Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘Done,’ Karla said, shaking hands with him.

Ahmed looked at me, frowned, and straightened my collar so that it stood up at the back of my neck.

‘When are you going to buy a jacket with sleeves in it, Lin?’

‘When you start selling them at the New House of Style,’ I said. ‘ Allah hafiz .’

‘ Salaam, salaam ,’ he laughed.

We rode away, and then Karla told me that the mirror was my second birthday present, reminding me, again, that it was my birthday, which I’d happily forgotten.

‘Please don’t tell anyone else,’ I called over my shoulder.

‘I know,’ she called back. ‘You like celebrating other people’s birthdays, and forgetting your own. Your secret’s safe with me.’

‘I love you, Karla. I was thinking that, just before. And thanks, for the mirror. You really got me there.’

‘I always get you there.’

We had more time to get one another, and ride and share a drink and eat meals together, because I sold my money-change operation to Jagat, for the twenty-five per cent he was already giving me. He managed the racket better than I did, and earned more money, respect and discipline from the shopkeeper changers. The fact that a year or so before he ran my bing he’d cut the little finger off a thief who stole from him added a certain sting to his slap.

I couldn’t visit Half-Moon Auntie in the fish market again, because Karla recruited her.

‘You want me to run your books?’ Half-Moon Auntie asked.

‘Who knows more about keeping people’s money safe than you do, Half-Moon Auntie?’ Karla said, facing pointed quarters of the moon.

‘That’s true,’ Half-Moon Auntie replied, considering. ‘But it could be a big job.’

‘Not that big,’ Karla said. ‘We only keep one set of books.’

‘I am accustomed to my regular visitors,’ Half-Moon Auntie said, leaning forward and beginning an orbital drift toward half-moon.

‘What you do behind your closed door is your business,’ Karla said. ‘What you do when the door is open is our business. If you’re interested, I have a friend, named Randall, who has a limousine. It’s parked below my building, most of the time.’

‘A limousine,’ Half-Moon Auntie said thoughtfully.

‘With blackout windows, and a long mattress in the back.’

‘I will consider it,’ Half-Moon Auntie replied, lifting one foot effortlessly behind her head.

And a few days later she considered her way into an apartment office, under our rooms at the Amritsar hotel, where Karla had rented the whole floor.

Half-Moon Auntie’s office was next to two others, already painted and furnished. One room bore the title Blue Hijab Marriage Counselling Services . The Muslim communist, or communist Muslim, had reunited with Mehmu earlier than expected, and she’d called Karla, asking if the offer of a partnership was still open.

‘She’s not here, yet,’ I said, when the brass sign was attached to the door.

‘She will be,’ Karla smiled. ‘ Inshallah .’

‘What’s the third office for?’

‘Surprises,’ she purred. ‘You have no idea what surprises I have in store for you, Shantaram.’

‘Can you surprise me with dinner? I’m starving.’

We were having dinner in the front garden of a Colaba Back Bay bistro, when we heard shouting from the street, a few steps away.

A car had stopped beside a man walking on the road. The men in the car were shouting for money he owed them. Two of the men got out of the car.

As we looked at the commotion, I saw that the man was Kesh, the Memory Man. He had his hands over his head as the two thugs began to hit him.

Karla and I got up from the table and joined Kesh. We made enough noise for them to get back in the car, and drive away.

Karla helped Kesh to sit with us, at the table.

‘A glass of water, please!’ she called to the waiter. ‘Are you alright, Kesh?’

‘I’m okay, Miss Karla,’ he said, rubbing a knot of bad debt on the top of his head. ‘I’ll go, now.’

He stood to leave, but we pulled him back into his chair.

‘Have dinner with us, Kesh,’ Karla said. ‘You can test your memory against ours. You’re pretty good, but my money’s on us.’

‘I really shouldn’t -’

‘You really should,’ I said, waving the waiter to our table.

Kesh looked at the menu carefully, closed it and made his choices.

‘The zucchini, black olive and crushed artichoke paste risotto,’ the waiter repeated. ‘The iceberg, seasoned with cracked pepper, ginger and pistachio sauce, and a tiramisu.’

‘You’re incorrect,’ Kesh said. ‘The cracked pepper, ginger and pistachio sauce is with the rocket salad, which is number seventy-seven on your menu. The iceberg is with lemon-garlic, chilli pepper and walnut-avocado sauce, which is number seventy-six on your menu.’

The waiter opened his mouth to reply, but his mental scan of the menu confirmed Kesh’s correction, and he walked away, shaking his head.

‘What’s the problem, Kesh?’ I asked.

‘I owe money,’ he said, smiling from the side of his disillusion. ‘The Memory Man business isn’t what it used to be. People are using phones for everything, now. Pretty soon, the whole world will be able to communicate with anyone, so long as they’re not actually there.’

‘You know what?’ I suggested, as the food arrived. ‘Grab a taxi, and come to the Amritsar hotel after this. We’ll be there ahead of you, on the bike.’

‘What have you got in mind?’ Karla squinted at me, lashes like lace.

‘Surprises,’ I tried to purr. ‘You have no idea what surprises I have in store for you , Karla.’

Didier was certainly surprised when I brought Kesh into his office, next to Karla’s at the Amritsar.

‘I do not see the… requirement for his services,’ Didier said, sitting professionally at his desk beside Naveen’s.

‘Kesh is the best Memory Man in the south, Didier,’ Naveen observed, sitting professionally at his own desk. ‘What did you have in mind, Lin?’

‘You know how you said that people always freeze up when you record their witness statements? They see the recorder and they freeze up?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Kesh can be your recorder. He remembers every conversation he hears. He can be your human recorder, and people will talk naturally in front of him.’

‘I like it,’ Karla laughed.

‘You do?’ Didier doubted.

‘I’ll hire him right now if you don’t, Didier.’

‘Hired,’ Didier said. ‘We have an interview with a millionaire and his wife, tomorrow morning at ten. Their daughter has gone missing. You can attend. But your mode of dress must be more… executive … in appearance.’

‘See you guys later,’ I said, pulling Kesh with us from their office.

In the corridor outside I gave him some money. He tried to stop me.

‘You have to clear all your debts tonight, Kesh,’ I said. ‘We don’t want those guys showing up around here. And you’re going straight tomorrow morning, remember? Go around and pay everyone off. Get clean, and be here at nine. Be the first one here, and the last to leave. You’ll do fine.’

He started to cry. I stepped back a pace, and let Karla take over. She hugged him, and he calmed down quickly.

‘You know what Didier said, about dressing like an executive?’ I said.

‘Yes. I’ll try to -’

‘To hell with that. Dress like you are. Act like you are. People will talk to you, just like I’m talking to you, and you’ll be good at this. If Didier hassles you, tell him I ordered you not to dress like a slave.’

‘He’s right, Kesh,’ Karla said. ‘Just be yourself, and everything will be fine.’