Hillstation (20 page)

‘And who might this be?' said Mike.

The Sergeant smiled again.

‘Yes!' said Malek. ‘Of course. The Sergeant. Why, he is famed throughout Pushkara, and… and possibly even elsewhere, for his proficiency on the Rudra Veena. To hear him play is to hear what can only be described as music. Without any doubts at all.' Malek nodded vigorously though I noticed that his fists had momentarily clenched.

‘Please, Mr Bister, you flatter me,' said the Sergeant. ‘Although everything that you say is, if anything, an understatement. From the stubborn bloody strings of this nevertheless exquisite instrument, I am able to cajole the most delightful of tunes. Why, during my last concert, many people were reduced to tears and one or two were so transported they even fell off their seats.'

‘So where is this… this thing?' said Sharon, sceptically.

‘In the dressing room,' chuckled the Sergeant, ‘where I left it after my last, if I may say without immodesty, sell-out performance.'

‘Okay,' said Mike. ‘Let's have a listen.'

As the Sergeant sprinted off through a side door, Hendrix frowned at me. ‘Alright, kid, something's bugging you,' he said.

‘You mean apart from his sisters going up in smoke?' snorted Sharon.

‘Maybe,' said Hendrix, sitting next to me. ‘But I was thinking, like, somebody who isn't here you were hoping would be… ?'

‘Give him a break,' said Sharon. ‘Poor little thing.'

He waved at her brusquely and looked at me. ‘Last night,' he smiled gently, ‘up on the roof, you stepped out, took a minute, adjusted your eyes, saw her. Then what?'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, ‘I'm not sure what you mean.'

‘I'm asking what happened.'

‘I don't think anything happened,' I said.

‘Exactly,' said Hendrix. ‘Nothing happened. The world stopped. There was no world. Cause the world, when you think about it, and I do sometimes, not often but occasionally, is nothing more than a bunch of happenings all tumbling over each other like a writhing heap of…'

Sharon coughed.

‘Okay, listen,' he said. ‘I'm no expert. Not on anything. Cept corridors and this.' He kicked the box. ‘But you see, that's just it. You look at me and think, “I know what he does. He sticks cables into sockets and rigs up lights”. And yeah, maybe that's all I do. But no. It isn't. I'll tell you what I do. I stop the world. How? Songs. Music. What's that about? Crowded room, bus-shelter, park bench, on a roof, eyes meet. Yeah? Different tune, same old story. Found her, love her, lost her. Welcome to my world.'

‘With respect,' I said, ‘I'm not sure I entirely follow you.'

Sharon snorted. ‘Don't worry about it,' she said.

‘First point,' said Hendrix, undeterred. ‘You are not alone. Right now, there's a lot of guys out there who'd like to, shall we say, get a bit closer to Martina Marvellous.'

‘But I alone am her destiny,' I said.

‘I hear what you're saying, but stay with me. Okay? On the steps, yeah, the hotel steps, you saw that? Oh, boy. The demure smile, a little bit surprised, so many people. And then she saw you. And she couldn't believe how happy, and yet somehow a little bit sad, that made her. Why? Cause now is now. This moment, forever. You and her. At last. Meaning what? Hey?' He leaned forward. ‘Meaning she had you. She had them all. By the nuts. And you know why? Every single one of you, in that moment, now and forever, was completely alone with Martina Marvellous. Now tell me this, okay? When you look at her, what do you think?'

‘I am unable to think of anything.'

‘And when she smiles, what does it mean?'

‘That I have made her happy, which is all I have ever wanted to do, and all that I ever want to do for the rest of my life.'

‘Funny thing is,' said Hendrix, leaning back again, ‘the older she gets the better she does it. You've seen the calendar?'

I blushed.

‘Yeah, I know. The photographer was a coke-head. The stylist kept trying to pull me.'

‘You didn't have to lamp him,' said Mike, brushing ash off his knees.

‘Believe me, I did,' said Hendrix. ‘Palm trees, perfect sand, blue skies. You know where it was? I'll tell you. Croydon. Mid-November, bloody freezing.'

‘I think what he's trying to tell you,' said Mike, singeing threads from the end of his sleeve, ‘is that basically it's bollocks.'

‘Well it is and it isn't,' said Hendrix putting his hand on mine. ‘You saw April?'

‘I didn't get as far as April,' I said.

‘Lucky you,' said Sharon.

‘I'll grant you April was a bit much,' said Hendrix. ‘But you saw January? And Marty was smiling, right? Just a little. Not a lot but enough to tell you… what?'

‘That she was pleased to see me,' I said.

‘And March? A bit more serious. A little more sultry. Not quite smiling. So what was that about?'

‘She was thinking of all the years we hadn't been together,' I said. ‘Of the wasted days and lonely nights. But she was also afraid, as I was, that this was merely a dream, a momentary delusion from which we would awake suddenly to find ourselves alone once more.'

‘She was thinking what's the cost of a frigging fan-heater to keep Cindy from snivelling?' said Sharon.

‘Not my fault it didn't turn up,' said Mike.

‘But the truth is,' said Hendrix, ‘they don't know you. They've never heard of you. They don't care about you. They just want to get it done, get home, get paid and hope you buy a ticket. Why?'

‘Cause dancing beats the crap out of acting,' said Sharon.

Hendrix chuckled. ‘It's a game,' he said. ‘Arnie, the golf caddy, takes his trousers off in the empty clubhouse because he's spilled drink on them, when oops, in walks Sharon, the lonely wife of a rich but dull business mogul…'

‘That was “Bonking Belinda”,' said Sharon. ‘Arnie was in “The Scaffolder”.'

‘Oh yeah,' said Hendrix. ‘Ladders.'

‘Pigeon shit.'

‘Five hours tweezing splinters out of your bum. Not my fondest memory but… high up there. So what I'm saying is basically this: it's not real. It's not even meant to be. Sharon? Give him a smile.'

Sharon sighed.

‘Just a little one,' said Hendrix. ‘That Sharon Shiver. C'mon.'

Sharon looked away, shook her hair a little then turned back, smiling.

‘I hadn't realised,' I said, taken aback, ‘that you so admired me.'

‘I don't,' she said.

‘You see?' said Hendrix blowing her a kiss which she shrugged away.

‘No,' I said. ‘I don't.'

Any further explanation Hendrix might have offered was obliterated by Mike suddenly shouting, ‘What the bloody hell's that? It's enormous.'

‘Isn't that a line from “Sheila The Sheep Shearer”?' said Hendrix, looking round.

‘Probably,' said Mike, ‘but I meant that thing.'

The Sergeant was returning through the side door, gingerly cradling his Rudra Veena. ‘You have identified it correctly,' he said. ‘For what you behold is merely a thing, which is to say, an outward form. The real instrument is the ear through which Shiva sings. Truly, my bouncing beach bunnies, you are in for a treat.'

Mike looked at Hendrix who shrugged.

‘There's no way I'm dancing to that,' said Sharon. ‘Mike, give us a cigarette.'

‘Again you are correct,' said the Sergeant, kicking his shoes off and climbing onto the stage. ‘For it is Shiva alone who dances. We ourselves are merely blobs of jelly ambling about with neither rhyme nor reason.'

‘You've met my family?' said Sharon.

‘Without Shiva,' said the Sergeant, settling down on the rug, ‘there is no melody, no rhythm, nothing.'

‘You want me to plug that in?' said Hendrix.

‘It is already plugged in,' chuckled the Sergeant.

‘I mean to an amp.'

‘What amp does it need when everything is its amp?' said the Sergeant, dusting his hands with powder and rubbing them together. ‘When you hear a bird sing, it is Shiva's amp. When a scooter backfires, that too is Shiva's amp. When you speak, you are merely Shiva's amp. But do not worry. Soon you will hear. And when you hear you will understand.'

He closed his eyes for a moment and muttered a little prayer.

‘What's he doing?' asked Sharon.

‘He's muttering a little prayer,' I said.

‘Who to?'

‘Well, not to anyone, really,' I said. ‘It's more of an invocation. At the moment he's asking to be led to immortality.'

‘That'll take a few albums,' grunted Mike.

The Sergeant plucked a string.

After a minute or two Sharon began to fidget. ‘What now?' she said.

Ever responsive to his audience, the Sergeant plucked it again.

‘He's just tuning it, right?' she said.

‘No, no,' said Malek. ‘I believe this is one of our more thoughtful Ragas. Possibly an evening piece, or perhaps late afternoon, probably mid-week, I would say a Tuesday or Wednesday, and most certainly spring-time, just after a little nap in the shade with a bird hopping about in the branches above you.'

‘Boing?' said Sharon.

‘If you knew anything about the Rudra Veena,' said Malek, a little breathlessly, ‘you would know that this is an exceptionally accomplished boing.'

‘Sorry,' said the Sergeant. ‘Just tuning up.' He coughed, straightened his back and plucked a string. We waited.

‘And?' said Sharon.

‘Shh,' said The Sergeant, plucking another string.

Sharon snorted and stubbed her cigarette out.

‘So what was plan B?' said Hendrix.

‘This is plan B,' said Sharon. ‘Plan A was a sell-out tour of South East Asia. Big venues, easy money. Plan B is stuck here forever cause we haven't got the cash to get our arses on a frigging bus.'

‘I am sorry,' I said, ‘but that was not my intention.'

They all looked at me.

‘What are you saying, dude?' asked Hendrix.

‘Do not listen to these people,' said Malek. ‘My son listened to him and became quite insane, jabbering about previous misdemeanours in past lives, and throwing stones at incarnations of Krishna as a dog.'

‘Okay, shh,' murmured Hendrix. ‘Get your point. But the dude's got something on his mind. This is all about the roof, isn't it?'

And so, as Sergeant Shrinivasan plucked his notes in slow succession, sometimes bending them and sometimes not, I spoke of the Clinic Skivvy and his friend Pol, of ghee and marigolds and how the storms had gathered, not only across the peaks, but in my own forebodings. I told them of improper thoughts when my brother spoke of English women. I explained that when my beloved first arrived I had wondered if we'd toyed, perhaps too frivolously, with the divine order of how things are. I ruminated on the fact that if the gods didn't want something to happen it didn't happen, but sometimes they made things happen that you wanted to happen just so you'd learn not to have wanted it. At which Hendrix nodded solemnly. I explained the nature of sacrifice, the power of incantation, ritual, and hope. I covered one or two branches of the science of Dharma, without getting too complicated about it. I told him how I'd wavered from mortal apprehension to wilful recklessness and back again. I finished off by saying that I didn't know what to do next. If the show was cancelled and they left immediately, then how was I to complete the proper formalities with Martina? And if they were, as Sharon had said, stuck here forever, then how were Martina and I to live an English life in our English house raising English children under the fragrant beneficence of an English summer sky?

‘That's quite a story,' said Hendrix after I'd finished.

‘I'll tell you why we're here,' said Mike cutting off Malek's sniggering. ‘I mean, what you've said's great. It's amazing. Your rituals and all that, getting married, gnomes in the garden, marmalade. But we're here because our plane got zapped.'

‘Certainly, that's a factor,' said Malek, wiping his eyes. ‘But essentially they are here because of the unparalleled entertainment facilities. But anyway, enough said. Shall we book the Sergeant, what do you think?'

‘And after it got zapped,' continued Mike, ‘we had to put down. I mean it was all a bit crazy. Heads in our knees kinda thing. Except for Sharon, cause of her hair. And then hoofed out, obviously. Nobody around from the airline. Not sure it even was an airline. Some bloke in a clapped out plane. Big city. Full of people. Somewhere.' He waved vaguely. ‘Five bucks in my pocket. The girls knackered. Cindy freaking out.'

‘Surely, not every detail is necessary,' chuckled Malek. ‘In fact this entire exposition is less than necessary to the degree of not being necessary at all.'

‘Bit of a low point,' said Mike, fumbling for a cigar. ‘Hotel Something. Pretty crap. Cheap though. Marty not speaking. Cindy crying. I went out. Just for a stroll, you know, to clear my head.'

‘You dirty bastard,' said Sharon.

‘Found this place,' said Mike with a shrug.

‘And ended up here,' said Malek. ‘Well, that was a fine tale. I'm sure we all appreciate Mike sharing that with us. Now… ‘

But Mike ignored him again. ‘So there I was in the lounge, waiting…'

‘Ba!' said the Sergeant plucking a string. Mike looked round but the Sergeant's eyes were closed, head swaying as he waited for the next note.

‘This is all very interesting,' spluttered Malek. ‘But sometimes Mike has trouble distinguishing the real from his dreams. If he doesn't mind me saying so. Next he'll be saying he met me in this… this bar or whatever it was.' He laughed loudly. ‘Have you ever heard such a thing?'

‘There was a couple of punters,' said Mike. ‘Everyone keeping to themselves. The usual, I guess. I had a whisky. Couple of smokes. Feeling a bit better. Then I got chatting to the owner, nice guy, big guy, turban. I asked him about the trains, the roads, all that. I said what's up there? He said, nothing. I said there's got to be something, but we looked in the book and he was right. Just hills. Then out comes this geezer, chirpy as a wombat in a soft toy shop…'