The Assassins

by Jeremy Trafford

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Max, simply and with some dread.

  ‘I’ve got to tell you something, Max,’ Narayan said. ‘I’m afraid it’s going to hurt.’

  Max said nothing. Narayan was silent for a while, as if he feared Max’s reaction. When he spoke, he seemed resolved, supported by much thought-out decisiveness.

  ‘I’m in love with Mohini,’ he suddenly said, ‘and I want to marry her.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Max, his voice flat.

  ‘Why ridiculous?’ Narayan didn’t appear to resent Max’s reaction; he was far more concerned about being believed. ‘Surely you’ve seen this coming?’

  ‘That you’d want to marry her? Of course not.’

  Max felt his temper rising and wondered if he could control it. He wanted to sound cool and rational, but he was shaking from a jealous fury. His mouth went dry. It was difficult to speak, to even form the words in his mind.

  ‘I knew you liked her,’ he heard himself say at last. ‘You enjoyed her company, the attention that she paid to you. But marrying her? That’s mad! How much have you ever seen of her?’

  ‘I’ve been seeing her a lot recently,’ admitted Narayan. ‘More than I’ve let on.’

  ‘Oh,’ breathed Max. Another shock. ‘Really?’ He gulped for air. ‘I mean, wasn’t that being a bit deceitful?’

  ‘No,’ answered Narayan. ‘We always agreed that we weren’t bound to tell each other everything.’

  ‘We only agreed that at the start. Things change. We grew closer, didn’t we? Anyway, I think you’re fantasising. You pretend to yourself an emotion you just imagine… because it’s socially required. You’re not in any real sense in love with her. You can’t be. You should have the self-honesty to see it.’

  ‘I am being self-honest,’ Narayan said quietly, again anxious to convince. ‘Look, right at the start, I told you I didn’t know myself. I didn’t know how I’d react to you. How do we ever know we’re going to end up loving someone? Deceitful I may have been, in a way, but only because I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve loved you, you know that, and I still think the world of you, I swear. But now… now I’m in love with Mohini. I wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t true.’

  ‘You know it isn’t,’ Max blurted out, unable to stop himself. ‘You’re lying to yourself. You haven’t got the guts to live the life you should. Well then, go ahead and marry her,’ he said, his voice getting louder as he lost control. ‘Just… just fuck off and marry her, damn you! You’ve shat enough on my life, so now go and screw up someone else’s.’

  Narayan reached for him.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Max shouted. ‘You make me sick. I never want to see your lousy face again.’

  His eyes were blurred with tears of rage. Narayan tried again to touch him, extending a hand, but Max refused to take it. The hand hung in the air, in sad apology, before Narayan withdrew it and hesitantly left. He paused briefly to look back at Max before disappearing into the night.

  Max slammed the door after him. His rage began to ebb. At first he felt foolish for the things he’d said, the coarse clichés and inflated accusations. He felt shame at his loss of self-control. Bitterness. Futility. He went upstairs to Narayan’s bedroom and lay down upon the bed, where despair overcame him. His brain seemed full of violent and confusing images from the past: the rock carvings disfigured, his swimming pool drained, Narayan lying contorted on its slimy bottom, as if his neck were broken. He turned from the images, shocked by their brutality, and tried to conjure up good memories Narayan. But they shifted in his mind, dulled and impotent, and only served to darken his distress. He longed for sleep and eventually a fitful sleep came to him. He dreamt he was nursing Rick, who was lying on a bed and looking out to sea.

  ‘Can you see them?’ Max asked. ‘The river… the temple… the hopeful mourners… the smoke on the river from the funeral rites?’

  Rick shook his head sadly. Max saw the river was clogged with effluent, the mourners inconsolable and scared. The temple was a pile of disintegrating stones, like a dismal burden on the sand. He woke, determined to curb his depression, to dismiss the exaggerations of his dreaming mind. Dawn was breaking.

  He got up and went to the window. The garden was still, the trees were motionless and there seemed to be no birds about the place. He spotted someone at the gate, looking searchingly up at the house. It wasn’t Narayan, although that had been his first thought. Whoever it was had a rounder face. Max vaguely wondered what he was doing there.

  Sighing, he went back to bed. A few minutes later, someone entered the room. At first, Max felt a certain trepidation, worried that it was whoever had been standing in the garden – a burglar, perhaps. But it was Narayan.

  ‘I’ve been walking all night,’ he said, heading straight for Max and gently kissing him. ‘I’ve been thinking all night about us,’ he said. ‘Thinking about you.’

  Max thought Narayan brave after the abuse he’d given him the night before and the likelihood of his kiss being rejected. Narayan seemed hugely apologetic and distressed. This caused Max to melt, and he kissed him deeply back. Narayan resisted, but only for a moment, before succumbing to his growing fervour.

  They undressed and made love. Max did all he could to arouse Narayan, to keep him in that heightened state, as though he could imprint on his mind a memory that would always haunt him, that he would never, ever be able to forget in all the years to come. Narayan held Max with a slightly anguished tenacity, Max told him he loved him. Moments later, Narayan came with a spasm that seemed almost one of pain. Max let himself go at last, with a powerful release unlike any he’d experienced before. It was like a happiness that could never be removed.

  But Narayan was leaving him. Leaving him. It seemed impossible.

  ‘You’re still in love with me,’ Max said. ‘You must be.’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  Narayan was gazing down, taking in the conjunction of their naked bodies, marvelling at the sight, as if surprised by what had just happened, the joy and beauty of it. He frowned slightly, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘It’s mad, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Being in love, sort of, with two people… a man and a woman. Do you remember me telling you once that I didn’t think it possible? But I shouldn’t have done what I did just now. It’s just… I wanted to say goodbye in a way that you’d remember.’

  He put out his hand to touch Max’s face.

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Max replied. ‘I understand about Mohini. I just don’t get how the hell it’s happened.’

  He was determined not to be demanding or despairing. He wouldn’t twist Narayan’s arm emotionally. When all this was over he would have won him back with calm and measured words.

  ‘You want a kind of marriage with me,’ Narayan said, ‘even if we don’t get to use that dreaded word. But hey, you know what India is like. Everything we’ve been for one another… it’s hardly acknowledged such experiences even happen… that such feelings exist at all. It’s just a bizarre joke at best, and that’s the worst form of prejudice of all. People have no idea how beautiful and deep the love between two men can be.’

  ‘Then people should be shown it,’ Max answered, slightly heated of a sudden. ‘The tyranny of majority opinion… how I hate it!’ He paused, reaching for his self-restraint. ‘Remember what Gandhi said: one man can be right when most of the unthinking world’s against him.’

  Narayan smiled faintly.

  ‘You’re quoting Gandhi? Gandhi would never have approved of us. In his later years he barely approved of sex at all, and then only as the means by which we reproduce.’

  ‘He’d have approved of standing up for what one believes in, surely?’

  ‘Fighting for the rights of a disparaged, even criminal, minority,’ mused Narayan. ‘Homosexuality is still against the law here, remember, even though it’s the twenty-first century. Oh, it’s a just cause all right, but I’ve my own life to think of. I want a wife and family, Max,
and I warned you that I wasn’t prepared to shout out from the rooftops. Maybe, if I was completely gay, I would. I have this straight side of me, though, as you have with Clare. I haven’t spoiled that for you, have I, Max?’

  ‘You haven’t spoiled anything,’ Max told him, taken aback by his directness. He’d always been enchanted by Narayan’s often startling candour but hadn’t expected him to be this explicit. Well, he would be explicit back: he’d attempt to be as accurately truthful as he could.

  ‘I’ve loved Clare very much,’ he said, ‘but it was as much a passion of the heart and mind as it was physical. The feeling was very strong, but I was always attracted to guys as well. So the question is, which side of you do you most want to follow?’

  Narayan looked at him.

  ‘I want to live with my heterosexual side,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m going to marry Mohini.’

  ‘What about the sex? Isn’t that something still in your imagination? If I thought you’d actually enjoy sex with her, I’d find it easier to take.’

  As soon as he’d said that he regretted it. He forced an issue that was private out into the open. He knew it couldn’t just be reduced to physical enjoyment. Light was streaming in through the window now. A mynah bird sat upon a bough outside, making a whistling noise that would normally have cheered him. A fringe of bougainvillea trailed across the window, and the light coming through it dappled Narayan’s body. On his face was a strange expression, sorrowful and yet defiant.

  ‘Look, Max,’ Narayan said. ‘I wouldn’t make a decision of this sort unless I knew what I was doing. I’d never slept with a woman before, but Mohini and I… we have had sex. If you need to know, I enjoyed it very much. We’re arranging things quickly. We hope to be married in a month.’

  ‘A month? You must be joking.’

  ‘I’m not. She’s older than I am, and there’s bound to be family opposition, so we’re going to do it quickly and quietly. My one regret is you, Max. I couldn’t feel worse about that. You’ve been everything to me, and I’ll never forget you.’ He paused, looking really conscience-stricken. ‘I must see Mohini’s father in Kolkata, which means I won’t be able to see you off. I’m sorry. Mohini and I are flying there this morning.’

  Max felt numb, shocked by the abruptness of this announcement. He supposed Narayan had arranged to leave immediately so he’d have no chance to change his mind. Narayan’s look was one of immense contrition, although he tried to hide it. He tried to joke but the jokes died on his tongue. He pushed Max around as in a series of rough caresses, part of that old repertoire of play between them, but the play seemed joyless now, the repertoire exhausted.

  Max didn’t feel so angry with him now. He felt Narayan simply hadn’t known himself enough. Perhaps he still didn’t. People spend their entire lives failing to recognise themselves, confusing what they wished to be with what they were. Even now, just as he was about to leave, Narayan took Max in his arms. He cried out slightly, pressing Max to him, as if paradoxically it was he who feared being left; he who, with tears that began to mark his face, dreaded most this moment of their parting.

  ‘I’m going to your hotel to leave Clare a letter of explanation… an apology for not saying goodbye,’ Narayan said. ‘I won’t try to see her. She’ll be sleeping with Tammy right now.’ He looked at the clock by the side of the bed. ‘It’s only six-fifteen… far too early.’

  It was Max who gently disengaged, shaking his head almost imperceptibly to indicate it was too much to bear just now. Appreciating this, Narayan went to the door, opened it and left. He did not look back.

  The door closed and Max stood by the window, watching Narayan leave. The figure he’d seen earlier had gone. As Narayan drove away, Max heard another engine start. He saw a motorbike then, a passenger on the pillion, racing off with a squeal of tyres.

  Too distressed and confused to think how odd the sight was at such an early hour, Max looked up into the sky. Clouds were racing across it, as if being hurled by some powerful wind towards the ocean. He recalled Subramaniam talking about the Atman, the Breath of Life, and he had a mental image of the old man slumped in his cane chair, his beloved Bhagavad Gita slipping from his fingers. That great poem had now come to mean so much to Max, with its vision of the divine love offered to help the human spirit in its fight against the forces of destruction, especially those attacking from within: jealousy, fear and anger. Max ached with longing for Narayan and knew he could easily succumb to jealous rage again. And he knew he feared for Rick.

  The phone rang. Max rushed to reach it, thinking it might be Narayan. It wasn’t. It was Inspector Veerapan.

  ‘Max,’ began the Inspector, his voice betraying exhaustion. ‘We made a terrible mistake when we said we’d shot the two young men. They’re still very much alive. One of the gang, tempted by the reward offered, informed against them. We raided their lodgings two hours ago. We caught the boy but not his accomplice, who escaped after making a furious attempt to save him. He shot one of my colleagues while escaping. He was my brother-in-law.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘My sister’s husband… dead at twenty-one.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The boy fits the description well,’ he continued. ‘He appears to be the boy in your photo, as least as far as we can tell. The evidence is still insufficient for a prosecution, though, unless Tammy and Clare identify him. The accomplice obviously knows that’s the situation we’re in. He’s already broken into Tammy’s flat, ruthlessly prepared to eliminate all evidence against him.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘We want… we need Tammy and Clare to identify the boy this morning, without delay. Forgive my asking, but we need to know where they now are.’

  Max gave him the address.

  ‘The man was in the garden here this morning, watching the house,’ he added. ‘Narayan left about ten minutes ago, and I think he was followed on a motorbike. There were two of them on the bike. Narayan’s calling in at the hotel…’ Max felt his throat grow tight and dry with dread. ‘He’ll be leading them straight to Clare and Tammy.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Clare woke suddenly, and a depressing thought immediately came to her: she and Max were flying to back to Los Angeles, and she wouldn’t see Tammy for weeks. She looked at her watch: it was twenty to seven. She turned to look at Tammy’s face. He was asleep. She wanted to wake him to make love again, but he hadn’t slept well for most of the night. Not wanting to be selfish, she let him sleep on. He’d had another text message from Shahpur, saying that Kalyani’s father had tracked them down to Mumbai. He’d phoned them to say that he was determined to take his daughter home, not knowing they’d already got married. Tammy hadn’t been disturbed by this news merely out of sympathy for the couple’s plight; he was also starting to worry about opposition to his marrying Clare. His parents were no longer living, but there were aunts, uncles and other relatives who were not exactly noted for their progressive attitudes when it came to inter-faith, interracial marriage.

  Clare rubbed her eyes, puzzled about why she had woken so early. It might have been some noise still echoing in her head, as if she had first heard it in her sleep. She heard it again – it sounded like the tapping of a stick on the concrete path outside. Then she thought she heard the shutters creaking.

  Their room was in a ground-floor annexe at the rear of the hotel. The shutters were closed to keep out the early morning light. The ceiling fan was swishing in the air, giving off the occasional plaintive creak. Tammy’s own flat had modern air-conditioning, and he laughed at Max and Clare’s perverse preference, as he put it, for everything old and likely to break down: the antiquated fan, the aged plumbing, with its thudding pipes and temperamental gushes of pale brown steamy water from the taps. The night before he’d jokingly apologised for parking his car directly outside their room in case it spoiled the view: the mustard-coloured walls, the bougainvillea, the monkeys in their cage, the cantankerous parrot on its stand, the self-admiring, rustling peacock. Cl
are did think it tactless of him to park there, for it advertised to the doubtless conventional hotel manager that it was Tammy and not Clare’s husband who was spending the night there.

  The manager of the hotel rarely had foreign guests to stay, so he’d booked them in with surprised delight, apologising for the lack of modern conveniences – and the existence of all the ancient inconveniences. Thin and self-deprecating, he was the polar opposite of the manager of the hotel just outside Madurai, the one with the massive belly and majestic waddle. He’d seemed bewildered by Tammy being there so often, and Max being absent, and Clare didn’t want to add to his confusion.

  Clare was fully awake now, and there it was, the noise again. Was it someone pushing at the shutters? That’s certainly what it sounded like. As she looked over at the shutters, Clare noticed there was a gap between them, wide enough for someone to peer in. She didn’t like this at all. As she got out of bed, she heard the tapping begin to move away. The creaking by the door, however, was getting louder.

  ‘Hello?’ she called out softly.

  The noise stopped.

  She heard a telephone ringing in the main building and wondered who could be phoning at this early hour. Shrugging, she opened the narrow window, which gave her a limited view of the garden. Tammy’s car was slightly blocking the view.

  A brightly coloured bird was perched on a frangipani tree, delicately preening its blue plumage. Nearby stood the monkeys’ cage, around which the peacock was fastidiously strutting, rustling his tail ostentatiously. Clare had often heard his raucous scream imperiously directed towards his frumpy mate. The peahen, Clare noted with strange satisfaction, remained firmly unimpressed.