The Pool of Pink Lilies

by Joyce Dingwell

  Happily she jumped to her feet, gathered the money and pushed it into her handbag, combed her hair, rubbed in some lipstick, ran down the stairs.

  She felt she knew her district now. Down the hill, past the Gateway, then, being careful to stay in the bigger streets and not venture down the lanes, enticing and possibly cheaper though they might be, into the city proper. There were several large, even imposing emporiums. She had noticed them as she had passed through. She should be safe there.

  By now she had run down the lordly steps and was passing the bougainvillea and wisteria hedges, the charming bungalows. She was descending into the city of Bombay.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GREER considered the street names rather unexciting for an exciting place. Argyle, Crawford, Wodehouse were hardly the nomenclature for the colour and glamour of Bombay, they smacked more of suburbia, and this hot, spice-laden, teeming place was never that.

  Keeping to the open streets she encountered no difficulties, and she interested herself in picking out the Parsees in their long buttoned coats, the Hindus in their folding caps, the baggy trousers of the Pathans. She had learned all this, she smiled, fondly, from Holly.

  She passed imposing government buildings, banks, office blocks and squares of flats. These last reminded her, and she frowned, of Uncle Ratidall's flat.

  She looked wistfully down the narrow lanes ... though did not venture down them ... with their bazaars and markets, street-stalls and old dwelling places. What she had in mind for Holly, something exquisitely Eastern, something in gay silk or soft chiffon with colours either artfully blended or contrasted, was more likely to be found in those fascinating places. But she had learned her lesson and she kept strictly to the main thoroughfare, and eventually found an imposing emporium with swinging doors, white-clad attendants and an air of decorum.

  She was at first amused, then impressed, by the number of those white-clad attendants, for after all, she accepted, it created employment.

  One attendant asked her wishes and upon hearing them referred her to another, this time a guide, the guide took her to a flight of stairs where she was bowed up to a higher floor by another attendant. Here, a second guide took over and led her to the appropriate counter. The jewel-eyed girl who looked after Greer brought out boxes of goods and laid them before her. They were nice, but

  they were what she could have purchased back in Sydney, and she felt a little disappointed. However, she chose a buttercup silk jacket and a floral nightdress, then stopped at that, still hoping she might be able to find something a little more exciting.

  After she had signified her wants, another ritual began. The goods were borne away to be collected downstairs. The money was also to be paid downstairs. The girl bowed. The guide led Greer to the stairs again and bowed. The ground floor guide led her to the accounts office and then to a chair to wait while her parcel was being wrapped, and bowed. The parcel arrived and she was led to the door with a bow. A door commissionaire opened the door, then bowed.

  'Oh, dear!' Greer said aloud to herself. 'All this for this!'

  She heard a low, delighted laugh, and turned round, half expecting Terry Holliday, or Jim, for they were the only Europeans she knew in India who would laugh like that at her.

  She was wrong. Someone else laughed. She met the twinkling eyes of Senhor Martinez.

  `So money burns the pocket of the little Australian? After the ghost has walked she herself sets into a run. You see' ... a Portuguese shrug ... 'from the boys' tutor I have learned a lot of Australianisms — among them that ghost. But I think I am safe in saying that my clerk has paid you this morning.'

  `Yes, Senhor Martinez,' she said, a little ashamed. She added hastily, 'You shouldn't have ... it's not customary . . . . such a generous fee . .

  He snapped his olive fingers in dismissal. 'That is my affair, Senhorita Greer. But what amuses me, and forgive me, is your eagerness to spend. I only hope' .. . a little gravely . 'it is wise spending.' For some reason his eyes were above her eyes. They seemed to be resting on her hair.

  She explained quickly about Holly, how, when she

  could not sit up, it was important that she—

  `Yes. Yes.' He sounded a little impatient. But you must not put yourself also in such a position, Senhorita Greer. I am looking at your uncovered head. It is very unwise for a European to venture out in such a way. I was hoping when I saw you leave the emporium that you had purchased a head cover.'

  `You mean a hat,' said Greer rather faintly, 'and aren't you a little mistaken, senhor? I'm not a fair lady, not like Holly.'

  `No, senhorita, you are not your sister Holly.' He said no more, just stood looking at her, till Greer felt she had to say something herself.

  `I'm brown,' she babbled, 'my stepfather used to call me his Nutmeg. I mean, senhor, I haven't that susceptible skin, I mean—'

  The quick displeasure she had noticed he could muster very easily, was now mustered again.

  `So,' he said, 'you have not fair hair, you are a nutbrown maiden, but what of your skin?'

  `I tan well.'

  `You think you do, senhorita, but a specialist may have other ideas. Had you shown perception you would have seen that though this is their country, and their skins naturally adapted, the Indian woman nonetheless throws aside her head veil only where there is shade not heat. Apart from exhaustion, the sun can do much skin damage. Come, we must rectify this at once.'

  `But—'

  `Yes, child?'

  `I didn't want to spend that money. I mean, although I have purchased what was needed for Holly, it wasn't quite what I wanted, and I – well, I—'

  But surely, senhorita,' he said indulgently, and had she looked up she would have seen a twinkle in his eyes, 'there would be enough for both of you. I mean presumably you would not be bankrupt, depleted, upon your arrival here.'

  Silence.

  `Would you, senhorita?'

  No, thought Greer, I wasn't, it wasn't much I had, but I still had prudently put a little aside for us, only when Arlene came on the scene...

  Suddenly she realized he was laughing softly. 'So,' he said, 'money does burn in your pocket. You spent everything on your trip across. A typical girl! Come, spend more now.' He turned her back through the swinging doors.

  Once more they went through the ritual of the attendants, but the 'head cover' he insisted upon, a green-lined topee, turned out to be so ridiculously cheap that Greer almost cried aloud with relief.

  `So,' he said again, 'it was not such an extraction after all, now was it?' They were out on the street by now, and he put cool olive fingertips under her arm and led her down one of the narrow lanes she had coveted, stopping at a small eastern store.

  `This place is reliable, Senhorita Greer, you will be shown good authentic stuff yet not charged a devilish rate. It is also clean.'

  They went in. At once cool drinks arrived. Then a woman displayed embroidered cholis, which were blouses to wear under a sari, but which would make, and Greer recognized it at once, excellent jackets to sit up in bed in a climate like Bombay's.

  Delighted with her purchases because she knew Holly would be delighted with them, relieved because they did not exhaust her pay packet, she turned grateful eyes to the Senhor.

  `Thank you. They're just what I wanted for Holly.' `And for you yourself? What do you want for Senhorita Greer?' ·

  `Well, nothing, really, I mean . . .' She meant there were things, for a woman there are always things, but until Arlene was helped ... Her grasp on her pay packet tightened resolutely.

  `I see you have taken to heart my banter because of your inability to hold money,' he teased. 'Please not to be annoyed with me. Come, I will repent over a cup of Indian tea.'

  Though the tea was certainly Indian, it was taken at a very European hotel — Green's. Almost Victorian, cool, vast, relaxing. Before the tea they both had a long frosted glass of limbu pani, fresh lime-juice. Their thirsts slaked by the refreshing drink, they sat back and leisurely nibb
led at sweet biscuits and sipped the hot fragrant tea.

  Greer rather had dreaded that the Portuguese would adopt his bantering mood again, upbraid her for being something of a spendthrift, for she felt, because of Arlene, that such a conversation could tread on dangerous ground. But he talked instead about Bombay . . . about all India . . . and soon she forgot her qualms in her complete fascination in what he had to relate.

  His conversation was varied, it ran a complete gamut. From crows whose call of Ram-ram as they collected street garbage quicker than the dustman could to Indian houses with samplers on the wall, most often reading: `What is a home without order?' To Indian coffee palaces ... he said palacois . . . where in Urdu, Hindu, Hindustani, English, Punjabi, Bengali ... others . . . many things were argued, most important of all, perhaps . and now the Senhor started another gamut ... the discussion of marriage.

  It was a very sober thing, marriage. It was considered an obligation that a man dispose of his daughters. As much money as he could afford, or jewels, were put aside for this essential business.

  `It certainly sounds like a business,' Greer said disapprovingly.

  The Senhor did not answer, and she supposed that in the Portuguese circles his forebears had moved it would be a business also. Social position, monetary expectations, status, lineage. She wondered if it would be a business still

  with him, for he was very much, in spite of the fact that he had said he moved around a great deal, that he had been partly educated in England, Portuguese.

  `Well, perhaps,' he admitted of her disparagement, 'but not always.'

  He told her about a fraudulent action. A family had made a good match for their son by pretending to be rich people. They had borrowed, in the owner's absence, a fine villa, presented the young man in dazzling, colours. At length a dowry had been agreed upon on the bride's side, a very good one, and the kill had been made by the gleeful parents of the groom.

  As Greer's face tightened at 'kill' the Senhor said, `But something one did not expect happened, Senhorita - Greer. These two young people fell in love. So all was well, even though the horoscopes had been tampered with.'

  `Horoscopes?'

  `Of course. Always a horoscope must be exchanged first. Now, what are you, Senhorita Greer? For if you are a Leo or—'

  `How ridiculous,' demeaned Greer, her cheeks flushed.

  He laughed at her and said, `No matter, I will ask my accountant, because, for the records, he will be requiring from you your date of birth.'

  `And Holly's?' she said abruptly.

  `I would not need your sister's,' he mused.

  No, thought Greer, it would be like that Indian and his bride . . . it wouldn't matter because there was love. Or, at this stage, the tenderness that precedes love.

  `Shall we go now?' the Senhor was asking. He had risen and he leaned over and helped Greer to her feet. His fingers were firm as always under her elbow.

  Returning in the car that the Senhor had awaiting him, Greer spoke about her attendance in the schoolroom this morning, her talk with the 'boys' tutor.

  `He showed me a poem of Yaqub's,' she said shyly.

  "Bwali"?'

  `Yes.'

  `You liked it?'

  `Oh, yes.' That was all she could find to say. Suddenly she was turning the pages of that travel book all those years ago and looking with wonderment ... that had never left her ... at a picture of a Hindu shrine and beneath it a looking-glass pond set with rosy flowers. 'Pool of the Pink Lilies.' She was not aware that she whispered it aloud until he nodded at her.

  `Yes,' he said quietly. 'It is your dream to come true, for it was a dream, was it not, Senhorita Greer, and never just an alliteration?'

  `A dream,' she said, surprising herself with the admission.

  `And of course you will see it. It is never a Taj Mahal. Never, either, the Tank of the Golden Lotus which is at Madura and a very famous shrine.' He took out his cheroots. 'Tell me, senhorita,' he asked, changing the subject, `even though it is early to judge as yet, did you notice anything at all during your attendance with the boys?'

  `No,' said Greer, but she couldn't contain a giggle, and seeing his inquiring glance she told him about the 'gorilla' for dinner, the 'fawn' that grew on a cactus.

  To her relief . . . otherwise she would have felt ridiculous ... he laughed, too, laughed heartily. So he had a sense of humour, this Portuguese. 'No sign there yet,' he stated.

  They were climbing the hill now, passing the hedges of wisteria and bougainvillea. Greer found herself looking forward to seeing Holly's pleased little face as she tumbled the goodies she had bought for her on to the bed.

  The big car curved to a halt and the driver got out to hold open the door. Clutching her purchases, Greer got out.

  The Senhor was not far behind her, but he went back to the car again to give the driver some direction.

  Hesitating whether to run ahead or wait for him, Greer heard the soft but penetrating voice. 'Madame .. . Madame!' After Senhorita, after Memsahib, it caught Greer's attention, and she turned.

  Not on the property, which was unfenced yet marked by bordering palms, but near enough to the edge of it to be almost there, stood an Indian woman, her veil drawn over her head.

  `Madame!' she called urgently again.

  Still Greer would have gone on, for she knew by now the inadvisability of committing oneself to these appealing people without thinking first; more good, she had learned, could be done in other ways. But she didn't go on. Something in the tone of that 'Madame' stayed her, something sulky somehow, something evasive, insolent. She looked at the woman and the woman looked back at her, looked narrowly, a little challengingly. Remindingly. Reminding Greer they had met before. Met . . . at Uncle Randall's flat. Why — why, this woman was Arlene's maid, the unwilling, unfriendly maid who none the less stayed on, because Arlene had admitted that she had not been paid.

  `Madame, a note.' In her recognition Greer had moved to the footpath and now the woman put a folded paper quickly in her hand.

  Almost at once the Senhor spoke peremptorily, rather angrily by the tone of his voice, though Greer, because he spoke in dialect, could not understand what he said. Before he had finished speaking the woman had hurried away.

  Senhor Martinez finished what he had to say to Greer, though, and it was terse and displeased.

  `I do not wish you to encourage these people, senhorita. You may feel sorry for them, but believe me, and believe the many reputable Indians who advise what I say now, it is not the right way. Independence, stability, pride, those are the things that are wished for them, not humiliating charity. What did you give her?'

  `Nothing. She did not ask me for anything.' That was true enough, Greer thought.

  It did not satisfy the man. 'You mean she was simply standing there and you went across to her?'

  `Yes.' That was not true, but what more under the circumstances could she say?

  He stood incredulous for a while, all the time his eyes raking at her, searching for a truth.

  Did she give anything to you?'

  `Of course not.' With the note tight in her hand Greer uttered the lie angrily, hoping that he would be rebuffed by her apparent resentment.

  He was not rebuffed, but he did drop his questioning. `Come,' he said, and led the way up the lordly steps.

  The note burned the pocket in which Greer had slipped it, but it was hours before she could stop the burning.

  First Holly delayed her. Her bedroom door had been opened to entertain the patient by passers-by in the hall, for evidently she was well enough now to be permitted entertainment, and she called out happily, 'Oh, Greer!'

  `Darling!' The note was pushed further into the pocket, and Greer went into the room, tumbling the parcels, as she had planned, on to the bed.

  But in the delight of Holly's delight she temporarily forgot her urgency. First of all she showed her sister the more formal purchases, and then the quite delicious cholis, all in mouth-watering colours, one featuri
ng the wild gold lilies that were offered for two annas a bunch, one the dusky bloom of an evening sky with incense rising in smoky curls, and the eternal ... it seemed . . . mango flowers, the love symbol, in green-gold.

  `They're beautiful, all of them,' enthused Holly, but she immediately put on the last. As she fastened up the final button the Senhor came to the door and asked could he enter. His eyes at once took in the mango blossom, and he smiled gently at Holly.

  `So,' he said. That was all. `So.' Greer stood waiting for Holly to say something back to him, inquire what he meant, but Holly just lay there in her pretty choli and smiled at the Portuguese.

  `I'll go upstairs.' Greer turned slowly, then remembered her note and stepped out more quickly.

  `Senhorita: The Senhor delayed her progress. 'The children are at the pool. I always find it a more opportune moment to observe them when they are at play. They are relaxed then, unconscious of supervision. Perhaps you could watch now, unless'.. . a slight sharpness in his voice . . . 'you have other things to do.'

  `Of course not.' Greer, relieved of her parcels and bag, went untrammelled out to the pool. No qualms about the note, it still lay hidden in her pocket.

  The children were sailing their boats and having a grand time. Again, as when she had joined Holly, Greer forgot what had burned her. She laughed as one of the boys' boats foundered . . . but the next minute was not laughing. Chandra . . . or was it Subhas? . . . was coughing and spluttering and getting out of his depth as he endeavoured to save the boat.

  She hauled both the boat and its captain back into shallow waters, then looked a little incredulously at the child.

  `You could have drowned. Why did you let yourself flounder like that?' In case he did not understand 'flounder' she did the actions.

  The water was in my nose, I wanted to cough.'

  `Of course. But you should have taken a deep breath before you went under after your boat. Chandra . . . or is it Subhas? . . . but it doesn't matter, anyway, can't you swim?'