The Mountain Shadow

by Gregory David Roberts

  ‘I think he wanted me to give you this,’ I said.

  She cradled the small gun in her palms.

  ‘Mehmu, mehboob,’ she muttered, then tucked the gun away into another of the pockets in the pleated curtain of her black skirt. ‘Thank you.’

  I stood from the car, stooping to say goodbye.

  ‘He’s a very lucky man,’ I said. ‘Allah hafiz.’

  ‘Much luckier, now that I pledged not to shoot him again. Allah hafiz.’

  She drove away, and I made my way on foot up the entrance ramp to the airport.

  In forty-five minutes I’d checked in. I was lucky, or Blue Hijab’s timing had been perfect. I only had an hour to wait.

  I found a place where I could watch the people walking past, look at the faces, study the walk, see tension or empathy, lethargy or urgency, listen to the tenor of a laugh or a shout, feel a baby’s cry ripple through the hearts of almost all who hear it: a still moment in a public space, watching and waiting for the expression or cadence that writes itself.

  A man came to sit beside me. He was tall and thin, with a bushy moustache and slicked-back hair. He was wearing a yellow shirt and white trousers.

  ‘Hello,’ he said out loud, and then changed to a whisper. ‘We should greet one another as friends, and go to the bar. I’m your contact here. It will look less suspicious if we’re having a drink.’

  He offered his hand. I took it, drawing him in closer.

  ‘I think you’ve made a mistake, Jack,’ I said, holding his hand fast in mine.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Blue Hijab called, and gave me your description.’

  I released his hand and we stood together, pretend friends.

  ‘Her description was perfect,’ he said. ‘She really studied you.’

  ‘Somehow, that doesn’t fill me with reassurance,’ I said, as we walked to the airport bar.

  ‘Hell, no,’ he replied, throwing an arm around my shoulder. ‘With Blue Hijab, it’s better to keep it to fuzzy recollections.’

  ‘What is it, with the communist connection?’

  ‘When you’re looking for fighters, the enemy of your enemy is a good place to start.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I can’t say any more than that.’

  We talked the waiting minutes. He told me stories that might’ve been true, and I listened with what might’ve been belief, and then I cut him off before he started a new story.

  ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nobody has an exit contact at the airport,’ I said. ‘And Blue Hijab said I was compromised. What’s going on?’

  He looked me over for a while, and seemed to conclude that my patience was drifting toward a storm. It was a good call.

  ‘I can’t say anything,’ he said, looking away.

  ‘You can. And you should. What the fuck is going on?’

  ‘Going on?’

  ‘Is there a threat to me in this airport, or not? Am I in danger? Am I gonna get busted? Spit it out, or spit your teeth out.’

  ‘You are not in danger,’ he said quickly. ‘But you are the danger. I was sent to watch you, that you didn’t do anything crazy.’

  ‘Crazy?’

  ‘Crazy.’

  ‘Crazy, like, what?’

  ‘They didn’t say.’

  ‘And you didn’t ask?’

  ‘Nobody asks. You know that.’

  We looked at one another.

  ‘What were you going to do, if I did something crazy?’

  ‘Smooth it over with the authorities, and get you out of the country and back to Bombay as quick as possible.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘I swear. And I don’t know any more.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. I’m sorry for that crack, about spitting your teeth out. I felt like I was walking into a trap for a minute or two there.’

  ‘You are not in danger,’ he said comfortingly. ‘But do not go directly to your house when you return.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just report to the Company as soon as you return.’

  ‘Does this have something to do with how the mission was compromised?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sanjay was very specific about reporting to him. Very specific. But he didn’t explain.’

  My flight was called. We shook hands again, and he slipped away through the crowds.

  I took my seat on the plane, and had two drinks before take-off. I’d done the job. It was over. It was my last mission for the Sanjay Company. I was free, and my heart, the fool in that castle in the sky, sang all the way to thirty thousand feet.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I arrived in Bombay late, but Leopold’s was still open, and I knew Didier would probably be there. I wanted a report. The tall, thin airport contact had told me to go directly to the Company, which was unusual. I had a standing appointment with Sanjay, twenty-four hours after I returned from any mission. It was a mandatory cooling-off period, in case I was being followed, and Sanjay never varied that routine. But nothing about the job was usual policy, and none of it made sense. Before I went to my apartment, or Sanjay, I wanted Didier to tell me everything that had happened while I’d been away, and where Lisa was staying.

  And Didier gave me a report, but not there.

  We took a taxi in solemn silence. Didier answered every question with a raised hand. We stopped at a quiet place, with a view of the shrine at Haji Ali.

  ‘Lisa is dead,’ he told me, beside the windy sea, ‘from an overdose of drugs.’

  ‘What? What are you saying?’

  ‘She is gone, Lin.’

  ‘From drugs? What drugs?’

  ‘Rohypnol,’ Didier replied sadly.

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘It’s not possible.’

  How could she be dead, I thought, and me not feel it, not know it somehow, not sense it?

  ‘It is a fact, my friend. She is no more.’

  Splinters of lost time stabbed at me. All the things I should’ve said and should’ve done with Lisa, all the minutes I didn’t use to cherish her, everything stabbed me in the chest. I wasn’t there, with her, at the end.

  ‘It can’t be true.’

  ‘Sadly, it is true, Lin.’

  I felt my knees wanting to run, or give way. A world without Lisa. Didier put an arm around me. We rested against the promenade wall.

  A force of life drained away from me into the air. Atoms of love separated from the Source, because the world was turning too fast to hold them. The sky was hiding behind black cloaks of cloud, and the city-light on the water was the ocean crying. Something inside me was dying, and something else, a ghost, was trying to free itself.

  I choked a breath, slowing my frantic heart, and faced my friend.

  ‘Her family?’

  ‘They were here,’ he said. ‘Very nice people.’

  ‘Did you talk to them?’

  ‘I did, and they talked to me, until they found out that I was your friend, as well as Lisa’s. I am sorry to tell you, Lin, but they blame you, in part, for Lisa’s death.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I spoke to them about you, for you, and for you and Lisa together, but they did not believe me. They do not know you, so it is easier for them to blame a stranger than to know the truth. They left the city yesterday, with the body of our sad, sweet Lisa.’

  ‘She’s gone? They took her home?’

  ‘She’s gone, Lin. I am so sorry. I am desolate.’

  Cars passed us in swarms between traffic signals, leaving the wide boulevard open and then empty again. All along the sea wall people sat alone, in couples or in families, most of them gazing at the Haji Ali shrine, floating on the sea and lit for the sou
l.

  ‘What happened? Tell me everything you know.’

  ‘You are sure that you are ready, my friend? Could we get drunk first?’

  ‘Let me have it.’

  ‘Could I get drunk first?’

  ‘Didier, come on.’

  ‘I loved her, too, you know,’ he said, taking a sip from his flask. ‘And I’ve been through quite an ordeal, these last few days, without you.’

  He put the flask away, took his brass cigarette case from his pocket, and selected a joint. Smoking peacefully for a few moments, he offered it to me.

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘You’re good?’ he doubted, offering the joint again.

  ‘I’m not good, but I’m okay. I’m . . . not-good-okay. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘It was the night after you left. I –’

  ‘The night after? That’s five days ago.’

  ‘I tried everything to find you, Lin. The Sanjay Company would not say a word, and I could not find Abdullah. I think that wherever he is, he still does not know, as you did not.’

  Abdullah, my heart said. Where are you?

  ‘He’ll be hurt,’ I said. ‘He liked Lisa, and she always liked him.’

  ‘Very much so. She was his Rakhi sister.’

  ‘His Rakhi sister? She never told me that. And neither did he.’

  A Rakhi is a simple bracelet that a girl can tie on a boy’s wrist, indicating that from that day onwards he must behave as her brother, and defend her staunchly. The bracelet is a symbol of the new brother’s victory, whenever he fights for her honour.

  ‘I was her Rakhi brother too, Lin.’

  ‘When did that happen?’

  I had no idea that Lisa even participated in the Rakhi ceremony, let alone that she’d chosen Abdullah and Didier as Rakhi brothers.

  ‘And it is my fault that she died,’ he said quietly. ‘I failed, in my duty to protect her, while you were away.’

  He smoked for a while, refusing tears. He looked at me once, and started to speak, but when our eyes met he turned away. We both knew it was true: I’d left her in his care, and he’d promised to watch over her.

  A street sweeper scraped his broom against the kerb. He looked up at me, and nodded amiably. I watched him swish and step, swish and step: a bayside boulevard, measured in sweeps of a broom.

  ‘She pulled a prank on me,’ Didier said. ‘And it was not fair of her to do such a thing, because I trusted her.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We . . . we were watching a selection of excellent French films, which I had chosen for her personally, when she suddenly developed a headache. She retired early to bed, and sent me out to buy a certain medicine. When I returned, I discovered that I had been tricked. I found a note, saying that she was attending a party, and would return at dawn.’

  He sighed, shaking his head, as tears fell.

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I learned that she was at a party for Bollywood movie stars, somewhere in Bandra. You know how many parties there are in Juhu and Bandra every night, and how late those parties run. I did not expect her to return before dawn, so I decided to remain awake, during the night, with Gemini, who never sleeps, and wait for her to call me. I left messages everywhere, including with your watchman.’

  ‘You’re saying what, Didier? You were supposed to keep her safe, and she’s dead, and I don’t get it, so far.’

  ‘You are right, Lin, to condemn me.’

  Who am I, to condemn anyone? I thought. And Lisa had played a lot of tricks on me, too. A few times she’d left me wondering for a long time where she was, and what she was doing.

  ‘Okay, okay, Didier. I get it. Lisa knows . . . Lisa knew . . . how to escape. She was good at it. It’s not your fault. Tell me the rest of it.’

  ‘I left messages for her, as I said, and I went to play poker with Gemini George, at the Mahesh. I was playing cards when our Lisa died. One of the street boys sent a note to me that Lisa had just been found, dead. I was desolate.’

  ‘And.’

  ‘When the autopsy was performed –’

  No. No. Lisa, cut open, organs removed. Don’t think of it. Don’t picture it, in your mind.

  ‘An autopsy?’

  ‘It was . . . it was not pleasant,’ Didier said. ‘The police report confirmed that she died from an overdose of tranquillisers. She was alone, when she was found.’

  ‘Rohypnol?’

  ‘Rohypnol,’ Didier frowned. ‘Did you ever know her to use it, recreationally?’

  ‘Never. It doesn’t make sense. She didn’t do tranqs. She hated them, as much as I do. She didn’t even like it when other people did them.’

  ‘The police called it suicide, at first. They think she took a fatal dose of the drug intentionally.’

  ‘Suicide? No way. She’s a fighter.’

  ‘She was a fighter, Lin. She is no more.’

  Is hadn’t become was, yet. Lisa was still too strong: I could hear her teasing laugh, every time I let my mind go to her.

  ‘Derelict as I was in my duty, when she was alive,’ Didier said, ‘I ensured that the word suicide was removed from the record of her death. Her death is ruled as accidental, involving an accidentally fatal dose of the tranquilliser, Rohypnol. Lightning Dilip made me pay a tidy sum for it. That police station should establish itself as a bank. I would buy shares, if they did.’

  ‘Who found her? The nightwatchman?’

  ‘No, Lin, it was Karla who found her.’

  ‘Karla?’

  ‘She said that she had a late rendezvous with Lisa, at your apartment. When she arrived, she found the door open, walked inside, and found Lisa. She alerted the watchman, and he called an ambulance, and the police.’

  ‘Karla?’

  The ground was trembling, as if the waves were sweeping over the wall and through the road in murmured secrets.

  ‘Yes. It was a terrible shock for her, but she was a tower of strength, as the English say.’

  ‘What . . . what was that?’

  ‘The police questioned Karla . . . quite physically, in fact. I advised her to leave the city, for some time, but she refused. It was Karla who helped Lisa’s parents through the whole of the thing.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’

  ‘The last time? Yesterday. There was a small service for Lisa at the Afghan Church, and she was there.’

  ‘A service, for Lisa? Even though Lisa was gone?’

  ‘Yes. Karla organised it.’

  It was too much, too many hits in a single round: too long to the bell and a safe corner.

  ‘Karla did it?’

  ‘She did it alone, in fact. When she mentioned the idea to me, I offered to help, but she took charge of it herself.’

  ‘Who else was there?’

  ‘Her friends from the art gallery, a few of us from Leopold’s, Kavita, Vikram, Johnny Cigar and his wife, Naveen Adair and Diva Devnani, the Zodiac Georges, and Stuart Vinson and his Norwegian girlfriend. Lisa’s parents had already left the city, with her body, so it was a quiet affair.’

  ‘Who spoke for Lisa?’

  ‘No-one spoke. We just sat, silently, and then one by one we all left the church.’

  Yesterday, when I should’ve been there, with others who loved Lisa. But yesterday I was staring at a severed head, on the side of the road. Yesterday, I was being warned by my tall, thin contact at the airport not to go home.

  You are not in danger, he’d said. I hadn’t been paying attention. I hadn’t realised that what he’d said was specific to me. He’d hesitated, after the first word, for just an eyelid flicker: You, are not in danger.

  He was telling me that I wasn’t in danger, but that someone else was. Did he know? Did he already know that Lisa was dead, when he met me at the airport?
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  And then I remembered Blue Hijab’s tears, the sadness in them, the long, silent stare, when she dropped me at the airport. Did she know about Lisa?

  It happened days ago. The Sanjay Company knew, for sure: they knew everything that happened in their ward. I guessed that Sanjay was worried I might find out about Lisa somehow, at the airport, and lose control. He sent the thin man, in case I found out about Lisa, and compromised his mission.

  ‘I have done some research, with Naveen Adair,’ Didier said, examining me closely.

  The ground was moving or my knees were moving as if I was back on the deck of the Mitratta. I couldn’t focus on what Didier was saying. There was ocean-sound in most of my mind. Lisa. Lisa. Lisa.

  ‘Lin?’

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I have been checking some facts, with Naveen.’

  ‘What facts?’

  ‘It is not possible to determine how the Rohypnol came to be in Lisa’s hands, but we did find out who supplied it.’

  ‘You did? How?’

  ‘We examined the pills from the evidence locker, and they have very distinctive markings.’

  ‘You stole police evidence?’

  ‘No, of course not. I bought police evidence.’

  ‘Well done. Whose dope was it?’

  He hesitated, squinting at me, a net of concern covering his face.

  ‘If I tell you, will you promise, truly, that you will not kill him without me?’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Concannon,’ he sighed.

  That slippery slide shivered through the street again. I held the wall tighter, to stop falling. I couldn’t tell if I was dizzy, or the world was unbalanced. Everything was out of sync.

  I looked around me, trying to get my head straight. The night was new-moon clear. The stars were paled city light. Behind us cars passed in shoals, as fish passed in shoals before us, in the bay.

  ‘She was not raped,’ Didier said.

  ‘What . . . did you say?’

  ‘When this drug is involved, there is always a suspicion of rape,’ he said softly. ‘The police report said that there was no sign of rape. I . . . thought you should know that.’

  I looked down at the waves, lapping and splashing on boulders at the base of the sea wall: waves cleaning shells and driftwood twigs from stony teeth, and soothing granite shoulders with patience, softened in the sea.