Hillstation (15 page)

‘I see what you mean,' said Hendrix, quietly.

‘… such limits as heretofore mentioned being within the sense of “avoidable concourse” and are to include all places public or private in which the aforesaid citizen is not normally domiciled…'

‘Oh my God,' said Sharon, her face glowing orange as she sucked on the cigarette.

‘… such exclusions, the legitimacy of which may at the discretion of a panel of elders, specially appointed for the purpose thereof, be reviewable under appeal, to include only the avoidance of such circumstances as might be deemed hazardous to life and limb, though not including hazard to such property as is usually deemed necessary for the maintenance of normal domestic subsistence such as bedding, cooking appliances unless they are the source of the hazard, specially acquired furniture, icons and inherited
objets de famille
for which there is a provable provenance…'

‘I get Cook, kill him,' spluttered Mrs Dong.

‘… “Emergency” to be understood as the imperilment, as aforementioned, of said parties, the embarkation of said parties into that area designated as beyond limits being thus unavoidable…'

‘Why don't we just tell him I needed a Doctor?' suggested Martina.

I felt the blood drain from my head.

‘Hey,' said Hendrix, leaning over the wall. ‘We needed the Doc, so we called him. He'll be home soon, I expect. Soon as he's done.'

‘The Doc?' said Father. ‘You are referring to The Doctor? My son, who has a special exemption from the edict under clause sixty eight, is at home asleep.'

‘You know,' I said, ‘why don't I just…?'

But Hendrix hushed me with his hand. ‘That's not what I see,' he chuckled. ‘Must be some mistake. But everything's under control, he's doing a great job and, like I said, he'll be home in a jiffy.'

‘But is that not Rabindra with you?' said Father, sounding a little confused.

‘That's the one,' said Hendrix.

Malek was beginning to make strange wheezing noises.

‘But Rabindra is not a Doctor,' said Father. ‘He is merely the Clinical Assistant. My firstborn is the Doctor. Rabindra cleans up. And even this he does poorly. We are forever giving him duties in the hope that he may fulfil them, but each time he fails. In this alone is he consistent. He could not even remember to feed the clinic budgie. A perfectly healthy budgie. A happy, bouncing, beady-eyed little budgie. Are we saying that Doctors kill budgies?' he scoffed. ‘Of course not. It is Clinical Assistants who kill budgies through neglect and stupidity.'

‘Budgies can be quite delicate sometimes,' suggested Hendrix.

‘There is no tougher bird than a budgie!' shouted Father. ‘Everyone knows they are one tough bastard little bird. But still he killed it. One day chirruping merrily with a smile on its beak, the next on its back. And who did that? Who?'

Father had never forgiven me the demise of the waiting room budgie, though according to my diagnosis it had probably died of smoke inhalation.

‘You said he was the Doc,' said Sharon to Martina. ‘That's what he told you, wasn't it?'

Martina nodded, watching me now.

‘Well, that's a crime, isn't it?' said Sharon. ‘Or something. He could be struck off. Only I suppose you've got to be struck on before they can strike you off. But still, it's like impostering and I'm bloody sure that's a crime.'

‘Priceless,' squeaked Malek.

‘Actually, I didn't exactly say I was a Doctor,' I said, but my words fell limp, somehow, in the silent admonition of their gaze.

‘Didn't say you weren't,' muttered Martina.

‘Sergeant?' barked Malek.

Sergeant Shrinivasan stood up, unsteadily.

‘Arrest him,' said Malek.

‘Please call during normal opening hours,' mumbled the Sergeant, saluting, ‘Which are eleven 'til… or earlier sometimes if I'm… otherwise indisposed or… not as the case may be.' He sat back down again.

‘But it's a crime!' shouted Malek. ‘And what the hell do you do if it isn't solve crimes? “Infractions Will Not Go Unpunished”. “Criminals Beware My Very Long Arm”. What's the bloody point if you can't arrest an impostor flagrantly impostering under your very nose?'

‘Enforcing the law isn't just a sharp crack over the head,' retorted the Sergeant. ‘It's about evidence, procedure, forensic analysis…'

‘Since when have you needed evidence to arrest someone?' said Malek. ‘When Mrs Armachary said her glasses had gone missing, which was odd because she'd had them on only a moment ago, did you need evidence to arrest that holy man and keep him incarcerated until her glasses had been found on the bedside table where she'd left them?'

‘He was a major suspect. I couldn't allow him to escape,' muttered the Sergeant.

‘Escape? He was blind.'

‘It is my duty to explore all possibilities in the course of an investigation,' said the Sergeant.

‘I'll give you a possibility,' said Malek. ‘There's an impostor in the village. His name is Rabindranath Sharma. That person there is called Rabindranath Sharma. I'm no detective but I reckon it's more than bloody possible he's the impostor.'

‘Yes,' said Sergeant Shrinivasan, ‘but it might also be possible that he's only pretending to be Rabindranath Sharma.'

‘So that's a double crime,' shouted Malek, jumping to his feet. ‘Which means you've got two reasons to arrest him. Not only is he an impostor but he's deceiving us into thinking that he's an impostor. How many laws does he have to break before you drag him away?'

I turned to Hendrix. ‘What should I do?' I asked.

‘I'm not sure,' he said, looking away. ‘Maybe just go home.'

‘Can't I stay here?'

‘Is awful,' said Mrs Dong.

‘Oh, I don't know,' said Malek, ‘it's not so bad.'

‘Aw full,' repeated Mrs Dong. ‘Is no room.'

But I knew what I had to do. Hendrix's quiet evasion had stung me. Of course I had lied, deny it as I might. And there is only one remedy for lies. Even if we can't undo the harm, we can offer ourselves to its truth. ‘Beloved Martina,' I said. ‘It was not my intention to deceive you although actually it was, I don't know why I just said that. But I hope that in time you will learn to forgive me. If it helps, I can promise you this: I will never lie to you again. And though it was, I know, inauspicious to our conjugal prospects, let us put it behind us as a momentary aberration in the all-dissolving nectar of our love.'

‘What's he saying?' said Sharon.

My voice began to choke a little. ‘The fact is, you came. That is the truth. That is the rock of truth to which I bind myself now and forever. Through forests, across the unforgiving brine of tempestuous oceans, up mountains and down the other side of them, you have searched, unwavering in your desire, for me. And now we are together. Nothing can take that away from us, nor lessen its implacable truth. Obviously there are one or two details to consider, such as permissions, establishing the propitious dates, the wedding itself which could last several weeks done properly, travel arrangements and so forth, but let me assure you that my dead mother has offered her unequivocal blessings in so far as she would if she wasn't just an imaginary voice in my head.'

‘What have you done to him?' shouted Father. ‘He's gone mad.'

‘I've done nothing,' said Malek. ‘Your son is more than capable of going mad by himself.'

‘Not mad,' I called back. ‘Except that love be a kind of madness. Father, fond as I am of our illustrious village, nevertheless my destiny draws me elsewhere. But grieve not, for I shall write to you of my adventures in England with my English bride and, who knows, shall one day return with a little brood of white-brown babies for you to love and cherish.'

‘He has been drinking!' said Father. ‘This is an outrage.'

‘Yes,' I laughed. ‘But only from the cup of love. From this moment on, our feet in perfect step shall step from joy to joy onwards and forever. Martina, my answer is yes.'

‘What was the question?' she said.

‘Shall we get married?' I chuckled. ‘Obviously.'

She stared at me.

‘You what?' said Sharon.

‘After all,' I said, ‘Cindy and Pol are now betrothed.'

‘She's shagging him witless,' said Sharon. ‘But I wouldn't read too much into that.'

‘Who's getting married?' said Mike stirring from under his jacket.

‘It's okay,' said Hendrix. ‘Go back to sleep.'

‘Why don't you do what everybody else does who wants to have her?' sniggered Malek pouring himself another whisky. ‘Buy the calendar and find a quiet place.'

‘Special Offer,' said the Sergeant. ‘Ends today.'

‘But I am the reason she is here,' I said. ‘Martina, tell them.'

‘Tell them what?' she said.

‘Why you came to Pushkara. Why you sought for me in the clinic yesterday.'

‘I wanted something for the squits,' she said.

Malek laughed so hard he spilled his whisky and had to pour another one, most of which he spilled again. Sharon chuckled quietly into her cigarette and began to cough. Even Hendrix started to giggle.

‘Rabindra!' said Father. ‘You will come here now.'

‘Then perhaps I am mistaken,' I said, looking at Sharon. ‘And it is not Martina that I am destined to marry, but…'

‘Hands off my bird,' growled Hendrix.

‘Wife,' said Sharon. ‘If I was your bird you'd have got me another drink.'

‘I show you way,' said Mrs Dong.

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘Glad be rid of you,' said Mrs Dong. ‘You come big fuss.'

As I leaned down through the little doorway, I could hear the Sergeant beginning to laugh, then Sharon, then Martina. It was the last that echoed in my ears long after I'd ceased to hear it, a bitter chorus under the heavy clump of my solemn feet. Down the stairs, along a corridor, up some stairs, along another corridor, a sharp left, a right, to be honest I can't remember how we got there but at last she opened the front door where Father waited for me as she had described, red faced and jumping.

It was a long walk home, Father's rage spontaneously expressing itself every few paces with a wild swipe at my head.

Along the High Street, a group of elders had stopped to spice their betel leaves.

‘Shri Sharma!' said one of them, ‘I see that you have apprehended a miscreant.'

‘To my shame,' muttered Father. ‘For it is my own son that you see, the flesh, the seed, the very spawn…' He swiped again. ‘Of our lineage.'

The elders chewed thoughtfully.

‘It might as well be known,' sighed Father, ‘that he was found on the roof of the Hotel Nirvana.'

Several of them tutted.

‘The very epicentre,' added Father, bleakly, ‘of iniquity.'

‘But your eldest,' offered one of them, clearing his sinus, ‘is he not a blessing to us all?'

‘And your daughters,' said another. ‘With a piety, dignity and obedience rare to behold in girls of such years. They are a credit to your good name and shall one day make most cherishable wives.'

‘We must speak of that,' said Father bowing politely. ‘For your grandson, if I may say, would make for an excellent suitor.'

‘Indeed, it would honour my family,' said the elder shifting uneasily. It was well known that the young men of Pushkara had declared themselves rather disembowelled than married to one of my scowling sisters.

‘The honour would be mine,' said Father. ‘And I have to say, it is indeed a mitigation of this one paternal sorrow that my other children are so manifestly graced with modesty, good sense and discretion.' He jabbed me in the shoulder. ‘The roof, I tell you!'

‘Mrs Dong!' chorused several elders, some of them spitting with more emphasis than was needed to clear their palates.

‘China!' said one of them, inducing another round of phlegm to hit the pavement.

‘Oh, miserable the day she came among us! And monstrous the day she returned!' wailed Father as I braced myself for another slap. But one of the elders had offered him a betel leaf, which he was carefully accepting.

It struck me as slightly shameful, but oddly thrilling somehow, that I should have become one of the less reputable gentlemen of the village, not that I had much of a reputation to begin with.

‘And these English people?' asked one of the elders. ‘Were they also, as it were, “on the roof”?'

‘English?' spluttered Father. ‘English people do not cavort about in their underwear. For one thing, it's too cold. For another, it is unseemly. And, as we all know, what is seemly or unseemly forms the principal rumination of the English sensibility. No. Whoever these barbarians are, they are impostors. Could they be otherwise? For we all know by what means they arrived.'

‘The bus?' said one of the elders.

‘That is not the point,' growled Father. ‘The point is that they were brought here by you know who.'

‘Bister!' said one of the elders, catching on a little more quickly.

A round of spitting followed.

‘Desecrating our sacred domain, belittling our provenance, soiling our… in fact our blessed soil… as it happens… and…' said Father with that look on his face which always registered a slight loss of rhetorical coherence. ‘May he be reborn as a beetle!' he recovered, artfully.

‘As an ant!' declaimed one of the elders.

‘No, no,' said another. ‘I think a beetle is right, since beetles are less intelligent than ants and would therefore occupy a lowlier status in that which is commonly known as The Great Scheme of Things.'

‘How so?' said another elder. ‘Ants have smaller heads and therefore less room for the containment of their brains.'