by Amitav Ghosh
In a small voice, she mumbled: ‘Is it really necessary for you to know?’
‘If I’m going to be of help – sure.’
‘It is not a pleasant subject, Mr Reid,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry about me, Miss Lambert,’ Zachary said. ‘My pate’s not easily rattled.’
‘I will tell – if you insist.’ She paused to collect herself. ‘Do you remember, Mr Reid, the other night? We spoke of penitence and chastisement? Very briefly.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember.’
‘Mr Reid,’ Paulette continued, drawing her sari tightly over her shoulders, ‘when I came to live at Bethel I had no idee of such things. I was ignorant of Scripture and religious matters. My father, you see, had a great detestation of clergymen and held them in abhorrence – but this was not uncommon in men of his epoch . . .’
Zachary smiled. ‘Oh it’s still around, Miss Lambert, that aversion for parsons and devil-dodgers – in fact, I’d say it has a while yet to live.’
‘You laugh, Mr Reid,’ said Paulette. ‘My father too would have pleasanted – his dislike of bondieuserie was very great. But for Mr Burnham, as you know, these are not subjects for amusement. When he discovered the depths of my ignorance, he was quite bouleversed and said to me that it was most imperative that he take personal charge of my instruction, notwithstanding other more pressing calls on his time. Is it possible to imagine, Mr Reid, to what point my face was put out of countenance? How could I refuse the offer so generous of my benefactor and patron? But also I did not wish to be a hypocrite and pretend to believe what I did not. Are you aware, Mr Reid, that there are religions in which a person may be put to death for hypocrisy?’
‘That so?’ said Zachary.
Paulette nodded. ‘Yes, indeed. So you may imagine, Mr Reid, how I discuted with myself, before deciding that there could be no cause for reproach in proceeding with these lessons – in Penitence and Prayer, as Mr Burnham was pleased to describe them. Our lessons were held in the study where his Bible is kept, and almost always they were in the evenings, after dinner, when the house was quiet and Mrs Burnham had retired to her bedchamber with her beloved tincture of laudanum. At this time, the servants too, of whom, as you have seen, there are a great many in that house, could be counted on to retire to their own quarters, so there would be no paddings-about of their feet. This was the best possible time for contemplation and penitence, Mr Burnham said, and juste indeed was his description, for the atmosphere in his study was of the most profonde solemnity. The curtain would be drawn already when I entered, and he would then proceed to fasten the door – to prevent, as he said, interruptions in the work of righteousness. The study would be cast into darkness for there was never a light except for the branch of candles that glowed over the high lectern where the Bible lay open. I would walk in to find the passage for the day already chosen, the page marked with a silken placeholder, and I would take my own seat, which was a small footstool, beneath the lectern. When I had myself seated, he would take his place and start. What a tableau did he present, Mr Reid! The flames of the candles shining in his eyes! His beard glowing as if it were about to burst into light, like a burning bush! Ah, but if you had been there, Mr Reid: you too would have marvelled and admired.’
‘I wouldn’t wager long chalks on it, Miss,’ said Zachary drily. ‘But please go on.’
Paulette turned away, to look over her shoulder, at the far bank of the river, now visible in the moonlight. ‘But how to describe, Mr Reid? The scene would bring before your eyes a tableau of the ancient patriarchs of the Holy Land. When he read, his voice was like a mighty waterfall, breaking upon the silence of a great valley. And the passages he chose! It was as if heaven had transfixed me in its gaze, like a Pharisee upon the plain. If I closed my eyes, the words would scorch my eyelids: “As the weeds are pulled up and burned in the fire so it will be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send out his angels and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil.” Are you familiar with those words, Mr Reid?’
‘I believe I’ve heard them,’ said Zachary, ‘but don’t be asking me for chapter and verse now.’
‘The passage impressioned me very much,’ Paulette said. ‘How I trembled, Mr Reid! My whole body shook as if with the ague. So it went, Mr Reid, and I did not wonder that my father had neglected my scriptural education. He was a timid man and I dreaded to think of the anguish these passages would have caused him.’ She drew her ghungta over her head. ‘So did we proceed, lesson after lesson, until we came to a chapter of Hebrews: “If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons.” Do you know these lines, Mr Reid?’
‘Fraid not, Miss Lambert,’ said Zachary, ‘not being much of a churchgoer an all.’
‘Nor did I know that passage,’ Paulette continued. ‘But for Mr Burnham it contained much meaning – so he had told me before he started his lecture. When he stopped I could see that he was greatly emotioned, for his voice was shaking and there was a tremor in his hands. He came to kneel beside me and asked, in a manner most severe, whether I was without chastisement. Now was I thrown into the profondest confusion, for I knew, from the passage, that to admit being unchastened was to acknowledge bastardy. Yet what was I to say, Mr Reid, for the verity is that not once in my life had my father ever beaten me? Shamefully I confessed my lack of chastening, at which he asked whether I should not like to learn of it, since it was a lesson very necessary for true penitence. Can you think, Mr Reid, how legion were my fears at the thought of being chastised by so large and powerful a man? But I hardened the bone of my courage and said, yes, I am ready. But here lay a surprise, Mr Reid, for it was not I who had been chosen for chastening . . .’
‘But then who?’ Zachary broke in.
‘He,’ said Paulette. ‘He-the-same.’
‘B’jilliber!’ said Zachary. ‘You’re not tellin me it was Mr Burnham who wanted to be beat?’
‘Yes,’ Paulette continued. ‘I had understood wrong. It was he who wished to endure the chastening, while I was but to be the instrument of his punishment. Imagine my nervosity, Mr Reid. If your benefactor asks you to be the instrument of his chastisement, with what face can you refuse? So I agreed, and he then proceeded to assume a most singular posture. He begged me to remain seated and then lowered his face to my feet, cupping my slippers in his hands and crouching, as a horse kneels to drink from a puddle. Then he urged me to draw my arm back and strike him upon his – his fesse.’
‘On his face? Come now, Miss Lambert! You’re ironing, for sure.’
‘No – not his face. How do you say, the posterior aspect of the torso . . . the de-rear?’
‘Stern? Taffrail? Poop-deck?’
‘Yes,’ said Paulette, ‘his poop-deck as you call it was now raised high in the air, and it was there he wished me to aim my chastisements. You may imagine, Mr Reid, my distress at the thought of attacking my benefactor thus – but he would not be denied. He said my spiritual education would not progress otherwise. “Strike!” he cried, “smite me with thine hand!” So what could I do, Mr Reid? I made pretence there was a mosquito there, and brought my hand down on it. But this did not suffice. I heard a groan issuing from my feet – somewhat muffled, for the toe of my slipper was now inside his mouth – and he cried, “Harder, harder, smite with all thine strength.” And so we went on for a while, and no matter how hard I struck, he bade me strike still harder – even though I knew him to be in pain, for I could feel him biting and sucking on my slippers, which were now quite wet. When at last he rose to his feet, I was sure that I would meet with reproofs and protests. But no! He was as pleased as ever I have seen him. He tickled me under the chin and said: “Good girl, you have learnt your lesson well. But mind! All will be undone if you should speak of this. Not one word – to anyone!” Which was unnecessary – for of course I wo
uld not have dreamed of making mention of such things.’
‘Jee-whoop!’ Zachary let out a low whistle. ‘And did it happen again?’
‘But yes,’ said Paulette. ‘Many times. Always these lessons would begin with lectures and end thus. Believe me, Mr Reid, I tried always to administer my correctionments to the best of my ability, yet even though he appeared often to be in pain, my arm seemed never to be of sufficient strength. I could see that he was growing deceived. One day he said: “My dear, I regret to say as a weapon of punishment your arm is not all that could be wished for. Perhaps you need another tool? I know just the thing . . .” ’
‘What did he have in mind?’
‘Have you ever seen . . . ?’ Paulette paused here, rethinking the word she was about to use. ‘Here in India there is a kind of broom that is used by sweepers to clean commodes and lavatories. It is made of hundreds of thin sticks, tied together – the spines of palm fronds. These brooms are called “jhatas” or “jharus” and they make a swishing noise . . .’
‘He wanted to be beat with a broom?’ gasped Zachary.
‘No ordinary broom, Mr Reid,’ cried Paulette. ‘A sweeper’s broom. I told him: But are you aware, sir, that such brooms are used in the cleaning of lavatories and are regarded as most unclean? He was not at all deterred. He said: Why then, it is the perfect instrument for my abasement; it will be a reminder of Man’s fallen nature and of the sinfulness and corruption of our bodies.’
‘Now that’s got to be a new way of getting your ashes hauled.’
‘You cannot image, Mr Reid, what a labour it was to find that instrument. Such things are not to be found in a bazar. Not till I tried to acquire one did I find out that they are made at home, by those who use them, and are no more available to others than a doctor’s instruments are to his patients. I had to summon a sweeper and it was no easy matter, believe me, to interview him, for half the household staff gathered around to listen, and I could hear them discuting with each other as to why I might wish to procure this object. Was it my purpose to become a sweeper? To rob them of their employment? But to be brief, at length I did succeed in procuring such a jharu, last week. And a few nights ago I took it to his study for the first time.’
‘Pay away, Miss Lambert.’
‘Oh, Mr Reid, had you but been there you would have remarked the mixture of joy and anticipation with which he regarded the instrument of his impending oppression. This was as I said, just a few days ago, so I remember well the passage he chose for his lecture. “And they utterly destroyed all that was in the city, both man and woman, young and old, and ox, and sheep, and ass, with the edge of the sword.” Then he put the jharu in my hands and said: “I am the city and this your sword. Strike me, smite me, burn me with your fire.” He knelt, as always, with his face at my feet and his poop-deck in the air. How he squirmed and squealed when I flailed the broom upon his rear. Mr Reid, you would have thought him to be in agony: I myself was sure that I was doing him some dreadful injury, but when I paused to inquire whether he would not wish me to stop, he positively shrieked: “No, no, go on! Harder!” So I swung back my arm and lashed him with the jhata, using all my strength – which, you may be sure, is not inconsiderable – until finalmently he moaned and his body went slack on the floor. What horror! I thought, the worst has come to pass! I have killed him for sure. So I leant down and whispered: “Oh poor Mr Burnham – are you all right?” Vaste was my relief, you can be sure, when he stirred and moved his head. But yet he would not rise to his feet, no, he lay flat on the floor and squirmed over the parquet like some creature of the soil, all the way to the door. “Are you hurt, Mr Burnham?” I inquired, following him. “Have you broken your back? Why do you lie thus on the floor? Why do you not rise?” He answered me with a moan: “All is well, do not worry, go to the lectern and read again the lesson.” I went to obey him, but no sooner was my back turned than he leapt nimbly to his feet, undid the latch and hurried away up the stairs. I was retracing my steps to the lectern when I saw on the floor a curious mark, a long, wet stain, as if some thin, damp creature had crawled over the parquet. Now was I certain that in a moment’s inattention a millipede or a serpent had intruded into the room – for such a thing is often known to happen, Mr Reid, in India. To my shame, I must admit, I shrieked . . .’
She broke off in agitation and wrung the hem of her sari between her hands. ‘I know this may cause me to sink in your esteem, Mr Reid – for I am well aware that a serpent is as much our brother in Nature as is a flower or a cat, so why should we fear it? My father essayed often to reason with me on this subject, but I regret to say that I have not been able to make myself fond of those creatures. I trust you will not judge me too harshly?’
‘Oh I’m with you, Miss Lambert,’ said Zachary. ‘Snakes are not to be messed with, blind or not.’
‘You will not be surprised then,’ Paulette said, ‘to know that I screamed and screamed until at last one of the old khidmutgars appeared. I said to him: ‘Sãp! Sãp! A serpent of the jungle has entered the room. Hunt it out!’ He stooped to examine the stain and presently when he rose he said the strangest thing, Mr Reid, you will not credit it . . .’
‘Go on, Miss: tip me the grampus.’
‘He said: “This was not made by a serpent of the jungle; this is a mark of the snake that lives in Man.” I took this to be a biblical allusion, Mr Reid, so I said, “Amen.” Indeed I was wondering whether I should not add an “Hallelujah!” – but then the old khidmutgar burst into laughter and hurried away. And still, Mr Reid, I did not see the meaning of any of this. All night, I lay awake, thinking of it, but at dawn, suddenly I knew. And after that, of course, I could not remain any more in that house, so I sent a message to Jodu, through another boatman, and here I am. But to hide from Mr Burnham in Calcutta is very hard – it would only be a matter of time before I am discovered, and who knows what the consequences might be? So I must flee the country, Mr Reid, and I have decided where I must go.’
‘And where is that?’
‘The Mauritius Islands, Mr Reid. That is where I must go.’
All this while, even as he was working the oars, Jodu had been listening intently to Paulette, so that Zachary was led to conclude that this was the first he’d heard of what had happened between her and Mr Burnham. Now, as if in confirmation, a heated argument broke out and the boat began to drift, with Jodu resting on his oars as he poured out a stream of plaintive Bengali.
Glancing shorewards, Zachary’s eye was caught by a glimmer of moonlight, on the roof of a green-tiled pavilion, and he realized that they had drifted far enough downriver to draw level with the Burnham estate. Bethel loomed in the distance, like the hull of a darkened ship, and the sight of it transported Zachary suddenly to the evening when Paulette had sat beside him at dinner, looking rosily virginal in her severe black gown; he remembered the musical breeze of her voice and how, through the evening, his head had been all a-sway at the thought that this girl, with her strange mixture of worldliness and innocence, was the same Paulette he’d stumbled upon in the ’tween-deck, locked in an embrace with the laundered lascar that she called her brother. Even then he had glimpsed a kind of melancholy behind her smile: now, in thinking of what might have caused it, a memory came to him, of listening to his mother as she told the story of the first time she was summoned by the master – his father – to the cabin in the woods that he kept for bedding his slaves: she was fourteen then, she’d said, and had stood trembling by the door, her feet unwilling to move, even when old Mr Reid told her to quit her snivelling and git over to the bed.
The question of whether Mr Burnham was a better or worse human being than the man who had fathered him, seemed, to Zachary, without meaning or purpose, for he took for granted that power made its bearers act in inexplicable ways – no matter whether a captain or bossman or just a master, like his father. And once this was accepted, it followed also that the whims of masters could be, at times, kind as well as cruel, for wasn’t it just such an i
mpulse that had caused old Mr Reid to grant his mother her freedom so that he, Zachary, would not be born a slave? And wasn’t it true equally that Zachary himself had benefited enough from Mr Burnham to make it impossible for him to leap easily to judgement? Yet, it had still twisted him in a knot to hear his mother speak of that first time, in Mr Reid’s cabin in the woods, and although Paulette’s experience with Mr Burnham was in no wise similar, her story too had caused a nippering in the stays of his heart – a stirring, not just of sympathy, but also an awakening of an instinct of protectiveness. ‘Miss Lambert,’ he blurted out suddenly, breaking in on her altercation with Jodu, ‘Miss Lambert, believe me, if I had the means to be a settled man, I would this minute offer to make you . . .’
Paulette cut him off before he could finish. ‘Mr Reid,’ she said proudly, ‘you are yourself trumping very much if you imagine me to be in search of a husband. I am not a lost kitten, Mr Reid, to be sheltered in a menage. Indeed I can conceive of no union more contemptible than one in which a man adopts a wife out of pity!’
Zachary bit his lip. ‘Didn’t mean no offence, Miss Lambert. Believe me: wasn’t pity made me say what I did.’
Squaring her shoulders, Paulette tossed the ghungta of her sari off her head. ‘You are mistaken, Mr Reid, if you imagine that I asked you here to seek your protection – for if there is anything that Bethel has taught me it is that the kindness of men comes always attached to some prix . . .’
The word stunned Zachary. ‘Avast, Miss Lambert! I didn say nothin like that. I know to watch my mouth around a lady.’
‘Lady?’ said Paulette scornfully. ‘Is it to a lady that an offer like yours is made? Or rather to a woman . . . who sits in the window?’
‘You’re on the wrong tack, Miss Lambert,’ said Zachary. ‘Never meant nothin like that.’ He could feel his face colouring in mortification now, and to calm himself, he took the oars out of Jodu’s hands and began to row. ‘So why did you want to see me then, Miss Lambert?’
