The Inheritance of Loss - Kiran Desai [94]
There was also James Herriot that funny vet, Gerald Durrell, Sam Pig and Ann Pig, Paddington Bear, and Scratchkin Patchkin who lived like a leaf in the apple tree.
And:
The Indian gentleman, with all self-respect to himself, should not enter into a compartment reserved for Europeans, any more than he should enter a carriage set apart for ladies. Although you may have acquired the habits and manners of the European, have the courage to show that you are not ashamed of being an Indian, and in all such cases, identify yourself with the race to which you belong.
—H. Hardless, The Indian Gentleman’s Guide to Etiquette
A rush of anger surprised her. It was unwise to read old books; the fury they ignited wasn’t old; it was new. If she couldn’t get the pompous fart himself, she wanted to search out the descendants of H. Hardless and stab the life out of them. But the child shouldn’t be blamed for a father’s crime, she tried to reason with herself, then. But should the child therefore also enjoy the father’s illicit gain?
______
Sai eavesdropped instead on Noni talking to the librarian about Crime and Punishment: “Half awed I was by the writing, but half I was bewildered,” said Noni, “by these Christian ideas of confession and forgiveness—they place the burden of the crime on the victim! If nothing can undo the misdeed, then why should sin be undone?”
The whole system seemed to favor, in fact, the criminal over the righteous. You could behave badly, say you were sorry, you would get extra fun and be reinstated in the same position as the one who had done nothing, who now had both to suffer the crime and the difficulty of forgiving, with no goodies in addition at all. And, of course, you would feel freer than ever to sin if you were aware of such a safety net: sorry, sorry, oh so so sorry.
Like soft birds flying you could let the words free.
The librarian who was the sister-in-law of the doctor they all went to in Kalimpong, said: “We Hindus have a better system. You get what you deserve and you cannot escape your deeds. And at least our gods look like gods, no? Like Raja Rani. Not like this Buddha, Jesus—beggar types.”
Noni: “But we, too, have wriggled out! Not in this lifetime, we say, in others, perhaps….”
Added Sai: “Worst are those who think the poor should starve because it’s their own misdeeds in past lives that are causing problems for them….”
The fact was that one was left empty-handed. There was no system to soothe the unfairness of things; justice was without scope; it might snag the stealer of chickens, but great evasive crimes would have to be dismissed because, if identified and netted, they would bring down the entire structure of so-called civilization. For crimes that took place in the monstrous dealings between nations, for crimes that took place in those intimate spaces between two people without a witness, for these crimes the guilty would never pay. There was no religion and no government that would relieve the hell.
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For a moment their conversation was drowned out by the sounds of a procession in the street. “What are they saying?” asked Noni. “They’re shouting something in Nepali.”
They watched from the window as a group of boys went by with signs.
“Must be the Gorkha lot again.”
“But what are they saying?”
“It’s not as if it’s being said for anyone to understand. It’s just noise, tamasha,” said Lola.
“Ha, yes, they keep on going up and down, something or the other…,” the librarian said. “It just takes a few degenerate people and they drum up the illiterates, all the no-gooders hanging about with nothing to do….”
______
Uncle Potty had joined them now, having delivered his rum supply to the jeep, and Father Booty emerged from the mysticism stacks.
“Should we eat here?”
They went into the dining room, but it seemed deserted, the tables with overturned plates and glasses to signal it was not open for business.
The manager came out of his office, looking harried.
“So sorry, ladies. We’re having cash flow problems