Read A Lovesong for India Online
Authors: Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
A Lovesong for India (6 page)
‘We’ll see about that,’ TC promised his friend, and himself too.
In the following pause Bobby looked like someone who had something difficult to say. TC waited. ‘But there are others,’ Bobby said at last. ‘He wouldn’t be so eager to protect those others.’
‘You mean those who’ve been taking bribes with him?’
‘Not only those who have taken. Also those who have given.’
‘I see.’ TC did his best to speak even more calmly than usual. ‘Are there names?’
‘There are two very big names – big Bombay tycoons – and there are smaller names. The size of the – of the “contribution” doesn’t signify. All will be considered equally guilty.’
‘Of course.’ TC made his long thin fingers into a steeple; this was his habit when considering official matters. But now he had to clear his throat twice before speaking: ‘I believe the boy’s name appears only in connection with one of the issues?’
A fat and excitable man, Bobby waved his hands in the air. ‘One issue, two issues, or a hundred – this time no one’s going to get away. We’re not letting one scrap of proof out of our hands. No file is going to disappear, I promise you.’ He looked at TC across from him. Their two pairs of glasses gleamed so that it wasn’t possible to see each other’s eyes behind them. But Bobby could say with confidence, ‘I know you want it as much as I do, whatever the consequences.’
And TC answered with the same confidence, ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ And after a pause, ‘Absolutely.’
That evening Diana told him, ‘Pushpa was here today. Imagine! They’re sending Sheila-Baby to Australia to study political science – Sheila’s a wonderful girl but I never thought of her as being very academic, did you? . . . And why Australia?’ Into her husband’s silence, she said, ‘Do you think Pushpa came to tell me something else?’
TC said, ‘I think she was trying to tell you that the marriage is off.’
‘You mean that’s why they’re sending her away? But Romesh would have said something. He’d have told us.’
‘Does he ever tell us anything?’ This required no answer, so TC went on to ask: ‘When is he leaving?’
‘I think soon. He’s already packed – or what he calls packed. But of course, as usual, I’ll have to pull it all out and start again.’ She smiled, and TC tried to smile too.
Next morning, while serving his breakfast, she asked Romesh about his plans for departure. He was vague in his answer – something about waiting for some papers to be cleared, which she didn’t understand. She changed the subject: ‘And now Sheila’s going to Australia.’ He said nothing, so she continued, ‘Pushpa seemed pleased, though I thought she had other plans for Sheila . . . And for you,’ she added with a shy smile.
He shrugged. ‘Sheila’s a lot of fun, but marriage is not on the cards – not to me anyway. Wait,’ he said. The phone in his bedroom was ringing, and he got up to answer it. Through the closed door, she heard his voice raised in excitement; he had only half finished his breakfast, but when he returned, he was in no mood to eat. He asked, ‘Where’s Dad now?’
‘He’s in his office, probably in a meeting . . . Is there anything I can do?’ she pleaded. But he said no, it was just something he had to ask TC. Like his father, Romesh avoided letting her into his difficulties, though with him it was not so much to shield her as himself, against her intrusion.
A message reached TC from his minister, which he had been half expecting. It came in a roundabout way – this too was expected – from a clerk who said he happened to be Googa’s nephew by marriage and that he had a message for TC from his uncle. Although the message was clouded, it was clear enough to TC: that there were certain papers in which Googa’s name figured along with some other persons; and that it would be convenient if these papers were to be privately dealt with. Fortunately it would not be difficult to obtain them since the relevant file was located in the ministry where the Principal Secretary was not only TC’s opposite number but his friend. TC received this message and thanked the messenger in a calm, non-committal manner, which gave no indication of the shame that filled him like a rush of blood to the heart.
A few days later, Googa sent festive boxes of sweetmeats to all his staff. TC’s was the biggest, and it was again delivered personally by a relative of Googa’s, this time a brother-in-law who explained that these sweets were to celebrate the shaving of the first hair to grow on a grandson’s head. ‘His
grand
son! Googaji said to remind you that it is now twenty-five years since he sent you sweets for his
son
’s first hair-shaving. So many years you have been his father and his mother.’
grand
son! Googaji said to remind you that it is now twenty-five years since he sent you sweets for his
son
’s first hair-shaving. So many years you have been his father and his mother.’
‘Yes,’ TC agreed drily. ‘We’ve known each other many years – certainly long enough for him to know that I don’t eat sweets.’ And he pushed the box aside.
The brother-in-law pushed it back again. He joined his hands in supplication. ‘If not you, then for your children who are also our children. Googaji says you have a son who likes sweets very much. Let him eat and enjoy.’
That evening there was a banquet in honour of a visiting foreign dignitary, attended by cabinet ministers, ambassadors and top bureaucrats. It was held in the formal hall of a royal palace taken over by the government; under the chandeliers, the long table was laid as it had been in the Maharaja’s time and barefoot bearers in turbans and cummerbunds moved silently around it to serve the guests. Googa, his enormous bulk swathed in yards of white muslin, sat in his rightful place near the head of the table. He was in a fine mood and joshed the other Ministers with bad puns in Hindi – he looked only up the table to where the important guests sat. There was no need for him to look down towards TC at the lower end, or to give any sign of being aware of his existence, let alone of any business between them.
Bobby sat as always near TC at the end of the table. To relieve their boredom, they were in the habit of exchanging cryptic remarks or glances to express their feelings about the guests at the superior end. But today Bobby did not notice TC any more than Googa did, engaging himself in conversation with his neighbours at the table. Once TC called across to him with their own kind of banter and, while not completely ignoring him, Bobby gave the puzzled half-smile of one who failed to understand the reference. Then TC looked down at his golden plate and again a wave of shame welled up in him.
One evening Diana surprised her husband and her son in the middle of a talk that appeared to be difficult for both of them. But they were united in their determination that she should know nothing, and it was not until she was alone with TC in their bedroom that she could ask anything. Brushing her hair, she could see him in the mirror, and the expression on his face made her turn around quickly before he could change it. Then she did challenge him, though only with: ‘Romesh still hasn’t packed properly – I think he’s just waiting for me to do it for him.’
A flippant white lie on his lips, TC looked into her eyes. It made him say quietly, ‘He’s not leaving.’
They sat side by side on the edge of their bed. Even when she put her arms around him, his back remained stiff and straight. He said, ‘They’ve impounded his passport. He can’t leave because he’s wanted here for questioning.’
She tried to speak lightly: ‘What’s he supposed to have done? They can’t just hold him for nothing. If he’s done nothing.’
‘He says he hasn’t. Or only what everyone else does.’ He almost lost his patience. ‘That’s what they all say: “Everyone does it – what’s wrong with it when everyone does it?” That’s supposed to be the excuse; not the shameful admission but the excuse.’
She had never seen him like this, so bitter and hurt. ‘Let’s lie down,’ she whispered. It did seem a relief to him to lie with her in their bed, the same they had had in all the years of their marriage. The way they lay entwined was the same too, so that for a few hours they could sleep as if there were only the two of them – two lovers alone with each other and safe from all the world.
Next morning, when she went into Romesh’s room, she found him asleep with his face pressed deep in the pillow, not wanting to see or hear. His suitcases stood open, the clothes tumbling out of them. She unpacked and put everything back in the closet. When he opened his eyes, there was the momentary look of relief of one waking from a nightmare and realising it was not real. Then he realised it
was
real; also, from the way his mother was looking at him, that she knew what it was.
was
real; also, from the way his mother was looking at him, that she knew what it was.
At once he rushed to his own defence. ‘Dad doesn’t understand that it’s the way business is done. If you want your motor to run, you have to oil it. Grease it. Grease their goddamn palms. Dad has his job, his little salary, no hassle – you two have no idea what’s going on, what I have to do. My God, if only you knew!’
‘I don’t know anything because you never tell me anything. If you did, I’d try and understand.’
‘I wouldn’t even want you to. You’re so English, you’ve stayed English though you’ve been here donkey’s years. You even think that the English don’t do it – that they’re all like you and Dad. That’s just baloney! They do exactly what we do. Exactly . . . Let me get up now. I can’t stay in bed all day.’ But she kept on sitting there, waiting for him to say more, take advantage of her presence.
He said, ‘I guess that’s why they’ve sent Sheila away. Isn’t it? . . . So she wouldn’t be in a dirty country like this with a dirty person like me. God, they’re all so innocent, such babies. Bobby – what a dumb name, but it suits him. Sheila-Baby. Pushpa-Baby. Baba Bobby.’ Suddenly he collapsed; his face was puffed, tears ran down it. ‘Dad could help me. Ask him. He’s not listening to me. If you tell him, he’ll listen.’
She put her arms around him; he laid his head in her lap, his face hidden against her. She stroked his hair – already it was thinning – she didn’t know what she could promise though he was begging her, the same sentence several times: ‘He’ll listen to you.’
Whenever she couldn’t talk freely to anyone, Diana felt a need to confide in Margaret; but when it came to the point, she never could. It happened again that day. At the mission, she found Margaret out on the verandah, surrounded by her usual crowd of petitioners and upbraiding a milkman for watering the milk he sold her. She overrode his protests until he had to admit his fault, while bystanders murmured approval of the scolding he received.
Margaret’s anger was assumed. She told Diana that she had already dismissed this milkman once before, but what to do? He had a family to support, four children of his own and two of his dead brother’s. Anyway, she still had to find a milkman who did not water his milk; when finally caught, their excuse was always the same – ‘“Everyone does it, so why not I?”’ Her big shoulders shook with laughter. ‘I’ve heard it a thousand times: “Everyone does it” – it’s not an excuse but a perfectly valid explanation.’
Diana smiled with her. Today she refused the mug of tea she usually drank with Margaret, she said she had to drive back, that TC was waiting for the car.
Margaret dealt all day with people in need, and it was easy for her to sense anyone’s trouble. Walking with Diana to her car, Margaret asked her, ‘Can I do anything for you?’ Diana shook her head; she thanked her friend and drove away.
The only person Diana had ever asked for help or ever would was TC, and she did so that night. She knew he was awake beside her and in distress; his back was turned to her and at last she clung to it, whispering, ‘Won’t you try – for him?’ He turned and held her against his chest. She said it again, but when he was silent, she said nothing more, and neither did he, though he could feel her tears seeping through his nightshirt.
The arraignment for Romesh came at the same time as the one for Googa. While TC resigned his post immediately, Googa showed no inclination to relinquish his. He had many supporters who accompanied him to court, loudly shouting slogans in his favour. He made the most of the presence of journalists and TV cameras to declare his innocence, his forgiveness of his enemies and his determination to continue serving his country, to the last drop of his blood if this should be required of him. His well-wishers followed him inside, so that the small courtroom was soon overcrowded and fetid with their sweat and eructations. Romesh, accompanied only by his father and his lawyers, took care to appear in court newly shaved and in a suit and tie; he listened intently to the proceedings and passed notes of instruction to his lawyers. His fortunes appeared linked to Googa’s, and both of them were usually granted bail. Once they were remanded in jail, and even there Romesh extracted special privileges from the wardens and the convicts he knew had the power to grant them. When he was released, he showed no signs of depression but was very busy consulting with his lawyers, whom he changed twice. His energy and pluck reminded Diana of the time when he was a schoolboy, always in trouble, up to all sorts of mischief and defiant when caught at it.
For the first time in their married life, TC and Diana discussed money. It had never been an important subject for either of them. They had not invested anything, nor built a house. Now, with his resignation, they had six months to give up their official residence. They assured each other that they would manage. Since TC no longer had to attend an office, they could sell their car. They had also stopped going out socially. Diana continued to visit the mission and Margaret had arranged for her to be transported by one of her protégés on his bicycle rickshaw. Diana felt ashamed to be sitting behind his emaciated back while he pushed the pedals down with all his feeble strength; but Margaret, aware of her feelings, said, ‘You can hardly ask this boy to stop making a living because you feel bad about it.’ She was also impatient with TC and Diana when she found that they hadn’t yet tried to find another house. To discuss their problems, she often came to see them. She sat in their largest chair with her legs apart and her voice cheerfully booming; her only comment on the situation was once to TC when he saw her out. Seating herself voluminously on her pro-tégé’s frail rickshaw, ‘It’s a mess,’ she said, ‘but anyway, you did the right thing.’
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