Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [9]
A glistening eel of water, its dark body now tinted with reddish earth, nosed its way towards the parliament. Mr. Pinto lifted the front feet of the “prime” chair and moved out of the sewage-eel’s path; and it was forgotten.
“Have you seen anyone going into her room?” the Secretary asked.
“Of course not,” Mrs. Puri said. “I am not one to pry into my neighbours’ lives, am I?”
“Ram Khare hasn’t told me he has seen any boy come into the building at night.”
“What does that mean, Ram Khare has seen nothing?” Mrs. Puri protested. “A whole army could come in, and he would see nothing.”
The stray dog, having done crunching its channa, ran towards the parliament, trotted throught the water, slid under the chairs, and headed up the stairwell, as if pointing out to them the solution to their crisis.
The Secretary followed the dog.
Breathing heavily, one hand on the banister and one hand on her hip, Mrs. Puri went up the stairs. Through the star-shaped holes in the wall she could see Mr. Pinto standing by the black cross to keep watch on Ramu until she returned.
She smelled the dog on the second landing of the stairs. Amber eyes shone in the dim stairwell; pale legs, impastoed with dry dung, shivered. Mrs. Puri stepped over the sickly legs and walked to the third floor.
The Secretary was standing by Masterji’s door, with a finger on his lips. From inside the open door, they could hear voices.
“… and my hand represents …?”
“Yes, Masterji.”
“Answer the question, boys: my hand represents …?”
“The earth.”
“Correct. For once.”
The bi-weekly science “top-up” was in session. Mrs. Puri joined the Secretary by the door, the only one in Vishram Society unmarked by religious icons.
“This is the earth in infinite space. Home of Man. Follow me?”
Reverence for science and learning made the Secretary stand with folded hands. Mrs. Puri pushed past him to the door. She closed an eye and spied in.
The living room was dark, the curtains were drawn; a table lamp was the only source of light.
A silhouette of a huge fist, looking like a dictator’s gesture, appeared on the wall.
A man stood next to the table lamp, making shadows on the wall. Four children sitting on a sofa watched the shadows he conjured; another sat on the floor.
“And my second fist, which is going around the Earth, is what?”
“The sun, Masterji”—one of the boys.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, no, no. The sun is this. See—” A click, and the room went entirely black. “Earth without sun.” Click. “Earth with sun. Understand? Lamp: sun.”
“Yes, Masterji.”
“All of you say it together.”
“Yes, Masterji”—three voices.
“All of you.”
“Yes, Masterji”—four.
“So my second, that is to say, my moving fist is—? Big white object seen at night if you look up.”
“Moon.”
“Correct. MOON. Earth’s satellite. How many satellites does the Earth have?”
“Can we go now, Masterji?”
“Only after we get to the eclipse. And what are you wriggling about for, Mohammad?”
“Anand is pinching me, Masterji.”
“Stop pinching him, Anand. This is physics, not fun. Now: how many satellites does ….”
The boy on the floor said: “Question, Masterji.”
“Yes?”
“Masterji, what happened when the dinosaurs died out? Show us again how the meteor hit the earth.”
“And tell us about global warming again, Masterji.”
“You’re trying to avoid my question by asking your own. Do you think I taught in school for thirty-four years not to see through tricks like this?”
“It’s not a trick, Masterji, it’s a—”
“Enough for today. Class is over,” Masterji said and clapped his hands.
“We can go in now,” the Secretary whispered. Mrs. Puri pushed open the door and turned the lights on in the room.
The four boys who had been sitting on the sofa—Sunil Rego (1B), Anand Ganguly (5B), Raghav Ajwani (2C), and Mohammad Kudwa (4C)—got up. Tinku Kothari (4A), the fat son of the Secretary, struggled to his feet from the floor.
“Enough, boys, go