In the Shadow of a Dream (9 page)

‘Food also, and ten rupees a month,’ D’Silva added encouragingly.

Bal looked at Boman, studied D’Silva’s face for a while, then back to Boman. He shook his head firmly and ran back to his place on the onion sack.

The three men stared at Bal and then at each other. Boman said: ‘The boy is no fool. He knows what you are after. Young as he is, he’s much too sharp.’

‘Bloody Phil. I told you the boy was listening. I’m sure he heard you.’

‘Yeah,’ growled Phil. ‘But how was I to know. He’s not supposed to understand. He’s only a
baccha
, a kid. You don’t expect…anyway, good for the boy, I say.’

‘You know,’ Boman said. ‘Even if the boy said yes, I would have stopped him.’

‘Have a heart, Boman. Don’t believe Phil. He’s a bloody trouble maker.’

‘What you do in private is none of my business, Ronny. But…’

‘But what?’

‘No don’t misunderstand me. Nothing to do with you. There’s something strange, something special, about this boy.’ Boman walked to the tea-chest and picked up the exercise book. ‘You see that Phil? He did that. From memory.’

Phil whistled.

‘Boman held the book in front of the boy’s eyes. He pointed. What’s that, boy?’

‘Tarzan,’ Bal said.

‘See what I mean? The boy’s had no schooling. He couldn’t have had. I’ll prove it’ Boman turned the page and wrote the letter “E”. And what’s that, boy?’

The boy stared. Then answered correctly.

‘See what I mean, Phil? He can’t have been to school, and no village school will teach English. Let me tell the schoolmaster. He’ll be interested. Right time too.’ He moved the bead curtain and peeped into the restaurant. ‘Yes, he’s finished marking. That’s what he does. Has breakfast, a cup of coffee and marks his school books.

Phil peeped over Boman’s shoulders. ‘You’re talking about Sam Dustoor? I once asked him why he doesn’t mark his pupils’ books at home. He joked: “Because,” he said, “I’m bloody inefficient”, and that when he goes home he gets lost in his books and forgets about school—and what books, man. He’s got big, big library.’

‘Also grand house in the Bombay Fort area,’ added Boman.

‘Hey, now, he’s a Parsee and a clever bloke. He can tell you if the boy is Parsee or Gujarati. Always chooses to sit in that corner.’

‘I keep it reserved for him. Comes here regularly for breakfast, and sometimes for dinner also. He’s one of my best customers and a good friend.’

‘Who are you talking about?’ D’Silva asked and poked his head between the two men. ‘Oh, him. Yeah, seen him many times. Talks like an Englishman.’

‘What do you expect,’ Boman said derisively. ‘England returned. Cambridge.’

‘He comes here because it’s convenient.’ Phil said turning away. ‘Teacher. Head of English at St Thomas’s High School, Flora Fountain. Near here. You know. Just across the Maidan. Posh school. Bomi, your son, Minoo, goes there?’

‘Phil,’ D’Silva thumped Phil’s back. ‘All Church schools in Bombay are good schools. My nephew goes to posh Catholic school, in Santa Cruz. St Anslem’s.’

‘But Dizzy, with all respect, this is the tops, if not
the
top school in Bombay. Very high fees, and long, long waiting list.’

‘Bomi managed to get Minoo in.’

‘Because Dizzy, Sam and Bomi are obviously old friends.’

‘
Arrey
, it’s not that simple. Minoo still had to pass the entrance test.’

D’Silva made a face. Then he waved a dismissive hand. ‘I must be going. Bye. The rain has stopped, but I’ll borrow an umbrella, Bomi, just in case.’

‘There on the stand behind the counter. Bring it back. The umbrella. I thought Bensons was closed on Saturdays, being a British company.’.

‘Yeah. It’s a British company,’ Phil drawled. I always envied Dizzy. Saturday for me is like any working day. Bloody native firms. Squeeze the blood out of you.’

Boman grinned. ‘Mr Philip Green, the chances of you going “home” are zero. You better get used to “native” bosses.’

‘Choke it, Bomi,’ Phil retorted angrily. ‘If we weren’t friends, I’d sock you one. One day, you’ll see, I’ll get to England. Wait till my papers come from Seychelles. Yes they will. Proof, my grandfather was British citizen. Then I’ll be laughing. So, Dizzy, wipe that smile off your face.’

‘See, he can’t take a joke. Anyway, shows how little you know, Phil. American firms have Saturdays off. We get half day, like the schools. Bomi, this chap, Sam, does he really come here for dinner? Is the fellow a bachelor?’

‘No! Looks younger than he is. Sam is in his late forties. His wife left him some years ago—nineteen thirty-nine or forty. He won’t talk about it. That big house is the family house. He inherited a lot of money. Property also, I think.’

‘So I’m right about the big library.’ Phil yawned.’

‘Handsome guy. Could’ve married again,’ D’Silva said. ‘I really must be going. Coming, Phil?’

‘Yeah, let’s go.’

Boman waved the couple off, returned behind the counter, where he made another pot of coffee and took it across to where Sam Dustoor was sitting.

‘This is fresh, no charge.’ Boman smiled. ‘I’ll take that pot back. It’s gone cold.’

‘That’s kind. Thank you.’ Sam Dustoor looked at his watch.

‘Do you have a little spare time, Master sahib, please.’ Boman asked.

‘Yes, about twenty-five minutes. Just finished marking this little pile here. How can I help?’

‘There’s a boy here, I want you to see.’

‘Oh, dear. I see enough boys. Well, where is he?’

The cook from the kitchen placed two steaming plates of fried eggs on toast on the counter and called out “Table number four”. Boman turned. ‘One moment, sir,’ he said and took the plates to a couple seated in the centre of the room. Both were men, and from the sound of their conversation, British. The one wearing a white dog-collar was doing most of the talking, while his attentive listener, in a beige cotton suit, answered with grunts. ‘Anything else, Padre sahib,’ Boman asked.

The priest looked up. ‘Not for me, thank you. What about you, James?’

‘Eh, salt and pepper, och no, it’s on the table. Great. Thank you.’

Boman gave a nod to Sam and went through the bead curtain. A moment later he returned with Bal. ‘This is the boy, master sahib.’

‘Fascinating,’ Sam said. ‘A charming, intelligent looking lad. What’s he? Seven, eight, can’t be more?’

Bal took an instant liking to Sam Dustoor. He gazed at him intently, smiled and pointing to him asked. ‘Job? I working.Yes, yes.’

Boman shook his head and held the boy back. ‘No, no job,’ he said firmly. ‘Here, take this book. Show it to Masterji. Now, sir. I saw that poster. But he didn’t copy it. The poster was destroyed in the rain.’

‘Drawn from memory? That’s special.’ Sam studied it. ‘Indeed! Outstanding for his age. He’s pointing to my pencil. Yes, you can hold it. It’s a red and blue pencil. One moment. I’ll show you.’ Sam opened his brief case and took out a blank sheet of paper. He drew a blue horizontal line, turned the pencil round and drew a red one below it. The effect on the boy amazed both men. He clapped his hands and uttered a squeal of joy.

Boman tapped the exercise book. ‘He drew that word “Tarzan”, with no idea…’

‘Tarzan,’ the boy nodded, pointing to the book.

‘And when I wrote this, the letter “E”, he sounded it…’

‘You’re saying,’ Sam said, ‘he remembers shapes and sounds and can reproduce them. But can he link sound to letters. If I write a block T…

Bal picked up the pencil and drew a red “T”.

‘Remarkable!’ Sam said. ‘The boy’s a mimic. One moment.’ He took the pencil from Bal and drew a large “A”. ‘There, here’s a test for you. This is A and this is - is…wait. That was a red A, I’ll now do a blue B. Here, now you do it.’

Bal took the pencil. He not only copied the letters recognisably, chose the right colours and sounded them, a little prolonged, yet fairly correctly.

The two men looked at each other. ‘This is amazing.’ Sam said. He glanced at his watch. ‘Where did you find the boy? Never mind. I have to go now.’

‘Thank you masterji. Bal, give Mr Dustoor back his pencil.’

‘That’s all right. Keep it.’ He smiled at the boy, who went up to him and took his hand. ‘No, no you stay here. With Boman. Go to Boman.’

‘
Challay challoo
! Go.’ Boman chivvied the boy to the storeroom and waited till he was out of sight. Then he turned to Sam Dastur. ‘The boy is an orphan.’

‘Hm. He ought to be in a school and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s Parsee, but not
passé,
if you get my meaning.’ He laughed helpfully, but the joke fell flat. ‘But he’s not, though he could pass as one. At a wild guess, I’d say, one of his parents was European. Very likely English.’

‘Then he will be an Anglo-Indian.’

‘In today’s sense of the word. Well, no one is pure. We’re all mixed. And matters like that must not affect our judgement. Right, I’ll be off.’

Sam Dustoor stopped at the street door and called back. ‘I say, Boman, you’ve got me all curious. About the boy. I’ll be back tomorrow. After lunch? Your flat?’

It was four in the afternoon when they met at Boman’s flat. Sam apologised for being later than he planned. ‘But I’ve spent a fruitful afternoon. I’ve got good news for the boy. Now, as you know, as a member of the teaching staff I have the privilege of a place in my school. But our boys start at eleven and they have to pass a test, an entrance examination—as in Minoo’s case. The boy will need grounding in primary education. I’ve had a useful chat with the Reverend Jack Jones, Head of St Peter’s Kindergarten School. It’s in the Byculla area. St Peter’s also has an orphanage. Jones is prepared to place him there and in the school. What? Just a pot of tea, thanks.’

The tea was brought in by a tall, neatly dressed servant, wearing a black pill-box cap. He placed the tray on the table, bowed, waited a moment, and then left the room.

‘I see you still have Ajmeri working for you.’

‘Yes, after all that fuss he decided to stay. Good chap, but a hot head. I told him I’d double his salary if he also worked in the restaurant. But no. He is too proud.’

‘You mean, he thinks serving at tables beneath his dignity. Keep tempting him. He’ll change his mind one day. Now back to our boy. You know, Bomi, while I don’t want any trouble over this, I’m sticking my neck out, because I like the boy enough to want to help. I’m curious to see what schooling will do for him. But, you know, sometimes the sparks of infant genius disappear with time. My young brother, Jimmy, who is in California, was such a case. He took to the violin when he was not yet five. Extremely talented. My father took him to Boston. Today he’s a salesman. That, as the Americans say, is how the cookie crumbles. But I ramble. Remind me. You did say the boy’s an orphan? And you’re sure of that?’

‘Yes. Yesterday, when his friends came for him, I checked again.’

‘Is the boy still here with you?’

‘Yes. I told them to leave the boy with me. That if I can’t find him a job, I will keep him, giving him small jobs to do for me. There was a bit of
jhagadra.
’

‘You mean an argument?’

‘Yes. The other orphan, Asif, was rather protective. But when Yosef, the older one, told him, if he was a true friend of the boy, he must trust someone his uncle knows. Asif then calmed down. I learned a bit more about the boy. As a babe he was left on temple steps in Fatehpur village. He was found and cared for by two women.’

‘You know of this village?’

‘Nothing. But I will talk to Yosef’s uncle. Make sure the story is true. Boys tell lies. So it’s good to get an elder’s okay. Sorry, masterji, for all this trouble.’

‘Don’t apologise. It’s a challenge and about education. It’s what I do. As I said, I like the boy. If it works out well, l’ll go all the way. I’ll get Taraporevala, the lawyer who did my divorce, to make a trip to the village. Make a deal with these women. If I can legally adopt him, I will. I’ve got no one.’

‘There won’t be a problem, of that I’m sure.’

‘Yes, but I can see you have something else on your mind.’

‘Mastersahib, forgive my asking. But some of my friends…they say, why you not marry again?’

‘Well…I hope you didn’t say too much.’

‘No, no. Be sure of that. My lips are
bund
, closed, sealed.’

Sam shrugged. ‘Marry again? I’d rather have my books. They are faithful friends. Besides, now I’m too old and set in my ways.’ He smiled. ‘Bomi, about the boy. You know, he could be Parsee. In looks I mean. He’ll fit in. Also he’s nameless. So when he gets to my school…incidentally Mark Evans…

‘Headmaster Sahib?’

‘Yes. Should have said this earlier…we had a little chat, about the boy, yesterday, after school. He was intrigued. Even said if the boy showed promise, he’d waive the fees. But you know money is not a …I’ll register him as Sam Dustoor junior.’

‘You’re a good and kind man, Dustoorji. God will bless you.’