Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [156]
… it is not “just a push.” It is killing a man.
A rubber ball struck the demon’s face painted on the wall of the Tamil temple.
Masterji opened his eyes, and stood up in the shade of the fruit tree. He realized he had gone to sleep. As he rubbed his eyes, he heard a woman’s voice booming: “Rakesh: is that how to bowl? Don’t you watch TV?”
Masterji hid behind the tree; he had recognized the voice.
“Yes, Aunty. Sorry.”
“I am not your aunty.”
Half a dozen boys converged around Mrs. Rego. Sunil and Sarah were with her, and also Ramu, who was dressed in a red shirt, with make-up on his face and a golden sword in his hand. The pageant day must have ended. Why was Mrs. Puri not around? Why had she left Ramu with Mrs. Rego, of all people? But he no longer had any right to ask about their lives.
“… boys, a promise is a promise, I know, but I just can’t go today. I will take you to the beach, and all of us will have sugarcane juice there. In the meantime I hope all of you have been staying out of trouble and ….”
“Aunty, no trip to the beach and a lecture? That’s not fair, is it?”
“I am sorry, Vikram. I will take all of you one day.”
The cricket game continued after Mrs. Rego left. One of the boys chased the ball into the temple courtyard.
“Masterji,” he said. “I’m Mary’s son. Timothy.”
Taking the old teacher by the hand he brought him out to show the other boys. At once, two of them ran away.
“What happened?” Masterji asked.
“Oh, that Kumar, he’s a strange boy. Dharmendar too.”
Timothy smiled.
“Will you take us to the beach, Masterji? Mrs. Rego Aunty was supposed to take us.”
“Why do you want to go to the beach?”
“Why do you think? To play cricket there.”
“So go on your own.”
“Well, someone has to pay for bus fare. And sugarcane juice afterwards, Masterji.”
“Ah,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take you there one of these days. If you can answer this question: why are there tides at the beach?”
“No reason.”
“There is a reason for everything.” Masterji pointed to the boy who had been bowling at Timothy. “What is your name?”
“Vijay.”
“Do you know the reason, Vijay?”
He picked up a red stone, went to the wall of the Tamil temple, and drew a circle above the demon’s wide-open mouth.
“This is the earth. Our planet. In infinite space.”
Masterji saw shadows on the wall—he felt sweat and heat nearby—he realized that they had all gathered behind him.
“Our earth is that small?” someone asked.
About to reply, Masterji stopped and said: “I can start a school here. An evening school.”
“Evening school?” Timothy asked. “For who?”
The boys looked at one another; Masterji looked at them and smiled, as if the answer were obvious.
The sun had slipped in between two skyscrapers on Malabar Hill; the nearer of the buildings had become a flickering silhouette, a thing alternately of dark and light, like the lowest visible slab of a ghat descending into a river.
Ajwani sat on the sea wall of Marine Drive, looking at the tetrapod rocks below him and the waves washing around them.
He had been thinking for over an hour, ever since he had come down here from Falkland Road. It all made sense to him now. So this was why Shah paid Tower B ahead of time. To get everyone at Vishram desperate. This was why he did nothing when the story ran in the newspaper. He wanted them to do it.
“And making Shanmugham tell me his life’s story,” Ajwani said, aloud, surprising a young Japanese man who had sat down by his side to take photographs of the city.
Ajwani thought about the details of Mr. Shah’s story. Now it seemed to him that something was wrong with the information. If Shah had come to Bombay with only twelve rupees and eighty paise, and no shoes on his feet, how did he manage to open a grocery store in Kalbadevi? There was a father in the village—he must have sent him money. Men do have a sense of responsibility to their first wife’s sons. Ajwani struck