Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

Karthamma rose eagerly to her feet: What else did you hear?

Allah il-’Azim ! Zindi exclaimed. Sit down, Karthamma; you’re not a child. You know whenever anything happens people think of a thousand stories. This is just the beginning. Alu’s alive, Alu’s hiding — there’ll be no end to the tales people will think up now.

Zindi’s sentence died away as Jeevanbhai Patel came into the room. Karthamma settled reluctantly back on the mat.

Jeevanbhai smiled vaguely around the room. His eyes were heavy with sleep; he had come back to the house very late the night before. He was a short, slight man, neatly dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers. A few grey strands of hair were combed carefully across his head. He would have had a gift for inconspicuousness if it were not for his teeth. They protruded like fingers from his thin, deeply lined face: great, chipped, triangular teeth, stained blood red by the pan he incessantly chewed.

’Aish Halak ? How are you? he said politely to Zindi in Ghaziri-accented Arabic.

How are you? she answered, looking away. She frowned at Professor Samuel, biting her lip.

Jeevanbhai lowered himself on to a mat. His tongue flickered delicately over his teeth. Were you saying something about Alu? he asked softly. I thought he died in the collapse of that big building on the Corniche.

Yes, yes, said Zindi. That’s what I was trying to explain to Karthamma here. We would give anything to save his life, but he’s beyond that now.

Does someone say he’s alive? said Jeevanbhai.

No. How could they? Zindi began to collect the plates, banging them together till their ringing filled the room.

Later, she managed to find Professor Samuel before he left with Jeevanbhai for his office near the harbour. Don’t tell him anything, she whispered urgently, taking him aside. Not a word of all the nonsense you heard this morning. You don’t know him. He spreads even the most foolish stories all over al-Ghazira, and God knows who they get to.

Jeevanbhai appeared at the end of the corridor, and Zindi hurried into her room. Leave me alone this morning, she shouted into the courtyard. I’ve got things to do. The door closed upon her with solemn finality.

But soon she had to open it again. Kulfi, sent out with an empty bottle on a string to buy two days’ supply of cooking oil, came running back to the house. She stood in the courtyard and shouted, her pale cheeks pink with excitement, her voice girlishly high: Alu was seen getting into the plane for America this morning; he didn’t die in the collapse, though he was pale and ghost-like and covered in dust. He discovered a huge store of gold in the wreckage of one of the Star’s jewellery-shops.

They crowded around her — all but Zindi, who stood apart, only half-listening. At least, Kulfi said breathlessly, he’s alive. Maybe he’ll be back someday, with all his money.

Who told you all this? Abu Fahl demanded.

Kulfi had gone to a shop near the embankment that was owned by an Egyptian from the Fayyum called Romy. There she had met a woman who had heard from someone else …

Abu Fahl caught Kulfi by the shoulder and shook her. You can’t believe these stories, he said. Someone heard from someone who heard from someone. They’re just wild fancies. I was there. I saw it all. I know what the truth is.

Karthamma pushed past Abu Fahl and Kulfi. She was halfway down the corridor when Zindi said sharply: Karthamma, where are you going?

I’m going to look for him, Karthamma said.

Karthamma, don’t forget yourself, Zindi said. We know what there was between you and Alu, but don’t display it before the whole world like this. Where’s your shame that you’re running about like a bitch on heat, and you with a son? Do you think, if there was a chance of his being alive, Abu Fahl wouldn’t have gone himself? Get back into the courtyard.

The blood rushed into Karthamma’s eyes. She lunged at Zindi, but Abu Fahl caught her around the waist. Zindi stalked into her room, and the slam of her door set the geese hissing in the courtyard.

By midday the house was awash with stories. Zaghloul went out to buy a cigarette and came back with a story he had heard on the way: the policemen who had surrounded the Star soon after the collapse had seen a hazy figure in the wreckage at night. Two of them went into the ruins to investigate. They spotted the figure a number of times, always a little way ahead of them. After stumbling about for hours on piles of steel and broken glass, their hands torn and bleeding, their expensive new uniforms in shreds, they were about to turn back when they saw the figure waving in the distance. They hurried after it, but when they got there it had disappeared. Instead they found a body — Alu’s body — since there were no others there. They pulled and tugged at the corpse, but try as they might they couldn’t shift it, not by so much as a hair’s breadth. They ran screaming out of the ruins.

Rakesh had spent the morning tossing restlessly on his mattress. The men had no work for the day, for Abu Fahl had decided that the collapse had cancelled his agreement with the contractor. Rakesh heard Zaghloul through, lying on his mattress. When he had finished, he jumped to his feet and began to pull on his trousers. We have to go, Abu Fahl, he said. We have to look for ourselves. I’m almost sure I heard Alu in the ruins yesterday, even though Zindi thinks it was all just imagined. But now there are all these stories, too. Anything might have happened; he may still be there.

Still be there? Abu Fahl snorted contemptuously. Are you mad or dreaming? I saw the whole thing with my own eyes, and I’ve had years of experience of these things. Do you know, I saw the collapse of the huge cinema hall near Sadiq Square? There were six men working in the building then and not one survived. And that was a much smaller building than the Star. Yesterday I saw five storeys of concrete fall on the basement, and then I saw the basement’s ceiling collapse. I don’t want to say it, but Alu’s as dead as a skeleton in a graveyard, God have mercy on him. It would be madness to go to that place now and be taken for thieves by the police.

All right, said Rakesh quietly, buttoning his shirt. If you won’t go, I’ll go myself.

Zaghloul stood up: I’ll come with you.

Abu Fahl was thrown into a quandary. A police cordon had been thrown around the Star soon after the collapse to guard what could be salvaged of the stocks in the wrecked shops. If Rakesh and Zaghloul went, they would be caught and arrested; there could be few doubts about that. They would be no more able to slip through a police cordon than they would be able to break into a bank.

Abu Fahl stopped them at the door. He would go, he told them, but he had a few conditions: only he and Rakesh would go — the police were more likely to notice three men than two — and they would leave only after he had had time to make a few inquiries.

Elated, Rakesh pushed open the door to Zindi’s room and shouted: Zindi, we’re going to the Star after all.

Zindi was abstractedly rocking Boss to sleep. What? she said.

We’re going to the Star to see if Alu’s alive.

Yes, said Zindi, without interest. Maybe you should go, since everyone says … Her voice trailed off.

She looked up suddenly as Rakesh, offended by her lack of enthusiasm, turned to go. Wait, she called after him. Come here. I want you to do something.

When Rakesh was squatting beside her on the mat she whispered: Go to Romy Abu Tolba’s shop. Tolba, Romy’s boy, goes to the Souq at this time to buy things for the shop. Tell him to give a message to Forid Mian, who works in the Durban Tailoring House in the second lane. Tell him to say this: Forid Mian, Zindi wonders why you haven’t been to her house for so long. Is there something wrong with the tea? This evening she’s going to make some very good tea.