Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [148]
He saw Mary’s drunken father, silver buttons twinkling on his red shirt, lying in the gutter by Hibiscus Society like something inedible spat out by the neighbourhood.
The first honest man I have seen all day, Masterji thought, looking down at the gutter with a smile.
He took a step towards the gutter, and stopped. He remembered that there was a better place to escape to.
When he got back to Vishram, he walked on the roof, turning in circles, wanting to be as far above them all as possible.
Mani, Ajwani’s assistant, knew that his boss did not want to be disturbed. Standing outside the glass door of the Renaissance Real-Estate Agency, he had seen Mrs. Puri and the broker talking to each other for over half an hour. Something big was going on in there; he had been given charge of keeping Mrs. Puri’s Ramu occupied outside the office.
On the other hand, it was a girl.
He pushed open the glass door and put his head in.
“Sir ….”
“Mani, didn’t you hear what I said?” Ajwani winced.
Mani just stepped aside, to let the boss see what had turned up.
Ajwani’s frown became a pretty smile.
Though today she wore a black salwar kameez, it was the same woman who had come dressed in that sky-blue sari the day Shanmugham had delivered the details of Mr. Shah’s proposal.
“Ms. Swathi. Sit down, sit down. This is my neighbour Mrs. Puri.”
The girl was almost in tears.
“I came looking for you earlier, sir. I have to speak to you now, it’s urgent.”
“Yes?” The broker leaned forward, his hands folded. Mrs. Puri sighed.
She had almost convinced Ajwani, and then this happens.
The girl reminded the broker. He had helped her find a place in Hibiscus Society. She was supposed to move in today. He remembered, he remembered.
There had been a lift in the Hibiscus building when she had visited with him, but when she had gone there today, the lift was not working. It would not be repaired for three months, the landlord said. “How will my parents go up the stairs, Mr. Ajwani? Mother had a hip replacement last year.”
Ajwani retreated into his chair. He pointed a finger behind his head.
“I told you to worship Information, Ms. Swathi. You should have asked about the lift back then. The landlord is within his rights to keep the deposit if you cancel the lease.”
She began to sob.
“But we need that money, or how will we go looking for another place?”
Ajwani made a gesture of futility.
“I suppose you’re also going to bring up the matter of the broker’s fee that you gave me.”
She nodded.
“Sixteen thousand rupees. Like the landlord, I have every legal right to keep it.”
Ajwani’s foot left its chappal, and opened the lowest drawer of the desk. He leaned down and brought up a bundle of cash, from which he counted off five-hundred-rupee notes. Mrs. Puri stared.
The broker counted them again, moistening his right index finger on his tongue thirty-two times; then pushed the bundle of notes across the table.
“I’ll phone the landlord. Go home, Ms. Swathi. Call me tomorrow, around four o’clock.”
The girl looked at him, through her sobs, with surprise.
“A rare thing in this modern age, Ms. Swathi. The way you take care of your parents.”
Mrs. Puri waited till the girl had left, and said: “This is why you never became rich, Ajwani. You waste your money. You should have kept the sixteen thousand rupees.”
The broker rubbed his metal and plastic rings. “Women I did well with, in life. Money, never.”
“Then become rich now, Ajwani. Be like Mr. Shah for once in your life. What you did today with a pole, do again tomorrow on the terrace.”
This was where they had left off.
“I’m not frightened,” Ajwani said. “Don’t think I am.”
About to speak, Mrs. Puri saw Mani, and stopped.
The broker looked at his assistant. “Go outside and play with Ramu,” he said. “You shouldn’t leave the boy alone out there.”
Mani sighed. He stood outside the office and pointed at passing cars and trucks; Ramu held on to the little finger of his left hand. He was still sobbing because of the way the chick’s head had been