Gregory Roberts: The Mountain Shadow

‘Are you okay?’ Rosanna asked.

‘Sure,’ I said, turning to face her again. ‘Sure. Sorry. Is it about done in there?’

‘Just about,’ she said. ‘When the big stars leave, the lights go out. Lisa says you’re not a Goa fan. Why not? I’m from there, you know.’

‘I guessed.’

‘So, what have you got against Goa?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that every time I go there, somebody asks me to pick up their dirty laundry.’

‘That’s not my Goa,’ she countered.

It wasn’t defensive. It was simply a statement of fact.

‘Maybe not,’ I smiled. ‘And Goa’s a big place. I only know a couple of beaches and towns.’

She was studying my face.

‘What did you say it was?’ she asked. ‘Rubies and what ?’

‘Rubies and love letters.’

‘But you weren’t in Goa just for that, were you?’

‘Sure,’ I lied.

‘If I said you were down there for black market business, would I be close to the mark?’

I’d gone to Goa to collect ten handguns. I’d dropped them off with my mafia contact in Bombay, before searching for Vikram to return the necklace. Black market business was close to the mark.

‘Look, Rosanna -’

‘Has it occurred to you that you’re the problem here? People like you, who come to India and bring trouble we don’t need?’

‘There was a lotta trouble here before I came, and there’ll be plenty left when I’m gone.’

‘We’re talking about you , not India.’

She was right: the two knives pressing against the small of my back made the point.

‘You’re right,’ I conceded.

‘I am?’

‘Yeah. I’m trouble, alright. And so are you, at the moment, if you don’t mind me saying it.’

‘Lisa doesn’t need trouble from you,’ she said, frowning hard.

‘No,’ I said evenly. ‘Nobody needs trouble.’

She studied my face a little longer, her brown eyes searching for something wide enough or deep enough to give the conversation a context. Finally she laughed, and looked away, running a ringed hand through her spiked hair.

‘How many days does the show run?’ I asked.

‘We’re supposed to have another week of this,’ she remarked, looking at the last guests leaving the exhibition. ‘If the crazies don’t close us down, that is.’

‘If I were you, I’d pay for some security. I’d put a couple of big, sharp guys on the door. Moonlight a few guys from one of the five-star hotels. They’re pretty good, some of those guys, and the ones who aren’t still look good enough.’

‘You know something about the show?’

‘Not really. I saw some men out here before. Seriously unhappy men. I think they’re seriously unhappy with your show.’

‘I hate those fucking fanatics!’ she hissed.

‘I think it’s mutual.’

I glanced toward the gallery to see Lisa kissing Rish and Taj goodbye.

‘Here’s Lisa.’

I swung a leg over the bike, and kick-started the engine. It growled to life, settling into a low, bubbling throb. Lisa came to hug Rosanna, and took her place on the back of my bike.

‘ Phir milenge ,’ I said. Until we meet again.

‘Not if I see you first.’

We rode down the long slope to the sea, but when we stopped at a traffic signal, a black van pulled up beside us, and I turned to see the men with the hateful stares. They were arguing among themselves.

I let them pull away when the signal changed. There were political stickers and religious symbols on the rear window of the van. I turned off the main road at the first corner.

We rode through back streets for a while, and I worried for the changes I was seeing. Rosanna’s faux-bronze panels told a brutal Bombay story, but less brutal than the truth, and less brutal than the politics of faith. The violence of the past was just sand in the swash of a new wave, breaking on the Island City’s shores. Political thugs travelled by the truckload, brandishing clubs, and mafia gangs of twenty or thirty men had grown to hundreds of fighters. We are what we fear, and many of us in the city feared reckless days of reckoning.

Riding slowly, we made our way back to the sweeping curve

of Marine Drive, following the necklace of reflections on the gentle waters of the bay. That first glimmer of starry sea started us talking again, and we were still talking when I pulled the bike into the driveway of our apartment building, past the salute of the watchman, and into the covered parking bay.

‘You go up,’ I said to Lisa. ‘I’m gonna wipe down the bike.’

‘Now?’

‘Now. I’ll be right up.’

When I heard Lisa’s footsteps on the marble stairs I turned to the watchman, nodded to him, and pointed after her. Understanding that I wanted him to follow her, he set off quickly, taking the stairs two at a time.

I heard her open the apartment door, and say her goodnight to the watchman. I slipped quickly out through a side gate to the footpath. Moving quietly, I made my way along the line of the leafy hedge bordering the apartment building’s ground-floor car park.

As I’d turned to enter the parking area of the building, I’d seen a huddled figure draw backwards into the shadows of the tall hedge. Someone was hiding there.

I drew a knife and came up quietly to the spot near the gate where I’d seen the figure. A man stepped out in front of me, his back turned, and began to move toward the car park.

It was Scorpio George.

‘Lin!’ I heard him whisper. ‘Are you still there, Lin?’

‘What the hell are you doin’, Scorpio?’ I asked from behind him, and he jumped.

‘Oh, Lin! You scared the crap outta me!’

I frowned at him, wanting an explanation.

The peace pact that had held since the last big mafia gang war in South Bombay was failing. Young men who hadn’t fought the war, or negotiated the truce, were attacking one another in violation of rules that had been written in better men’s blood. There’d been attacks by rival gangs in our area. I was vigilant, on guard all the time, and angry at myself for coming so close to hurting a friend.

‘I’ve told you guys about creepin’ up on people,’ I said.

‘See… I’m sorry… ’ he began nervously, looking left and right. ‘It’s… it’s… ’

Distress had a hand on his chest, and he couldn’t lift it to speak. I looked for a place to talk with him.

I couldn’t step into the car park with Scorpio. He was a street guy, sleeping in a doorway, and his presence in the compound, if observed by a resident of the building, would lead to complaints. I had no fear of those complaints, but I knew that they’d cost the watchman his job.

Taking Scorpio by the arm, I led the tall, thin Canadian across the street to a collapsed wall of crumbled stones, deep in shadow. Sitting with him in the darkness, I lit a joint and passed it to him.

‘What’s up, Scorp?’

‘It’s this guy,’ he began, puffing deeply on the joint. ‘This guy with the dark suit. The CIA guy. It’s creeping me out, man! I can’t work the street. I can’t talk to tourists. It’s like I see him everywhere, in my mind, asking questions about me. Did your guy, that Naveen detective guy, did he find out anything?’

I shook my head.

‘One of the boys tailed him out to Bandra, but the kid ran out of taxi money, and lost him. I haven’t heard anything back from your guy, Naveen. I thought you might’ve heard something.’

‘No. Nothing yet.’

‘I’m scared, Lin,’ Scorpio George said, shuddering the fear along his spine. ‘All the street boys have tested him. Nothin’. He doesn’t buy drugs, doesn’t drink, not even beer. No girls.’