Amitav Ghosh - The Shadow Lines

So, then, why did you give up your job in Kuwait? I asked.

Got sick of it, he said, wrinkling his nose. It wasn’t really a properly professional outfit. Outdated management practices. I thought of setting up something on my own there, but the trouble is, you have to have an Arab business partner, and they always interfere.

So you mean you just chucked up your job one fine morning and came away? I said. I must have sounded sceptical, for he turned to give me a long, cool look.

Yes, he said. That’s what I did.

Really? I said. Well if I were you, I’d think of getting a job before I thought of the futures market.

Abruptly, Ila thrust a hand through Nick’s arm. I stole a quick glance at her: her lips were white; she was very angry.

Nick and I have to go now, she said. I think you’re old enough to do your own shopping.

She turned on her heel and led him away, leaving me standing where I was, speechless. After they’d gone a hundred yards or so, she left him and came running back towards me.

I don’t like you being rude to my friends, she said, when we were face to face. You’d better telephone before you come to Stockwell again. I may not be in.

A fortnight passed before I saw Ila again.

We met on Christmas Eve at 44 Lymington Road; Mrs Price had invited us to join her and Nick and May at a small family dinner.

Ila came very late. She burst in upon us when Mrs Price and May were about to serve dinner. She was smiling, radiant, dressed in knee-length leather boots and a short skirt. She said a quick word of apology to everyone in turn, and to my relief, when she came to me, she was smiling.

Where have you been all these days? she whispered. Why haven’t you come to see me?

Then she turned away to admire the table. It had been beautifully laid: the silver and glass sparkled in the candlelight and a huge bowl of fruit glowed gently in the centre of the table. After we had sat down and May had served us our soup and Nick had poured us wine, Ila, looking as though she would burst, clapped her hands together and cried: I’ve got good news. You’ll never believe it.

My heart went cold as I watched her turn her glowing face towards Nick.

I’ve got a job, she cried.

Wonderful! said May. With whom?

With the Save the Children Fund, said Ila. It won’t pay much, but it’s something.

Breathless with relief, I said: But I thought you hated children.

Well I don’t actually have to see the little creatures, she said. I only have to save them, and that’s not too hard if all it means is filling in ledgers and pushing files.

We laughed, Nick proposed a toast and we all drained our glasses. Then Mrs Price raised her glass shakily, her small, lined face wrinkling into a smile, and said: Since we’re more or less evenly matched here, if you don’t count an old biddy like me, I think we ought to drink a toast to Mr Justice Chandrashekhar Datta-Chaudhuri, and my father, Lionel Tresawsen, for we wouldn’t be here together now if it weren’t for them.

We raised our glasses again, but solemnly this time. Nick drained his glass again, and then, twirling it between his fingers, slurring his words slightly, he said: Now Grandpa Tresawsen had a good time. How wonderful it must have been to go around the world like that: like some great Dickensian show on a stage. There’s never been anything like it before and there’ll never be anything like it again.

He turned to me and shrugged, making a rueful face.

And what did I get? he said. Bloody old Kuwait. That’s what comes of being born too late.

Well, May said lightly, reaching for our plates; I think you might allow for the possibility that grandfather Tresawsen would have made a little more of Kuwait than you did.

Kuwait! Nick snorted. You wouldn’t say that if you knew what it’s like out there. It’s a bubble that’s going to burst any day now. That’s why I got out while there was still something to get out of.

May banged the plates down on the table and looked at him for what seemed like a very long time. Then she leant towards him and said: Nick, isn’t it time you stopped lying about this Kuwait business? I was willing to go along with it when it was just a lie meant for other people. But you’ve begun to believe it yourself, and you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. You ought to be able to stand up and tell the truth; you were brought up to tell the truth, just as I was. You should be able to look people in the eye and tell them what you told us: you ought to be able to say that your boss didn’t like you, that he concocted charges of embezzlement against you. If he did concoct them, that is.

Nick stood up, swaying on his feet. He threw his napkin on the table and hissed at May.

You’re a liar and a bitch, he said. It doesn’t surprise me that you never got married. Who’d want to put up with that fake honesty and those staring eyes every day at breakfast?

Then he turned to Mrs Price and said that he was going up to his room; that he didn’t want any dinner. But Mrs Price was fast asleep, with her chin buried in her neck. He marched out of the room without another word, and a moment later Ila ran out after him.

May did not seem to notice; she was staring blankly into the flame of a candle. Oh God, she whispered. What have I done?

Nick and Ila came back together, a quarter of an hour later. We woke Mrs Price and May brought in the turkey and carved it. Mrs Price talked to me for a while about Calcutta, but nobody else said a single word. When we had finished our turkey, May blew out the candles as though she were sleep-walking through a ritual, and brought in the Christmas pudding and lit it. But only I applauded when the brandy flared up into a clean blue flame.

After we had eaten our portions and cleared the plates away, Mrs Price led us back to her drawing room and poured out glasses of brandy for all of us. I emptied my glass as quickly as I could and got up to go.

Thank you very much, I said to Mrs Price, trying not to sound awkward. It’s been a wonderful evening. A real English Christmas — nothing could have been better. It was lovely. But I’d better go now, or I’ll miss the last tube home.

She smiled, squinting at me short-sightedly, and stretched out her hand. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, she said. You must come again.

While I was fetching my scarves and overcoat, May went to the window and looked out at the garden.

I don’t think you’ll be able to go just yet, she said. Have you seen what it’s like outside? There’s a blizzard blowing out there. You’ll freeze.

I went to stand beside her, wrapped up in my scarves and overcoat. I could not see very far: there where whirlpools of snow blowing against the window.

You’d better stay, said May. I think we’ll all have to stay. I can’t face going back to Islington in a storm.

She looked at me, pleading, as though to tell me that she wouldn’t dare stay if I went.

All right, I said. I’ll stay.

But where will I put all of you? said Mrs Price. There won’t be room for two people in your old room, May. Nor will there in Nick’s.

I know! May said brightly. The two of them can sleep in the cellar — on the old camp beds. There’s that old heater down there, too, so they won’t be cold, and Nick and I can give them our sleeping bags. They ought to be quite comfortable.

That’s fine by me, said Ila, giving me a tight conspiratorial little smile. I nodded my assent, my heart bursting with hope.

Well then, you arrange it, said Mrs Price. As for me. I’m eighty years old, and I’m going to bed.

May hurried out of the room and we followed. She threw open a door that was tucked away behind the suitcase and switched on a light. It smelt slightly damp, but not musty: it was much cleaner than I had expected. There were stacks of paperbacks in one corner of the cellar, and suitcases and trunks were piled up high in another. May showed us the camp beds, tucked away behind the suitcases, and Nick and I dragged them out. It took us a while before we got the knack of opening them. But once they had been laid out properly they looked quite comfortable. Nick and Ila went upstairs and fetched sleeping bags, towels and nightclothes and soon the cellar began to look warm and inviting. Then May and Nick said goodnight and left.