The priest looked up. ‘Not for me, thank you. What about you, James?’
‘Eh, salt and pepper, och no, it’s on the table. Great. Thank you.’
Boman gave a nod to Sam and went through the bead curtain. A moment later he returned with Bal. ‘This is the boy, master sahib.’
‘Fascinating,’ Sam said. ‘A charming, intelligent looking lad. What’s he? Seven, eight, can’t be more?’
Bal took an instant liking to Sam Dustoor. He gazed at him intently, smiled and pointing to him asked. ‘Job? I working.Yes, yes.’
Boman shook his head and held the boy back. ‘No, no job,’ he said firmly. ‘Here, take this book. Show it to Masterji. Now, sir. I saw that poster. But he didn’t copy it. The poster was destroyed in the rain.’
‘Drawn from memory? That’s special.’ Sam studied it. ‘Indeed! Outstanding for his age. He’s pointing to my pencil. Yes, you can hold it. It’s a red and blue pencil. One moment. I’ll show you.’ Sam opened his brief case and took out a blank sheet of paper. He drew a blue horizontal line, turned the pencil round and drew a red one below it. The effect on the boy amazed both men. He clapped his hands and uttered a squeal of joy.
Boman tapped the exercise book. ‘He drew that word “Tarzan”, with no idea…’
‘Tarzan,’ the boy nodded, pointing to the book.
‘And when I wrote this, the letter “E”, he sounded it…’
‘You’re saying,’ Sam said, ‘he remembers shapes and sounds and can reproduce them. But can he link sound to letters. If I write a block T…
Bal picked up the pencil and drew a red “T”.
‘Remarkable!’ Sam said. ‘The boy’s a mimic. One moment.’ He took the pencil from Bal and drew a large “A”. ‘There, here’s a test for you. This is A and this is - is…wait. That was a red A, I’ll now do a blue B. Here, now you do it.’
Bal took the pencil. He not only copied the letters recognisably, chose the right colours and sounded them, a little prolonged, yet fairly correctly.
The two men looked at each other. ‘This is amazing.’ Sam said. He glanced at his watch. ‘Where did you find the boy? Never mind. I have to go now.’
‘Thank you masterji. Bal, give Mr Dustoor back his pencil.’
‘That’s all right. Keep it.’ He smiled at the boy, who went up to him and took his hand. ‘No, no you stay here. With Boman. Go to Boman.’
‘Challay challoo! Go.’ Boman chivvied the boy to the storeroom and waited till he was out of sight. Then he turned to Sam Dastur. ‘The boy is an orphan.’
‘Hm. He ought to be in a school and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s Parsee, but not passé, if you get my meaning.’ He laughed helpfully, but the joke fell flat. ‘But he’s not, though he could pass as one. At a wild guess, I’d say, one of his parents was European. Very likely English.’
‘Then he will be an Anglo-Indian.’
‘In today’s sense of the word. Well, no one is pure. We’re all mixed. And matters like that must not affect our judgement. Right, I’ll be off.’
Sam Dustoor stopped at the street door and called back. ‘I say, Boman, you’ve got me all curious. About the boy. I’ll be back tomorrow. After lunch? Your flat?’
It was four in the afternoon when they met at Boman’s flat. Sam apologised for being later than he planned. ‘But I’ve spent a fruitful afternoon. I’ve got good news for the boy. Now, as you know, as a member of the teaching staff I have the privilege of a place in my school. But our boys start at eleven and they have to pass a test, an entrance examination—as in Minoo’s case. The boy will need grounding in primary education. I’ve had a useful chat with the Reverend Jack Jones, Head of St Peter’s Kindergarten School. It’s in the Byculla area. St Peter’s also has an orphanage. Jones is prepared to place him there and in the school. What? Just a pot of tea, thanks.’
The tea was brought in by a tall, neatly dressed servant, wearing a black pill-box cap. He placed the tray on the table, bowed, waited a moment, and then left the room.
‘I see you still have Ajmeri working for you.’
‘Yes, after all that fuss he decided to stay. Good chap, but a hot head. I told him I’d double his salary if he also worked in the restaurant. But no. He is too proud.’
‘You mean, he thinks serving at tables beneath his dignity. Keep tempting him. He’ll change his mind one day. Now back to our boy. You know, Bomi, while I don’t want any trouble over this, I’m sticking my neck out, because I like the boy enough to want to help. I’m curious to see what schooling will do for him. But, you know, sometimes the sparks of infant genius disappear with time. My young brother, Jimmy, who is in California, was such a case. He took to the violin when he was not yet five. Extremely talented. My father took him to Boston. Today he’s a salesman. That, as the Americans say, is how the cookie crumbles. But I ramble. Remind me. You did say the boy’s an orphan? And you’re sure of that?’
‘Yes. Yesterday, when his friends came for him, I checked again.’
‘Is the boy still here with you?’
‘Yes. I told them to leave the boy with me. That if I can’t find him a job, I will keep him, giving him small jobs to do for me. There was a bit of jhagadra.’
‘You mean an argument?’
‘Yes. The other orphan, Asif, was rather protective. But when Yosef, the older one, told him, if he was a true friend of the boy, he must trust someone his uncle knows. Asif then calmed down. I learned a bit more about the boy. As a babe he was left on temple steps in Fatehpur village. He was found and cared for by two women.’
‘You know of this village?’
‘Nothing. But I will talk to Yosef’s uncle. Make sure the story is true. Boys tell lies. So it’s good to get an elder’s okay. Sorry, masterji, for all this trouble.’
‘Don’t apologise. It’s a challenge and about education. It’s what I do. As I said, I like the boy. If it works out well, l’ll go all the way. I’ll get Taraporevala, the lawyer who did my divorce, to make a trip to the village. Make a deal with these women. If I can legally adopt him, I will. I’ve got no one.’
‘There won’t be a problem, of that I’m sure.’
‘Yes, but I can see you have something else on your mind.’
‘Mastersahib, forgive my asking. But some of my friends…they say, why you not marry again?’
‘Well…I hope you didn’t say too much.’
‘No, no. Be sure of that. My lips are bund, closed, sealed.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Marry again? I’d rather have my books. They are faithful friends. Besides, now I’m too old and set in my ways.’ He smiled. ‘Bomi, about the boy. You know, he could be Parsee. In looks I mean. He’ll fit in. Also he’s nameless. So when he gets to my school…incidentally Mark Evans…
‘Headmaster Sahib?’
‘Yes. Should have said this earlier…we had a little chat, about the boy, yesterday, after school. He was intrigued. Even said if the boy showed promise, he’d waive the fees. But you know money is not a …I’ll register him as Sam Dustoor junior.’
‘You’re a good and kind man, Dustoorji. God will bless you.’
‘Well, Bomi, you’ve played your part. Tell me, what made the boys come to you? Was it by chance?’
‘Chance? No, no, not chance. The fellow that one of the boys calls his uncle, he worked for me. Three years. Then I got him job at Rex Cinema. He now manager.’
‘There, you see, Boman. You are a better man than I am Gunga Din.’
‘Gunga Din. Who’s this Gunga Din?’
‘Never mind, Boman. Take it from me you are a good man.’
‘Only, since my bibi Kaju died. Before that I was bad man.’
‘Why do you say that? The year before she died, Kaju told me how good and kind you were, always, and how concerned she was about you being alone.’
‘Believe me Master Sahib, I was a hard man. This city of beggars, Bombay, it makes people hard. When I was in school, boys gave me hard time. Because of my name. Boman Irani, that is Boman from Iran, but boys they call me Bombeel, that is Bombay duck…why you laugh? Yes, now, I also laugh. But not then.’
‘Well, you and I have learned not to live in the past.’
Boman rolled his head. ‘Will you now partake of some sweets? I have ordered some hot jelabis for your delection.’
‘That’s kind, Bomi, but I really must be leaving. I’m going to the flicks. Six-thirty, at the Eros Cinema.’
‘But that is not far. Just end of this road. There’s lot of time.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I’m going with friends and I promised to meet them earlier.’
Chapter Four
‘Dusty. Is that you?’ Sam Dustoor turned from the bookshelves in the sitting-room and leaning heavily on his stick, limped to the sofa and sank into its yielding depths.
A tall and shapely young man entered the room. ‘You are supposed to be resting,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘You know what doc said? Why aren’t you in bed?’
‘I was looking for a book. I know you’ve been fetching books for me, but you weren’t here and I thought I knew where it was. But I can’t find it. I could’ve sworn it was on that shelf there, behind me, third row.’
‘It could be anywhere. There are bookshelves in every room of this house. What’s the title,’ Dusty scanned the shelf behind Sam. ‘There’s a gap here, in this row.’
‘Eh? Oh dear, but of course, I remember now. Help me up.’
‘No. You stay there. Tell me and I’ll get it for you.’
‘I got it out after he left, the day before yesterday. It’s there, on the coffee table. Lawrence’s The Seven Pillars. I thought I’d give it to Dr Mehta. Unless you want it? I know he hasn’t got a copy.’
‘No, Papa, give it to him.’
‘Papa? How wonderful! I have a beautiful son through no effort on my part.’
Dusty held out a hand towards Sam. ‘There, let me help you back to your room. No, leave the book. I’ll remember. Now lean on me. You must do as Mehta says. He knows what he’s talking about. All that red wine and port! I hadn’t the heart to stop you last night. It was your birthday, after all.’
‘But now a period of enforced abstinence? Well, I’ll submit to that. Four guests, you and me, six of us, and all my units have gone in one evening. Absurd! But not half as ridiculous as getting a doctor to sign a certificate to say one needs alcohol for one’s health’s sake.’ Sam sat on the edge of his bed. ‘When you’re twenty-one get Mehta to certify you too.’
‘By then I may not need a drink permit.’
‘Why? Surely you don’t believe that in the next five years the Government will see sense and cancel the prohibition laws? We’ll see. That’s if I’m still around.’
‘Don’t. You promised. Give me time. I need time to repay your kindness.’
‘I’m sorry. It slipped out. Tell me, how did the meeting go with Asif and Yosef?’
‘Asif is now an usher in the Metro Cinema. We were able to have a chat over a cup of tea at the Soda Fountain. Yosef has gone back to Biwara.’
‘You know, Yosef lied about Ali being his uncle.’
‘Yes. But no harm done. The cinema was always in his blood and those years he spent here has taught him something about the cinema business. He’s taking over the local flea-pit in Biwara as both manager and projectionist…why d’you laugh?’
‘Bomi told me it was the first English word you said. I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Gosh! You mean, projectionist?’
‘Yes. You ought to see him sometime. Boman. Minoo too. You really ought.’
‘Can’t stand Minoo. He’s too physical. Can’t finish a sentence without grabbing my hand or putting his arm round my shoulder.’
‘You can be hard, dear boy. It’s not just Minoo. With others too. People say how indifferent, distant, and independent you can be. Yes, all that. I’m not saying you lack kindness, but I too have sensed a coolness…no, that’s harsh. I mean a certain economy of emotion! That was put awkwardly. But you’re bright enough to know what I mean. I can live with it. We’re very alike, you and I. Maybe why we get on.’
‘There’s so much I want to do. Friendship and friends take up time.’
‘Living is more than being clever. And what about a healthy interest in girls?’
‘That will come. Right now I haven’t time, but I’ve read the books you gave me, Stopes, Ellis…since you were embarrassed to talk about sex. Actually they did some of that in school. In the final year, well sort of…’
Sam laughed. ‘You could say that again, “sort of”. More botany than biology.’
‘I knew all that stuff before then. Asif’s teachings may have been raw in tooth and claw, but it was straight to the jaw. His curiosity knew no bounds.’
‘That’s it. It’s what I wanted to say. The apt word I can think of is “controlled”. It’s time you took account of yourself. You are very controlled. I supposed you had to be from a very early age?’
‘That and the French philosopher you made me read some time ago. To avoid pain, avoid attachments.’
‘More Buddhist than French. Never mind. I think I know who you mean. But that’s not all he would have said, surely. Anyway, we’ve been together long enough for you to relax. To be less controlled.’
Dusty compressed his lips. ‘No. I mean, yes…look who’s talking! But I need time. You must give me time. I know I’m being selfish. I want to know all that you know. So, stay off the drink.’
‘Dusty dear boy, you don’t need me. I enjoy my drink, I may as well…’
‘You may as well do what Dr Mehta says. Please. And don’t say I can manage without you, that I don’t need you. I need your advice!’ The young man took a sharp breath, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Dusty said: ‘He’s getting married next month.’
‘Who? What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Yosef. Yosef’s wedding. Asif would like me to go with him. For the wedding. I told him I can’t. I don’t want to see him again. We’ve been out of touch for years and I find we’ve nothing in common.’
‘You’re not entirely to blame.’
‘There’s a lot I needed to shed and a lot to take on. I suppose I’m being a snob?’
‘I’m as much responsible for that. More. Not being a snob wasn’t going to help or change Asif’s situation. I had to break your links with the past. It would’ve affected you adversely. You do understand. I couldn’t help you and also your friends.’
‘They understood. I’m sure of that. Asif wished me all the luck in the world. That hurt. I mean his generosity shamed me. But he’s a free spirit and, since he misses the grazing wastelands, he’ll return to Fatehpur soon. He told me, he feels there’s every chance to be the village herdsman…since Jaswant is no longer around.’
‘What about the enemies he’s created by absconding with you…Heavens! That was years ago. How time flies.’
‘I don’t think anyone missed us, or missed enough to really care. And as we have learned from Taraporevala, all who were concerned are dead. Sujata, Daadi…even the village headman.’
‘Still you ought to know that I couldn’t help. Not all of you. It would have been too much for me; and they being Muslims didn’t make it any easier. Don’t ask why. It’s just one of those things. There’s a purity and sternness in their religion, which make one hesitant, even uneasy.’
‘Asif will land on his feet. There’s always nearby Biwara and Yosef’s friendship, to fall back on.’
‘And you do know the trouble I’ve had, just taking you on?’
Dusty nodded and smiled. He always found Sam’s single-mindedness endearing.
‘Thank God,’ Sam went on, ‘there was only my brother Dinshaw and a spinster aunt to contend with. But nothing was going to stop me helping you.’
‘You’ve done more than enough. You don’t need to do more. You’ve taken early retirement. Now relax and indulge yourself. Travel. Give yourself a good time.’
‘I am having a good time. You’ve been good for me, Dusty. I so wanted to make you my heir.’
‘Honest, papa. I mean what I say. There is nothing more for you to do. Nothing more I want from you. I am where I want to be. I don’t need to be a semi-millionaire. Your family has every right to their property.’
‘But Dusty, I want to be certain that you know I’m tied by my father’s will. His property and money came to me on condition it goes to Dinshaw after my…Why won’t you let me use the dreaded word?’
‘Because I’m not ready for it.’
‘Still, the will doesn’t apply to my current bank account. I’ve been putting my salary and my pension into it. All that will be yours. Enough to see you through University. Jones promised …’
‘No. No more Jones. I’ve done my bit. I became a Christian because he pressed me to. I was eight and I felt the weight of obligation. He’s another one for hugging and petting. Pa, you know, what I mean?’
‘Sit down Dusty. Draw that chair. I’ll lie back and stretch, if I may. The trouble with you Dusty, my boy, is that you’re far too attractive. I had hoped that with the passing years, you would have grown to be less so.’
‘But you, you didn’t make a…I can’t think of the right word.’
Sam laughed. ‘I’m no saint, but sexual desire has never been an abiding interest. Sheer laziness on my part. Why do you think my wife left me? Sex, dear old chap, as Henry James wrote somewhere, is overrated.’
‘You’re far too refined. It’s what I like about you. You have surrounded yourself with beautiful things and rare and precious books. People come second. That’s how I would like to be, pa.’
‘Then begin by calling me Sam. It’s far too early to make up your mind. My style of living comes when you’ve had a few set-backs in life, and I wouldn’t wish those on you. I hope you may meet someone who’ll make you think differently. Don’t look at me as if I’m some curiosity. Make no mistake. I did and do find you attractive. But it’s always been your obvious intelligence and phenomenal memory that fascinates me…I also knew at once you would not have stayed with me if I’d made a pass.’
In the Shadow of a Dream Page 7
