Tiger Hills (55 page)

Later that week, they were out with a boisterous group, Appu as usual being the life of the party, when Jürgen Stassler pulled him aside. “You come from money,
ja?
”

Appu raised an eyebrow.

“You do not have to reply. It is evident enough from your manner of speech. Tell me. You have heard of Adolf Hitler? Are you interested in learning about his Youth Party?”

Appu went along with Stassler to one of the meetings, as a lark. Stassler talked all the way there. “Germany was a proud country once,” he said. “One of the finest in Europe.” He gestured contemptuously at a whore leering at them. “Look at us now. A city of the desperate. Berlin is now an aging whore. Her legs, they are parted wide, her brassy charms wearing thin.”

Appu was startled. Stassler was paraphrasing something that Ellen had said the previous evening, waving her cigarette about as she pontificated. “Berlin is an aging cabaret dancer,” she had said. “A woman ever so slightly desperate, but there's an enduring magic to her tawdry charms. They still come by the hordes, her admirers, to dance to her tune and inhale her gold-dusted dreams.”

“Well—” Appu began, but Stassler had stopped abruptly and was knocking on a massive wooden door. They were ushered in without fuss and pointed in the direction of a large, well-lit hall. The congregation was strictly male, youths aged roughly fourteen and upward. An officer came up to them and, pointing his riding crop at Appu, barked something in German. Apparently satisfied with Stassler's response, he nodded and walked stiffly away. Someone stepped up onto the podium, and a hush fell on the room. The speeches began. Appu could not follow most of it, but every so often, an officer would grab the microphone and scream
“Sieg!”
into it.

“Heil,”
the crowd shouted in unison.

“HEIL,”
Appu roared along with them.

“A drink,” Appu cried to Stassler when the speeches were over. “Brilliant stuff, this Youth Party.
Heil!
Didn't quite follow what they were going on about but it sounded dashed exciting.”

It was the Jews, Stassler translated for him over beers, them and their greedy, money-grabbing ways. He seemed to think that the Jews were somehow responsible for the postwar bankrupting of Germany. “They bought our land. The land that had been in our families for centuries. Sold in desperation, for next to nothing to these … these …
foreigners.
” Stassler spat out the words.

Appu wondered idly how Stassler would react if he knew that Reverend Gundert had sold his lands and bequeathed the proceeds to a
foreigner.
“I say … ,” he began, but Stassler was ranting on.

Ellen was troubled when Appu later recounted the evening to her. “Keep away from Stassler,” she said to him. “I don't even remember how he became part of our crowd, but he's always given me the creeps, the way he stares at me with those bulbous eyes.”

Appu yawned as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Well, do us all a favor and bed him then,” he said lightly. He grinned, the dimple cutting a deep groove in his cheek. “Sex resolves a lot of issues. Forget Stassler, we should let
you
loose in one of those Youth meetings and let you work your magic.”

Chuckling, he turned to fling his shirt on the sofa, and missed entirely the look of raw hurt on Ellen's face.

Chapter 36

T
he proceeds from the will arrived in the bank account in Mercara, and Devi began to clear her debts. Devanna suggested that she buy back the two estates that had been sold, but instead she invested two-thirds of the capital with an insurance company in Bombay, and in a textile and tea conglomerate in Calcutta. “Those estates brought us bad luck,” she told him. “I don't want them in the family. I will buy one more property, a good piece of land to bequeath to Nanju. But beyond that and Tiger Hills, I have learned my lesson. We will not be left so vulnerable again. No more coffee.”

In preparation for the wedding, and as a surprise for Appu when he returned, Devi decided on a massive overhaul of the Tiger Hills bungalow. It would be transformed, with a new façade superimposed upon the present foundation; it would be the largest, most modern home in all of Coorg.

The renovations were a source of endless gossip, both at the Club and among the Coorgs. An architect had been summoned from Bangalore to design the two-story structure. It was going to be built entirely from materials found on the estate. A vast kiln had been erected to make mud bricks. Masons had been employed from Kerala to develop a special wash for the walls with lime and the yolks of no fewer than
twenty-eight thousand
eggs.

“Quickly, quickly,” Devi urged the workers. “My son will be returning soon; all of this must be completed by his return.”

She began to hunt in earnest for a bride for Nanju. “Find me someone,” she urged her family and acquaintances. “The prettiest girl you can find, the kindest and the most accomplished, nobody but the best for my elder son.”

Devi began to hum again as she went about the house, hopelessly out of tune, as always. Listening to her from the open windows as he pruned his bonsai, Devanna smiled.

Devi nodded in satisfaction as she took in the new library. The renovations were nearly done, the piles of loose gravel removed from the courtyard, the walls lustrous with their wash of lime and egg yolk. “Never will be flaking,” the masons had assured her, “cent percent guarantee.” It was an ancient recipe, they explained. Rain or shine, not a flake or crack would appear in the wash. Devi ran her hand along a section of wall and her fingers came away clean. For once the masons appeared to be right.

She had ordered the jewelry for the weddings, from the goldsmiths in Mercara and Mysore. Diamonds, of course, and the ruby adigé, the coral pathak, and the crescent-shaped kokkéthathi. There were Victorian cameo brooches, ivory hair combs, muslin saris so finely spun that they fit, all nine yards of them, into the palm of a woman's hand, silk scarves (it was the rage these days for the young to tie an ascot at their necks above their saris), satin chemises bordered with lace, silk nightgowns, and handkerchiefs embroidered in the convents of Mangalore, each stitch so fine that it was impossible to tell which was the right side.

For the boys, white and gold wedding turbans lined with silk, individual sets of fifteen shirts and five trousers each ordered from London, suits from Hardings and Sons in Bangalore, custom-made shoes from Connaught Circus, pocket watches encased in gold filigree, hair pomade, bottles of eau de cologne, silver-handled shaving brushes and, the coup de grâce, an order placed with the dealer in Bangalore for two brand-new Austins.

Just last week, she had finally found an estate for Nanju. She had driven the brokers mad these past months, rejecting one estate
after another. The soil on one property had felt too dry to the touch, and there was obvious waterlogging in another. The well had been inauspiciously dug in the northernmost part of another property, and in another the entire estate had been planted to the west. The property she bought had to be flawless. It was for her eldest child, after all. And then finally she found it, a beautiful parcel of land in the south.

Now all she needed was to find Nanju a bride and for that rapscallion son of hers to return home. She looked at the clouds drifting across the sky. Somewhere under the night-stained edge of that very sky, her child lay asleep.
Iguthappa Swami, send Appu home.
Devi leaned her forehead against the window. From here, she could see the mountains, their tops hidden from view. There, the mighty Bhagamandala and the Kaveri temple. She stared into the distance, a catch in her throat. It seemed like a different lifetime now, the Kaveri festival, climbing up to the peak … all of her life still lying ahead of her.

She would go again, Devi resolved pensively. She would take her sons and their brides to the temple, seek Kaveri amma's blessings once more.

A movement below caught her eye, and Devi brightened as she spotted Nanju on the lawn. “Nanju,” she called, smiling. “Come upstairs, kunyi, I have something to show you.”

They had not spoken again about his unexpected outburst, when he had questioned her for sending Appu to Germany. There was no question in Devi's mind that she had made the right decision. Still, she knew she had ended up hurting him. He had said nothing more on the matter, hugging Appu fondly when he had left. Nonetheless, she had noticed how withdrawn Nanju had become over these past months, and she had been anxious to make amends. She beamed as he came up the stairs.

“Avvaiah?”

“Here.” She held out a sheaf of papers.

“Oh, are we buying again?” He looked through the papers and whistled softly. “Six hundred acres? This is a large property.”

“Yes. And it's yours.”

He looked at her, not understanding, and she laughed with delight. “Take a look at the papers, go on, see, the land is registered in your name.”

“Mine?”

Devi laughed again. “Yes, my slow-thinking son, yours, all yours. See here, this is your name, is it not, at the top of the papers?”

“But … Tiger Hills?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “What of it?”

“Tiger Hills, Avvaiah.
This
estate. What … I'm the older son.”

“Yes, of course. Which is why you get the larger property.
Six hundred
acres, monae. I even had a soil sampling done, very good they tell me, the coffee will—”

“No, Avvaiah. Give this to Appu.”

“What is this nonsense? Do you know how hard your Avvaiah has searched to find you this? This is the best property that has come on the market in years, the shade trees are excellent, and look at its size. With six hundred acres, a person could—”

“I don't
want
six hundred acres. Not six hundred, not even ten thousand, all I have ever wanted is Tiger Hills. Give this to Appu, buy him two more if you want, but Tiger Hills … Tiger Hills is mine.”

“Kunyi, what is this? Tiger Hills is Appu's.

“It goes to Appu,” she repeated, distressed when he said nothing. “Tiger Hills has to be Appu's.”

“Like breathing.” The words were barely audible and Devi wasn't sure she had heard correctly at first. “Like
breathing,
” he said again, staring at the title deed in his hands. “This estate, even as a boy … This land, it's like breathing for me, Avvaiah.” He looked helplessly at his mother. “Appu will never love it as much as I do, you know he won't.”

“In the name of all the Gods. Nanju, please. Don't make matters difficult.” The memory of Machu's widow rose unbidden in her mind.
You promise to give Appu his birthright?
the woman had asked.

“Tiger Hills goes to Appu, it has to. Look, just
look
at this property
I bought you. Six hundred acres. It is much larger than Tiger Hills. You ought to be bursting with joy!”

“Thank you, Avvaiah,” he said then. “Tiger Hills … thank you,” he repeated heavily. Bending down, Nanju touched his mother's feet.

Devi bit her lip, unsettled by the exchange. “Swami kapad. God grant my son all happiness. And now that you have a property with which to support a wife, I'm going to find you one. Someone really lovely, really good, nobody but the best for my son.”

He looked at her, a strange, tight smile on his lips. “As lovely as Baby?” he asked.

Devi was more disturbed than she cared to acknowledge by what Nanju had said; so much so that she went the very next day to visit Tayi.

“Kunyi, please stop. You make me dizzy.” Tayi feebly patted the side of the cot. “Come sit.”

Devi ignored the summons, although she halted her pacing to stand by the window. She glared at the chickens pecking in the mud. “Not one word from Appu, Tayi. Is he all right? When is he coming home? Nothing. Has he no concern for Baby? And I am his
mother.
Does he not understand how I must worry?”

Two of the hens got into a tussle with one another in a loud screeching and squawking, and Devi banged on the window bars. “Shoo!” she shouted. “Shoo!” They subsided with a disgruntled puffing of their feathers. She turned to Tayi, suddenly frightened. “He … he
will
return, won't he? Appu will come home, won't he?”

Tayi sighed. “Of course he will.” She patted the side of the bed again. “Sit.”

Talking with Tayi had lent her some modicum of comfort, but nonetheless, Devi remained upset on her way back to Tiger Hills. She raised a hand to the tiger brooch, running her fingers absently
over its smoothness. Maybe it had been a mistake after all, sending the boy abroad. She knew, she knew with a mother's instinct, that he was getting up to no good there.
All these white girls,
she thought uncharitably,
no thought of maryadi.
No sense of what was proper, and what was not. Appu was
betrothed,
was he not? And still they must be making eyes at him …