Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘I love it,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘Can I really keep it?’

‘You must.’

‘Thank you,’ Blue Hijab said shyly. ‘I’m very pleased with your gift.’

‘What do you and Mehmu fight about, when you’re duelling at dawn?’ Karla asked.

‘The hijab,’ Blue Hijab said, sighing memories of past fights.

‘He thinks it’s too orthodox?’

‘No, Karla, he doesn’t think it’s cool enough. He’s so much into fashion. He has twelve pairs of jeans, and fights for the poor in all of them. He wants me to take the hijab off, and look as cool as the others, who come from Europe, and have long blonde hair.’

‘You do look cool,’ Karla said. ‘That’s a great blue, by the way.’

‘But not as cool as the other comrades,’ she growled.

‘The other comrades?’

Blue Hijab looked at me, then back at Karla.

‘Shantaram didn’t tell you anything about me, did he?’

‘I don’t know anything,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what colour your flag is, and I didn’t ask.’

‘You don’t have loyalty to a flag?’ Blue Hijab asked, frowning.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But very often to the person holding one.’

‘Mehmu, Ankit and I are communists,’ she said, turning to Karla again. ‘We were with the Habash group. We trained with Palestinians from the PFLP in Libya, but we had to break away. They got too… emotional, in what they were doing.’

‘What’s a Tamil girl from Sri Lanka doing in Libya, with Palestinians?’ Karla asked. ‘If I can ask it without stepping into your garden.’

‘Learning to defend our people.’

‘Did it have to be you?’ Karla said softly.

‘Who will take up the guns, if we all lay them down?’ Blue Hijab replied bitterly, trapped on a wheel designed by revenge to keep rage rotating.

‘You and Mehmu really fight about the hijab?’ Karla asked, changing the mood with a smile.

‘All the time,’ Blue Hijab smiled back, covering her girl-mouth with her soldier-hand. ‘The first time I shot him, it was because he said that the hijab put ten pounds on me.’

‘Walked into that one,’ Karla laughed.

‘You don’t think it does , do you?’

‘Your hijab has a slimming effect,’ Karla said. ‘And you have a lovely face.’

‘You think so?’

‘Wait a minute,’ Karla said, springing up quickly and skipping to the bedroom.

‘You’re a lucky man,’ Blue Hijab said.

‘I know,’ I smiled, my eyes waiting for Karla to come back. ‘And so is Mehmu.’

‘No,’ Blue Hijab said. ‘I mean, you’re a lucky man because your name was the next on the acid throwers’ list.’

I turned to face her, reading dark things in her eyes that she knew darkly.

Karla padded back to sit with us. She had a small blue velvet pouch with her, and she pressed it into Blue Hijab’s hands.

‘Lipstick, eye make-up, nail polish, hashish, chocolate, and a little book of poems by Seferis,’ Karla said. ‘For when you get wherever you get, and can close the door.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Blue Hijab said, blushing.

‘We girls have gotta stick together,’ Karla said. ‘Who else is gonna save our men? Tell me about the second time you shot your husband.’

‘The second time was because he said that one of the girls from the East German delegation insisted that he touch her long, silky hair, and that he liked it, and wanted me to take off the hijab and show my hair.’

‘I might’ve shot her ,’ Karla smiled.

‘I can’t shoot her for suggesting it,’ Blue Hijab said seriously, ‘Mehmu is a handsome man. But I justifiably shot him for doing it.’

‘Where did you shoot him?’ Karla asked, hazardously.

‘In the bicep. Men hate losing their big muscles for six months, and it doesn’t do much permanent damage. You use the small-calibre pistol, press it against the inner side of the bicep, aim outwards, and let one go. All you need is a good wall on the other side to stop the bullet.’

‘Have you thought of marriage counselling?’ Karla asked thoughtfully.

‘We’ve tried everything -’

‘No, I mean, have you thought about becoming a marriage counsellor,’ Karla said. ‘I think you’re a natural, and there’s another office free, downstairs, in this building. We could link it to my business.’

‘Which is what?’ Blue Hijab asked. ‘If I can ask it without stepping into your garden.’

‘I’m a partner in a company called the Lost Love Bureau. We find lost loved ones, and reunite them with their families. Sometimes, finding is as strange as losing, and reunited lovers need counselling. It’s a good fit, and you’re welcome to fit in.’

‘I like this idea,’ Blue Hijab said shyly. ‘I’ve been looking for a new window, one that isn’t covered with newspapers. I’m… very tired, and so is Mehmu. When it’s safe to return, I will visit with you and discuss it again, Karla, Inshallah .’

I was trying not to be noticed, and doing a good job. Their secret women’s business was being acted out in front of me, and men don’t get to see that, unless invited. Then they noticed me, and kind of uninvited me. Karla was smiling, but Blue Hijab was scowling, the poisoned dart in her hand.

‘You, ah, you said you had a problem with Ankit?’ I asked.

‘The escape route is only for me, now that the plan has changed,’ Blue Hijab said, softening a little, and turning to Karla. ‘I can’t take him with me. But I can’t just abandon him. He’s a good comrade. A good man.’

‘I’ll find him a job in the black market, if you like,’ I suggested. ‘He’ll be okay, until you come back for him.’

‘ I’ll hire him,’ Karla said. ‘He was the night porter of a large hotel for three years. Those talents are always needed.’

‘Or, he could work in the black market, with me,’ I repeated, defending my gutter.

‘Or not,’ Karla countered, smiling at me. ‘Under any circumstances.’

‘Either way he’ll be okay with us,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

Blue Hijab fixed the jewelled hairpin into the cap of the long thin bottle, and screwed the deadly thorn shut. She slipped it into another invisible pocket in her skirt.

‘I have to go,’ she said, standing up a little unsteadily.

Karla and I rushed to help her but she held us away, her hands like anemones.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘I’m fine, Alhamdulillah .’

She straightened up, patted her skirts into place, and walked out with us to Jaswant’s desk.

Ankit was nowhere in sight. Jaswant wasn’t at the desk: he was eating snacks from his own survival stash. He turned to face me, crumbs in his beard, biscuits in his hands.

‘Where’s Ankit?’ I asked him.

‘Ankit?’ he gasped, as if I was accusing him of eating him.

‘The cocktail captain. Where is he?’

‘Oh, him. Nice fella. A bit shy.’

He drifted off, shaking biscuits from his beard, and staring at the pattern they made on the floor.

‘How many cocktails did you have, Jaswant?’

‘Three,’ he said, four fingers in the air.

‘Hang up the Closed sign,’ I said. ‘You’re on the chemical ride. Where’s Ankit?’

‘Randall came up here, had a couple of drinks, and took him downstairs to show him the car. Why?’

‘Where’s Naveen? And Didier?’

‘Who?’

I turned to Blue Hijab and Karla.

‘I can take you to Ankit on your way out,’ I said.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t say goodbye. Too many times I said goodbye, and never got to say anything else. Is there another way out of this hotel?’

‘Take your pick,’ I said. ‘There are several ways out.’