Out of India (29 page)

But Rajee sat there hunched together and with his head bowed, letting me say whatever I wanted, even when I called him a cheat and a liar and a thief. He sat there quiet and looking guilty. Then I wished that he would speak and rouse himself and perhaps get angry in return. I stopped every time I had said something very bad, so that he might defend himself. But it was always Daddy who spoke. “Right,” he said. “Correct,” till at last I cried, “Oh, please be quiet, Daddy!”

“No,” Rajee said. “He is right. I deserve everything you say, all the names you are calling me, for having worried you so much.”

“Worried me about what?”

Rajee looked up in surprise. He made a vague gesture, as if too ashamed to mention what had happened.

“About what?”

Rajee lowered his eyes again.

“Oh, you think that's all,” I said. “That you have been in jail. You think that's the worst thing you have done. Ha.”

He looked quite blank. The idiot! Did he think that was nothing—to have been in our bedroom alone with Sudha? Was it so small a thing? Then I longed to do more than only shout at him. I longed really to strike and beat him. If only Daddy would go away!

Daddy said, “I'm very tired. I will stay here tonight.”

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Rajee jumped up. He got sheets and pillows and made up Daddy's bed on the sofa. Afterward he turned down the sheet like a professional nurse and helped Daddy undress and arranged him comfortably. He spent rather a long time on all this, and appeared quite engrossed in it. I realized he was putting off being alone with me.

But I could wait. Soon Daddy would be asleep and then we would be alone. He would not be able to get away from me. I crossed the passage into our bedroom. I looked around carefully. It was as usual. There seemed to be no trace of Sudha left. It is strange: she has a very strong smell—partly because she is heavy and perspires heavily and partly because of the strong perfumes she wears—but though I sniffed and sniffed the air, I found that nothing of her remained.

I stepped up close to the mirror to look at myself. I often do it—not so much because I'm interested in myself but because of a desire to check up on how I look to Rajee. I haven't changed much from the time he first knew me. I think small, skinny girls like me don't change as fast as big ones like Sudha. If it weren't for my long hair, I still could be taken either for a boy or a girl. When I was a child, people had difficulty in telling which I was because Daddy always had my hair cut short. He had a theory that it was a woman's long hair that was to blame for her lack of freedom. But later, when I grew bigger, I envied the other girls their thick, long hair, in which they wore ornaments and flowers, and I would no longer allow mine to be cut. It never grew very thick, though. Sometimes I try to wear a flower, but my hair is too thin to hold it and the flower droops and looks odd, so that sooner or later I snatch it out and throw it away.

Rajee called to ask if I wanted tea. I called back no. I realized he only wanted to put off the moment for us to be alone together. I felt angry and grim. But when he did come I stopped feeling like that. He stood in the door, trying to scan my face to see my mood. He
tried to smile at me. He looked terribly tired, with rings under his eyes.

“Lie down,” I said. “Go to sleep now.” My voice shook, I had such deep feeling for him at that moment.

He was very much relieved that I had stopped being angry. He flung himself on the bed like a person truly exhausted. I squatted on the bed beside him and rubbed my fingers to and fro in his soft hair. He had his eyes shut and looked at peace.

After a time, I whispered, “Was it very bad?”

Without opening his eyes, he answered, “Only at first. Don't stop. I like it.” I went on rubbing my fingers in his hair. “At first of course it was a shock, though everyone was quite polite. They allowed me to take a taxi, and two policemen accompanied me.”

“They didn't—?” I asked. I had been thinking about this all the time, and it made me shudder more than anything. So often in the streets I had seen people led away to jail, and their wrists were handcuffed and they were fastened to a policeman with a long chain.

“Oh no,” he said. He knew what I meant at once. “They could see they were dealing with a gentleman. The policemen were very respectful to me, and they accepted cigarettes from me and smoked them in the taxi, though they were on duty. And when we got there everyone was quite nice. They were quite apologetic that this had to be done.” He opened his eyes and said, “I wish you hadn't taken the money from Sudha.”

“Then from where?” I cried.

“Yes, I know. But I wish—”

“Should I have left you there?”

“No no, of course not.” He spoke quickly, as if afraid that I would get angry again. And to prevent this from happening he pulled me down beside him and pressed me close and held me.

He seemed eager to tell me about the jail. He always likes to tell me everything, and I sit up for him at night and try to keep awake, however late he comes, because I know he is coming home with a lot to tell. Every day something exciting happens to him, and he loves to repeat it to me in every detail. Well, it seemed that even in jail he had had a good time, and it wasn't at all like what I had thought.

“You see,” he explained, “before trial we are kept quite separate and we are allowed all sorts of facilities. It's really more like a hotel. Of course, there are guards, but they don't bother you at all. On the
contrary, if they see you are a better-class person they like to help you. I met some very interesting people there—really some quite topnotch people; you'd be surprised.”

I
was
surprised. I had no idea it could be like that. But that is one of the wonderful things about Rajee—wherever he goes, whatever he does, something good and exciting happens to him.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I made a very good contact. Something interesting could come of it. Wait, I'll tell you.”

I knew he wanted his cigarettes—he always likes to smoke when he has something nice to tell—so I got out of bed and brought them for him. He lit up, and we lay again side by side on the bed.

“There was this person in the patent-medicine line, who had been in for several days. It took time to arrange for his bail, because it was for a very big amount. There is a big case against him. Everyone—all the guards and everyone—was very respectful to him, and he was good to them too. He knew how to handle them. His food and other things came from outside, and he also had cases of beer and always saw to it that the guards had their share. Naturally, they did everything they could to oblige him. And they were very careful with me too, because they could see he had taken a great liking to me.”

That was nothing new. Wherever he goes, people take a great liking to Rajee and do all sorts of things for him and want to keep him in their company.

“He insisted I should eat with him, though as a matter of fact I wasn't very hungry, I was still rather upset. But the food was so delicious—such wonderful kebabs, I wish you could have tasted them. And plenty of beer with it, and plenty of good company, because there were some other people too, all in for various things but all of them better-class. We were quite a select group. Afterward we had a game of cards, that was good fun. Why are you laughing?”

It was all so different from what I had thought! I was laughing at myself, for my fears and terrible visions. I asked, “Did you win anything?”

“No, as a matter of fact I lost, but as I didn't have the money to pay they said it didn't matter, I could pay some other time.”

“How much?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, not very much.”

But he seemed anxious to change the subject, which confirmed my suspicions. My mood was no longer so good now. I began to
brood. Here I had been, and Daddy and Sudha, and there he had been all the time quite enjoying himself and even losing money at cards.

I said, “If it was so nice, perhaps I should have left you there.”

He gave me a reproachful look and was silent for a while. But then he said, “I wish it had been possible to get the money from someone else.”

“Why?” I said, and then I felt worse. “Why?” I repeated. “She is such a wonderful friend to you. So wonderful,” I cried, “that you bring her here and lock yourself into our bedroom with her to do God knows what!”

He turned to me and comforted me. He explained everything. I began to see that he had had no alternative—that he
had
to bring her in here because of the way she felt and because of the money she had given. He didn't say so outright, but I realized it was partly my fault also, for taking the money from her.

I felt much better. He went on talking about Sudha, and I liked it, the way he spoke about her. He said, “She is not a generous person; that is why it is not good to take from her. At heart, she grudges giving—it eats her up.”

“She was always like that,” I said, giving him a swift sideways look. But he agreed with me; he nodded. I saw that his feelings for her had completely changed.

“Every little bit she gives,” he said, “she wants four times as much in return.”

“It's her nature.”

I remembered what she had said about his taking money from her purse. I felt indignant. To shame him like that, before her servant! Obviously, he would never have taken the money if he had not been in great need. She should have been glad to help him out. I never hide my money from him now. I used to sometimes—I used to put away absolutely necessary amounts, like for the rent—but he always seemed to find out my hiding places, so I don't do it anymore. Now if we run short I borrow it from the cash register in the shop; no one ever notices, and I always put it back when I get my salary. Only once I couldn't put it back—there were some unexpected expenses—but they never found out, so it's all right.

“What's that?” he said. We were both silent, listening. He said, “I think Daddy is calling.”

“I don't hear anything.”

Rajee wanted to go and see, but I assured him it was all right. Daddy might have called out in his sleep—he often did that. I asked Rajee to tell me more about his adventures last night, so he settled back and lit another cigarette.

“You know, this person I was telling you about—in the patent-medicine line? He wants me to contact him as soon as he comes out. He says he will put some good things in my way. He was very keen to meet me again and wanted to have my telephone number . . . You know, it is very difficult without a telephone; it is the biggest handicap in my career. It is not even necessary to have an office, but a telephone—you can't do big business without one. Do you know that some of the most important deals are concluded over the telephone only? I could tell you some wonderful stories.”

“I know,” I said. He had already told me some wonderful stories on this subject, and I knew how much he longed for and needed a telephone, but where could I get it from?

“Never mind,” he said. He didn't want me to feel bad. “When we move into a better place, we shall install all these things. Telephone, refrigerator—I think he
is
calling.”

Rajee went to see. I also got off the bed and looked under it for my slippers. As I did so, I remembered a terrible dream I used to have as a child. I used to dream Daddy was dead. Then I screamed and screamed, and when I woke up Daddy was holding me and I had my arms around his neck. Afterward I was always afraid to go on sleeping by myself and got into his bed. But I would never tell him my dream. I was frightened to speak it out.

When I came into the sitting room, I found Daddy sitting up on the sofa, and Rajee was holding him up under the arms—sort of propping him up. It was that time of the night when everything looks dim and depressing. We have only one light bulb, and it looked very feeble and even ghostly and did not shed much light. Dawn wasn't far off—it was no longer quite night and it was not yet day—and the light coming in through the window was rather dreary. Perhaps it was because of this that Daddy's face looked so strange; he lay limp and lolling in Rajee's arms.

And he was very cross. He said he had been shouting for hours and no one came. In the end, he had had to get up himself and get his pills and the water to swallow them with. If it hadn't been for that—if he hadn't somehow got the strength together—then who
knew what state we might have found him in later when we woke up from our deep sleep? Rajee kept apologizing, trying to soothe him, but that only seemed to make him more cross. He went on and on.

“Yes,” he said, “and if something happens to me now, then what about her?” He pointed at me in an accusing way.

“Nothing will happen, Daddy,” Rajee said, soothing him. “You are all right.”

Daddy snorted with contempt. “Feel this,” he said, guiding Rajee's hand to his heart.

“You are all right,” Rajee repeated.

Daddy made another contemptuous sound and pushed Rajee's hand away. “You would have made a fine doctor. And who is going to look after her when you go? What will she do all alone for seven years?”

“He is
not going,
Daddy,” I said, spacing my words very distinctly. I didn't like it, that he should still be thinking about that.

“Not going where?” Rajee asked.

That made Daddy so angry that he became quite energetic. He stopped lolling in Rajee's arms and began to abuse him, calling him the same sort of names I had called him earlier. And Rajee listened to him as he had listened to me, respectfully, with his head lowered.

I tried to bear it quietly for a while but couldn't. Then I interrupted Daddy. I said, “It is not like that at all.”

“No?” he said. “To go to jail is not like that? Perhaps it's a nice thing. Perhaps we should say, ‘Well done, Son. Bravo.'”