Gregory David Roberts - Shantaram

"Okay," I called back, pleased to have my own instincts about Chuha confirmed, but worried for my wild, Iranian friend. "But don't do anything without me, okay?"

He laughed, and turned his head to show me the white teeth of his smile.

"I'm serious, Abdullah. Promise me!"

"Thik hain, Lin brother!" he shouted in reply. "I will call you, when the time is right!"

He coasted the bike to a stop and parked it outside the Strand Coffee House, one of my favourite breakfast dives, near the Colaba Market.

"What the hell's going on?" I demanded as we walked toward the market. "Some surprise-I come here nearly every day."

"I know," he answered, grinning enigmatically. "And I am not the only one who knows it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You will find out, Lin brother. Here are your friends."

We came upon Vikram Patel and the Zodiac Georges, Scorpio and Gemini, sitting comfortably on bulging sacks of lentils beside a pulses stall, and drinking chai from glasses.

"Hey, man!" Vikram greeted me. "Pull up a sack and make yourself at home."

Abdullah and I shook hands all round and, as we sat down on the row of sacks, Scorpio George signalled a chai-runner to bring two more glasses. The passport work was often keeping me busy at night because Krishna and Villu-both of them with young children in their growing families-had taken to staggering their shifts, giving themselves valuable hours at home during the day. That work with the books, and other commitments to the Salman council, prevented me from going to Leopold's as often as I once had.

Whenever I could, I'd met with Vikram and the Georges near Vikram's apartment on the edge of the Colaba Market. Vikram was there most days, after his lunch with Lettie. He kept me up to date with the news from Leopold's-Didier had fallen in love, again, and Ranjit, Karla's new boyfriend, was becoming popular- and the Georges filled me in on what was going down on the streets.

"We thought you weren't coming today, man," Vikram said as the chai arrived.

"Abdullah gave me a lift," I replied, frowning at my friend's mysterious smile, "and we got stuck in traffic. It was worth it, though. I had a front row seat for Taj Raj and Indra doing their stumble routine on MG Road. It was quite a show."

"He's not what he used to be, our Taj Raj," Gemini commented, hurling South London at us in the vowels of the last two words.

"Not as nimble, like. Since the accident, y'know, his timing's a bit off. I mean, it's only reasonable, innit? His whole bleedin' head was damn near off, an' all, so it's no wonder his timing's got a kink in it."

"At this point," Scorpio George interrupted, lowering his head and assuming the solemn piety we all knew well and dreaded more, "I think we should all bow our heads in prayer."

We glanced at one another, our eyes widening with alarm. There was no escape. We were too comfortable to move, and Scorpio knew it. We were trapped.

"Oh, Lord," Scorpio began.

"Oh, Gawd," Gemini grumbled.

"And Lady," Scorpio continued, "infinite yin-yang spirit in the sky, we humbly ask you to hear the prayers, today, of five souls that you put into the world, and left in the temporary care of Scorpio, Gemini, Abdullah, Vikram, and Lin."

"What does he mean, temporary?" Vikram whispered to me, and I shrugged in reply.

"Please help us, Lord," Scorpio intoned, his eyes shut and his face raised to heaven, which seemed, roughly, to be in the middle of the balcony on the third floor of the Veejay Premnaath Academy of Hair Colouring and Ear Boring. "Please guide us to know what's right, and to do the right thing. And you can start, God, if you're of a mind, by helping out with the little business deal we're doing with the Belgian couple tonight. I don't have to tell you, Lord and Lady, how tricky it is to supply customers with good-quality cocaine in Bombay. But, thanks to your providence, we managed to find ten grams of A-grade snow-and, given the real bad drought on the streets, that was a mighty slick piece of work on your part, God, if you'll accept my professional admiration.

Anyway, Gemini and me, we sure could use the commission on that deal, and it would be kinda nice not to get ripped off, or beaten up, or maimed, or killed-unless, of course, that's in your plan.

So, please light the way, and fill our hearts with love. Signing off now, but keeping the line open, as always, I'll say Amen."

"Amen!" Gemini responded, clearly relieved that the prayer was far shorter than Scorpio's more usual efforts.

"Amen," Vikram sobbed, nudging a tear from his eye with the knuckles of a balled fist.

"Astagfirullah," Abdullah muttered. Forgive me, Allah.

"So how about a bite to eat then?" Gemini suggested cheerily.

"There's nothing like a bit of religion to put you in the frame of mind to make a pig of yourself, is there?"

At that moment Abdullah leaned forward to whisper into my left ear.

"Look slowly-no, slowly! Look over there, behind the peanuts shop, near the corner. Do you see him? Your surprise, brother Lin. Do you see him?"

And then, still smiling, my eyes were drawn to a stooped figure watching us from the shadows beneath an awning.

"He is here every day," Abdullah whispered. "And not only here- in some other places that you go, also. He watches you. He waits, and he watches you."

"Vikram!" I mumbled, wanting some other testament to what I was seeing. "Look! There, on the corner!"

"Look at what, man?"

With my attention upon him, the figure drew back into the shadows and then turned and loped away, limping, as if the whole left side of his body was damaged.

"Didn't you see him?"

"No, man. See who?" Vikram complained, standing with me to squint in the direction of my frantic stare.

"It's Modena!" I shouted, running after the limping Spaniard. I didn't look back at Vikram, Abdullah, and the Zodiacs. I didn't answer Vikram's call. I didn't think about what I was doing or why I was pursuing him. My mind was only one thought, one image, and one word. Modena...

He was fast, and he knew the streets well. It occurred to me, as he ducked into hidden doorways and all but invisible gaps between buildings, that I was probably the only foreigner in the city who knew those streets as well as he did. For that matter, there were few Indians-only touts and thieves and junkies-who could've kept up with him. He scrambled into a hole that someone had knocked through a high stone wall to create an access hatch from one street to another. He stepped around a partition that seemed as solid as brick, but was made from stretched and painted canvas. He took short cuts through improvised shops in sheltering archways, and weaved his way along the labyrinth lines of washed, brightly coloured saris hung out to dry.

And then he made a mistake. He ran into a narrow lane that had been commandeered by homeless pavement dwellers and extended families that were crowded out of local apartments. I knew it well. About a hundred men, women, and children were living in the converted lane. They slept in shifts, in a loft space they'd built above the cobbled lane and between the walls of adjacent buildings. They did everything else in the long, dark, narrow room that the lane had become. Modena dodged between the seated and standing groups; between cooking stoves and bathing stalls and a blanket of card players. Then, at the end of the lane-room, he turned left instead of right. It was a cul-de-sac surrounded by high sheer walls. It was completely dark, and it ended in a little dogleg where the space curved around the blind corner of another building. We'd used it, sometimes, to make buys with drug dealers we didn't completely trust, because there was only one way in or out. I rounded the corner, only a few steps behind him, and stood there, panting and straining my eyes to pierce the darkness. I couldn't see him, but I knew he had to be in there.