The policeman was watching him. He let go of the railing and walked as steadily as he could to the unlit turning in the road and waited. When he walked on the policeman followed; he had big boots on: probably a sergeant.
"Hey, you." "Me?"
"What's your name?"
"That's my business."
The heavy experienced hand spun him around; his arm was
held and twisted behind his back, he knew he was helpless. "Answer."
"Ravi. Ravishankar."
"Ravishankar. You're drunk. Where did you get it?" Another twist. The pain made him furious.
"You bastard," he said, and bent his head. The khaki cloth was strong, but it ripped under his teeth, his sharp white buck
teeth. He felt the flesh split, and it was, momentarily, as volup- tuousasa climax.
He ran, heard the man's sharp yelp, and gloated. Big boots was after him, very hard and purposeful; but the feet inside were Indian, unused to running in boots. He, Ravi, on the other hand, though barefoot was drunk, which evened the odds. Well, he was not so drunk that he could not shake off
his official tail. Abruptly he stopped, looked for a turning, doubled back on his tracks. The street must have lain parallel, the pounding boots sounded very close as they passed, unseen. The sound died. He leaned against a wall, waiting. The silence continued. Night had saved him, the darkness to which he was used, and the fact that there were no people about. People, he thought. People were everywhere, swarming like ants. They
weren't necessarily against you, or for you: they were simply there and if there was a chance they became a mob and fol-
lowed, bellowing: got in the way, until some poor devil like himself was trapped. He spat his disgust.
"Hey, you!"
He whirled around. Set high in the wall was a small win-
dow with a rusty grille in front, wooden shutters behind. The
louvers were open, he could just see a pair of eyes through the slits.
"Clear out, do you hear? Waking respectable people up in the middle of the night! Clear out, double quick."
"Why?" He leaned more comfortably against the wall. "I'm doing no harm. Just resting."
"Just resting, are you? Well, you can't rest here. Go find a
chatram. I'llgive you one minute." "No."
"Then I'll call the police. The police, my lad. They'll soon
get you moving."
The police. He began to laugh softly, looking up at the ter-
rifiedeyesglimmering palely behind the wooden shutters.
"And how will you send for them? You will have to come out first and I'll hack you into little pieces before you've taken one step, you poor old fool."
He slid down, rocking with laughter, until his head touched the rough ground. Above him the shutters squeaked, the stiff vanes were being forced to slant down at an extreme angle so that the eyes could squint down at him. He laughed again;
itcame outlikeagirl'sgiggle.
"You lout," the voice said. "You no-good lout, you're
drunk."
Rage filled him. He levered himself up slowly.
"Drunk, am I?" he said distinctly. "I'm not only drunk,
I'm starving, Itellyou."
Waves of giddiness assailed him. It would have been better
not to have remembered that, he thought, and he lowered his head and waited; but the sickness would not pass and he began to retch, gross heaving spasms that wrenched his stomach, though nothing came up.
"Go away," the voice said.
The heaving subsided. Furious anger mounted strongly in
him again. He thrust his face close to the grating.
"Listen," he said. "I'm hungry, I want a meal. You let me in, do you hear? I'll give you one minute."
"Go away." The voice quavered — either an old man or a weak man, aman without men behind him.
He stretched his hands up to the grille and grasped the crossbar, triumphantly, sweetly conscious of his strength.
"One minute," he said, "then I'm coming in and it'll be the
worse for you."
Silence. He tightened his grip and wrenched, and the bar
broke, spattering rusty grit on him. "You see?"
"All right, all right, I'm coming," the voice mumbled nerv- ously.
He reached up and broke another bar, for good measure, while he waited.
"Please don't do any more damage."
This time bolts rattled in earnest. The wooden door
creaked and opened. Inside stood the man, cowering. He had thrown a shawl around his shoulders and lighted a hurricane lantern; the light trembled with him.
"What do you want?"
"Food, I told you," he said impatiently. "And be quick." The light retreated, returned. There was bread, butter- milk,asmall sweet potato. He ate, keeping one hand on the
rusty broken-off bar. The man watched, both eyes on him, hardly daring to blink. The old fool, Ravi thought, the bar
wouldn't have cracked a saucer, let alone a skull. Anyhow, did he really look such a thug? He finished, blotting up the
last crumbs with a wet thumb; wondered whether he should
call for more, just to savor the feeling of power, but decided he was full.
"Is that all?" The voice still quavered and shook.
"Yes," he said, and changed his mind. "No," he said peremp- torily.Hefelt commanding, conscious of dominion: this was
what they felt like, the people who said "Hey, you!", who gave orders and expected you to jump to it,who had money,
who had power, who did the pushing around. Well, tonight he would do the pushing.
"A bed," he said. "I'm staying the night. And make itsoft—
just anything won't do."
His host stood wavering, reluctant, aghast.
"Go on, get moving."
He put a bite in, saw the instant reaction, and exulted. This was what life should be like: this was what he wanted his life
to be like: and he tested and savored the revelation, vouch-
safedforthe span of one night. In the morning — well, he knew that in the morning his brief reign would be over. The
old fool would come into his own again, shed his coward's
mantle and become a man of strength — the householder, the ratepayer, the outraged citizen entitled to raise a hue and cry
against vagrants like himself. It was only in the jungle, by night, that they were equal.
By morning he intended to be gone.
There was a mat, a mattress, a pillow, a shawl — luxury. He was reeling and log-heavy with sleep. He pulled the bedding over to the door and spread it. The old man was watching him. For a moment he hesitated, then he shrugged. If he did,
he did, that was all. There was no avoiding that risk.
"No monkey tricks," he said with concentrated ferocity, curled himself up and slept.
