Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘I’ll see what I can do, Didier. But, hey, you’re a hard act to sell. I might have to embellish you, like you did for me, when you sold me to the Divas. Which one of your shootings should I use?’

‘Lin, you abuse my sensitivities.’

‘Everything abuses your sensitivities, Didier. It’s one of the reasons why we love you. What abuses my sensitivities is that you didn’t tell me about Lisa.’

‘But, Lin, it is such a delicate matter. It is a difficult thing to just say it out loud, like that. Your girlfriend is bisexual, and has a lesbian lover. Was I supposed to make a joke, perhaps? Hey, Lin, the tongue got your cat, so to say?’

‘I’m not talking about sex. Lisa told me she was bisexual the first time we got together. I’m talking about relationships. The way it looks to me is that you and Lisa and Kavita all knew something that I should’ve known, but didn’t.’

‘I… I’m sorry, Lin. Sometimes, a secret is too precious to tell. Do you forgive me?’

‘No more secrets, Didier. You’re my brother. If it affects you, or me, we have to be straight with each other.’

He couldn’t help it. He started giggling.

‘Straight with each other?’

His pale blue eyes glittered, lighthouses calling the wanderer home. Worry hid again in laugh lines.

Habits too diligently indulged made caves of his cheeks, but his skin was still taut, his mouth still determined, and his nose imperial. He’d cut his curly hair short, and wore it parted on the side. Diva’s influence, I guessed.

The cut made Didier look like Dirk Bogarde at the same age, and it suited him. I knew it would sprinkle new suitors on him at parties.

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘You’re always forgiven, Didier, before you sin.’

‘I am so delighted that you came to visit tonight, Lin,’ he said, slapping his thighs. ‘I feel big things coming in the air. Can you stay, or will you rush off again, as always?’

‘I’m sitting here until midnight. You’ve got me for the duration.’

‘Wonderful!’

Sweetie slammed a cold beer in front of me on the table.

‘ Aur kuch? ’ Sweetie grunted at me. Anything else?

‘Go away,’ Didier snapped.

‘Oh, certainly, Mr Didier- sahib ,’ Sweetie said. ‘Anything to serve you, Mr Didier- sahib .’

‘I see what you mean,’ I said to Didier. ‘This is serious. You’re gonna have to do something pretty spectacular, to win back their disrespect.’

‘I know,’ he pleaded. ‘But what?’

A man approached our table. He was tall, and broad, with close-clipped blonde hair and a very short nose that flattened his face, making it seem two-dimensional.

When he got looming-close, I saw that his nose had been squashed flat: broken so many times that the gristle had collapsed. He was either a very bad fighter, or he’d had so many bad fights that the law of averages put a thumbprint where his nose had been.

Either way, it wasn’t a pretty sight, looming over our table. Looming over me, in fact.

‘How can you sit next to this filthy gay?’ he asked me.

‘It’s called gravity,’ I said. ‘Look it up, when you have an afternoon to spare.’

He turned to Didier.

‘You make me sick!’ the big man hissed.

‘Not yet,’ Didier replied. ‘But it happens.’

‘How about something happens to your face?’ the tall man said, his jaw like a shovel.

‘Careful,’ I warned. ‘My boyfriend has a temper.’

‘Fuck you,’ the big man said.

There was a second man, standing some distance away. I left him in the periphery, and focused on the flattened moon above our table.

‘You know what we do with your kind in Leningrad?’ the tall man asked Didier.

‘The same thing you do with my kind, everywhere,’ Didier said calmly, his hand in his jacket pocket as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Until we stop you.’

Leningrad. Russians. I risked a clear look at the second man, standing a few steps behind. He wore a thin black shirt, like his friend. His short brown hair was a little messed, his pale green eyes were bright, and his expressive mouth lifted easily in a smile. His thumbs were hooked in the loops of his faded jeans.

He was leaner and faster than his friend, and much calmer. That made him the most dangerous man in the room, excluding Didier, because everyone else in the room, including me, was nervous. He looked at me, made eye contact, and smiled genially.

I looked back at the man who was blocking out several overhead lights with his face.

‘Show me what you’ve got,’ the tall Russian shouted, slapping at his chest. ‘Fight me!’

Patrons hastily vacated neighbouring tables. The tall Russian shoved empty tables and chairs aside, and stood in an open space, challenging Didier.

‘Come here, little man,’ he teased.

Didier lit a cigarette.

‘Double abomination!’ the tall Russian shouted. ‘A gay, and a Jew. A Jew gay. The worst kind of gay.’

Waiters established a wide perimeter. They were ready to pounce if the shouting turned to fighting, but no-one wanted to be the first pouncer, punched away by the big, angry Russian.

‘Come on, little man. Come here.’

‘Certainly,’ Didier replied equably. ‘When I have finished my cigarette.’

Oh, shit , I thought, and knew that I wasn’t the only one in Leopold’s thinking it. Didier puffed contentedly, gently easing an urn of ash into his glass ashtray.

In the silence, the Russian companion moved quickly to stand beside me. He held his hands open in front of him, gesturing toward the chair next to mine.

It was a good idea. When he’d moved, I’d leaned back in my chair, put my right arm behind me and closed my hand around one of my knives.

‘Is this seat taken?’ he asked sociably. ‘It might take your friend a minute to finish his cigarette, and I’d rather sit, if it’s okay with you.’

‘It’s a free country, Oleg,’ I said. ‘That’s why I live here.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, sitting next to me comfortably. ‘Hey, don’t take it personally, but isn’t it a bit of a stereotype? I’m Russian, so my name has to be Oleg?’

He was right. And when a man’s right, he’s right, even if you’re thinking about stabbing him in the thigh.

‘My name’s Lin,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure if I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ he said. ‘Oleg.’

‘Are you fucking with me?’

I still had my hand on the knife.

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘It really is my name. Oleg. And your gay Jewish friend is about to get his ass kicked.’

We both looked at Didier, who was examining his cigarette forensically.

‘My money’s on the Jew,’ I said.

‘It is?’

‘My money’s always on the Jew.’

‘How much money?’ he asked, a wide smile lighting his eyes with mischief.

‘Everything I’ve got.’

‘How much is everything?’

‘Everything will buy you three thousand,’ I said.

‘American?’

‘I don’t deal in roubles, Oleg. The cigarette is running out. Are you in?’

‘Done,’ he said, offering his hand.

I let go the knife, shook his hand, and put my hand back on the knife again. Oleg waved to a waiter. Didier was almost finished his cigarette. The waiter looked past Oleg to me, mystified.

He was worried. The big man was still waiting for Didier in the open space between vacated tables. Service had ceased. The waiter, named Sayed, didn’t know what was going on. I nodded my head and he came running, his eyes on the big Russian.

‘I would like a chilled beer, please,’ Oleg said. ‘And a plate of your home-made fries.’

Sayed blinked a few times, and looked at me.