The Mountain Shadow

‘Their father put professional bad people on my case. I had to run, and run fast.’

‘Tough break,’ I said. ‘Serves you right, for falling in love with a policeman’s daughters.’

I turned to Didier, who was sitting back in his chair, his legs crossed, and his hand supporting his chin.

‘Any advice?’

‘Didier has a solution,’ he declared. ‘You must wear two of those T-shirts, that common people wear, under your shirt, for two weeks. You must not wash with soap, or hair products. Only water. You must not wear scent of any kind, and you must not brush against any person wearing scent. And you must not wash the shirts.’

‘And then?’ Oleg asked.

‘And then you mail the T-shirts in two packages, one to each of the twins, with only two words on the back – Leopold’s, Bombay.’

‘And then?’

‘And then you give copies of Irina’s photograph to the waiters at Leopold’s, and offer a reward to the first man who identifies her, and calls you.’

‘What makes you think she’ll come?’ Oleg asked.

He had the same expression shining in his smile that the students on the mountain had, when they listened to Idriss.

‘The scent,’ Didier smiled back at him. ‘If she is yours, the power of your scent will bring her. She will come to you, like a pheromone pilgrim. But only if she is yours, and you are hers.’

‘Wow, Didier!’ Oleg said, slapping his hands together. ‘I’ll start right away.’

He jumped up, pulled my second T-shirt from my wardrobe, and pulled it on over my other one, which he was wearing.

‘Why a photograph of Irina, and not Elena?’ I asked Didier. ‘Or, why not photos of both?’

‘The sex,’ Didier frowned. ‘Did you not pay attention? Irina is Elena, without inhibitions.’

‘You got that right,’ Oleg said, straightening his T-shirts.

‘Exactly,’ Didier said, sniffing Oleg to make sure he wasn’t wearing scent. ‘The sex you had with Irina was exceptional. Do I need to say more?’

He stood up, brushing at his sleeves.

‘My work is done here,’ he said, pausing at the door. ‘Do physical sport, Oleg. Climb to high, dangerous places, jump off things, provoke a policeman, start a fight with a bully, and above all, flirt with women, but have sex with none of them, until you send the shirts. She must smell tiger on you, and wolf, and ape, and a man hungry for sex, and women hungry for him. Bonne chance.’

He swept out, flourishing his grey-blue scarf.

‘Wow,’ Oleg said.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘how I asked you not to use the R-word all the time?’

‘Yes . . . ’ he said uncertainly.

‘I’m adding Wow to the list.’

‘There’s a list?’

‘There is now.’

‘Shit, there’s a list of things I can’t say,’ he grinned. ‘You’re making me homesick for Moscow, and I don’t even like Moscow.’

He was right. A list of things not to say?

‘You know what, fuck it. Say anything you want, Oleg.’

‘You mean it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wow, I’m Russian again.’

‘You know what,’ I said. ‘You wanted to ride my bike, right?’

‘Can I?’

‘Never gonna happen. But there’s an old banger bike downstairs. I saw her neglected down there, where I park mine. She belonged to a waiter at Kayani’s. I didn’t like how he was treating her, so I bought her off him. I’ve been cleaning her up, the last couple of weeks.’

‘Kruto,’ Oleg said, finding his shoes.

‘What was that?’

‘That’s me, not saying Wow. Kruto means fucking cool, man.’

‘Kruto?’

‘That’s it. Kruto, man.’

‘Can you ride?’

‘Are you kidding?’ he scoffed, tying his sneakers. ‘We Russians can ride anything.’

‘Okay. I’ve gotta make some rounds, and you can come with me if you like, seeing as you have the day off.’

‘Great material for a story,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mess with my material, Oleg. Just ride, and observe, and wipe the breathy window of recollection clean afterwards, okay?’

‘But what if I find a great character, someone I see you talking to, someone who’s really, you know, amazingly good?’

I thought about it. He was a decent guy.

‘I’ll let you have one character,’ I said.

‘Great!’

‘But not Half-Moon Auntie.’

‘Oh. She sounds like a good one.’

‘That’s why you can’t have her. Are you ready to ride, or not?’

‘I’m ready for anything, man. That’s my family motto.’

‘Please, please, don’t tell me about your Russian family.’

‘Okay, okay, but you’re missing a lot of great Russian characters, and I’d give them to you free.’

Chapter Sixty-Three

We rode two circuits of the south, touring the Island City at slow speeds. We rarely had to change gear, because we jumped every red light that could be jumped without a fine, and took every short cut unknown to man.

Oleg loved his visit to the black bank. He asked them if they had rooms to rent. And he loved Half-Moon Auntie. She liked Oleg, too: enough to take him through two lunar cycles.

I dragged him away at nine minutes and thirty seconds, the pair of us sliding away from Half-Moon Auntie in an escape that got slower, the faster we tried to run.

Night controlled the lights as we were completing a loop that took us near the President hotel, in Cuffe Parade. We heard the persistent blaring of a horn behind us.