The Mountain Shadow

‘The escape route is only for me, now that the plan has changed,’ Blue Hijab said, softening a little, and turning to Karla. ‘I can’t take him with me. But I can’t just abandon him. He’s a good comrade. A good man.’

‘I’ll find him a job in the black market, if you like,’ I suggested. ‘He’ll be okay, until you come back for him.’

‘I’ll hire him,’ Karla said. ‘He was the night porter of a large hotel for three years. Those talents are always needed.’

‘Or, he could work in the black market, with me,’ I repeated, defending my gutter.

‘Or not,’ Karla countered, smiling at me. ‘Under any circumstances.’

‘Either way he’ll be okay with us,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

Blue Hijab fixed the jewelled hairpin into the cap of the long thin bottle, and screwed the deadly thorn shut. She slipped it into another invisible pocket in her skirt.

‘I have to go,’ she said, standing up a little unsteadily.

Karla and I rushed to help her but she held us away, her hands like anemones.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘I’m fine, Alhamdulillah.’

She straightened up, patted her skirts into place, and walked out with us to Jaswant’s desk.

Ankit was nowhere in sight. Jaswant wasn’t at the desk: he was eating snacks from his own survival stash. He turned to face me, crumbs in his beard, biscuits in his hands.

‘Where’s Ankit?’ I asked him.

‘Ankit?’ he gasped, as if I was accusing him of eating him.

‘The cocktail captain. Where is he?’

‘Oh, him. Nice fella. A bit shy.’

He drifted off, shaking biscuits from his beard, and staring at the pattern they made on the floor.

‘How many cocktails did you have, Jaswant?’

‘Three,’ he said, four fingers in the air.

‘Hang up the Closed sign,’ I said. ‘You’re on the chemical ride. Where’s Ankit?’

‘Randall came up here, had a couple of drinks, and took him downstairs to show him the car. Why?’

‘Where’s Naveen? And Didier?’

‘Who?’

I turned to Blue Hijab and Karla.

‘I can take you to Ankit on your way out,’ I said.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t say goodbye. Too many times I said goodbye, and never got to say anything else. Is there another way out of this hotel?’

‘Take your pick,’ I said. ‘There are several ways out.’

‘I’ll escort the lady myself,’ Jaswant said, cocktailed enough not to be scared of Blue Hijab. ‘I need to take a walk to get my head clear.’

‘Would you like us to come with you, Blue Hijab?’ Karla asked.

‘No, please, it’s better when I’m alone. I’m safer when I only have to fight for me, Alhamdulillah.’

‘Until you join your husband,’ Karla said. ‘And then you’ll be together, and maybe you’ll do something happier, like marriage counselling. Have you got money?’

‘All I need, Alhamdulillah,’ she said. ‘I will see you again, Karla, Inshallah.’

‘Inshallah,’ Karla smiled, hugging her.

Blue Hijab faced me, a smile glowering in a frown.

‘I cried for my Mehmu and me, that day in the car,’ she said. ‘But I also cried for you. I’m sorry that the girl died while you were away, and I couldn’t tell you. I liked you. I still do. And I’m happy for you. Allah hafiz.’

‘Allah hafiz,’ I replied. ‘Take care, Jaswant, okay? Look sharp. You’re three sheets to the wind, man.’

‘No problem,’ he smiled back. ‘Security guaranteed. I’ll put it on your bill.’

When we were alone, Karla sat behind Jaswant’s desk. Her finger hovered over the third button.

‘You wouldn’t,’ I said.

‘You so know I would,’ she laughed, throwing the switch.

Bhangra rumbled from the speakers, shoulder-shaking loud.

‘Jaswant’s gonna hear that, and charge me for it,’ I shouted.

‘I hope so,’ she shouted back.

‘Okay, you asked for it,’ I said, pulling her up from Jaswant’s chair. ‘Time to dance, Karla.’

She eased up out of the chair, but leaned against me.

‘You know bad girls don’t dance,’ she said. ‘You don’t wanna make me dance, Shantaram.’

‘You don’t have to dance,’ I shouted over the music, dancing away from her a few steps. ‘That’s okay. That’s fine. But I’m dancing, right over here, and you can join me, any time you get the urge.’

She smiled at me and watched for a while, but then she began to move, and she let it loose.

Her hands and arms were seaweed, surfing waves made by hips. She danced over to me and around me in circles of temptation, then the wave lapped against me, and she was all black cats and green fire.

Bad girls do dance, just like bad guys.

She was dreaming the music at me, and I was thinking that I definitely had to get this music from Jaswant, and maybe his sound system as well, when I danced into a postman, standing in the doorway.

Karla threw the switch and the music stopped, leaving us with the hissing echo of sudden silence.

‘Letter, sir,’ the postman said, offering me his clipboard to sign.

It was still night-dark, and wasn’t far from dawn, but it was India.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘A letter for me, is it?’

‘You are Mr Shantaram, and this is for Mr Shantaram,’ he said patiently. ‘So, yes, sir, this is for you.’

‘Okay,’ I said, signing for the letter. ‘Kinda late to be on your rounds, isn’t it?’