The Siege of Krishnapur - J. G. Farrell [43]
Fleury said: “I hope we haven’t interrupted your breakfast, but I fear that we have.”
“Not in the least, old fellow. A boiled egg and Blackwood’s is the best way to begin the day. Now, come and sit down. I say, are you alright, Dunstaple?” For Harry, stepping forward, had given a rather odd lurch and had almost plunged on to one of the ragged tiger skins. His face, now they came to look at it, was as white as milk, though given a superficial tinge of colour by the bloodstained glass of the windows.
“It’s nothing. It’s just the heat. I shall be alright in a moment. Damned silly!”
“Correct!” cried Hari. “It’s nothing. You’ll be all right in twinkling. Come and sit down while I get the bearer to bring refreshment. Where is he the wretched fellow?” And he hurried to the door shouting.
In response to their master’s shouts more servants in grimy livery poured in, barefoot but in knee breeches, carrying two more chairs constructed of antlers; these they placed adjacent to Hari’s and to a small table supported by rhinoceros feet on which Hari had abandoned his half-eaten boiled egg. Tea was brought, and three foaming glasses of iced sugar cane juice, a delightful shade of dark green. Harry Dunstaple, looking a little green himself, rejected this delicious drink, but Fleury who loved sweet things and had never noticed the filth and flies that surround the pressing of sugar cane, drank it down with the greatest pleasure, and then admired the empty glass which was embossed with the Maharajah’s crest. Harry asked permission to undo the buttons of his tunic and with a shaking hand began to fumble with them.
“Sir, make yourself altogether as if in your home, I beg you! Bearer, bring more cushion.”
Cushions were arranged on the floor and Harry was persuaded to lie down. “Damned silly. Alright in a moment,” Fleury heard him mutter again, as he stretched out and closed his eyes.
“Bearer, bring tiger skin!” and a tiger skin was also stretched over Harry, but he kicked it aside petulantly. He was much too hot already without tiger skins. Fleury was very concerned by Harry’s sudden debility (could it be cholera?) and wondered aloud whether he should not take him back promptly to the cantonment and put him under his father’s care.
“Oh, Mr Fleury, it is much too damnably hot to travel now until evening.”
“They make such a frightful fuss,” muttered Harry without opening his eyes. “Just give me an hour or so and I shall be right as rain.” He sounded quite cross.
“Mr Fleury, Dunstaple will have refreshing repose here and during this time I shall show you palace. I call Prime Minister to watch Dunstaple and tell us if condition worsen.”
Harry’s groan of irritation at this further intervention was ignored and the Prime Minister was summoned. They waited for him in silence. When he at last appeared he proved to be a stooped, elderly gentleman, also wearing a frock coat but without trousers or waistcoat; he wore instead a dhoti, sandals, and on his head a peaked cap covered in braid like that of a French infantry officer. He evidently spoke no English for he put his palms together and murmured “ Namaste” in the direction of Fleury. He seemed unsurprised to find an English officer stretched on the floor.
There was a rapid exchange in Hindustani which ended in Hari gaily shouting: “Correct!” and taking Fleury by the arm; as they left the room the Prime Minister was sitting on the floor with his knees to his chin, staring introspectively at the supine Harry.
Once outside Hari brightened visibly. “Mr Fleury, dear sir, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Collector, you know, Hopkin is my very good friend, most interested in advance of science.