The Mountain Shadow

‘Have dinner with us, Kesh,’ Karla said. ‘You can test your memory against ours. You’re pretty good, but my money’s on us.’

‘I really shouldn’t –’

‘You really should,’ I said, waving the waiter to our table.

Kesh looked at the menu carefully, closed it and made his choices.

‘The zucchini, black olive and crushed artichoke paste risotto,’ the waiter repeated. ‘The iceberg, seasoned with cracked pepper, ginger and pistachio sauce, and a tiramisu.’

‘You’re incorrect,’ Kesh said. ‘The cracked pepper, ginger and pistachio sauce is with the rocket salad, which is number seventy-seven on your menu. The iceberg is with lemon-garlic, chilli pepper and walnut-avocado sauce, which is number seventy-six on your menu.’

The waiter opened his mouth to reply, but his mental scan of the menu confirmed Kesh’s correction, and he walked away, shaking his head.

‘What’s the problem, Kesh?’ I asked.

‘I owe money,’ he said, smiling from the side of his disillusion. ‘The Memory Man business isn’t what it used to be. People are using phones for everything, now. Pretty soon, the whole world will be able to communicate with anyone, so long as they’re not actually there.’

‘You know what?’ I suggested, as the food arrived. ‘Grab a taxi, and come to the Amritsar hotel after this. We’ll be there ahead of you, on the bike.’

‘What have you got in mind?’ Karla squinted at me, lashes like lace.

‘Surprises,’ I tried to purr. ‘You have no idea what surprises I have in store for you, Karla.’

Didier was certainly surprised when I brought Kesh into his office, next to Karla’s at the Amritsar.

‘I do not see the . . . requirement for his services,’ Didier said, sitting professionally at his desk beside Naveen’s.

‘Kesh is the best Memory Man in the south, Didier,’ Naveen observed, sitting professionally at his own desk. ‘What did you have in mind, Lin?’

‘You know how you said that people always freeze up when you record their witness statements? They see the recorder and they freeze up?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Kesh can be your recorder. He remembers every conversation he hears. He can be your human recorder, and people will talk naturally in front of him.’

‘I like it,’ Karla laughed.

‘You do?’ Didier doubted.

‘I’ll hire him right now if you don’t, Didier.’

‘Hired,’ Didier said. ‘We have an interview with a millionaire and his wife, tomorrow morning at ten. Their daughter has gone missing. You can attend. But your mode of dress must be more . . . executive . . . in appearance.’

‘See you guys later,’ I said, pulling Kesh with us from their office.

In the corridor outside I gave him some money. He tried to stop me.

‘You have to clear all your debts tonight, Kesh,’ I said. ‘We don’t want those guys showing up around here. And you’re going straight tomorrow morning, remember? Go around and pay everyone off. Get clean, and be here at nine. Be the first one here, and the last to leave. You’ll do fine.’

He started to cry. I stepped back a pace, and let Karla take over. She hugged him, and he calmed down quickly.

‘You know what Didier said, about dressing like an executive?’ I said.

‘Yes. I’ll try to –’

‘To hell with that. Dress like you are. Act like you are. People will talk to you, just like I’m talking to you, and you’ll be good at this. If Didier hassles you, tell him I ordered you not to dress like a slave.’

‘He’s right, Kesh,’ Karla said. ‘Just be yourself, and everything will be fine.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Go and pay those debts tonight, man. Get yourself clear.’

He took each downward step on the stairway as if it was a new level of consideration, pausing before taking the next pondered step. His head bobbed out of sight around the curved staircase.

I watched him out of sight thoughtfully, and then turned to see Karla smiling at me.

‘I love you, Shantaram,’ she said, kissing me.

Some time later, Kesh solved two cases within two weeks, and became the star of the Lost Love Bureau. His attention to detail, and retention of detail, proved decisive in solving cases, and no interview proceeded without him.

Half-Moon Auntie and her intrepid clerk did the accounts for the bureau, and safeguarded sums of money for clients from time to time. She was an astute businesswoman, and spent long hours redesigning the business plan, saving money and hours for everyone else.

Her private sessions in Randall’s limousine kept her lunar-starved visitors content. A talent is how you use it, she said to me once, using her talents to illustrate the point.

Vinson and Rannveig returned from the ashram bleached of pride, but we didn’t see them often, because they were busy with their plans to open a coffee shop, and the necessary renovations.

When we did manage to catch them mid-renovation for a few minutes, Karla took Rannveig’s arm, leading her to girl talk, and leaving me with Vinson in the unfinished coffee shop.

‘It’s . . . like, you know that wave, that perfect wave, that just keeps on going, and won’t let you fall?’ Vinson said.