by John Speed
The old hakim came and stood blinking as the two women came to his door, as if hoping they were a dream that would vanish if he could just wake up. "You may not be here," he told them at last.
"Don't be absurd," Lucinda answered. "We won't leave without seeing him."
The hakim blinked his old eyes once more. "You are a farang! But dressed so? It can't be!"
"We will see Pathan now, sir," Lucinda insisted. Without waiting for permission, she stepped past him. He was too frail to put up much resistance. Maya shrugged and followed. "Where have you put him?" Lucinda asked.
"But he is near death," the hakim said, now reduced to pleading.
"That is why we have come," Maya answered softly. The hakim grumbled, but then led them to a small dark room. Smells so crowded the air that Lucinda recoiled when she started to enter. Smoke, herbs, urine, and excrement hung in the darkness like an unseen fog. Maya stepped past her and found the clasp of the shuttered window. "No, he must have darkness!" the doctor hissed. Maya ignored him and pushed aside the shutter. Light streamed through in a single beam; the rest of the room stayed hid in shadow.
In the sudden sunlight Maya saw Pathan, limp as a broken doll. One of his hands poked from beneath his rough blanket, looking unnaturally pale. "Come," she said to Lucinda as she knelt near his head, but Lucinda could not move; no, she could barely breathe.
"His head is broken, see?" the hakim said, pulling aside a dingy bandage. "Here behind the ear." He pointed with a twiglike finger.
"Why is there no blood?" Maya demanded.
"It means he will die."
"Quiet. He'll hear you," Lucinda whispered.
The hakim merely shook his head. "The fresh air will disorder his spirit," he murmured as he moved to shutter the open window. "Not that it makes any difference."
"Leave it," Maya said. She had placed her fingers over Pathan's ear.
"You will kill him! His blood will be on your hands, not mine."
"You've found someone else to blame for his death, you mean," Lucinda said.
"Be quiet both of you!" Maya whispered. Something in the set of Maya's chin unnerved the hakim, and he shuffled quickly from the room.
"Can you fix him?" Lucinda sat beside Maya, fumbling with her unfamiliar sari skirt. "Say you can."
"He's very far away. I can hardly find him." Maya's eyes were closed, as if she were listening for a faint sound.
Lucinda wrapped her arms around Maya, pressing her cheek near her ear. "Help him, help him," she murmured.
As Lucinda clung to her, Maya slowly probed Pathan's head. "Be very still," Maya whispered. Lucinda held her breath. She could feel Maya's heartbeat. She stood that way for what seemed like hours. Sweat began to pour from Maya's body, and from her own.
Then Lucinda heard Pathan give a rattling groan. "He can't have died," she cried.
"No, he lives." Maya slumped to the floor beside his bed.
Lucinda sat near Pathan's bedside. Maya had gone outside to catch her breath.
Pathan would open his eyes for a moment and then close them as if the light made him dizzy. Finally he blinked at her. "Madam," he whispered.
Lucinda felt suddenly terrified at the prospect of speaking to him. "You're thirsty. Let me fetch you some water," she whispered, standing up.
"No," Pathan said. "Sit beside me."
Lucinda pulled her sari back into place as best she could, feeling almost naked. She patted her hair and tried to keep her breasts covered with her elbows. The bangles Maya had given her clinked on her arm. She was careful not to touch him. "Is the light too bright for you, Captain?" she said. She hated the formality she heard in her voice.
"I love the light, more than you can imagine." He reached out for her hand. His long fingers curled around her palm, dark against her pale skin. "I was in a place of darkness. I thought I would never see the light. Then I heard you calling me."
Lucinda's fingers trembled in his hand like the heart of a caught bird. "It was Maya who called you, Captain."
"It was your voice I heard, madam," he answered, looking at her with bright, burning eyes. "Your voice that led me to the light."
She gazed at him for a long time. "You're thirsty, Captain. I'll get water." As she took her hand from his, her eyes drifted to his mouth, to his lips.
She had strength enough to turn her head, but she could not find the strength to leave his side. His long fingers again found her open hand. "How different you look, madam, dressed so." Lucinda felt herself blushing, but did not move. He slowly drew his thumb across her palm. "So different, yet I always would know you. Always." Lucinda could not help turning toward him. The silence of the room seemed to roar in her ears. "How blind I was, madam. I have looked at you so often, but seen only your farang garments, and never saw the woman. Forgive me, I beg you."
She found it difficult to speak. "You saved my life and nearly lost your own. There is nothing to forgive." His eyes were wide, dark. And she knew that her eyes were speaking to him, speaking words she dare not say aloud. She pulled back her hand, knowing that she must leave. "I'll be back soon, Captain."
His eyes never left hers. "Come back quickly."
Once outside she leaned against the wall clutching the cold pitcher to her breast. It took her a long time to find her breath.
She looked up to find Maya and the doctor staring at her. "He's awake," she said. She was certain that they could see her trembling. "I'm getting him some water," she added, holding out the pitcher as if hoping it would distract them.
"I will take care of this," the hakim said. Perhaps Maya had said something to him, for he no longer seemed so unfriendly. In fact, his old eyes crinkled at Lucinda, in what she understood was meant to be a smile.
Maya gave her a knowing look. Again Lucinda felt her herself blushing.
Maya gave a short laugh. "Slipper's gone."
"Dead?"
Maya laughed again. "No, not dead. Gone. He tried to beat me this morning, and your cousin Geraldo kicked him out of the palace. The hakim tells me someone gave him a ride to Bijapur. He's gone, sister."
"No more Slipper? Whatever shall we do?" Then Lucinda laughed with Maya.
But the hakim scowled when he returned. "You laugh at him, but I think you should not laugh. If he is the one I think, he is a dangerous fellow. Very nasty."
"We know he is nasty," Maya said. "But why dangerous?"
"I've heard tales. I will say no more." He glanced at the windows as if fearful spies were lurking there. "But if he has gone to Bijapur, I say beware." With that he took the pitcher to Pathan's room.
"Beware of what?" Lucinda asked.
But before anyone answered, the hakim cried out. "What have you done to my patient?" Pathan was drenched in sweat. The hakim began to take his pulses, first his neck, then his wrists.
"His pulse will tell you. He is strong and growing stronger," Maya said. "But he will sleep for many days."
"How can you know this?" the hakim asked skeptically.
"But he was talking to me. Holding my. . ." Lucinda cut her thought short.
"He woke because he felt your presence," Maya said. "Now he will sleep."
"Will he be all right, sister? Did you cure him?"
"I just took his pain away. It will help him heal."
"But what happens to it? Where does the pain go?" Lucinda looked at Maya with concern. "Do you take it on yourself?
Maya did not answer.
"But will he be better?" Lucinda asked, suddenly worried. "All better?"
Maya nodded. "Yes, all better, except that he will remember nothing."
"Maybe not," Lucinda sighed. "But I will remember. Everything."
As she walked back to the palace, holding Lucinda's hand, Maya considered the idea that had come to her, sitting on the roof with Lakshmi. If it worked, she realized, it would solve all her problems. And once she had seen the solution to her problems, Maya embraced it. It was not as extreme as killing, herself or someone else, not as uncertain as run
ning away. Not so terrible, she reasoned, yet it would destroy her value with a single stroke.
She could hardly know the consequences of her decision, or how much pain she would cause herself.
At the entrance to the wide, common verandah of the guest quarters, Maya saw Geraldo. The young farang, pacing the length of the balcony that overlooked the valley, glanced up at her grumpily, and then turned away. He seemed not even to notice Lucinda.
He's still sulking, thought Maya. Even so, he looked rather dashing in his borrowed jamas. What will he do when he discovers my plan?
As the women drew near him, Maya favored him with her most fetching smile, and a long look that promised much.
After rinsing her breasts in rose water, and combing her hair, and rubbing sandalwood paste on her wrists and ankles, Maya dressed in a fresh sari of bright green edged with gold. She dabbed a single dot of bright red kumkum between her eyebrows, and blinked a dab of kohl into the corner of each eye.
As she made to leave, she paused briefly before a small bronze statue of Durga riding her tiger. Oh, Goddess, she thought, what do you think of my plan? If it is not your will, let me fail. If it is not my guru's will, let me fail.
Maya's bedroom had tall, narrow double doors of dark wood. Opening one just a crack she peeked through. As she expected-as she hoped-Geraldo lounged in the verandah, leaning on a column near the entrance to the women's quarters. Maya's smile was like a lotus flower; Geraldo yet another bee driven mad by its fragrance.
It was not such a great step, Maya reasoned, to go to the verandah, nor such a great step to speak with him. Before she had time to reconsider, she stood near his side.
Of course he insister. on sulking, and Maya could barely keep from laughing at him. But this did not distract her from her purpose. "Oh, sir," she said. The deep tang of sandalwood paste floated in the air whenever she moved.
Of course he would not answer her at once, and as she waited, she looked out over the lake, touched by the purple shadows of the setting sun, its surface a green so dark it looked nearly black. At last she heard him sigh, and she turned to him with practiced coyness. "Are you still very annoyed with me?"
She was shocked to see how his face hid so little, so different from a Hindi: he was naked to her. His emotions floated on his skin like paint: she saw not just his anger, but his desire. His burning eyes seemed deeper and darker than most men's, contrasted by his pale skin which glowed in the sunset light. He breathed deeply, through clenched teeth, as though each breath were an effort. "Oh, dear, you are still very angry."
"Should I not be? I showed you kindness and you insulted me."
"You speak the truth, and I am ashamed." That much was true-Maya regretted what she had said earlier, just as she regretted what she was about to do. The best duplicity, she knew, was mixed with a measure of honesty.
Her words, her downcast eyes, the closeness of her body, which seemed to set the air trembling, the sandalwood paste and her own natural, dark perfume began to confuse his senses. "Well, you were upset," he said, a little hoarsely. "That eunuch could irritate a stone."
When she smiled up at him, her look was so forthright, he gulped. He glanced around: The veranda was empty. The corridors silent. They were alone.
She let the solitude enfold them. "If I asked most sincerely, sir, could you forgive me?" She bent her head, and then lifted her gold-flecked eyes to him ever so slowly. Geraldo seemed to have trouble swallowing.
The green silk of her sari rustled as Maya raised her small hand and placed a single finger on his chest. Her voice whispered like a breeze: "You could maybe forgive your Maya? If she were very good to you? If she did her very best to make it up to you?" Geraldo's eyes watched as Maya's finger traced a tingling path across his shirt, and slipped past the closure of his jama, and then touched his skin.
"This is not right," Geraldo said. His voice was husky. Even the crows had stopped their cawing. Silence fell everywhere like the night around them.
"Right or wrong? What is to stop us?" She leaned forward and lifted herself so her lips were a breath away from his ear. "Do you not want what I want?" Her hand reached out and glided over his.
She was trembling, or he was.
It was not such a great step from the verandah to the men's quarters, nor from there to Geraldo's room, nor from his door to the cushions of his bed.
And only after they had clasped and unclasped; only after the moans and slaps of flesh thrusting into flesh had risen and dissolved in the duskcooled air; only after their sighs had mingled with the scent of sandalwood and sweat; only after she caught her breath and Geraldo slept, while she stroked his cheek that gleamed like metal in the last light of the setting sun; only then did Maya discover the unexpected flaw in her designs.
Part Four
Meetings
After two days rocking in the back of a farmer's cart, Slipper saw a miracle. After two days of eating only chapatis and bananas, and hearing only talk of drought and scarecrows and dung, Slipper trembled, as one trembles at the sight of a prison door swung wide at last. He held his breath for fear that even breathing would make the vision disappear. But the farmer by his side only swore when he saw it, clapping his fists to his head in frustration. He loved whining, Slipper had discovered. "By the Prophet's beard! Did I not say that Allah the all-merciful hates farmers! Is this not the very proof? This is your fault, eunuch! You have brought bad luck!"
"Me, sir?" Slipper's tiny eyes widened.
They had come nearly to the crossing of the Bijapur road when they saw it. Slipper, despite his weak eyes, could just make out the sight, just ahead of a line of wagons and carts and herders with cattle, bunched up motionless at the crossing.
"I bless all the angels," Slipper whispered to himself. But the farmer jumped from the cart, holding his head as if it would explode. Slipper jumped down as well. Already other travelers were lining up behind them, just as annoyed as the farmer. Finding others more willing to listen to his miseries, the farmer ignored his passenger, and Slipper pushed through the crowd until he came to the crossing itself. But he held back behind the line of people waiting there-he did not want to be seen just yet.
Beneath the wavering shadows of huge-branched trees that canopied the crossroad, a dozen guards, tall, dark-skinned, powerful, barred the road. Their lances bore the green tassels of the harem eunuch guard.
Crushed eunuchs, Slipper saw at once. So many of them, he thought, hardly able to contain his pleasure.
To the south, he could hear a procession approaching. First came the tinny sound of small cymbals clanging, and then the blare of herald trumpets. Soon the musicians came into view, a bored lot of crushed eunuchs, walking in a listless approximation of a march. Slipper despised them for their indifference. More eunuchs followed, carrying pennants of Bijapuri green.
After them came the Guard cavalry, riding lively bedouins on shining saddles of gilded leather, the silver bosses of their shields glinting in the sun. Their horses-all geldings of course-pranced scornfully before the annoyed onlookers who waited at the crossroads, just as their riders eyed the peasants with disdain.
Surrounded by his bodyguard, the captain of the Guards followed on a tall blood bay. His bodyguard carried unsheathed swords. Next came the captain's servants holding in their outstretched hands caskets of his jewels on velvet pillows. A young Abyssinian eunuch (cut, or even shaved, thought Slipper with approval) walked beside the captain's horse, lifting a huge peacock feather fan on a long pole to shield his head.
Behind the captain, came the elephants. Five, ten ... Slipper was too dazzled and too happy to keep count. He gaped at the ornamented howdahs, the curtains closed so the riffraff might not see in, and let himself imagine who was sitting inside.
Slipper waited breathlessly, and then, to his delight he saw it: the Flying Palace of the Sultana. Only a few roads in Bijapur were wide enough to accommodate the Flying Palace, for it took four matched elephants, walking in unison, to manage it. Two walke
d side by side in front, two side by side behind. Each beast had a special harness tied round its midsection. Stout ropes strung from each harness attached to the corners of a sturdy platform as large as the foundation of a temple. Wooden walls rose from the sides of the platform, above them a roof; painted to give the illusion of a palace hall of stone, with columns and arches, and even a glittering silver dome above all. The Flying Palace was two stories tall, with a breezy balcony over the royal suite below: bedroom, kitchen, bath, even a toilet. The walls were bossed with shining stars and crescents, gilded, and silvered. Hovering on its long ropes, held at perfect level by the careful elephants, the palace appeared to float. One could not imagine a structure so large moving so, hovering in the air-it defied logic, and many who saw it felt a wave of vertigo.
When the palace passed, Slipper could hold back no more. He pushed through the crowd. The caravan was far from over: more elephants and closed howdahs, more guards, and, of course, the whole train of carts and palanquins and wagons that made up the Sultana's suite. He thought for a moment about thanking the farmer for his ride, but then snorted at his thought.
He would need no longer to be courteous nor kind. Slipper was going home.
The eunuch guardsman looked confused when a ball-shaped eunuch appeared amid a crowd of farmers and traders. "Let me through, you fool," Slipper shouted. "I must speak to the Khaswajara!"
"Get back with the others. Who do you think you are?" The guard's voice was rough. He must be new, Slipper thought. He wondered if the eunuch master had done his job right when he made him.
"Who are you to treat me so. Take me to Brother Whisper at once!"
