Devil's Rock - Chris Speyer [52]
‘Well . . .’ began Zaki.
‘We’d like there to be a point. We all want a reason for being here, but that suggests there is somebody out there who thought it all up – an inventor God with a big master plan. Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn’t. Personally, I like to invent my own life. I don’t want life to be a test that I can get right or wrong. Do you think, when we die, God gives us marks out of ten? “Dear, dear, deary-me! Sorry, Mr Dalal – nought out of ten for you. You completely missed the point of your life.”’
The cut on Zaki’s cheek began to itch and prickle. He rubbed it with the tips of his fingers. His present life was complicated enough; he didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of others.
‘If we’re not just bodies, what else are we?’ asked Anusha.
Zaki looked expectantly at Anusha’s father, hoping for a clear answer. Hoping for some explanation for today’s events. How was it that he had been able to slip out of his body? After all, he’d always thought he was his body. He hoped Mr Dalal would talk about souls or spirits.
Mr Dalal thought for a minute. ‘You’d agree, wouldn’t you, that a dead body is not the same as a living one?’
‘Of course,’ said Anusha.
‘Doesn’t that answer your question?’
‘That’s the trouble with Dad,’ Anusha said to Zaki, ‘he can never give you a straight answer!’
‘Sometimes, when I’m sailing our boat, I forget about everything,’ said Zaki slowly. There was something here, he was sure, but it kept slipping out of his reach.
Mr Dalal leant forward. ‘Go on.’
Zaki hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘It just feels right – right to be there – right to be doing what I’m doing. I think that’s when I’m really me. I don’t think that particular me has got anything to do with being in this particular body.’
‘I would say you’ve found your true identity,’ said Mr Dalal with a big smile.
Mrs Dalal came back into the room and sat down next to Zaki. ‘Your dad says that’s fine and I told him I’d make sure you found your way home tomorrow.’ This time it was Mrs Dalal who shot a meaningful glance at her daughter, who pulled a face. It seemed to Zaki that there was always a second conversation going on in this family, a conversation of the eyes in which unspoken understandings flashed backwards and forward.
‘Thank you,’ said Zaki. It felt good to be looked after.
‘What have I missed?’ asked Mrs Dalal.
‘Dad’s been going on,’ said Anusha.
‘Sandeep, you’re not boring our visitor, are you?’
‘Not even minutely,’ declared Mr Dalal, quite unabashed.
Zaki felt for the bracelet in his pocket. He eased it out and laid it on the dining table. Mr Dalal’s expression became suddenly serious. He looked from the bracelet to Zaki and raised one eyebrow.
‘Anusha said you might know where it’s from,’ said Zaki.
‘I thought it looked Indian,’ added Anusha.
‘May I take a closer look?’ asked Mr Dalal.
‘Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to handle it too much,’ said Zaki.
Without enquiring why that should be, Mr Dalal took a table napkin and, with it, picked up the bracelet as though he were handling an ancient relic in a museum.
‘Probably Sri Lankan, rather than Indian,’ he said. ‘This metal is quite unusual. It’s bronze, you see, but not the common bronze alloy; this is a high-tin bronze. Look at the colour. Look where it has become a little polished. You see? It’s quite pale; that’s the effect of plenty of tin. High-tin bronze was developed in Sri Lanka for making bells. The tin makes the bronze brittle, but it gives the bells a special clear tone. Whoever made this was probably a bell maker, maybe from Kandy in the hill country. This type of bronze is made in very, very few places.’ He turned the bracelet so that he could examine the rim. ‘Ah ha! This bracelet was made for a musician.’
Mrs Dalal leant close to her husband. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Look at the inscriptions, my dear.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Dalal.
‘What are they?’ asked Zaki. ‘I thought they were some kind of writing.’
‘More like musical notation, I would say,’ replied Mr Dalal. ‘I think they are drumming patterns.