Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘This bike-talk is fun,’ I said after a while. ‘You gotta admit.’

‘Then try holding up your end of the conversation. It’s tumbleweeds back here, Shantaram.’

‘Okay. Here goes. You talked about Ranjit, on the mountain. I didn’t say much then, but now that we’re bike-talking, I have a question. Why doesn’t Ranjit, who must keep living for a few months, just sell up and take you a long way from anywhere?’

‘He told you about the bomb, didn’t he?’

‘What did he tell you ?’

‘He said you told him to fire the chauffeur. You were right, by the way. The guy was crooked.’

‘Ranjit went to a lot of trouble, asking me not to tell you, and then he went home and told you all about it.’

‘He’s a politician. Politics isn’t lying. It’s the art of knowing who’s lying.’

‘That still doesn’t answer the question. Why doesn’t he take the money and run? He’s a rich man.’

She laughed, surprising me, because I couldn’t read her face, and because I didn’t think any part of it was funny.

‘You can’t run away from the game, Lin,’ she said.

‘I like this conversation. What are we talking about?’

‘Wherever you find it,’ she said, leaning in close, her breath on my neck. ‘Whatever it looks like, when you find the game that hooks you, there’s nowhere else you can be. Am I right?’

‘Are we talking about Ranjit, or Karla?’

‘We’re both players.’

‘I don’t like games. You know that.’

‘Some games might be worth the play.’

‘Like being king of Bombay, for instance?’

I felt the tension move through her as she pushed away again.

‘How do you know that?’

‘He’s ambitious,’ I said. ‘It shows. He has enemies.’

She was silent for a while, and I had no clue to her thoughts. Bike-talking had its drawbacks.

‘Ranjit’s an imitation good guy,’ she said, ‘in a cast of genuine bad guys.’

‘An imitation good guy? They’re usually the ones who give genuine bad guys a bad name.’

‘Bad guys do a pretty good job of that on their own,’ she replied, laughing a little.

‘Why play games, Karla? Get out of this, now.’

‘I game , because I’m good at it. I game good.’

‘Walk away. If Ranjit’s so determined to be political, you’ve gotta be the one to walk away.’

‘Is this about Ranjit and me, or about you and me?’

‘This is about you. If we weren’t doing bike-talk, I probably wouldn’t be able to say it at all. Not to your eyes. I don’t like what’s going on. I don’t think Ranjit has any right to put you at risk. No ambition’s worth that.’

‘I’ll buy a bike,’ she said, leaning close again, and smiling on my back. ‘You’ll teach me to ride.’

‘I mean it, Karla. He’s rattling the unfriendly cage. Sooner or later, whatever’s inside the cage is gonna get out.’

‘Why are we talking about this?’

‘It’s like this. Ranjit can do politics, and I’ll ask friends to watch out for him, but you don’t have to be Ranjit’s wife here . You can be Ranjit’s wife a long way away from here. In London, for example.’

‘London?’

‘A lot of Indian wives escape to London.’

‘But I’m a Bombay girl, yaar. What would I do in London?’

‘You’re also American, and Swiss, and a lot of other nice places. You could set up a house in London for Ranjit, with Ranjit’s money, and hope he rarely visits it. Make it cool. Bombay cool. But make it so you can walk away, and never look back.’

‘And I’m still asking, what would I do there?’

‘You’d keep a low profile. And you’d use any extra money to make money for yourself, until you don’t need anyone else’s extra money any more.’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘Yeah. The real reason why so many people want to be rich is because they want to be free. Freedom means that you don’t need anyone else’s money.’

‘How does that work again?’ she asked, laughing.

‘Maybe you shave your lifestyle, save some money, and put a down payment on a house for yourself. You’re smart. In no time, you’ll turn one house into five.’

‘My lifestyle?’

‘What do I know? But whatever you do in London or anywhere would be safer than what you’re doing here, with Ranjit. Someone’s gonna hit him, and hit him hard, because he won’t shut up, and his political ambitions are making people nervous. Hell, I want to hit him, and I hardly even know him.’

‘His mouth is what put him in the game. That’s his table stake. If he wins this fight, his face will be on the political poster of his choice. He’ll get elected, too. I’m sure of it. And anyway, why the hell should he shut up, when he’s right?’

‘It’s not safe for you, that’s why.’

‘Let me tell you a little something about safety,’ she murmured, her face against the pillow of my back. ‘Safety is a cave, a nice warm cave, but the light is where the adventure is.’

‘Karla,’ I said, careful not to move, ‘you’ve got no idea how cool this is, listening to you, but not seeing you.’

‘You’re such an ass,’ she said, not moving.

‘No, really, it’s just great. And I was listening. I heard every word. Look, in my view, but who am I, the right woman is a big enough dream. If a guy wants a whole city, there’s something wrong with him.’

‘ Less wrong than you, or more wrong than you, on a scale of you ?’ she laughed.

‘You can’t go back home,’ I said firmly, my hands tight on the handlebars, ‘because you don’t know what’s waiting for you. And you can’t stay here, because you do know what’s waiting for you.’

I was glad she couldn’t see my face, and glad she didn’t pull away.

‘Look, you’re probably on a most-wanted list, Karla. And I’m definitely most-wanted. We’re who we are, and who we are has no place in lives of public ambition. It’s bad for them, and it’s a lot worse for us if it falls down, and they’re looking for someone to blame for it.’

‘I’m okay,’ she murmured. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘I don’t want to think of something happening to you, Karla. Ranjit’s making me think of it. A lot. I don’t like him for it. One way or another, this guy puts himself on everybody’s hurt list. Have mercy. Send me a postcard from London, and give me some peace of mind.’

‘Mercy,’ she said softly. ‘My favourite inessential virtue. I think you’ve done this motorcycle talk before.’

‘I was right about this, wasn’t I? It’s damn cool.’

‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘Is it my turn now?’

‘Your turn?’

‘Yeah.’

‘For motorcycle talk?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sure, talk away,’ I said confidently, not careful what I wished for.

She nestled in tighter, her lips close.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Ready for what?’

‘You don’t need coffee, or a joint?’

‘I’m good. I’m so good.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Gimme a dramatic pause.’

‘But -’

‘Shut up! You’re dramatic pausing.’

There was a dramatic pause.

‘That… truly… fucking… transcendent ride home,’ she said at last, murmuring the words onto my skin, ‘was a rip through space and time, baby. When you crashed down two gears and gunned it, passing between the passenger bus and the water tanker, my soul left my body. When we slid the closing gap and roared through, a voice in my head said Oh yeah… Oh yeah… Oh God… Oh God… all the way home.’

She stopped, and stopped my heart.

‘How am I doin’ here, Shantaram, without all of my queens?’

Fine. She was doing fine. I turned in the saddle until I could see a corner of her face.