Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

He fell silent, dancing backwards through memories of a treasure unfound.

‘And now?’

‘When Farzad got sick and he was lying in that bed, not responding to a kiss, I knew that I’d kept the secret because I was greedy. In my heart of hearts, the secret was too wonderful to share, and it gave me pleasure, for a while, to know that it was mine, alone.’

‘It’s human,’ I said. ‘And now you can make up for it, like a mensch.’

‘Don’t you see? I didn’t make any protest, when that policeman kicked Farzad, because I didn’t want anything to jeopardise the search. I sacrificed my own son, for the treasure.’

‘You didn’t kick your son in the head, Arshan. And Lightning Dilip has kicked me in the head a few times, without a blood clot. It was bad luck, and bad timing, and that’s not your fault.’

‘I was… so selfish.’

‘Well, now you can be generous, and you can afford to bring the best doctors and specialists from the whole world to Farzad’s bed. You can make him well with the treasure, Arshan.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But I think you should try. Whatever you do, you’ve gotta tell the others that you found the treasure. Every day you wait breaks a strand in their trust. You gotta do it now, Arshan, tonight.’

‘You’re right,’ he said, straightening up. ‘You’re right.’

‘Let’s get one thing straight, before you do. I don’t want any part of the treasure. I don’t want to hear about it, ever again, if that’s okay with you.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that I don’t need it, and don’t want it, and don’t want to hear about it, ever again. You see that, right?’

‘You’re a strange man, Lin,’ he said. ‘But I like you.’

I walked him to the door of his house. We could hear Anahita, on the other side of it. She’d worked up a good pestering, and let him have it before she opened the door.

‘Seven loaves I baked for Farzad’s prayers,’ the closed door shouted at us, ‘and you couldn’t get home on time!’

When she opened mid-pester and saw his face, she cried out and pulled him into a cuddle.

‘What is it?’ she gasped. ‘What’s the matter, my darling love?’

‘I have something to tell you, sweetheart,’ Arshan said, leaning on her, as he walked through the red curtains leading to the excavated dome. ‘Call everyone together.’

‘Of course, my darling,’ she said, supporting him on her shoulder as they walked.

‘I’m sorry about the loaves, dearest,’ Arshan said absently.

‘Never you mind about that, my darling.’

I let myself out. Nobody noticed. I was glad.

As I stood outside, waving down a taxi to retrieve my bike, I heard shouts and screams and happy ululations, ringing from the three-family home.

I got my bike, and paid the kid who’d watched it for me. He gave the money back, and change, which wasn’t a good thing.

He’d been using my bike as a prop, while I was away. He was a Zone-Drifter. His bing was to sit on other people’s motorcycles and in other people’s cars to do business. He’d just done a drug deal, sitting on my bike, and he was sharing the take with me. When I was with the Sanjay Company, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to use my bike for business. It was insubordinate, and he knew it. He was wondering if I knew it or not.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pushed the money into his pocket.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sid, using my bike?’

‘Things are bad on the street, just now, Linbaba! Afghans in Mohammed Ali Road, and Scorpions under the bed. A man doesn’t know where to deal his dope any more.’

‘Apologise.’

‘I’m so sorry, Linbaba.’

‘Not to me, to the motorcycle. You were supposed to look after her. Apologise.’

He leaned in toward the bike, both hands pressed together, while I held his shirt. He was a slippery one, and we both knew I’d have to ride him down rather than run him down, if he escaped.

He put his pressed palms to his forehead.

‘I’m so sorry, motorcycle- ji , for my bad manners,’ he said fervently. ‘I promise to respect you, in future.’

He reached out to stroke her, but I wouldn’t let him.

‘That’s enough. Don’t do it again.’

‘No, sir.’

‘And tell all the other Zone-Drifters to stay away from her.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I rode to the jam on the Back Bay using a route that didn’t pass Arshan’s home. I didn’t want to think about the treasure, or young Farzad, coma-roaming at the hospital. I was blue: blue enough to need jazz.

I parked beside Naveen’s bike, near the crowd of fifty or sixty university students sitting on the shore. Jazz was raising people to the same exalted high. I stood on the edge of the group, my hands in my jacket pockets. I was surfing the sounds with thoughts of Karla, knowing how much she would’ve loved it.

‘Musician pricks,’ Naveen muttered, joining me.

He was looking at Diva, who was sitting in adoration at the feet of a very talented, good-looking guitar player named Raghav. He was a nice kid, and a friend of mine, but Naveen had a point.

‘Indeed.’

Diva was unrecognisable to anyone but her friends, the rich Diva girls, who were with Didier, sitting apart from the main group on the lawns of the Back Bay.

She wore no make-up. The bindi on her forehead was a glass diamond, her earrings were brass, and her bracelets were plastic. Her clothes and sandals came from a slum shop, reflecting the latest fashion for slum girls.

It suited her, as it did all the girls in the slum. But the presence of the Diva girls, from the richer life, worried me.

‘The girls came along?’ I asked.

‘I couldn’t keep them away,’ Naveen sighed. ‘Diva says they’re sworn to secrecy. I had to let her do this. She’s been a prisoner in the slum for nearly two weeks, Lin. She needs this.’

‘I guess you’re right. And the students might not recognise her. She’s got the slum-girl thing down pretty good.’

‘You should hear her swear,’ Naveen said. ‘I wandered into a session the other day. The girls were teaching her what to say when a guy hits on you. It was very instructive. You want to hear some of it?’

‘I lived there,’ I said. ‘I know it starts with lauda lasoon , and ends with saala lukka . Please, God, don’t let Diva unload what she’s learned on me.’

‘Amen.’

‘Have the Diva girls been in the slum?’

He laughed, and I frowned, because I was asking about the security of Johnny Cigar and his family, and it wasn’t funny to me.

‘That’s funny?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughed again.

‘Why?’

‘Because if Diva’s Divas ever visit the slum, I’ve got this running bet with Didier.’

‘Once again, young detective, I why you. Why?’

He sighed, letting out some embarrassment.

‘Didier was trying to get the girls to the slum, and have a ghost story night. They were really up for it, but more scared of the slum than the ghosts. I said to Didier, the day they go to the slum, I’ll race Benicia around the loop.’

It was a significant boast. Naveen had been practising a few stunts and tricks with Colaba biker boys, and he was becoming a good rider, but racing Benicia was another matter.

She was a Spanish girl who’d lived in Bombay for a couple of years. She bought Rajasthani jewellery, and sold it to buyers from Barcelona. She was a single girl who kept to herself, and was a significant mystery because of it. But everyone knew that when she rode her vintage 350cc bike around Bombay, nobody beat Benicia.

‘You know Benicia?’