Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘Let’s fucking go , already!’ Divya snapped, grinding out the cigarette under the sole of her shoe.

Naveen shook my hand. I held it firmly for a moment.

‘The guy following the Zodiac Georges,’ I said. ‘His name’s Wilson, registered at -’

‘The Mahesh,’ Naveen finished for me. ‘I know. In all this, I forgot to tell you. I tracked him down last night. How did you find out?’

‘He came here, looking for information.’

‘Did he get any?’

‘Dilip, the duty sergeant – do you know him?’

‘Yeah. Lightning Dilip. We’ve got a little history.’

‘He says Mr Wilson wouldn’t pay, so he threw him out.’

‘You believe him?’

‘Not usually.’

‘You want me to go see this Wilson?’

‘Not yet. Not without me. Check him out. Find out what you can about him. Get back to me, okay?’

‘ Thik ,’ Naveen smiled. ‘I’ll get on it, and -’

‘This is the fucking longest I’ve ever stood up,’ Divya interrupted angrily, ‘on my legs , for God’s sake, in the same fucking place , for God’s sake, in my whole fucking life ! Do you think we can get on with it now?’

Naveen smiled a goodbye, and escorted the poor little rich girl through the arched gate.

‘It’s Farzad !’ Farzad called after her. ‘My name’s Farzad !’

When he lost sight of her, the young Parsi turned to me, grinning widely.

‘Damn it all to hell , yaar! What a beautiful girl! And such a nice nature! Some of those super-mega-rich girls, they can be very stuck-up and all, so I’ve heard. But she’s so natural, and she’s -’

‘Will you cut it out!’

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words withered when he saw my expression.

‘Sorry,’ he said bashfully. ‘But… did you see the colour of her eyes! Oh, my God ! Like bits of shining stuff, you know, dipped in something… really, really full of… really lovely stuff, like a bucket of… loveliness… honey.’

‘Please, Farzad. I haven’t had my breakfast.’

‘Sorry, Lin. Hey, that’s it! Have breakfast! Can you come to my place? Can you come home with me, now? You promised to come this week!’

‘That’s gonna be a no , Farzad.’

‘Please come! I have to see my Mom and Pop, take my bath and change my clothes before I go to work. Come with me. They’ll still be having breakfast at home, some of them, and they’d love to meet you. Especially after you saved my life, and all.’

‘I didn’t save your -’

‘Please, baba! Trust me, believe me, they’re waiting to meet you, and it’s very important that you come, and you’ll find it damn interesting at my house!’

‘Look, I -’

‘Please! Please, Lin!’

Four motorcycles pulled up hard beside us. They were Sanjay Company men. The leader of the group was Ravi, a young soldier in Abdullah’s enforcement group.

‘Hey, Lin,’ Ravi said, his eyes behind mercury lens mirrors. ‘We heard some Scorpions are having breakfast at one of our places in the Fort. We’re all heading there to kick the shit out of them. Wanna come along?’

I glanced at Farzad.

‘I’ve already got a breakfast date,’ I said.

‘Really?’ Farzad said.

‘Okay, Lin,’ Ravi said, putting his bike in gear. ‘I’ll bring you back a souvenir.’

‘Please don’t,’ I said, but he was already riding away.

The Fort area was only a thirty-minute walk from where we were standing, and roughly the same distance from Sanjay’s mansion. If the Scorpions were really provoking a fight so close to home, the war that Sanjay had tried to deal away was already on his doorstep.

‘Do you think they might take me with them, one of these days?’ Farzad asked, watching the four motorcycles vanish in the traffic. ‘It would be so cool, to kick some ass with them.’

I looked at the young forger, who’d been kicked unconscious the night before but was already thinking of kicking someone else. It wasn’t cruelty or callousness: Farzad’s violent fantasy of brotherhood and blood was a boy’s bravado. He was no gangster. After just a few hours in the cells, he was already breaking down. He was a good kid, in a bad Company.

‘If you ever go with them, and I come to hear about it,’ I said, ‘I’ll kick your ass myself.’

He thought about it for a moment.

‘Are you still coming to breakfast, please?’

‘Count on it,’ I said, putting an arm around his shoulder, and leading him to my bike.

Bombay, even now, is a city of words. Everyone talks, everywhere, and all the time. Drivers ask other drivers for directions, strangers talk to strangers, cops talk to criminals, Left talks to Right, and if you want a letter or parcel delivered, you have to include a few words about a landmark in the address: opposite the Heera Panna, or nearby to Copper Chimney. And words in Bombay, even little words like please, please come , still have adventures attached, like sails.

Farzad rode pillion with me for the short trip to the Colaba Back Bay, near Cuffe Parade, pointing out his favourite places. He liked to talk, that kid, and started three stories inspired by places we passed, but didn’t finish any of them.

When we parked outside his parents’ home I looked up at a huge house, at least three storeys high, with gabled attics. The impressive, triple-fronted house was one of three between streets on either side, forming a small inner-city block.

Joined to the similar homes on either side, the Daruwalla mansion presented a façade that we South Bombay partisans love: the architectural flourishes inherited from the British Raj, cast in local granite and sandstone by Indian artists.

The windows boasted stained-glass embellishments, decorative stone arches, and wrought-iron security spirals, sprouting elegant metal vine leaf traceries. A flowering hedge gave privacy and shaded the morning sun.

The wide, wooden door, flanked by Rajasthan pillars and adorned with complex geometric carvings, swung open silently as Farzad used his key and led me into the vestibule.

The high, marble-walled entry hall was decorated with garlands of flowers trailing from urns set into scalloped alcoves. Incense filled the air with the scent of sandalwood. Directly ahead of us, opposite the main door, was a ceiling-high curtain made of red velvet.

‘Are you ready?’ Farzad asked theatrically, his hand on the partition of the curtains.

‘I’m armed,’ I smiled. ‘If that’s what you mean.’

Farzad pulled one half of the curtains aside, holding it back for me to pass. We walked on through a dark passageway and arrived at a set of folding doors. Farzad slid the panels back. I stepped through.

The vast space beyond the corridor was so high that I could only vaguely make out the detail of its sunlit uppermost reaches, and the width clearly encompassed a far greater space than Farzad’s home alone.

At ground level, two long tables had been set for breakfast, with perhaps fifteen place settings at each table. Several men, women and children were sitting there.

What appeared to be two fully equipped kitchens, open to view, formed the left and right boundaries of the ground floor. Beyond them, doors at the back and sides of the vast chamber led to other closed rooms.

My eyes roved to the upper floors. Ladders led to head-height walkways. Ladders from those wooden pathways led to still higher boardwalks, supported on bamboo scaffolding. Several men and women chipped or scraped at the walls serenely, here and there on the walkways.

A parting in the monsoon cloud sent sunlight spilling from high turret windows. The whole space was suddenly a topaz-yellow lucency. It was like a cathedral, without the fear.