The Guide

by R. K. Narayan

  “Oh, dancer! Maybe; but don’t have anything to do with these dancing women. They are all a bad sort.” I ate my food in silence, trying to revive in my mind the girl’s scent-filled presence.

  At ten next day I was at the hotel. Gaffur’s car was already at the porch; he cried, “Aha! again,” at the sight of me. “Big man! Hm, trying improvements!” His idiom was still as if he spoke of automobiles. He winked at me.

  I ignored everything and asked in a businesslike manner, “Are they in?”

  “I suppose so, they have not come out yet, that’s all I know,” said Gaffur. Twenty words where one would do. Something was wrong with him. He was becoming loquacious. And then I felt a sudden stab of jealousy as I realized that perhaps he too had been affected by the presence of the damsel and was desirous of showing off in her presence. I grew jealous and unhappy and said to myself, “If this is how Gaffur is going to conduct himself in the future, I shall get rid of him and find someone else, that’s all.” I had no use for a loquacious, nose-poking taxi-driver.

  I went upstairs to Room 28 on the second floor of the hotel and knocked authoritatively. “Wait,” said the voice from inside. It was the man’s, not the girl’s, as I had hoped. I waited for a few minutes and fretted. I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock. And this man said, “Wait.” Was he still in bed with her? It was a fit occasion, as it seemed to me, to tear the door down and go in. The door opened, and he came out, dressed and ready. He shut the door behind him. I was aghast. I was on the point of demanding, “What about her?” But I checked my impulse. I went sheepishly down with him.

  He gave me a look of approval, as if I had dressed to please him. Before getting into the car he said, “Today I want to study those friezes again for a short while.”

  “All right, all right,” I thought, “study the friezes or whatever else you like. Why do you want me for that?”

  As if in answer to my thoughts, he said, “After that—” He took out of his pocket a piece of paper and read.

  This man would go on wall-gazing all his life and leave her to languish in her hotel room. Strange man! Why did he not bring her along with him? Probably he was absent-minded. I asked, “Is no one else coming?”

  “No,” he replied curtly, as if understanding my mind. He looked at the paper in his hand and asked, “Are you aware of the existence of cave paintings in these parts?”

  I laughed off the question. “Of course, everyone does not have the taste to visit places like that, but there have been a few discriminating visitors who insisted on seeing them. But—but—it will take a whole day, and we may not be able to get back tonight.”

  He went back to his room, returned after a few minutes with a downcast face. Meanwhile I, with Gaffur’s help, calculated the expense involved in the trip. We knew that the path lay past the Peak House forest bungalow. One would have to halt there for the night and walk down a couple of miles. I knew where the caves were, but this was the first time I was going to set eyes on them. Malgudi seemed to unroll a new sightseeing place each time.

  The man sat back in the car and said, “You have probably no notion how to deal with women, have you?”

  I was pleased that he was becoming more human in his approach. I said, “I have no idea,” and laughed, thinking it might please him if I seemed to enjoy his joke. Then I made bold to ask, “What is the trouble?” My new dress and deportment gave me a new courage. In my khaki bush coat I would not have dared to take a seat beside him or talk to him in this way.

  He looked at me with what seemed a friendly smile. He leaned over and said, “If a man has to have peace of mind it is best that he forget the fair sex.” This was the first time in our association of three days that he had talked to me so freely. He had always been curt and taciturn. I judged that the situation must be pretty grave if it unloosened his tongue to this extent.

  Gaffur sat in his seat with his chin in his hand. He was looking away from us. His whole attitude said, “I am sorry to be wasting my morning with such time-killers as you two.” A courageous idea was developing in my head. If it succeeded it would lead to a triumphant end, if it failed the man might kick me out of his sight or call the police. I said, “Shall I go and try on your behalf?”

  “Would you?” he asked, brightening up. “Go ahead, if you are bold enough.”

  I didn’t wait to hear further. I jumped out of the car and went up the steps four at a time. I paused at Number 28 to regain normal breath, and knocked.

  “Don’t trouble me, I don’t want to come with you. Leave me alone,” came the girl’s voice from within.

  I hesitated, wondering how to speak. This was my first independent speech with the divine creature. I might either make a fool of myself or win the heavens. How should I announce myself? Would she know my famous name? I said, “It’s not he, but me.”

  “What?” asked the sweet voice, puzzled and irritated.

  I repeated, “It is not him, but me. Don’t you know my voice? Didn’t I come with you yesterday to that cobra man? All night I didn’t sleep,” I added, lowering my voice and whispered through a chink in the door. “The way you danced, your form and figure haunted me all night.”

  Hardly had I finished my sentence when the door half opened and she looked at me. “Oh, you!” she said, her eyes lighting up with understanding.

  “My name is Raju,” I said.

  She scrutinized me thoroughly. “Of course, I know you.” I smiled affably, my best smile, as if I had been asked for it by a photographer. She said, “Where is he?”

  “Waiting in the car for you. Won’t you get ready and come out?” She looked disheveled, her eyes were red with recent tears, and she wore a faded cotton sari; no paint or perfume, but I was prepared to accept her as she was. I told her, “You may come out as you are and no one will mind it.” And I added, “Who would decorate a rainbow?”

  She said, “You think you can please me by all this? You think you can persuade me to change my mind?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why not?”

  “Why do you want me to go out with him? Leave me in peace,” she said, opening her eyes wide, which gave me another opportunity to whisper close to her face, “Because life is so blank without your presence.”

  She could have pushed my face back, crying, “How dare you talk like this!” and shut the door on me. But she didn’t. She merely said, “I never knew you would be such a troublesome man. Wait a minute, then.” She withdrew into her room. I wanted to cry with all my being, “Let me in,” and bang on the door, but I had the good sense to restrain myself. I heard footsteps and saw that her husband had come to see the results.

  “Well, is she coming or not? I am not prepared to waste all—”

  “Hush,” I said. “She will be out in a moment. Please go back to the car.”

  “Really!” He mutterd in amazement. “You are a wizard!” He noiselessly turned and went back to his car. Presently the lady did come out like a vision, and said, “Let us go. But for you I would have given you all a few surprises.”

  “What?”

  “I would have taken the next train home.”

  “We are going to a wonderful spot. Please be your usual sweet self, for my sake.”

  “All right,” she said and went down the steps; I followed. She opened the door of the car, went straight in, and took her seat, as her husband edged away to make space for her. I came over to the other side and sat down beside him. I was not prepared to go and sit down beside Gaffur at this stage.

  Gaffur now turned his head to ask whether we might go. “We cannot return tonight if we are going to the Peak House.”

  “Let us try and come back,” the man pleaded.

  “We will try, but there is no harm in being prepared to stay over if necessary. Take a change of clothing. No harm in it. I am asking Gaffur to stop at my house.”

  The lady said, “Just a minute, please.” She dashed upstairs and returned with a small suitcase. She said to the man, “I have your clothes too in t
his.”

  The man said, “Very good,” and smiled, and she smiled and in the laughter the tension of the morning partly disappeared. Still, there was some uneasiness in the air.

  I asked Gaffur to pull up at the railway station for a moment, the car facing away from my house. I didn’t want them to see my house. “Just a moment, please.” I dashed out. Directly the shop boy sighted me he opened his mouth to say something. I ignored him, dashed up to my house, picked up a bag, and ran out, saying, “I may stay out tonight. Don’t wait,” to my mother in the kitchen.

  I told Joseph, the caretaker, to get us food and foodstuffs from his village, two miles away. I asked Marco, “Will you leave some cash with me? I’ll render accounts later. I need not worry you again and again for small payments.”

  One could not foresee how he would react to such a request. He was unsteady—sometimes he announced aloud his indifference to money, next minute he’d suddenly show every symptom of miserliness and behave like an auditor, but ultimately he’d pay for everything if, as I discovered, he got a voucher for payments. He would not yield an anna without a voucher, whereas if you gave him a slip of paper you could probably get him to write off his entire fortune.

  Now I knew the trick. As I found him stumbling for words, I said, “I’ll see that you get proper receipts for every payment.” It pleased him; he opened his purse.

  I had to dispose of the taxi. Gaffur would come back on the following afternoon. I made Gaffur sign a receipt, and then gave some money to Joseph to fetch us food from a hotel in the village. Now that I was in charge of the arrangements, I had not much time to gaze on my beloved’s face, although I was darting glances in her direction.

  “The caves are a mile off, down that way,” Joseph said. “We can’t go there now. Tomorrow morning. If you leave after breakfast, you can come back for lunch.”

  The Peak House was perched on the topmost cliff on Mempi Hills—the road ended with the house; there was a glass wall covering the north veranda, through which you could view the horizon a hundred miles away. Below us the jungle stretched away down to the valley, and on a clear day you might see also the Sarayu sparkling in the sun and pursuing its own course far away. This was like heaven to those who loved wild surroundings and to watch the game, which prowled outside the glass wall at nights. The girl was in ecstasy. Our house was surrounded with rich vegetation. She ran like a child from plant to plant with cries of joy, while the man looked on with no emotion. Anything that interested her seemed to irritate him.

  She suddenly halted, gazing on the sun-bathed plains thousands of feet below. I feared that when night came on she might get scared. We heard the jackals howling, and all kinds of grunts and roars. Joseph brought a hamper of food for us and left it on a table. He brought milk, coffee, and sugar, for the morning, and showed me where the coal stove was.

  The lady cried, “Nobody should get up till I call. I’ll have coffee ready for everyone.”

  Joseph said, “Please lock the door inside,” and added, “If you sit up on that veranda, you can watch tigers and others animals prowling about. But you must not make any noise; that’s the secret of it.” We watched Joseph pick up a lantern and go down the steps; we could see his lantern faintly light the foliage on the way and disappear.

  “Poor Joseph, how bold of him to go down alone!” the girl said, at which the husband replied casually, “Nothing surprising. He has probably been born and bred here. Do you know him?” he asked, turning to me.

  “Yes; he was born in that village and came to mind this place as a boy. He must be at least sixty years old.”

  “How has he come to be a Christian?”

  “There was a mission somewhere here; missionaries go and settle down in all sorts of places, you know,” I said.

  Joseph had given us two lamps, brass ones filled with kerosene. One I kept on the kitchen table, and the other I gave the man for his room, leaving the rest of the building in darkness. Outside through the glass we could see the stars in the sky. We sat around the table. I knew where the plates were. I set them on the table and served food—or, rather, attempted to serve food. It was about seven-thirty in the evening. We had seen a gorgeous sunset. We had seen the purple play of color in the northern skies after that, and admired it; we saw the tops of the trees lit up by stray red rays even after the sun was out of view, and had found a common idiom to express our admiration.

  The man just followed us about. I had become so lyrical that he suddenly said, “Hey, Raju, so you are a poet too!” a compliment I accepted with becoming modesty.

  At dinner, I picked up a dish and tried to serve. She said, “No, no. Let me serve you both, and I will be the last to eat, like a good housewife.”

  “Aha, that’s a good idea,” the man said jocularly. She extended her hand for me to pass the dish to her. But I insisted on doing it myself. She suddenly darted forward and forcibly snatched it away from my hand. Oh, that touch made my head reel for a moment. I didn’t see anything clearly. Everything disappeared into a sweet, dark haze, as under chloroform. My memory dwelt on the touch all through the dinner: I was not aware what we were eating or what they were saying. I sat with bowed head. I was nervous to see her face and meet her looks. I don’t recollect when we finished eating and when she took away the dishes. I was only conscious of her soft movements. My thoughts dwelt on her golden touch. A part of my mind went on saying, “No, no. It is not right. Marco is her husband, remember. It’s not to be thought of.” But it was impossible to pull the thoughts back. “He may shoot you,” said my wary conscience. “Has he a gun?” commented another part of my mind.

  After dinner she said, “Let us go to the glass veranda. I must watch the game. Do you think they will come out at this hour?”

  “Yes; if we are patient and lucky,” I said. “But won’t you be afraid? One has to wait in the dark.”

  She laughed at my fears and invited Marco to go with her. But he said he wanted to be left alone. He pulled a chair to the lamp, took out his portfolio, and was soon lost in his papers. She said, “Shield your lamp. I don’t want my animals to be scared off.” She moved on light steps to the veranda, pulled up a chair, and sat down. On the way she had said to me, “Have you documents to see to?”

  “No, no,” I said, hesitating midway between my room and hers.

  “Come along, then. Surely you aren’t going to leave me to the mercy of prowling beasts?” I looked at the man to know what he would have to say, but he was absorbed in his papers. I asked, “Do you want anything?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be on the veranda.”

  “Go ahead,” he said without looking up from his papers.

  She sat close to the glass pane, intently looking out. I softly placed a chair beside her, and sat down. After a while she said, “Not a soul. Do animals come here at all, I wonder, or is it one of the usual stories?”

  “No, lots of people have seen them—”

  “What animals?”

  “Lions . . .”

  “Lions here?” she said and began laughing. “I have read they were only in Africa. But this is really—”

  “No; excuse me.” I had slipped. “I meant tigers, and panthers, and bears, and sometimes elephants too are to be seen crossing the valley or coming for a drink of water at the pool.”

  “I’m prepared to spend the whole night here,” she said. “He will, of course, be glad to be left alone. Here at least we have silence and darkness, welcome things, and something to wait for out of that darkness.”

  I couldn’t find anything to say in reply. I was overwhelmed by her perfume. The stars beyond the glass shone in the sky.

  “Can’t an elephant break through the glass?” she asked, yawning.

  “No; there is a moat on the other side. They can’t approach us.”

  Bright eyes shone amidst the foliage. She pulled my sleeve and whispered excitedly, “Something—what can it be?”

  “Probably a panther,” I said to keep up the con
versation. Oh, the whispers, the stars, and the darkness—I began to breathe heavily with excitement.

  “Have you caught a cold?” she asked.

  I said, “No.”

  “Why are you breathing so noisily?”

  I wanted to put my face close to her and whisper, “Your dance was marvelous. You are gifted. Do it again sometime. God bless you. Won’t you be my sweetheart?” But fortunately I restrained myself. Turning back, I saw that Marco had come on soft steps. “What luck?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Something came, but it’s gone. Sit down, won’t you?” I said, giving him the chair. He sat down, peering through the glass.

  Next morning I found the atmosphere once again black and tense—all the vivacity of the previous evening was gone. When their room opened, only he came out, fully dressed and ready. I had made the coffee on the charcoal stove. He came over and mechanically held his hand out as if I were the man on the other side of a coffee bar. I poured him a cup of coffee. “Joseph has brought tiffin. Will you not taste it?”

  “No; let us be going. I’m keen on reaching the caves.”

  “What about the lady?” I asked.

  “Leave her alone,” he said petulantly. “I can’t afford to be fooling around, wasting my time.” In the same condition as yesterday! This seemed to be the spirit of their morning every day. How cordially he had come over and sat beside her last night in the veranda! How cordially they had gone into the hotel on that night! What exactly happened at night that made them want to tear at each other in the morning? Did they sit up in bed and fight, or did she fatigue him with a curtain lecture? I wanted to cry out, “Oh, monster, what do you do to her that makes her sulk like this on rising? What a treasure you have in your hand, without realizing its worth—like a monkey picking up a rose garland!” Then a thrilling thought occurred to me—probably she was feigning anger again, so that I might intercede.

  He put down his cup and said, “Now let us go.” I was afraid to ask him again about his wife. He was swinging a small cane impatiently. Could it be that he had been using it on her at night?