Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

The hotel manager was standing beside me.

‘Anyone in the next rooms?’ I asked.

‘Not at the moment, but we’ve got two parties coming tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow never comes,’ I said in Hindi. ‘We’re here now, and we’d like to take all three of these front-facing suites for a year, cash in advance.’

‘ Suites? ’ the manager and Didier said, at the same time.

‘Suites,’ I said. ‘All three. From tonight. A year in advance. Are we good?’

‘Hold on a minute,’ the manager said. ‘I just have to check with my greed.’

He paused, for a bit, with a thinking face, and then made up his mind.

‘What do you know,’ he said, ‘we’re suddenly unbooked.’

You’ve got to like a man who anthropomorphises his own greed: at the very least, it’s a conversation.

‘What’s your name, sir?’

‘Jaswant,’ he said. ‘Jaswant Singh. And how shall I call you , sir?’

‘Just call me baba. Is that okay?’

‘Sure, sure, baba. No problem. A year, you said? In advance?’

I paid the money, and he left us alone to go through the rooms.

We took down the temporary barriers between balconies, and walked all the way around, from hotel room to hotel room.

‘Why do you need three of these rooms , Lin? I refuse to call them suites .’

‘The walls at the ends of these balconies are sealed, Didier. If I have all three suites to myself, nobody can sneak up that way.’

‘I see,’ he said.

‘But I only need two of them. The other one is for you, Naveen, if you want it.’

‘For me?’ Naveen asked.

‘You haven’t got an office yet, have you?’

‘No. I work from my apartment.’

‘Well, now you have an office, detective, if you want it.’

He looked at Didier, who shrugged a smile.

‘This just occurred to you now?’ Naveen asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Because you have an extra room?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I love it. You’re on,’ Naveen said, shaking my hand. ‘Nice to have you at the other end of the balcony.’

Didier joined us, placing his hands on ours.

‘This is the beginning of something very -’

‘Shit!’ Naveen said, breaking away. ‘She’ll kill me!’

‘Who will kill a detective?’ Didier demanded.

‘Diva. If I don’t pick the spoilt brat up on time, she’ll give me hell for two days. I have to run. I’ll grab a key on the way out, Lin. The room on the right, okay with you?’

It was exactly the room that I wanted him to take.

‘You got it, Naveen.’

‘You’re going to meet Karla?’ Didier asked me, as we watched him leave.

‘At eight.’

‘I have some things to do, my friend, so I will leave now. But I will be available for you later, and I will wait in the Taj for some time, if I discover any news.’

‘Thanks, Didier.’

‘It is nothing.’

‘No, I mean it. The owner of this building is your friend, and this is one of your areas, because the local don is your friend, and that’s why I’m safe here. Thanks, for everything.’

‘I love you, Lin. Please, do not suffer that I say it. We French have no chains on the heart. I love you. We will solve the mystery of sad, sweet Lisa, and then we will march on.’

He left, and I stood in each of the strange, new rooms I’d just rented for a year, on instinct. It was my first home, after the home I’d made with Lisa. I was trying to live again: trying to plant a new tree, in a new place.

I walked back to the balcony, folded my arms on the rail and watched the wheel of lights, red-yellow-white, making slow fireworks where five avenues met and dispersed.

A crow landed on my balcony for a moment, inspected me, ruffled its feathers and flew away. A group of teenagers crossed with the signal, laughing and happy, on their way to the budget shops on Fashion Street.

A distant temple bell sounded, followed by chanting. Then the Azaan rang out from somewhere nearby, clear and beautifully sung.

Is this the place? I asked myself. I wanted a place. Any place. I wanted a home.

Is this where I find it? I wanted connection. I wanted to give everything I had to one love, and be loved in return.

Is it here? I stared at the crossroad, hoping for an answer, as white, red and yellow lights made dragons from weaving lines of cars.

I was early, and so were the stars arriving at the Taj in limousines for a gala to promote a new movie. I parked the bike beneath a palm tree, across from the hotel, waiting for snail minutes to make the long creep to eight and my appointment with Karla.

Through the wide doors of the lobby I saw the sponsor wall, with special guests posing for photographs in front of brand names that had paid them by the second. Flash, flash, turn this way, turn that way: the mug shots of the privileged, caught in the act.

The limousines stopped, the photographers hurried to other headlines, and the sponsor wall was dismantled. The spacious, gracious lobby, where great thinkers had discussed great ideas on rainy Bombay afternoons, for rainy decades, was barren and businesslike again.

To hell with early. I walked around the hotel to a back door, guarded by a man I knew, and climbed the promenade stairs to Karla’s door. I knocked, and she opened it.

Her feet were bare. She wore a black silk lounging suit. It was trousers and top all in one, sleeveless, with zip pockets, and a zip front.

Her hair was tied up in a knot behind her head. There was a thin, silver letter opener, in the shape of a Damascan sword keeping the knot together. Karla.

‘You’re early,’ she said, smiling but not inviting me in.

‘I’m always early, or late.’

‘That’s a talent, for a man in your line of not-working. You wanna come in?’

‘Sure.’

‘Rish!’ she called, over her shoulder. ‘Our interview is over.’

She pushed the door wide, and I saw Rish, one of Lisa’s partners at the gallery. He rushed forward.

‘I’m so sorry, Lin,’ he said, holding my hand in both of his. ‘It’s a terrible shock. Dear Lisa. A terrible loss. I’m… I’m just beside myself with grief.’

He squeezed past Karla, sidestepped me and scuttled away down the corridor. It was a long corridor.

‘A man who’s beside himself,’ Karla said, as Rish scuttled, ‘usually has a fool for company. Come in, Shantaram. It’s been a long day.’

She walked back into the suite and sat on the window-seat couch.

‘Make me a drink, please,’ she said, when I’d closed and locked the door. ‘I love it when I don’t make the drink.’

‘What’ll it be?’

‘I’ll have a Happy Mary.’

‘A Happy Mary?’

‘It’s a Bloody Mary, without the red corpuscles. And rocks. Lots of rocks.’

I made the drinks and brought them to sit with her.

‘Shall we toast?’ she asked.

‘To running away angry?’ I suggested.

She laughed.

‘How about to old times, Shantaram?’

‘To fallen friends,’ I countered.

‘To fallen friends,’ she agreed, clashing glasses with me.

‘You’ve gotta snap out of it,’ she said, taking a long sip of her drink, before putting it down.

‘I’m okay.’

‘Bullshit. I just gave you four leads – fool, happy, blood, and rock – and you didn’t go for any of them. That’s not you. That’s not you and me.’

‘You and me?’

She saw my mind working, and smiled.

‘Why are you so determined to find out who gave Lisa the dope?’

‘Aren’t you?’

She picked up her glass again, studied it for a while, drank off a coalminer’s finger, and turned all the queens on me.