Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

‘Well old chap,’ said Arjun, in a booming, hearty voice, ‘did you know that you’ve got everyone worried at home?’

‘No.’ Dinu flinched. ‘And there’s really no need to shout.’ It was a struggle to muster the self-control to go on talking to Arjun.

‘I’m sorry.’ Arjun laughed. ‘Didn’t mean to put you out. .’

‘I’m sure you didn’t.’

‘I had a letter from Manju, you see — that’s how I knew where to find you.’

‘I see.’

‘She said they hadn’t heard from you in a while.’

‘Oh?’

‘What would you like me to tell them?’

Dinu raised his head with great deliberation. ‘Nothing,’ he said flatly. ‘I’d like you to tell them nothing

Arjun raised an eyebrow. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘It’s not very complicated.’ Dinu shrugged. ‘You see. . my father sent me here because he wants to sell our share of Morningside.’

‘And?’

‘Now that I’m here. . I’ve decided it wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘You’ve grown to like the place I suppose?’

‘It’s not just that.’ Dinu looked Arjun straight in the eye.

‘It’s Alison really.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you’ve met her. .’

‘Yes.’ Arjun nodded.

‘You probably know what I mean.’

‘I think you’re trying to tell me something, Dinu.’ Arjun pushed his chair back from the table. ‘Let me guess: are you saying you’ve fallen for her?’ He laughed.

‘Something like that.’

‘I see. And do you think she’s keen on you too?’

‘I think so.’

‘Hasn’t she told you so?’

‘Not. . in so many words.’

‘Hope you’re right then.’ Arjun laughed again and the light sparkled on his perfect teeth. ‘I have to say I don’t know if she’s right for a chap like you — a woman like that.’

‘It doesn’t really matter, Arjun. .’ Dinu tried to smile. ‘In my case it’s something I have to believe. .’

‘And why is that?’

‘You see — I’m not like you, Arjun. It’s never been easy for me to get on with people — especially women. If something went wrong. . between me and Alison, that is. . I don’t know how I’d cope. .’

‘Dinu, am I right to think that you’re warning me — telling me to stay away?’

‘Perhaps I am.’

‘I see.’ Arjun pushed his plate away. ‘There’s really no need, you know.’

‘Good.’ Dinu felt a smile returning to his face. ‘Well, that’s out of the way then.’

Arjun looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Well, you’ve certainly made yourself clear. So perhaps I should be off. You’ll make my excuses to Alison?’

‘Yes. . of course.’

They went together to the front door. Arjun’s Ford V8 staff car was parked outside, under the porch. Arjun opened the door and held out his hand. ‘It was nice to see you, Dinu,’ he said. ‘Even if briefly.’

Dinu was suddenly ashamed of his lack of generosity. ‘I don’t mean to send you away, Arjun. .’ he said guiltily. ‘Please don’t think that you’re not welcome. You must come back. . Soon. . I’m sure Alison would like that.’

‘And you?’

‘Yes. Me too.’

Arjun appraised this with a frown. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course. You must. . you must come back.’

‘I will then, if you don’t mind, Dinu. It would be nice to get away from the base every now and again.’

‘Why? Is something wrong?’

‘Not wrong exactly — but it’s not always as pleasant as it might be. .’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know how to explain, Dinu. Ever since we’ve got to Malaya nothing’s been the same.’

Arjun’s entry into their lives was like a turning of the seasons. He dropped by almost daily, often bringing Hardy or some other friends with him. Sungei Pattani had now become the headquarters of the 11th Division, and Arjun had linked up with many old acquaintances and friends. In the evenings he would gather them together and drive up from the base, in whatever vehicle was at hand — sometimes an Alvis staff car, sometimes a Ford V8, sometimes, even, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Usually they came after nightfall, driving up with their headlights blazing sounding triumphal flurries on their horns.

‘They’re here!’ Alison would run down to the kitchen to warn the cook.

It was evident that she enjoyed these visits; Dinu could tell that it delighted her to see the house filled with people again. She produced clothes that he did not know she possessed: until then he’d seen her only in the plain dresses she wore to the office, and an occasional silk cheongsam. Now richly coloured, beautifully tailored clothes poured out of her closets— elegant hats and gowns that her mother had ordered from Paris, in Morningside’s heyday.

Almost every evening the house echoed to the sound of parade-ground voices and loud laughter. They seemed never to stop laughing, these young officers — the smallest joke would set them roaring, pounding each other on the back. They usually brought bottles of whisky, gin or rum from their mess. Sometimes Kishan Singh came with them to serve them their drinks. They would sit out on the veranda, sipping stengah s and gin slings. As if by magic, vast quantities of food would appear on the dining-room table. Alison would lead them in and then Arjun would take over, showing his friends round the table, explaining the dishes in minute detail: ‘Look over here, this is duck — it’s cooked in sugar-cane juice, you’ve never tasted anything like it. And here, see, these prawns? They’re made with flowers — ginger buds — that’s what gives them that amazing taste. .’

Dinu would look on, like a spectator at a circus: he knew that the part of host should have been his own to play. But with each of these evenings he could feel his presence in the house diminishing, shrinking. It didn’t seem to matter whether Arjun came alone or was accompanied by a troop of his friends. He seemed to have a way of filling the house, even when he was on his own. There was no denying that there was something magnetic about him — a self-confidence, a habit of command, an exuberant abundance of appetites. Dinu knew he could not hope to keep up with him.

At the end of each meal, Arjun would crank up the gramophone and clear the rugs off the hardwood floors. He and his friends would take turns dancing with Alison. It was a revelation to Dinu to discover how well she danced — better than anyone he’d ever known, just as well as dancers in the movies — with flair and rhythm and an energy that seemed inexhaustible. Amongst the men, Arjun was the best dancer by far. At the end of each night, he would put on his favourite record — Tommy Dorsey’s band playing ‘I’m Getting Sentimental Over You’. Everyone else would pull back to make space for them, and when the record came scratching to a stop the room would fill with applause. At the end of these evenings Alison seemed scarcely to remember that he, Dinu, still existed.

Once in a while Arjun would announce that he had succeeded in scrounging some extra petrol from the ‘pilot chappies’ at the airstrip. They would set out on an expedition, sometimes just the three of them, sometimes as a part of a much larger crowd. One such foray took them to the lodge that sat atop the summit of Gunung Jerai. A group of pilots had commandeered the place for a party; they were to be Arjun’s guests.

They went in a Ford V8 staff car. To get to the summit they had to circle around the mountain driving past quiet kampong s with palm-shaded mosques. Children waved at them from ricefields, standing on tiptoe to reach above the grain-heavy stalks. It was a cloudy late November day and there was a cool breeze blowing in from the sea.