River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [56]
Some of these articles of clothing came from the impecunious pilgrims, missionaries, soldiers and travellers who passed through the port. But many arrived from much farther afield, having been robbed, purloined or pirated at distant corners of the Indian Ocean – for amongst those who regularly plied these waters, it was well known that there was no better place than the Wordy-Market in which to dispose of stolen garments. Here, even more than in other bazars, buyers were well-advised to examine their goods carefully because many were marked by bloodstains, bullet holes, dagger punctures and other unsightly disfigurements. Caution was especially necessary with the more sumptuous garments – panelled chaopao coats and embroidered chang-fu robes – for many of these were retrieved from tombs and graves, and would often, upon inspection, be found to have been gnawed by worms. But if there were risks in shopping here, they were amply offset by the rewards: in what other place could a deserter exchange his tricorn and gorget for a suit of English clothes? That such a place would not be allowed to continue for ever was clear enough, but while it lasted, the Wordy-Market was recognized to be a godsend by all.
It was Neel who heard of the clothes bazar, from a Kalinga boatman who lived in the Chulia kampung. It was welcome news, for he and Ah Fatt had arrived wearing whatever clothes they had been able to acquire in the outer islands – pyjamas, vests and some threadbare sarongs. These bedraggled garments clearly would not do if they were to avoid drawing attention to themselves but their purses had dwindled by this time and the clothes that were on offer in the town’s shops were far beyond their means.
The Wordy-Market was the perfect solution to their plight: the first items they bought were cloth bags, and these they proceeded to fill, going from one stall to another, haggling in a mixture of tongues. Neel bought a European-style coat and some pyjamas, narrow and broad, a few sirbands and bandhnas to serve as turbans, and three or four light cotton angarkhas. Ah Fatt collected a similarly eclectic mix: a paletot, some shirts and breeches, several tunics, black and white, and a couple of Chinese gowns.
They were heading towards the shoe stalls when a voice came booming at them, loud enough to be heard over the din of the marketplace. ‘Freddy! Bloody bugger …!’
Ah Fatt froze and the blood drained from his face. He kept on walking, without looking back, prodding Neel to keep pace. After a few steps, he said, in an undertone: ‘Look-see who it is. What he look like?’
Glancing over his shoulder, Neel caught sight of a heavy-bellied man, impeccably dressed in European clothes: the face under the hat was very dark, the eyes white and protuberant, and he was hurrying after the two of them with an armload of newly purchased clothing.
‘How he look?’
Before Neel could say anything, the voice boomed at them again: ‘Freddy! Arré Freddy you bloody falto bugger! It’s me, Vico!’
From the side of his mouth Ah Fatt hissed at Neel: ‘You go on. Keep walking. We talk later.’
Neel gave him a nod and walked on at a steady pace, not stopping till he was a good distance away. Then, from the shelter of a stall, he turned to watch the two men.
Even from that distance it was clear that Vico was pleading with Ah Fatt, who seemed unconvinced and unresponsive. But in a while he unbent a little, and Vico, visibly relieved, gave him a hug before hurrying off towards the creek, where an elegant ship’s cutter awaited him.
Neel waited a bit before intercepting Ah Fatt. ‘Who was that?’
‘Father’s purser, Vico. I tell you about him, no?’
‘What did he say?’
‘He say, Father sick. He want me very much. I must go see him.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘Yes,’ said Ah Fatt in his laconic way. ‘I go to ship. Later today. They send boat for me.’
For reasons that he could not quite understand, Neel was deeply disquieted by Ah Fatt’s plan. ‘But we have to talk about this, Ah Fatt,’ he said. ‘What will you