The Mountain Shadow

by Gregory David Roberts

  ‘The Company,’ she said flatly. ‘The passport factory. The Sanjay Company.’

  ‘Come on, Lisa. We’ve been through this before.’

  ‘Not for a while.’

  ‘Seems like yesterday to me. Lisa –’

  ‘You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to be that.’

  ‘Yes, I do, for a little while longer.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Sure. And I’ll make money, as a fugitive, with a price on my head, working in a bank.’

  ‘We don’t live big. We’ll be okay on what I’ll make. The art market is starting to take off here.’

  ‘I was doing this before we got together –’

  ‘I know, I know –’

  ‘And you accepted it. You –’

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling,’ she said bluntly.

  I smiled, and put the palm of my hand against her face.

  ‘I can’t shake it off,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve . . . I’ve got this really bad feeling.’

  I took her hands in mine. Our feet were touching, and her toes closed around mine, grasping with surprising force. Dawn began to burn gaps in the wooden shutters.

  ‘We’ve been through this before,’ I repeated slowly. ‘The government of my country put a price on my head. And if they don’t kill me, trying to catch me, they’ll take me back to the same prison I escaped from, and they’ll chain me to the same wall, and go to work on me. I’m not going back, Lisa. I’m safe here, for now. That’s something. For me, if not for you.’

  ‘I’m not saying give yourself up. I’m saying don’t give up on yourself.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘You could write.’

  ‘I do write, every day.’

  ‘I know, but we could really focus on it, you know?’

  ‘We?’ I laughed.

  I wasn’t mocking her: it was simply the first time she’d mentioned my writing, and we’d lived together for almost two years.

  ‘Forget it,’ she said.

  She was silent again. Her eyes drifted slowly downwards, and her toes released their fierce grip on mine. I brushed a stray curl from her eye, and ran my hand through the sea-foam of her blonde hair.

  ‘I owe them a promise,’ I said flatly.

  ‘You don’t,’ she said, but there was no force in her protest, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. ‘You don’t owe them anything.’

  ‘Yes, I owe them. Everyone who knows them, owes them. That’s how it works. That’s why I don’t let you meet any of them.’

  ‘You’re free, Lin. You climbed the wall, and you don’t even know you’re free.’

  I stared back into her eyes, a sky-reflected lake. The phone rang.

  ‘I’m free enough to let that phone ring,’ I said. ‘Are you?’

  ‘You never answer the phone,’ she snapped. ‘That doesn’t count.’

  She got out of bed. Staring at me, she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. I watched sadness settle like a shawl across her shoulders as she handed me the phone.

  It was one of Sanjay’s lieutenants, passing on a message.

  ‘I’ll get on it,’ I said. ‘Yeah. What? I told you. I’ll get on it. Twenty minutes.’

  I hung up the phone, went back to the bed, and knelt beside her.

  ‘One of my men has been arrested. He’s at the Colaba lock-up. I gotta bribe him out.’

  ‘He’s not one of your men,’ she said, pushing me away. ‘And you’re not their man.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lisa.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you did, or what you were. It doesn’t even matter what you are. It’s what you try to be that counts.’

  I smiled.

  ‘It’s not that easy. We’re all what we were.’

  ‘No we’re not. We’re what we want ourselves to be. Don’t you get that yet?’

  ‘I’m not free, Lisa.’

  She kissed me, but the summer wind had passed, and clouds fell across a grey field of flowers in her eyes.

  ‘I’ll start the shower for you,’ she said, jumping from the bed and running toward the bathroom.

  ‘Look, this is no big deal, getting this guy outta the lock-up,’ I said, passing her on my way into the bathroom.

  ‘I know,’ she said flatly.

  ‘You still want to meet up? Later today?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I stepped into the bathroom and stood under the cold shower.

  ‘Are you gonna tell me what it’s all about?’ I called out to her. ‘Or is it still a big secret?’

  ‘It’s not a secret, it’s a surprise,’ she said softly, standing in the doorway.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I laughed. ‘Where do you want me for this surprise, and when?’

  ‘Be outside the Mahesh, on Nariman Point, at five thirty. You’re always late, so make four thirty the time in your head, and you’ll be on time at five thirty.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘You’ll be there, right?’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s all under control.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her smile falling like rain from leaves. ‘It’s not. Nothing is under control.’

  She was right, of course. I didn’t understand it then, as I walked beneath the high arch of the Colaba police station, but I could still see her sorrowful smile, falling like snow into a river.

  I climbed the few steps leading to the wooden veranda that covered the side and rear of the administration building. The cop on duty outside the sergeant’s office knew me. He wagged his head, smiling, as he allowed me to pass. He was glad to see me. I was a good payer.

  I gave a mock salute to Lightning Dilip, the daytime duty sergeant. His bloated drinker’s face was swollen with smothered outrage: he was on a double shift of bad temper. Not a good start.

  Lightning Dilip was a sadist. I knew that, because I’d been his prisoner, a few years before. He’d beaten me then, feeding his sad hunger with my helplessness. And he wanted to do it again as he stared at the bruises on my face, his lips tremors of anticipation.

  But things had changed in my world, if not in his. I worked for the Sanjay Company, and the group poured a lot of liquid assets into the police station. It was too much money to risk on his defective desires.

  Allowing himself the semblance of a smile, he tilted his head in a little upward nod: What’s up?

  ‘Is the boss in?’ I asked.

  The smile showed teeth. Dilip knew that if I dealt with his boss, the sub-inspector, the trickle-down of any bribe I’d pay would barely dry his sweaty palm.

  ‘The sub-inspector is a very busy man. Is there something that I can do for you?’

  ‘Well . . . ’ I replied, glancing around at the cops in the office.

  They were doing an unconvincing job of pretending not to listen. To be fair to them, pretending not to listen isn’t something we get a lot of practice at in India.

  ‘Santosh! Get us some chai!’ Dilip grunted in Marathi. ‘Make fresh, yaar! You lot! Go and check the under barrack!’

  The under barrack was a ground-floor facility at the rear of the police compound. It was used to house violent prisoners, and prisoners who violently resisted being tortured. The young cops looked at one another, and then one of them spoke.

  ‘But, sir, under barrack is empty, sir.’

  ‘Did I ask you if there was anyone in the under barrack?’ Dilip demanded.

  ‘N-no, sir.’

  ‘Then do as I say, all of you, and check it out thoroughly! Now!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ the constables shouted, grabbing their soft caps and stumbling from the room.

  ‘You guys should have a code or something,’ I suggested, when they’d gone. ‘Must get tedious, having to shout them out of here, every hour or so.’


  ‘Very funny,’ Dilip replied. ‘Get to the point, or get the fuck out. I’ve got a headache, and I want to give it to someone.’

  Straight cops are all alike; every crooked cop is corrupt in his own way. They all take the money, but some accept it reluctantly, others hungrily; some angrily, others genially; some joke and some sweat as if they’re running uphill; some make it a contest, while others want to be your new best friend.

  Dilip was the kind who took the money resentfully, and tried to make you bleed for giving it to him. Fortunately, like all bullies, he was susceptible to flattery.

  ‘I’m glad you can deal with this personally,’ I said. ‘Dealing with Patil can take all day. He doesn’t have your finesse for getting things done decisively and quickly, fatafat, like lightning. They don’t call you Lightning Dilip for nothing.’

  They called him Lightning Dilip, in fact, because his shiny boots, lashing out from the darkness of his rage, always struck a chained man when he least expected it, and never twice in exactly the same place.

  ‘That is very true,’ Dilip preened, relaxing in his chair. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘There’s a guy in your lock-up, Farzad Daruwalla by name, I’d like to pay his fine.’

  ‘Fines are imposed by the court, not by the police,’ Dilip observed, a sly grin wet on his lips.

  ‘Of course, you’re completely right,’ I smiled, ‘but a man of your vision can see how dealing with this matter in a forceful fashion, right here and now, will save the valuable time of the court, and the public purse.’

  ‘Why do you want this fellow?’

  ‘Oh, I can think of five thousand reasons why,’ I replied, pulling a prepared wad of rupee notes from my pocket, and beginning to count them.

  ‘A man of vision could think of many more reasons than that,’ Dilip frowned.

  It was too late. He was already looking at the money.

  ‘Lightning-ji,’ I said softly, folding the notes over double and sliding them across the desk beneath the cover of my hand. ‘We’ve been doing this dance for almost two years now, and we both know that five thousand reasons is all I’d have to give the sub-inspector to make a full . . . explanation . . . of my interest. I’d be grateful if you’d save me that trouble, and accept the explanation personally.’

  Santosh approached with the tea, his footsteps thumping on the floorboards of the wooden veranda. Lightning Dilip flashed his hand out to cover mine. I let my hand slide back across the desk. Dilip’s hand slithered the notes to his side of the desk, and into his pocket.

  ‘The college man,’ Dilip said to Santosh, as the young constable placed the tea in front of us. ‘The one we brought in from the nightclub, late last night. Bring him here.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Santosh replied, hurrying from the room.

  The young cops returned to the office, but Dilip stopped them with an upturned hand.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘We . . . we checked the under barrack, sir, just as you said. All is in order. And we saw that you ordered chai, so we thought we might . . . ’

  ‘Check it again!’ Lightning Dilip snapped, turning his attention back to me.

  The young cops stared at me, then shrugged and slouched out of the office again.

  ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Dilip asked sarcastically.

  ‘Matter of fact, there is. Have you heard anything about a man with snow-white hair, and wearing a dark blue suit, asking questions on the street here in Colaba during the last two weeks?’

  I was thinking of the Zodiac Georges and their mysterious stalker. If Dilip had any information on the man who was asking about them, it’d be worth buying.

  ‘A blue suit, and white hair?’ he mused. ‘And if I did see such a man?’

  ‘I can think of a thousand reasons why I’d like to know about him.’

  He smiled. I took the money from my pocket and slid it halfway across the desk, as before, under the cover of my hand.

  ‘And I think those reasons,’ he smiled, ‘should lead you to see Mr Wilson, at the Mahesh hotel.’

  He reached out to cover my hand with his. I hesitated.

  ‘Who is he? What did he want?’

  ‘He’s looking for someone. More than that, he would not tell me.’

  I let my hand slide backwards. He took the money.

  ‘Did you help him find someone?’

  ‘He wouldn’t provide me with a sufficient explanation, so I threw him out of here.’

  ‘If he –’ I began, but just then Santosh entered the office with Farzad.

  The young Parsi forger was unbloodied but significantly bowed. His eyes were wide with fear, and his chest was rising and falling quickly in shuddering little breaths. I’ve seen the look many times: the look of a man who thinks he’s about to get a beating. Then he saw me, his face brightened, and he rushed toward me.

  ‘Hey, man, am I glad to see you! I –’

  I stood, cutting him off, my hand on his chest.

  ‘Take it easy,’ I said quickly, worried that he might say something I didn’t want Lightning Dilip to hear. ‘Give your respect to the sergeant, and let’s get outta here.’

  ‘Sergeant-ji,’ Farzad said, his palms pressed together, ‘thank you so very, very much for your kindness and generosity.’

  Dilip leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Fuck off!’ he said. ‘And don’t come back!’

  I pulled Farzad by the sleeve, dragging him with me out of the office and through the wide gate to the street.

  On the footpath, a few steps from the entrance arch, I lit two cig­arettes, and gave one to the young forger.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was a little, well, actually, I was a lot drunk last night. There was this great party at the Drum Beat. It was deadly, man. You should’ve seen me. I danced like a motherfucker. Count on it.’

  ‘I’m counting on an explanation for why I had to get out of a comfortable bed, at six o’clock in the morning, to hear about you dancing like a motherfucker.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Sorry. Well, see, the cops came to close the place down, at about one, as usual. Somebody objected, and made a fuss. I guess I got caught up in all the tamasha, and started giving the cops some cheeky remarks.’

  ‘Cheeky?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I’m known for my cheeky remarks.’

  ‘That’s not something a grown man boasts about, Farzad.’

  ‘No, really! I’m known for my –’

  ‘How cheeky are we talking?’

  ‘There was this very fat cop. I called him Constable Three-Pigs-Fucking. And another one, I said he was stupider than a monkey’s pet coconut. And I said –’

  ‘I got it. Get on with it.’

  ‘Well, the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I tripped, or somebody pushed me. And while I was down, bam, somebody kicks me in the back of the head. One shot, but it was enough to put me out.’

  ‘Lightning Dilip, working double duty.’

  ‘Yes, it was. That sergeant motherfucker. Anyway, I woke up in the back of the police jeep with Lightning Dilip’s foot on my chest, and then they threw me in the cells. They wouldn’t let me make a phone call, because of all those –’

  ‘Cheeky remarks.’

  ‘Yeah. Can you believe that? I thought I was gonna be in there the whole day, and with a couple of rough-and-ready pastings to go along. How did you find out I was there?’

  ‘The Company pays all the guys who clean the cells. That’s how we keep our guys supplied when they’re locked up here. One of them got a look at you, and called his contact. They called me.’

  ‘I’m so fucking glad you came, man. That was my first time in the slammer. Another night in there would’ve been the end of me. Count on it.’

  ‘Sanjay’s not gonna
be happy about this. He spends a lot of money keeping a lid on this ward. You’re gonna have to buy him a new hat.’

  ‘I . . . I . . . but, do you know . . . what size is his head?’ he asked, desperately worried. ‘I’ve only seen him the one time, and, by my recollection, his head looked, no disrespect, a little on the big side.’

  ‘He doesn’t wear a hat.’

  ‘But . . . you said –’

  ‘I was kidding. But only about the hat.’

  ‘I . . . I’m so sorry. I really fucked up badly. It . . . it won’t happen again. Can you, maybe, put in a good word for me with Sanjay?’

  I was still laughing when a taxi pulled up beside us. Naveen Adair got out of the taxi and reached back through the window to pay the driver. Opening the back door, he helped a beautiful young woman out of the cab. He turned and saw me.

  ‘Lin! Damn good to see you, man. What brings you here?’

  ‘Six thousand reasons,’ I replied, staring at the girl.

  Her face was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  ‘Oh,’ Naveen said, ‘this is Divya. Divya Devnani.’

  Divya Devnani, daughter of one of Bombay’s richest men. Photographs of her short, athletically fit body, draped in expensive designer dresses, claimed eye-line positions in the coverage of every A-list event in the city.

  And that’s what had thrown me: the unglamorous clothes she wore on that morning. The simple blue T-shirt, lapis bead necklace and jeans weren’t from that other world, in which she was born to rule. It was the girl in the woman standing in front of me, not the woman on the page.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said.

  ‘Got any hash?’ she demanded.

  I flicked a glance at Naveen.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ he sighed.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she contradicted him. ‘My dad, Mukesh Devnani – you’ve heard of Mukesh Devnani, I take it?’

  ‘He’s that guy with the crazy daughter who solicits drugs outside police stations, isn’t he?’

  ‘Funny,’ she said. ‘Careful now, I’m going to pee in my pants.’

  ‘You were gonna tell me why it’s not a long story,’ I prompted.

  ‘I don’t want to tell you, now,’ she sulked.

  ‘Her father hired a lawyer I know –’ Naveen began.