Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

Yes, said Isma’il. All the germs are out today. They’re all over the floor. Can’t you see?

Abu Fahl looked significantly at Hajj Fahmy, but the Hajj was intent on the television programme. Isma’il, Abu Fahl said, gently reasoning, there’s nothing on the floor, absolutely nothing. Can’t you see? I’m standing here. There’s nothing.

They’re all over the floor, Isma’il said stubbornly. They’re just waiting to bite. I’m not getting off. It doesn’t matter to you — your hide’s too thick — they’d break their teeth. I’m not like that.

Ya Hajj Fahmy, Abu Fahl appealed, why don’t you tell him?

Let him be, the Hajj said. Let him sit here if he wants to. How does it matter?

But what about you, then? Abu Fahl said. Aren’t you coming? To the Star and shopping and all that? Everyone’s here.

I’ll come as soon as the noise stops, Hajj Fahmy said. He looked at his watch. You’d better go out and tell them to hurry up. It’ll be time to leave soon.

Be careful, Isma’il called out, gurgling with laughter, as Abu Fahl turned to go. They’re everywhere today; even with your hide you should be careful. They might get you in a soft part.

The first person Abu Fahl saw as he stepped back into the courtyard was Professor Samuel. He was sitting on the platform, beside the loom. His briefcase was open on his knees, and he was worriedly counting through a pile of thick white envelopes. Abu Fahl went straight up to him and gave him a bone-jarring slap on the back. At least you’re here, he said. And now since you’re here we have to see you dance.

Stop that! the Professor snorted, furious. Can’t you see I’m busy? I have things to do. I have to count the people here. I have to distribute the envelopes, all the arrangements have to be made …

You’re always busy, Professor, Abu Fahl said. But today we’re going to see you dance.

Be quiet, Abu Fahl, the Professor said sharply. Go and do some work instead of wasting my time. Have you handed out your tools and ropes and all that yet?

But Abu Fahl only turned and shouted to the others: Come here. The Professor’s going to dance for us. Help me carry him.

A moment later the Professor was hoisted on half a dozen shoulders and carried, kicking and scolding, into the courtyard. They put him down in the middle and imprisoned him in a tight circle. Go on, Professor, dance a little, Zaghloul said, tapping the disht. Just for fun.

But I can’t, he cried. I’ve never done it before.

Go on, go on, just for fun, they urged, and even Chunni joined her voice to theirs: Go on, Samuel, what does it matter? Do anything at all; anything you can.

The Professor looked grimly around him. All right, he said. He kicked off his sandals and, leaping high, he snapped his right arm back, clenched his fist and swung it through the air. He jumped up again, and the first enthusiastic claps wavered and then faded away as everyone looked on in astonishment. He was leaping around the ring now, spinning in the air, flailing his right arm over his head. Zaghloul tried to find the right rhythm on the disht and gave up baffled. The Professor jumped again, faster, and yet again, his face flushed, sweat flying off his forehead. The initial laughter died away and an awestruck silence descended as the Professor flung himself into the air, again and again, swinging his rigid arms over his head in great powerful arcs.

What is he doing? someone said. That’s how they dance in those parts, a voice answered. Haven’t you seen them in films?

Chunni was beside herself. It’s the queues, she shrieked. Stop him, Abu Fahl; something’s gone wrong. He can’t stop; the queues have got him again. But instead everyone backed apprehensively away from the leaping, whirling Professor.

At last the Professor stopped, winded, and looked around, clutching his waist, at the circle of wide eyes and frozen faces. What’s wrong, Samuel? Chunni asked anxiously. He looked at her for a moment, so sternly that she edged away. Then he doubled up, laughing uncontrollably, and his spectacles dropped off his nose.

What’s the matter, Professor? What’s happened?

Professor Samuel, holding his sides, face flushed, tears pouring out of his eyes, managed to say: Nothing. I was just practising my badminton smashes. Nice cabaret, no?

After that it was all confusion, for it was almost time to leave. Everyone was worrying about what they were going to buy now, and they milled around the courtyard, the newly arrived begging advice from the experienced, gathering information on the relative prices of the various makes of calculator they were thinking of buying for college-going brothers at home; of the portable television sets they were planning to take to their village-bound parents and sisters; and of the clothes they were going to buy for themselves (and there Rakesh was in great demand, for there was not a thing he didn’t know about all the brands of American jeans and Korean shirts). There was a mild panic when someone claimed to have heard that Professor Samuel hadn’t brought enough money for them all, and the Professor was immediately riddled by volleys of anxious questions. But he had no answers to give, because, as he said: How can I know whether I’ve got enough? First, I’ve got to count how many people there are here, and how can I count unless you stand still? That only made the panic worse — He admits he hasn’t got enough; that’s what he said — and everybody milled about even more, and that made counting still more difficult. Then, in the middle of all that, Hajj Fahmy appeared and shouted that it was time to tie on the dusters and get ready to leave, because sunset was no more than an hour away, and there would be no point in going if they got to the Star after dark. That reminded the Professor of something else altogether and he forgot about counting and pushed his way around the courtyard until he found Abu Fahl and cried, worriedly: Listen, Abu Fahl, what are we going to do if we do find those sewing machines in the Star? How will we bring them back? We can’t carry them with us into all those foreign shops in Hurreyya. What are we going to do? But Abu Fahl had his own worries now, for he was busy trying to find all the ropes and crowbars and everything else he had gathered together over the last few days in preparation for their journey to the Star, so he merely shrugged and said: How should I know? Why don’t you ask Alu? We only promised to present him with the sewing machines. He’ll have to think of some way of bringing them back himself. But that wasn’t good enough for the Professor, and he rushed off, clicking his tongue in irritation, to look for Hajj Fahmy. The Hajj tried to reassure him: Don’t worry, Samuel, it won’t be difficult — we can always put them in a taxi if it comes to that. But, said the Professor, there aren’t any taxis in that part of the Corniche. And this time the Hajj pushed him away: Don’t worry — we’ll manage.

There was nothing more he could do, so the Professor went back to his counting, and while he was at it Karthamma ran into the courtyard, sweating and wild-eyed. I can’t find Boss, she cried to anyone who would listen. I just went to the house and there was no one there. Zindi’s cleared all her things out, and Kulfi’s gone, too, and there’s no sign of Boss anywhere. But there was too much noise in the courtyard, and everyone had something to do, so nobody had time to listen to her. Frantic with worry, Karthamma found Chunni and, shouting into her ear, told her everything; but Chunni only laughed, saying: Why’re you so worried? Where could they have gone? They’ll be in the house when we get back this evening, you’ll see. Where could they go? There’s nothing to be worried about. That heartened Karthamma, for there is nothing so reassuring as having one’s fears laughed at, and she went back to thinking about the pram she was going to buy for Boss.