Devil's Rock - Chris Speyer [50]
It had been a long time since Zaki had taken part in a family meal. At home, since his mother left, they seldom ate together and, if they did, it was usually in front of the television. The novelty of all eating together added to Zaki’s discomfort, but the Dalals made sure he was included in the easy chatter and Zaki soon found that he was enjoying himself.
On arrival at Anusha’s place, Zaki had been sent upstairs to take a shower while his clothes were rinsed and tumble-dried, then Mrs Dalal had inspected his injuries and applied ointment to the cut on his cheek. Quite what Anusha had said to her while he was showering he never discovered, but there were no awkward questions during the meal and no one mentioned their absence from school.
The white walls of the room in which they ate were decorated with pieces of brightly coloured, printed fabric – Indian, Zaki supposed, but he didn’t really know. He thought of the bare walls of the living room at home. Nobody could see the point of putting up pictures when they all knew they would soon be moving on again.
There were shelves with a great many books and CDs. Woven rugs were scattered on the wooden floor.
A curious, grotesque mask hung on the wall directly opposite Zaki’s place at the table. Its gaping mouth was full of large, discoloured teeth, and curved fangs protruded from the corners. The eyes were bulbous and the forehead was crowned with a coiled cobra that appeared ready to strike. The skin was painted yellow and the lips a garish red.
Zaki couldn’t help noticing the large number of drums, musical instruments and instrument cases around the room and when Mr Dalal saw Zaki’s eyes wandering from one instrument to another he struck his forehead in mock horror crying, ‘Ah, how rude! We should have introduced you to the rest of the family.’
‘Sandeep! Don’t tease him,’ scolded Mrs Dalal.
‘Who’s teasing? All the instruments have names, don’t they?’
‘Just ignore him, Zaki,’ said Mrs Dalal. ‘Poor Sandeep is a musician, so he can’t help being mad, and he’s also a mathematician, so he’s doubly crazy.’ She was passing behind her husband’s chair as she spoke and she put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a playful hug.
‘That’s why she loves me,’ said Mr Dalal, looking very pleased with himself.
‘Go and fetch the ice cream. Make yourself useful,’ said Mrs Dalal.
‘Do you know that we Indians are the greatest mathematicians in the world?’ asked Mr Dalal as he prepared to leave the room. ‘It’s true! We invented everything, even zero. Without us, you’d still be counting on your fingers.’
‘Out!’ shouted Mrs Dalal, shaking a large serving spoon at him while she cleared plates from the table.
Mr Dalal danced out of the room while his wife shook her head despairingly.
‘I met him in Vienna,’ she said, as though that explained his antics.
‘Were you on holiday?’ asked Zaki.
‘No, I was studying the cello; Sandeep was studying mathematics and teaching classical Indian music. I went to one of his classes – thought it would make a change from Mozart. After that I seemed to keep bumping into him and every time we met he complained about being hungry – Sandeep’s a vegetarian and Austrian food’s all meat. One day, he said if I could find the ingredients he would teach me to cook an Indian meal. And that’s how we got to know each other – food and music.’
‘Music is the food of love,’ sang Mr Dalal, returning with the ice cream. ‘It was your good karma that guided you to your wonderful husband.’