Stephanie (5 page)

They were already drinking tea and munching arrowroot biscuits. Nari greeted them both and the middle-aged man was introduced to him as Mr Haji Noor Mohamed. For a moment or two Nari chatted brightly to Shyam, who was the same age as himself and was stout and pockmarked but darkly good-looking if you liked the extrovert type. Mr Mohamed had no small talk and sat silently sipping his tea and watching Nari with deep-set assessing eyes.

No one invited Nari to take tea, so he ordered some for himself. There had been a meeting of the Congress Party yesterday – for some anniversary, and Nari wondered if Mr Mohamed had come from out of town to join the celebrations. The dress was right, but a little too richly ornamented.

Out of the blue, as it were, quite without any good reason at all, it seemed, just when they were discussing the ill effects of smog in Bombay and what they must do to clean up the city, and the constant influx of new inhabitants – many thousands a day flocking in from the surrounding countryside – and how some firms were moving their premises to Poona where it was cheaper and cleaner and no union problems, and how lax the city council was in dealing with the matter of over-population – just when the conversation was proceeding very smoothly Shyam broke off and said: ‘Have you brought the money to repay your debt, Nari?'

Nari looked, and felt, insulted. That they should be expected to discuss his private affairs in front of a complete stranger …

‘Look, Shyam, with all the good will in the world towards you, I do not think it is suitable –'

‘It is very suitable,' interrupted Shyam. ‘ Mr Mohamed knows all about our little arrangement, for it is from him that I borrowed the money to lend to you.'

‘You … borrowed the money … ?'

‘From Mr Mohamed. How else would I find such money myself?'

This was a bit of a thunderbolt, and Nari found it hard to believe that Shyam should have done any such outrageous thing. Shyam came of a good family. His father was a Brahmin and they had land somewhere in the hills between Bombay and Ahmadnagar. A bit of a thunderbolt.

‘Mr Mohamed, I will tell you, is not a professional moneylender. Oh dear, no, nothing of the sort. He is a gentleman of private means whom I have known for some time, and when I told him of your predicament – your temporary predicament – he was quite willing to help – temporarily – a young lawyer in distress. That is why I have brought him with me this afternoon so that when you repay him in person you can thank him for his generosity. And only eight per cent interest! Not any of your twenty-five or thirty per cent interest such as a moneylender would charge!'

Nari burned his lips on the scalding tea. A little went down and helped to nerve him for his exercise in apologetics.

‘Alas,' he began, ‘my life has not gone according to my plans this month. My wife, Bonni, has been ill, and you know what doctors charge. Then I have had the misfortune to have one of her relatives – an aunt – staying with us, and the old lady has eaten me out of house and home. Furthermore …'

He listed the other misfortunes that had befallen him which unhappily made him unable to repay any of the loan this month. Next month would be far better. Next month he would not have to face again any of the expenses he had just listed which had come on him so unexpectedly and undeservedly of late.

When he was at school the English teacher had used a quotation – was it from Shakespeare? –
The lady doth protest too much
, and it crossed Nari's mind that this was what he was doing now; but he could not stop. Under the contemptuous gaze of his school chum and the penetrating but expressionless stare of Mr Mohamed he could not control his tongue and he went on, justifying, apologising, excusing.

When at last he fell silent – a local silence amid the mindless hubbub and clatter of the café – Mr Mohamed lowered his gaze and began to turn round and round a thick gold ring on the second finger of his left hand. He had altogether six gold rings on one hand and five on the other, most of them set with stones or seals. He also had a gold bracelet, a gold wristwatch and a gold tiepin.

He said in a guttural undertone: ‘You have been playing poker again.'

Nari swallowed something thick in his throat. In the last month he had only been to the Hotel Welcome three times and he could not understand how this stranger could possibly know. Who had told him? Shyam did not know. Could Bonni have spoken to someone? Or was it just a bluff?

‘Twice,' he admitted. ‘But once I went to take tea with my friends there, and the other time I lost nothing of consequence. I sat down at the table for barely half an hour, just to be friendly, with my friends, you understand.'

‘Then why have you no money?'

‘I have tried to explain, sir. And I am only a clerk. My monthly salary is –'

‘I know what your monthly salary is. The whole of it for four weeks –'

‘I have to live, sir, and maintain a sick wife.'

‘You should have thought of that before you borrowed money to pay your gambling debts.'

The three men stared at each other.

Shyam said loudly: ‘Look here, Nari, we must have this out, see? Two months now you have owed me this money. Mr Mohamed has lost patience. You must pay up or suffer the consequences.'

Nari had about 150 rupees in a secret pocket inside his shirt to protect it from pickpockets. He dug this out and laid it on the table.

‘This is all I have now. This is all I have in the world! We are in rented rooms and there is nothing I can sell. On Friday week I shall have my pay, but on that I have to live for all the next month – to keep a wife, to pay the rent, to eat enough to stay alive …'

His voice trailed off as he saw neither of the men was interested.

Mr Mohamed made a contemptuous gesture towards the money. ‘Put that away. It is of no consequence, that trifling sum. I too have my masters, and it will be necessary to pay them the whole sum this week and no more delay.'

Nari looked from one to the other. ‘What can I do?'

‘You should have thought of that before.'

‘You cannot send me to prison! It was a friendly loan from a schoolfriend! I signed no paper! I could be convicted of nothing!' Gaining confidence, he gathered up the notes and thrust them back into his shirt pocket. ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not know you had lent this money, and I will certainly repay it next month.'

Mr Haji Noor Mohamed waved away the flies that had settled on the table where Nari in his agitation had spilled a drop of tea.

‘Not to prison,' he said. ‘ Oh, not to prison. We could not do that …'

‘Well, then,' said Nari, feeling better. ‘But I promise next month –'

‘We will send two men,' said Mr Mohamed. ‘ They will break your legs.'

The noise outside was now deafening. A traffic jam had built up and all the horns were blaring, men cursing, bicycle bells ringing. A policeman was thrusting his way through the crowd to see what was amiss.

What was not amiss was Nari's hearing. Although Mr Mohamed spoke low the young man could not fail to hear the words spoken. At first his mind would not credit them. Then he broke out in a sweat which even in that heated atmosphere seemed cold.

He turned his eyes affrightedly to his friend Shyam Lal Shastri, but Shyam had a finger inside his mouth picking one of his back teeth. His expression was sullen and emotionless. If it meant anything it meant there was no help being offered by him.

‘You …' Nari choked. ‘How could that be? … No one would do such a thing …'

There was no reply. Nari knew, alas, that such things could happen; among the gangs and petty criminals of Bombay such things could certainly occur. In the back streets where the prostitutes lived and down by the docks. But not – it did not, could not happen to an educated, respectable, law-abiding solicitor's clerk, just because by misfortune he had fallen in debt to the tune of a few thousand rupees.

Mr Mohamed was getting up. He was a short man when he rose, a stout man with short legs, but no less formidable for that. A gold earring glinted.

‘I shall be going. Think the matter over, Naresh Prasad. I will give you twenty-four hours more. Return your answer to Shyam Lal Shastri at this time and this place tomorrow. I bid you both good day.'

Neither of them had the nerve to try to stop him leaving. He moved stockily out among the tables, among the clatter of tin cups and the shouts of thirsty drinkers and the yapping mongrel dogs, and was soon lost sight of among taller men.

Nari slumped down in his seat, feeling faint and sick. Bile rose in his throat and was only just choked back. Shyam sat quietly beside him, brushing away the flies again.

‘By all that's holy!' Nari broke out. ‘You have put me into this position! You, my old schoolfriend, that I trusted and hoped would help me! Who is this man? How dare you borrow money from such a one with the pretence of lending it to me yourself –'

‘Shut up!' snapped Shyam. ‘This is all your own doing! Gambling on your salary is begging for trouble. What else did you expect? A lawyer's clerk with a wife to keep and many of her relations too, how could you expect to play poker and not run into such trouble? You are a fool, man! I tried to help you but what do you do? Go back to the tables and squander more! How much more are you in debt? How much more?'

‘Shyam,' Nari said, ‘I owe nothing except the seven thousand rupees. But that is enough –'

‘It is more than enough!'

‘Tell me – this man – he will not carry out his threat? It is far outside the law –'

‘Oh yes, he will, Nari. I regret, very much regret, to tell you that he will. It is not an agreeable situation –'

‘There are moneylenders,' Nari said wildly. ‘I must find one tomorrow morning! What's the matter? Why do you shake your head?'

‘Of course you can find one. But this will only put off the day of reckoning by a month at most. Then you will soon be owing ten thousand rupees instead of seven thousand.'

‘Then what can I
do
? What do you suggest?'

‘It is not for me to suggest,' Shyam said. ‘You have only yourself to blame.'

‘That's not true!' Nari was furious. ‘Yes, I have been extravagant – it is hard not to overstep the mark on the pittance I get. But it was you who lent me the money, not that man! You should be the one to suffer for such a wicked deed! … Here, where are you going?'

‘Home. I am not here to be insulted. You must find your own way out of this.'

Nari clutched his sleeve and the chair fell over. The man next to them protested and shouted that he was a clumsy fellow, and by the time Nari had pacified him Shyam was out in the street.

Nari ran after him, again grasped his arm. Shyam tried to shake himself free but this time could not. He faced about.

‘Leave me alone!'

‘That I cannot do! What am I to do now? Tell me, what am I to do? You are my friend. We have known each other for twenty years …'

A beggar, a holy man, half-naked and smeared in grey ash was trying to attract their attention and their pity, holding his begging bowl in both hands and pushing it between them. Nari ignored the man but Shyam gave him half a rupee. Out here the heat of the city, generated through the day, had become overpowering, and blue petrol fumes were everywhere.

Shyam said with his usual coldness: ‘ Seventeen years to be exact. I did not meet you until I was nine. And that was a bad day for us both.'

‘What can I do?' Nari asked again. ‘You must
advise
me! These thugs – they will kill me.
You
are responsible!'

‘Let me tell you once again it was your own stupid fault! A petty clerk trying to live like a king! I helped you out of my kindness of heart. Out of my kindness of heart, I tell you! I thought you could save enough to repay Mr Mohamed. But you did not reform. Now …'

Nari waited. A boy without legs crouched on a trolley was trying to sell them a newspaper.

‘Now there is only one possibility which is only just occurring to me. But are you the man for it, I wonder? This is not boy's work I am thinking of.'

‘What is it? Tell me. Please tell me. I will do anything to get out of this dreadful predicament!'

Shyam scratched his pockmarked nose. ‘No, on considering you, I do not think you have the strength of character.'

‘At least tell me, so that I can say yes or no! That at least you owe me! What is it you're suggesting?'

The other young man shook his head. ‘I can tell you nothing now. But I will think it over.'

‘There is no time!'

‘Yes, there is. Meet me outside the India Coffee House at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I will have made enquiries and will know more then. Ask for an extra hour off. There will be time then for you to consider it before we meet Mr Mohamed at five.'

Bonni's marriage to Naresh had been arranged by their parents, and, since she came from a village in the foothills behind the city, it had been thought a good match. Nari was studying law and would soon be qualified and able to take a partnership or to set up on his own. In the meantime a clerkship with an established firm gave him time to study and a small but manageable income, and they had two rooms and a verandah to begin their married life.

But Bonni was soon dissatisfied. She was a pretty girl with a pretty girl's love of colourful, pretty things and she found Nari a disappointing husband. Once the first flush of his interest in her had gone he was out most nights instead of studying, and spending money which should have gone to keep them both in a degree of comfort. She went to the movies with girl friends and whined complaints at him when he came in late. Presently it became clear even to Bonni, though he tried to hide it from her, that he was not clever enough or industrious enough to pass his law exams, and it seemed probable that he would remain a typing and filing clerk for the rest of his days. Bonni did not produce children, and complained of anaemia and general neglect. Nari's complaint was that Bonni had an endless succession of relatives to stay, that the flat was never without one or two, chattering and whispering and sleeping on the charpoy on the balcony. One week it was her mother, then an aunt or a cousin or a sister, or sometimes all three. They whispered together in corners when Nari was about, criticising him. It was a woman's world in which a single man was dominant but alone.