired a dark, depressing hue in the dusk. Everything was under threat, and so complicated. The game was pitiless. The carnage upon the chessboard of life left wounded human beings in its wake. Avinash’s father with tuberculosis, his three sisters waiting for their dowries, Dina Aunty struggling to survive her misfortunes, Daddy crushed and brokenhearted while Mummy pretended he was going to be his strong, smiling self again, and their son would return after a year of college, start bottling Kohlah’s Cola in the cellar, and their lives would be full of hope and happiness once more, like the time before he was sent away to boarding school. But pretending only worked in the world of childhood, things would never be the same again. Life seemed so hopeless, with nothing but misery for everyone…

He slapped shut the folding chessboard: a puff of air kissed his face. Where his cheeks were wet with tears, the kiss felt cold. He dried his eyes and slapped the two sides together again, like bellows, then fanned himself with the board.

Dina Aunty’s call of “Dinnertime,” when it finally came, was like a release from jail. He was at the table instantly, hovering about, not sitting till his place was indicated.

“Have you got a cold?” she asked. “Your eyes look watery.”

“No, I was resting.” She didn’t miss much, he thought.

“I forgot to ask yesterday – do you prefer knife and fork, or fingers?”

“Anything, it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you do at home?”

“We use cutlery.”

She set a knife, fork, and spoon around his plate, leaving hers unadorned, and brought the food to the table.

“I can also eat with fingers,” he protested. “You don’t have to give me special treatment.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cheap stainless steel is not special.” She filled his plate and sat opposite him. “When I was young, we always had proper place settings. Sterling silver. My father was very particular about such matters. After he died our habits changed. Especially when my brother Nusswan married Ruby. She got rid of it. She said we didn’t need to ape foreigners while God had given us perfectly good fingers. Which is true in a way. But I think she was just lazy about cleaning all the cutlery.”

Halfway through the meal Dina washed her hands and fetched a knife and fork for herself. “You’ve inspired me,” she smiled. “It’s been twenty-five years since I used these things.”

He looked away, trying not to make her fingers nervous. “Will the tailors come tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” she said, dismissing the topic briefly.

Then her anxiety drew her back to it. “Unless they’ve found better jobs, and disappeared. But what else can I expect from such people? Ever since I started this tailoring business, they’ve made my life a misery. Day after day, they drive me mad with worry about finishing the dresses on time.”

“Maybe they are sick or something.”

“Both together? Maybe it’s the sickness that comes out of a booze bottle – I did pay them yesterday. No discipline at all, no sense of responsibility. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m bothering you with my problems.”

“That’s okay.” He helped her carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. The stray cats were mewing outside. He had heard them last night while falling asleep, and dreamt of the pariah dogs congregating on the front porch of the General Store, and Daddy feeding them, making his usual joke, that he would soon have to open a new branch for his canine customers.

“Not through the window, Maneck – in the garbage pail,” said Dina, as he tossed out the scraps.

“But I want to feed the cats, Aunty.”

“No, don’t encourage them.”

“They’re hungry – see how they’re waiting.”

“Nonsense. Nuisances outside my window, that’s what they are. And they break in to make a mess in the kitchen. Only good thing about them is their intestines. To make violin strings, my husband used to say.”

Maneck was sure she would see it his way if he talked about the cats every day as though they were human; that was the trick Daddy used. When her back was turned he threw out the remainder. Already he knew which was his favourite: the brown and white tabby with a misshapen ear who was saying, Hurry with the food, I haven’t got all day.

After clearing up, Dina invited him to sit with her in the front room, read or study, do whatever he liked. “You don’t have to lock yourself away in there. Treat this as your home. And if you need something, don’t be shy to ask.”

“Thank you, Aunty.” He had been dreading the return to his jail cell before bedtime. He took the armchair across from her and riffled a magazine.

“Have you been to see your mummy’s family yet?”

He shook his head. “I hardly know them. And we have never got along with them. Daddy always says they are so dull, they are in danger of boring themselves to death.”

“Tch-tch-tch,” she frowned and smiled simultaneously, sorting her fabric remnants and patches. The half-dozen squares she was shaping to fit together were spread out on the sofa.

Maneck came closer. “What are these?”

“My cloth collection.”

“Really? What for?”

“Does there have to be a reason? People collect all kinds of things. Stamps, coins, postcards. I have cloth, instead of a photo album or scrapbook.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding doubtfully.

She let him watch for a while, then said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going crazy. These pieces are to make a quilt. A nice counterpane for my bed.”

“Oh, now I see.” He began looking through the heap, making suggestions, picking out fragments which he thought would go well together. Some, like the swatches of chiffon and tusser, felt gorgeous between his fingers. “Too many different colours and designs,” he said.

“Are you trying to be a critic or what?”

“No, I mean it’s going to be very difficult to match them properly.”

“Difficult, yes, but that’s where taste and skill come in. What to select, what to leave out – and which goes next to which.”

She snipped off some jagged edges and temporarily tacked the six selections together, to obtain a better perspective. “What do you think?” she asked.

“So far so good.”

A nice friendly boy, she felt. Her fears about a spoilt brat could not have been more unfounded. And it was good to have someone to talk to. Someone besides the tailors, who were always mistrustful of her – not that she trusted them either.

Next afternoon she intercepted Maneck on the verandah when he returned from college and whispered that the tailors had turned up. “But don’t say a word about how upset I was yesterday.”

“Okay.” The queen’s gambit, he thought, tossing his books on the bed. He went into the front room as the tailors emerged for their tea break.

“Ah, there he is, there he is!” said Ishvar. “After a whole month we meet again, hahn?”

He put out his hand and asked Maneck how he was, while Om stood by grinning. Maneck said he was fine, and Ishvar said they were both first class, thanks mainly to the regular work provided by Dinabai, who was such a good employer. He smiled at her to include her in the conversation.

Throughout the afternoon, she watched the three disapprovingly – behaving as if they were long-lost friends. And to think they had met just once before, on the train, trying to find her flat.

In the evening, when the tailors were getting ready to put away the skirts, she gave them some parting advice: “Better tell the Prime Minister your jobs are in danger if she takes you again to a meeting. There are two more tailors begging me for work.”

“No no,” said Ishvar. “We definitely want to work for you. We are very happy working for you.”

Dina sat alone in the back room after the tailors left. The space still seemed to vibrate with the Singers. Soon the evening gloom would materialize, infect the fibre-filled air, drape itself over her bed, depress her from now till morning.

But as dusk fell and the streetlamps came on, her spirit remained buoyant. Like magic, she thought, the difference made by another human presence in the flat. She returned to the front room to have her little planned talk with Maneck.

Queen to king’s knight, he thought.

“You realize why I have to be strict with them,” she said. “If they know I’m desperate, they’ll sit on my head.”

“Yes, I understand. By the way, Aunty, do you play chess?”

“No. And I should tell you right now – I don’t like your chatting so much with them. They are my employees, you are Aban Kohlah’s son. A distance has to be kept. All this familiarity is not good.”

Things were worse the following afternoon. She could not believe her ears – the impudence of that Omprakash, boldly asking Maneck, “You want to come with us for tea?” And worst of all, on Maneck’s face glimmered the inclination to say yes. Time to step in, she decided.

“He has his tea here. With me.” There was ice in Dina’s voice.

“Yes, but maybe… maybe just for today I can go out, Aunty?”

She said if he wanted to waste his parents’ payment for boarding and lodging, it was fine with her.

At the Vishram Vegetarian Hotel the air was alive with hearty cooking smells. Maneck felt he had only to stick out his tongue to sample the menu. His stomach rumbled hungrily.

They sat at the solitary table and ordered three teas. The spills from countless spicy meals had imparted a pungent varnish to the wood. Ishvar took the packet of beedis from his pocket and offered it to Maneck.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

The tailors lit up. “She won’t let us smoke at our machines,” said Om. “And now the room is so crowded with her bed also in there. Place is like a dingy godown.”

“So what?” said Ishvar. “It’s not as if you have to run around in it catching goats or something.”

The cook in one corner of the restaurant was working within a circle of pots and pans. They could see their tea simmering in an open kettle. Three roaring stoves sent clouds of greasy smoke to the ceiling. Flames licked the black bottom of a huge karai full of boiling oil, bubbling dangerously and ready for frying. A drop of sweat from the cook’s shining brow fell into the oil; it spat viciously.

“You like your room?” asked Ishvar.

“Oh yes. Much better than the hostel.”

“We also found a place,” said Om. “At first I hated it, but now it’s all right. There are some nice people living near us.”

“You must come visit one day,” said Ishvar.

“Sure. Is it far?”

“Not very. Takes about forty-five minutes by train.” The teas arrived with a splash, the cups sitting in little brown-puddled saucers. Ishvar slurped from the saucer. Om poured his puddle back into the cup and sipped. Maneck followed his example.

“And how is college?”

Maneck made a wry face. “Hopeless. But I’ll have to finish it somehow, to please my parents. Then home I go, on the first train.”

“Soon as we collect some money, we’re also going back,” said Ishvar, coughing and hawking. “To find a wife for Om. Hahn, my nephew?”

“I don’t want marriage,” he scowled. “How many times to tell you.”

“Look at that sour-lime face. Come on, finish your tea, time’s up.” Ishvar got up to leave. The boys swallowed the last draughts and tumbled out of the little tea shop after him. They hurried back to Dina’s flat, past the beggar on his rolling platform.

“Remember him?” said Om to Maneck. “We saw him on the first day. He’s become our friend now. We pass him every day, and he waves to us.”

“O babu!” sang the beggar. “Aray babu! O big paisawalla babu!” He smiled at the trio, rattling his begging tin. Maneck tinkled into it the small change from the Vishram.

“What’s that smell?” Dina leaned forward angrily to sniff Maneck’s shirt. “Were you smoking with those two?”

“No,” he whispered, embarrassed that they would hear in the back room.

“Be honest. I stand in your parents’ place.”

“No, Aunty! They were smoking, and I was sitting next to them, that’s all.”

“If I ever catch you, I will write straight to your mummy, I’m warning you. Now tell me, did they say anything else about yesterday? The real reason they were absent?”

“No.”

“What did you talk about?”

He resented the cross-examination. “Nothing much. This and that.”

She did not pursue it, snubbed by his taciturnity. “There’s another thing you better be warned about. Omprakash has lice.”

“Really?” he asked interestedly. “You’ve seen them?”

“Do I put my hand in the fire to check if it’s hot? All day long he scratches. And not just his head. Problems at both ends – worms at one, lice at the other. So take my advice, stay away if you know what’s good for you. His uncle is safe, he’s almost bald, but you have a nice thick thatch, the lice will love it.”

Dina’s advice went unheeded. As the days turned to weeks, the afternoon break at the Vishram Vegetarian Hotel became a regular affair for the three. Once, Maneck was delayed in returning from college, and Om whispered to Ishvar that they should wait for him.

“My, my,” said Dina, overhearing. “Postponing your tea. Are you feeling well? Are you sure you will survive that long?”

Ishvar reflected upon why it annoyed Dinabai so much, their going off together. When Maneck arrived and Om leapt up from his Singer, he decided to stay behind. “You boys go, I want to finish this skirt.”

Dina was all praise for him. “Listen to your uncle, learn from his example,” she said to Om as the two left. She poured Maneck’s tea into the segregated pink roses cup and brought it to Ishvar. “You might as well drink it.”

He thanked her for her trouble. He took a sip and remarked that Maneck and Om were getting on well, enjoying each other’s company. “They are both the same age. Om must be fed up being with his old uncle all the time. Night and day we are together.”

“Nonsense.” She said that in her opinion, if it weren’t for the uncle’s steadying presence, Om would turn into a wastrel. “I only hope he is not a poor influence on Maneck.”

“No no, don’t worry. Om is not a bad boy. If sometimes he is disobedient or bad-tempered, it’s only because he is frustrated and unhappy. He has had a very unfortunate life.”