The Mountain Shadow

‘I want this show, Taj,’ Karla said. ‘It was my last project with Lisa.’

‘And I’d love to give it to you,’ Taj moaned. ‘But it’s just impossible.’

‘Where’s the art?’ Karla asked.

‘I told you. It’s still in the warehouse.’

‘Send it to the Jehangir gallery,’ she said.

‘The whole exhibition?’ he asked, stricken. ‘There are some fine paintings in there, Karla, and if they were put on the market, in the right way, one at a time –’

‘Send it to the Jehangir gallery,’ she said. ‘They’ve got the integrity to run it, and they deserve it more than you do.’

‘But, Karla,’ he pleaded.

‘I think we’re done here,’ she said to me, standing up.

Taj unfolded his tall frame to stand in front of her.

‘Please reconsider this, Karla,’ he said.

He grabbed her arm.

I shoved him away.

‘Stay back, Taj,’ I said quietly.

‘You’re making a mistake, Karla,’ he said. ‘We’re really moving into big money, here at the gallery.’

‘I’ve got money,’ Karla said. ‘What I want is respect. I’m done here, Taj. The gallery is yours, from now on. Be as apolitical as you like. I’m walking out. The exhibition insurance is on you, while you send the Marathi show to me, so make sure nothing happens before it reaches the Jehangir. Good luck, and goodbye.’

We rode away, switching to one of my rounds.

‘You know he’s gay, right?’ Karla asked as we rode, her arm over my shoulder.

‘I know who’s gay?’

‘Taj.’

‘Taj is gay?’

‘You didn’t know, did you?’

‘Unless people tell me, I almost never know.’

‘And you were jealous, right?’

I thought about it for a kilometre or so.

‘Are you saying you can’t be attracted to a gay man?’

She thought about it, for a kilometre or so.

‘Good point,’ she said. ‘But not that gay man.’

‘But you went away with him for two days.’

‘To a spa,’ she said. ‘To drink juices, and get myself recharged for the fight. Taj just came along for company, to work out gallery stuff.’

‘And I couldn’t have come along for company, to work out stuff?’

‘I was protecting you from my schemes, remember?’ she said, whispering into my ear. ‘And anyway, Didier likes him.’

‘Didier and the sculptor?’

‘Taj has already done some nude studies of Didier. They’re pretty good.’

‘He’s going to make a statue of Didier?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ll never hear the end of this.’

‘Oh, yeah. I promised we’d be there for the unveiling.’

‘I might pass. I’ve already seen Didier unveiled.’

‘He’s doing Didier as Michelangelo’s David, at forty-nine years old.’

‘I’m definitely not going.’

I slowed the bike and stopped at the kerb of a wide, relatively empty boulevard. When you ride the Island City’s streets for long enough, you get to feel them.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

‘The traffic’s not right,’ I said, looking around.

‘What’s not right about it?’

‘There isn’t any. The cops are holding it back for some reason.’

A fleet of cars passed us at speed, lights flashing red as new blood. A second cavalcade followed, and a third. We watched them rush lines of light into the night until the street was quiet again, and the normal traffic resumed.

‘They’re heading to Bandra in a hurry,’ I said, as I put the bike into gear, and rode away slowly. ‘Cops and journalists. Must be something big.’

‘Do you care?’ she said, her arm around my shoulder.

‘No,’ I called back. ‘Come and meet somebody cool. I have to drop some money off at a bank.’

Half-Moon Auntie excelled herself for Karla. At one point she sent me away, telling me that the next portion of her performance was for women only.

I slipped and slid away at slow speed on the fish-oil floor, resisting the impulse to glance back.

‘Nice,’ Karla said, when she joined me in the Colaba market. ‘That’s some serious yoga. Someone absolutely has to paint that woman.’

‘Maybe one of your young painters?’

‘Good idea,’ she laughed. ‘I think we’re going to do some pretty interesting stuff together, Shantaram.’

‘You got that right.’

A young prostitute, from the Regal Circle sex roundabout, was returning home through the market to her hut in the fishermen’s slum. Her name was Circe, and she was a handful.

Her bing, if she hadn’t made enough money, was to pester men to have sex with her until they did, or until they paid her to stop pestering.

‘Hey, Shantaram,’ she said. ‘Fuck me long, double price.’

‘Hi, Circe,’ I said, trying to pass her, but she scampered into my path, her hands on her hips.

‘Fuck me quick, fuck me long, you shit!’

‘Bye, Circe,’ I said, dodging away again, but she grabbed her yellow sari in her hands, and ran around to face me again.

‘You fuck, or you pay,’ she said, seizing my arm mid-pester, and trying to rub against me.

Karla shoved her in the chest with both hands, sending her reeling away.

‘Stay back, Circe,’ she growled in Hindi, her fists raised.

Circe brushed her sari into place and walked away, avoiding Karla’s eyes.

‘Oh, so that’s how it’s done,’ I said.

‘Cute girl,’ Karla said. ‘Ever since the fetish party, all I’ve met are people I would’ve added to the list.’

‘I’ll bet. I’ve finished my rounds. Where to next, Miss Karla?’

‘Now, my love, we rise all the way to the bottom of the pork barrel.’