The Game - Laurie R. King [102]
The entertainments were a bit too grown-up for her, I thought; I could only hope that what was to come did not shock her bone-deep innocence further.
But in the end, the gyrations of the nautch girls were more athletic than erotic, and the three impossibly flexible Chinese contortionists who came onto the floor afterwards gave no reason to cover the child’s eyes. Sunny imbibed more champagne than she would have if her mother had been watching, but the fizzy wine brought no more harm than high spirits and the promise of a head-ache on the morrow, so I did not interfere. She laughed at the antics of the swirling-skirted women with the heavy kohl on their eyes and the chorus of bells on their ankles, sat up astonished at the three slim figures tying themselves into knots, and clapped like a child half her age when a boy with a black-and-white monkey came to do tricks. Then the nautch girls returned, to the somewhat raucous approval from the other side of the room.
Sunny glanced over at the burst of male laughter, old enough to know what they were reacting to, too inexperienced to know precisely why. Suddenly, I had to know the answer to a question.
“Sunny, what did the maharaja say to you that first night, that embarrassed you?”
It embarrassed her still, as a flush beyond that of wine crept down her neck. “It was just a silly joke. The kind of thing Daddy says to my girlfriends when he’s had too much to drink.”
“What was it?”
“Just a comment on my skin. Something about, he wondered if it was as soft all the way down.”
I glanced involuntarily over at where the maharaja was reclining, the mouthpiece of a hookah in his hand, his head bent to hear something Harry Koehler was saying.
“How much longer are you stopping here?” I asked her.
“I think Mama needs to go in a couple of days. Kumaraswami is expecting her by the end of the week. Tommy wants to stay on, but I’ll go with her. I don’t like to think of her travelling by herself,” she added virtuously, although I thought she would be glad to see the last of this place, with its uncomfortable nuances and scarcely comprehended activities.
I had to agree with Gay Kaur, that Khanpur was no place for the child. And when the evening’s entertainment came to an end, I made certain that Sunny did not give in to her temptation to linger with the adults, by standing myself and patting down a yawn.
“Time for us girls to get some beauty sleep,” I told her.
She looked around the beautiful room as the noise level rose sharply, the guests chattering as noisily as a flock of bright birds in a palm tree.
“Maybe in a bit,” she said. Her eyes swept over the exotic crowd, but then her anticipation faded, and she took a little step back.
I looked to see what had caused her to shy away—the maharaja himself, his eyes on us, working his way through the crowd. When he reached us, I found that I was between him and the girl, although I couldn’t say whether she had moved to seek shelter, or I to provide it.
“I hope you’ll join us, we have any number of games set up in the hall. Billiards, darts, cards.”
“We were just saying that we felt tired, but thank you.”
His eyes smiled at Sunny past my shoulder. “I hope you enjoyed today,” he said.
“Oh yes,” she said, a polite child again. “Very much, thank you.”
“Tomorrow you must see my zoo. And you, Miss Russell. Have I made a convert of you to the art of pig sticking?”
“It was extraordinary,” I admitted. All evening—in the bath, sipping my wine, watching the twirling dancers—I had found myself reliving that moment when, on the ground with the pig’s tusk touching my boot, the world had come rushing back in on me. I met his gaze and said, “I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”
His eyes held mine, and a look of—what? understanding? memory?—came into them. “The exhilaration of survival.” He said it so softly I didn’t think it was meant for me to hear. It was as if I had reminded him of something long forgotten.
And then he blinked, and the moment passed.