Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

‘Dinu.’ She ran her fingertips over his face.

‘If only I could hold you in that way. . so that you were imprinted on me. . every part of me. .’

‘Dinu, there’ll be time.’ She took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘We’ll have the rest of our lives. .’ Rising to her knees she lit the candle again. Holding the flame in front of his face, she looked fiercely into his eyes, as though she were trying to bore into his head.

‘It won’t be long, Dinu?’ she said. ‘Will it?’

‘No. . not long.’

‘Do you really believe that? Or are you lying — for my sake? Tell me the truth, Dinu: I’d rather know.’

He gripped her shoulders. ‘Yes, Alison.’ He spoke with all the conviction he could muster. ‘Yes. We’ll be back here before long. . We’ll be back at Morningside. . Everything will be the same, except. .’

‘Except?’ She bit her lip, as though she were afraid of hearing what he was going to say.

‘Except that we’ll be married.’

‘Yes.’ She burst into delighted laughter. ‘Yes,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘We’ll be married. We’ve left it too long. It was a mistake.’

She picked up the candle and ran out of the room. He lay still, listening to her footsteps: the house was quieter than he’d ever known it to be. Downstairs, Saya John was in bed, exhausted and asleep.

He got up and followed her through the dark corridors to her bedroom. Alison was unlocking closets, rummaging through drawers. Suddenly she turned to him, holding out her hand. ‘Look.’ Two gold rings glinted in the candlelight.

‘They belonged to my parents,’ she said. She reached for his hand and pushed one of the rings over the knuckle of his ring finger. ‘With this ring I thee wed.’

She laughed, placing the other ring in his palm. Then she extended a finger, holding her hand in front of her.

‘Go on,’ she challenged him. ‘Do it. I dare you.’

He turned the ring over in his hands and then slipped it into place, on her finger. ‘Are we married now?’

She tossed her head, laughing, and held her finger up to the candlelight. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘In a way. In our own eyes. When you’re away you’ll still be mine because of the ring.’

She shook free the mosquito net that hung down from the ceiling, draping it over the sides of her bed. ‘Come.’ She blew out the candle and drew him into the net.

An hour later, Dinu woke to the sound of approaching planes. He reached for her hand and found that she was already awake, sitting up with her back against the headboard. ‘Alison. .’

‘Don’t say it’s time. Not yet.’

They held each other and listened. The planes were directly overhead, flying low. The windows rattled as they went past.

‘When I was little,’ Dinu said, ‘my father once told me a story about Mandalay. When the king was sent into exile, the palace girls had to walk through the city, to the river. . My mother was with them and my father followed, keeping to the shadows. It was a long walk and the girls were tired and miserable. . My father put together all his money and bought some sweets. . to lift their spirits. The girls were guarded by soldiers — foreigners, Englishmen. . Somehow he — my father — managed to slip through the cordon. . He gave my mother the packet of sweets. Then he ran back into the shadows. . He watched her open the packet. . He was amazed. . The first thing she did was to offer some to the soldiers who were marching beside her. At first he was angry; he felt betrayed. . Why was she giving them away. . especially to these men, her captors? But then, slowly he understood what she was doing and he was glad. . He saw that this was the right thing to do — a way to stay alive. To shout defiance would have served no purpose. .’

‘I think you’re trying to tell me something, Dinu,’ she said quietly. ‘What is it?’

‘I just want you to be careful, Alison. . not to be headstrong. . not to be the woman you are, just for a while. . to be cautious, quiet. .’

‘I’ll try, Dinu.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I promise. And you too: you have to be careful as well.’

‘I will — it’s in my nature. We’re not the same in that way. . That’s why I worry about you.’

Another flight of planes went by. It was impossible to keep still any longer, with the windows rattling as though they would break. Alison swung her legs off the bed. She picked up the handbag in which she carried the Daytona’s keys. It was unexpectedly heavy. She opened the clasp, looked inside and raised an eyebrow at Dinu.

‘It’s your father’s revolver. I found it in a drawer.’

‘Is it loaded?’

‘Yes. I checked.’

She shut the clasp and slung the bag over her shoulder. ‘It’s time.’

They went down to find Saya John sitting on the veranda, in his favourite wing-chair. Alison dropped to her knees beside him and put an arm around his waist.

‘I want your blessings, Grandfather.’

‘Why?’

‘Dinu and I are going to be married.’

His face broke into a smile. She saw to her delight that he had understood; that his eyes were clear and unclouded. He motioned to both of them to come closer and put his arms round their shoulders.

‘Rajkumar’s son and Matthew’s daughter.’ He swayed gently from side to side, holding their heads like trophies, under his arms. ‘What could be better? The two of you have joined the families. Your parents will be delighted.’

They went outside and found that it had begun to rain. Dinu buckled down the Daytona’s hood and held the door open for Saya John. The old man gave him a pat on the back as he stepped in.

‘Tell Rajkumar that it’ll have to be a big wedding,’ he said. ‘I shall insist on having the Archbishop.’

‘Yes.’ Dinu tried to smile. ‘Of course.’

Then Dinu went to Alison’s side and knelt beside the window. She would not look at him.

‘We won’t say goodbye.’

‘No.’

She started the car and he stepped back. At the bottom of the drive, the Daytona came to a stop. He saw her leaning out, her head silhouetted against the car’s rain-haloed lights. She raised an arm to wave and he waved back. Then he ran up the stairs, racing from window to window. He watched the Daytona’s lights until they disappeared.

The shed in which Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland had spent the night was a small red-brick structure, surrounded by trees. It was about a quarter of a mile from the coolie lines. Arjun was led there by a fast-talking young ‘contractor’, dressed in khaki shorts: it was he who carried the water bottle and the cloth bundle of food that had been prepared for the Lieutenant-Colonel.

The contractor showed Arjun a track that led southwards through a range of low hills. ‘There’s a town a couple of miles away,’ he said. ‘The last we heard it was still held by the British.’ They came up to the steps that led into the building. The contractor handed over the water bottle and the bundle of food that he had been carrying.

‘The colonel will be safe if he keeps to this track. It won’t take him more than an hour or two to the town, even if he walks very slowly.’

Arjun went gingerly up the steps to the door. He knocked and when there was no answer, he used the tip of his crutch to push the door open. He found Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland lying on the cement floor, on a mattress.

‘Sir.’

Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland sat up suddenly, peering around him. He said sharply: ‘Who is it?’

‘Lieutenant Roy. Sir.’ Arjun saluted, leaning on his crutch.

‘Oh, Roy.’ Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland’s voice warmed.