Hillstation (8 page)

The village went to work. With the exception of Malek Bister who laughed that perhaps he should rename his hall ‘The Nowhere Worth Bloody Mentioning Centre'. Collection tins for the ‘Cartographical Relief Fund' bristled from every shop window, vending cart and go-down. School children paraded the streets dressed as Shivas and Turtles performing songs of their own composition to illustrate the spiritual hazards of not coughing up for the greater good. After some weeks a quantity of money was posted to New Delhi along with a selection of pastries from Mr Chowdhury's pastry shop and one of Mrs Dilip's yak's wool hats ‘for the children'.

A month later we got another letter from a senior clerk at the All India Institute of Cartography saying that the official dealing with our claim had recently retired and the case had therefore been reassigned. He apologised for the delay in replying but he'd been somewhat preoccupied of late with his asthmatic wife and idle children who had, moreover, taken their toll on his own health not to mention the household finances which were, to put it crudely, a little bit tight at the moment. We didn't write again.

‘Well, wherever we are,' said Mike, briskly, ‘the good news is that we're in business, we're on the road, and we're rocking it.'

‘So what's the bad news?' said Sharon.

He looked at her sourly. ‘Okay, I know things went a bit tits up recently,' he said. ‘But right now it's bish bosh sorted. We're back on track and the show, as they say, goes on!' He left a little space, looking around expectantly.

Sharon clapped her hands slowly.

‘Mike,' said Hendrix, ‘hey Mikey. Mike. You know… like, what we said. Hey? I could really use a little… a bit of something. Soon as.'

‘Relax,' said Mike.

‘That's what I'm talking about,' said Hendrix.

Mike lifted his hand for silence. ‘You know Mr Bister,' he said. ‘He's a good man. Cindy, stop giggling. Almost the first thing I asked him was, how do we get something for Brendan. Okay? And he says it grows wild here. It's all over the place. So chill. Yeah?'

Hendrix nodded.

‘Okay,' said Mike, ‘I've also talked to Mrs Dong. Cindy, please. She's going to make sure we get brekkies on time, yeah? Toast, coffee, all that.

‘Marmalade?' said Cindy.

‘Marmalade, jam, whatever. It's all in hand. The thing is, you're all still lovely. You know you are. And I mean all of you.' He nodded to each of the ladies in turn. ‘And you know what?'

‘What?' said Sharon, rolling her eyes.

‘Out there,' said Mike, waving towards the window, ‘they have gone mental.'

‘I thought I heard a bit of a noise,' said Martina.

‘You thought Bombay loved you? That was nothing.'

‘Oo,' said Cindy, dancing in a little circle.

‘So where's the venue?' said Martina, holding her hand to the light and squinting at it.

‘Good question,' said Mike. ‘Now, I've mentioned about the you know, Shri Malek Bister Pushkara Entertainment… Thing, okay? I've not been there yet but I can tell you this: we're talking state-of-the-art. The words “High” and “Spec” don't even cover it.'

‘I'm down a few cables,' said Hendrix.

‘They'll have cables,' Mike smiled. ‘Like I said, chill.'

‘When can we see it?' said Martina.

‘You'll see it. Don't worry,' said Mike.

‘This morning,' said Martina. ‘With you.'

Mike nibbled on his lip for a moment. ‘Yeah, okay,' he said.

‘Me too,' said Cindy. ‘With my little brown nut.' Pol gasped slightly as she pinched his bottom.

‘Fine,' said Mike. ‘We'll all go. Okay? Everyone happy?'

‘How do we get there?' asked Martina.

‘Malek's just sorting the limo.'

‘It's got cabinets, right?' said Hendrix anxiously.

‘You name it,' said Mike. ‘In the meantime, there's a bit of merchandising gone AWOL I need to check out.'

‘What do you mean AWOL?' said Martina.

‘It is a military expression,' I explained, ‘meaning, “To have developed an unexplained absence without the appropriate foliage”.'

‘Calendars,' said Mike, glancing at me briefly. ‘But we got a few left. So no worries. Alright?'

‘I want to go for a walk,' said Cindy. ‘When can we go for a walk? Please, please, please can we go walkies?'

‘You'll get your walk,' said Mike, moving off. ‘I'll sort security, press, itinerary, cetera cetera. Just don't scratch your legs, okay, on like bushes and stuff.' He turned at the door to smile at everyone. I felt obliged to return a particularly amiable grin since nobody else smiled back. He looked at me again for a moment, and left.

‘The hills above the village are most conducive to “walkies”,' I said to Cindy. ‘Not to mention family picnics, audiences with holy men and the performance of sacrifice.'

Pol coughed a little and glared at me.

‘Holy men!' said Cindy. ‘I just love holy men, with their fierce little eyes and spindly legs. I want to see a holy man. I want want to see holy man!'

‘There are none to be found at this time,' I said. ‘But soon, I am sure, one shall appear through the morning mist of the mountain pass offering wisdom and asking for directions.'

‘Well, maybe after lunch,' said Martina. ‘It might be nice to get out a bit.'

‘What did Mike say?' said Sharon, lighting another cigarette, ‘about travel and that? Exotic climes? See the world? Yeah? And what? What have we seen? Hotels, hotels and ah, what was it? Oh yeah, more sodding hotels.'

‘A bus?' said Cindy. ‘I'll never forget that bus.'

There was a little pause as all three of them never forgot the bus.

‘I blame the restaurants,' said Sharon. ‘'Specially in Leicester. Flipping great pictures of shiny white palaces, blue sky, pink flowers. Little man comes over, brushing the crumbs up. Oops there's a crumb, we can't have that. That isn't like home. We don't have crumbs lying around. Just mangy dogs all over the street, heaps of garbage, cows every bloody where and total head-case drivers trying to kill you. But you won't see crumbs. Cause all the bloody beggars have eaten them up! That hotel, yeah? wherever it was, I go for a stroll, out jumps a monkey. I run for my bloody life, ants this big, fricking mosquitoes, like my leg's got acne.' She took a breath. ‘Tandoori sodding Paradise!' she said finally, leaning back again.

‘Yeah, but they love us,' said Martina, dryly, glancing at Cindy.

‘They love me in Hamburg,' said Sharon. ‘They love me in Hammersmith. I don't need the squits to be loved. I don't need to get eaten alive by a million crawly things to be loved. I don't need to get woken up at four in the bloody morning by some lunatic shouting down a megaphone…'

‘That's the call to prayer,' interrupted Cindy. ‘It's spiritual.'

‘Well, you go pray, then,' said Sharon. ‘While I shove the megaphone up his –'

‘Okay, okay, girls, right, yeah, okay. We're all a bit you know,' said Hendrix, closing the box and straightening up. ‘But that's how it is, alright, that's where we are in the end and… well, you know.'

‘What?' said Sharon.

‘Well, whatever. It is what it is. I lost half me cables, you don't hear me complaining.'

‘That wasn't you, then?' said Sharon.

He grimaced slightly, smoothing his pony-tail with a hairy hand. ‘So you're the Doc around here?' he said.

I glanced at Pol who looked as if he was about to say something.

‘Why do you ask?' I said quickly.

‘Well, only cause, ah, I mean, if there's any chance of a word some time…' said Hendrix, eyes darting at everything except Sharon who seemed to be staring fixedly at him.

‘I shall be in the clinic tomorrow,' I said.

‘Well, by “some time”, I was thinking more like now,' said Hendrix,

Pol grabbed my arm. ‘Perhaps I could have a word, first,' he said, dragging me into the corridor. ‘What are you doing?' he hissed.

‘It's not what I'm doing,' I said. ‘It's what I'm not doing.'

‘You mean not telling them who you really are?'

‘Possibly similar to that,' I said. ‘But don't worry. I have no intention of deceiving them. I will merely offer such advice as I can and if I can't, I'll refer them to Dev. That is precisely how we function on a daily basis. There is nothing unusual or untoward in this.'

‘You think she won't marry you if she finds out you're a Clinic Skivvy,' he said.

‘Clinical Assistant,' I mumbled.

‘Then what faith do you have in her?' he asked.

‘Infinite. Except for that.'

Hendrix came to the door. ‘Only, I do get a bit of medication from time to time,' he said. ‘All above board. You know. Bit of this. Bit of that. I was just wondering what you could, maybe, do for me.'

‘Rabindra!' said Pol, shaking my shoulders.

‘Please excuse my friend,' I said, trying to pull free. ‘He is a little over-excited. But if you tell me the nature of your concern, I'm sure I can find the appropriate remedy.'

Pol moved off to clutch his head.

Hendrix leaned in close. ‘Concern, you see, that's just it. Lots, in fact. And they, well, they concern me. I guess that's the thing about concerns. So maybe, you know, if you've got something just to tweak 'em down a bit…?'

‘Perhaps it would help,' I said, wishing I'd brought my book, ‘if you could tell me the precise name of the medication you're receiving…?'

‘Prozac,' he said. ‘That's good. Takes the edge off. I don't know if you do that. I mean, Mike's sorting a little weed for later but I lost my cables so I'm a bit… you know.'

‘You have fish phobia?'

‘Ah, no,' said Hendrix frowning. ‘I don't think so.'

‘But this Prozac,' I said, ‘was designed specifically as a remedy for fish phobia.'

‘Right,' said Hendrix. ‘I didn't know that.'

‘I do have some but it is reserved for this condition only. We had a patient once, brought in by his wife. He wouldn't eat fish, however she cooked it. Fried, boiled, she tried everything. Being a lady whose ancestors came from the coast, cooking fish was among her greatest pleasures. In fact that's all she could cook. So this was very problematic for them. She even consulted my father over legal proceedings against her husband's family for not mentioning this impediment to their matrimonial compatibility. They said they'd counter-sue on the grounds of failure to reveal her culinary limitations.'

‘Tricky,' said Hendrix.

‘When I asked my brother…'

‘Who?' said Hendrix.

‘He is also versed in clinical matters,' I said, glancing round to see if Pol was listening.

‘'kay,' said Hendrix.

‘He said it sounded like a classic case of fish phobia.'

‘Sounds right to me,' said Hendrix, nodding thoughtfully.

‘For which there is no cure.'

‘Oh,' said Hendrix. ‘That's a shame.'

‘However, when I mentioned it to the Pharmaceutical Representative a few months later, he said that new research had achieved a major break-through for this very condition.'

‘Prozac?' said Hendrix.

‘The wonders of medical science,' I said, smiling.

‘Well, that's exactly it,' said Hendrix. ‘You know the last time I saw a fish I completely freaked.'

‘I think we are beginning to narrow the possibilities,' I said.

‘And the nightmares,' he said. ‘Like, swarms of fish and… fish-type things all… swarming. I wake up sweating. You can ask Shal. I mean even the word, you know, “fish” brings me out, like, take a look at my forehead…'

‘It appears that you are perspiring,' I said.

‘Cause we're talking about fish,' he said.

‘In that case,' I said, ‘I have no hesitation in prescribing you the necessary medication.'

‘You're a brick,' he said, patting my arm. ‘Soon as you can, hey?'

‘I'll pop over to the clinic today,' I said.

‘Champion,' he smiled, turning back to the room. ‘That patient,' he said, stopping by the door. ‘he's okay now, is he?'

‘Much happier,' I said. ‘In fact he now eats anything his wife puts in front of him, though his mango business isn't doing so well.'

‘Well, I guess that's… that's something,' said Hendrix sauntering back to his box.

Pol rushed over, flinging his hands about. ‘Are you mad?' he said. ‘What's she going to say when she finds out? Rabindra! Think about it! What are you doing?'

But Cindy was calling him now. ‘Pol? Pol? Where's my little nut-brown buddy?'

‘I believe your wife is looking for you,' I said.

Pol glared at me for a moment and went back to the lounge. I could hear him gasp as she squeezed him.

‘My little pecan pie,' she said, ‘if you keep running off, I shall have to tie you up. Now, that's a thought!'

I felt happy for Pol though the rebuke in his look continued to sting. It seemed to me that his dream was assured in spite of its metaphysical conundrums. For me it was different. The truth was that Martina had yet to give any real indication that she wanted to pinch my bottom. In fact, she had a tendency to yawn when I spoke to her which, try as I might, was hard to construe as infatuation. So, why had it all gone so right for Pol and so not right for me? The answer was obvious. Because I had lied to her. If love is the dissolution of barriers, what greater barrier could there be between two people than a conscious falsehood? In spite of my protestations to Pol, I had done more than merely fail to apprise her of my true position when I declined to wear my white coat with its name badge upon which were printed in stark letters: ‘R.Sharma. Clinical Assistant'. And even if she couldn't know the depths to which my deception had plunged, she would have sensed, surely, that something was amiss. It was beginning to strike me that not only were my nuptial prospects in peril but also, if you believe in such things, my innermost soul. For what is karma but rough justice for the wicked? Had I been wicked? Yes. Was I about to face justice? As I crept back through the window to fetch Hendrix's medication, it seemed to me that the gods were, ultimately, unfathomable. They give. They take. They give while somehow making it feel like they've taken something and, of course, vice versa. Most of the village was now clamouring at the doors of the Hotel Nirvana. What were they hoping to get? And what, in the process would they lose? I decided to let Pol deal with the philosophical dilemmas. Right now I had to concentrate on winning the heart of my beloved. It was not, I thought as I picked up speed to lose a couple of dogs who had started to follow me, looking good.