The Mountain Shadow

I pulled a roll of American dollars from my pocket. In those days of the rabid demand for black market money, I always carried at least five currencies with me at any one time: deutschmarks, pounds sterling, Swiss francs, dollars and riyals. I had about three hundred and fifty dollars in notes. At black market rates it was enough to cover the shortfall in Anjali’s education bribe.

‘Lin, don’t you think . . . ’ Johnny said, tapping the money against his palm.

‘No.’

‘I know, Linbaba, but it’s not a good thing that you give money without telling the people. They should know this thing. I understand that if we give without praise, anonymously, it is a ten-fold gift in the eyes of God. But God, if He’ll forgive me for speaking my humble mind, can be very slow in passing out praise.’

He was almost exactly my own height and weight, and he carried himself with the slightly pugnacious shoulder and elbow swing of a man who made fools suffer well, and fairly often.

His long face had aged a little faster than his thirty-five years, and the stubble that covered his chin was peppered with grey-white. The sand-coloured eyes were alert, wary, and thoughtful.

He was a reader, who consumed at least one new self-help book every week, and then unhelpfully nagged his friends and neighbours into reading them.

I admired him. He was the kind of man, the kind of friend, who made you feel like a better human being, just for knowing him. Strangely, stupidly, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that. I wanted to do it. I started to do it a few times, but wouldn’t let myself speak the words.

My exile heart at that time was all doubt and reluctance and scepticism. I gave my heart to Khaderbhai, and he used me as a pawn. I gave my heart to Karla, the only woman I’ve ever been in love with, and she used me to serve the same man, the man we both called father, Khaderbhai. Since then I’d been on the streets for two years, and I’d seen the town come to the circus, the rich beg paupers, and the crime fit the punishment. I was older than I should’ve been, and too far from people who loved me. I let a few, not many, come close, but I never reached out to them as they did to me. I wouldn’t commit, as they did, because I knew that sooner or later I’d have to let go.

‘Let it go, Johnny,’ I said softly.

He sighed again, pocketed the money, and led the way outside the hut.

‘Why are Jewish people putting penicillin in their chickens?’ he asked me as we gazed at the lowering sky.

‘It was a joke, Johnny.’

‘No, but those Jewish people are pretty smart, yaar. If they’re putting penicillin in their chickens, they must have a damn good –’

‘Johnny,’ I interrupted, with a raised hand, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too, man,’ he grinned.

He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug that woke every one of the wounds and bruises on my arms and shoulders.

I could still feel the strength of him; still smell the coconut oil in his hair as I walked away through the slum. The smothering clouds threw early evening shadows on the weary faces of fishermen and washerwomen, returning home from the busy shoreline. But the whites of their tired eyes glowed with auburn and rose-gold as they smiled at me. And they all smiled, every one of them, as they passed, crowns gleaming on their sweated brows.

Chapter Thirteen

When I stepped into the laughing broil of Leopold’s, I scanned the tables for Lisa and Vikram. I couldn’t see them, but my eyes met those of my friend Didier. He was sitting with Kavita Singh and Naveen Adair.

‘A jealous husband!’ Didier cried, admiring my battered face. ‘Lin! I’m so proud of you!’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ I shrugged, reaching out to shake hands with him and Naveen. ‘Slipped in the shower.’

‘Looks like the shower fought back,’ Naveen said.

‘What are you, a plumbing detective now?’

‘Whatever the cause, I am delighted to see sin on your face, Lin!’ Didier declared, waving to the waiter. ‘This calls for a celebration.’

‘I hereby call this meeting of Sinners Anonymous to order!’ Kavita announced.

‘Hi, my name’s Naveen,’ the young detective said, buying in, ‘and I’m a sinner.’

‘Hi, Naveen,’ we all replied.

‘Where to begin . . . ’ Naveen laughed.

‘Any sin will do,’ Didier prompted.

Naveen decided to think about it for a while.

‘It suits you, this new look,’ Kavita Singh said to me as we sat down.

‘I’ll bet you say that to all the bruises.’

‘Only the ones I put there myself.’

Kavita, a beautiful, intelligent journalist, had a preference for other girls, and was one of the few women in the city who was unafraid to declare it.

‘Kavita, Naveen will not reveal his sins!’ Didier pouted. ‘At least tell me some of yours.’

She laughed, and began reciting a list of her sins.

‘Those rocks in your shower,’ Naveen remarked quietly, leaning close to me, ‘did a professional job.’