The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [274]
“ Sahib. Yih achcha jagah nahin!” one of the Sikhs said to him. “No good place, Sahib. Come quick.” He was leading them towards a short cut which would take them away from the principal road through the bazaar.
They plunged into a wilderness of dark and stinking streets, so narrow that there was hardly room for two people to pass each other. Their way led down flights of twisting steps and past shadowy doorways redolent of smoke, excrement and incense; sometimes the street narrowed to a mere slit between houses and once a massive, comatose Brahmin bull stumbled past them. Then, abruptly, they emerged from the stifling darkness into light and air. The dak bungalow lay beside them. While Fleury waited at the gate with the Sikhs Harry darted inside for the “fallen woman”.
After a few minutes Harry emerged alone, looking perturbed, to confer with Fleury. The “fallen woman”, whose name was Miss Hughes, was refusing to come. What on earth should he do? They could not possibly leave her alone for a second night without protection...And now, not content with refusing to come she was even thinking of killing herself again. Anyway, that is what she had said she was thinking of doing. She had implied that then he and all the others would not have to worry about her any longer. She might as well be dead, anyway, loathsome creature that she was, because now...(Harry had blushed at that “now” knowing only too well what it referred to)...because now she had nothing to live for. She had ruined herself.
“Nonsense!” Harry had declared gruffly. “You have a jolly great deal to live for.”
“Just tell me one single thing!” And Miss Hughes had turned her tear-stained face, which was like that of a sensual little angel, towards Harry.
“Well...Any amount of things.”
“What things?”
But Harry had been unable to think of anything. This was not the sort of thing he was good at. So he had dashed out to see if Fleury had any ideas. All this time the light was fading. To remain here after dark would be to invite disaster. So there was no time to lose. The two young men stared at each other in dismay.
“Tell her...tell her...” But Fleury, too, found himself baffled by this unexpected development. And it was not that his mind had gone completely blank, as Harry’s had...because he could think of a number of ways for a dishonoured woman to spend the rest of her life...becoming a nun, good works to achieve redemption, that sort of thing. The trouble was that these did not sound to him like the sort of lives one could recommend to someone who thought she had nothing to live for; they sounded too uncomfortable for that.
But this was getting them nowhere. The Sikhs were beginning to roll their eyes ironically, and the horses were becoming restive too.
“Look here, tell her what a joy it is just to be alive. You know, the smell of new-mown hay, crystal mountain streams, the beauty of the setting sun, the laughter of little children...or rather, no...never mind the children...And, of course, you might also bring in the woman taken in adultery, the casting of first stones, Our Lord loving sinners and so forth.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I stayed here and you spoke to Miss Hughes?” pleaded Harry.
“Certainly not. She knows you.”
So Harry again hurried inside, his lips moving silently as he rehearsed Fleury’s reasons for life being worth living. Outside, meanwhile, Fleury had to pretend not to notice that the Sikhs, their irony verging on impertinence, were ostentatiously saying goodbye to each other.
So it was that when Harry again emerged, distressed and still without Miss Hughes, it was less the fear of death in the native town than of appearing foolish