Never Mind the Brandy
THEY had accepted Henry's story of the way Kistulal had met his death. Sudden, magnanimous as ever, had congratulated Henry on his resolve to go after the rogue if and when it re-appeared. At the same time, he had expressed the hope that the one-tusker would not trouble them again.
'Let's hope your shot s finished him. Henry. Sudden had said. You know what damage a four-sixty-five solid can do even if you have no more than gun-shot him, as you say, at two hundred yards.
And Sudden had been generous to Kistulal's dependents. Kistulal had left three children and a wife, and at Henry's request Sudden had sanctioned a sun of five hundred rupees to be paid to the widow and a hundred rupees to each of the children. Henry himself had Liken on Pasupati, Kistulal's eldest boy, as a daily-wage coolie at Silent Till so that the family should have somewhere to live.
At the end of a week, when Henry had returned to Silent Hill. nothing was different. He was still the pucca sahib, still the tea dis- trut's principal big-game hunter; indeed, everyone was most sym- pathetic; and he had Cockbur" to thank for it all. He shuddered at what would have happened if Cockburn had not been there to see to things.
At the same time, it had not been eas to pick up the threads of everyday life and resume the pattern fro where he had left it off. On his return to Silent Hill, Henry found himself in the grip of a heavy depression, which lay like a dead weight on his chest, mak- ing him morose and irritable. He slept badly unless he had had a lot to drink, and then he would find himself wide awake and sweat- ing in bed in the dead of night, thinking feverishly of the elephant and Kistulal. He hated to be alone and ver instead of looking for. ward to the week-ends at Chinnar, he found himself disliking the thought of the Chinnar week-ends intensely.
Was this how a man lost his mind? When he was no longer capable of living with himself, or of facing company? Or sleeping without drugs, and afraid to face the sharp midnight convulsions of remorse? Was this what came of being tied to what Cockburn had described as a suburban conscience?
He was sitting in front of the log fire, and the dog was asleep on the sofa beside him The radio was blaring loud Wagner music and the bottle of Johnnie Walker on the mantelpiece was nearly empty. He remembered with a mild shock that it had been at least half- full earlier in the evening My God' was he growing into one of those bottle a-day men they spoke of in the Fast -rapidly going to seed, like Wallach?
His head-boy came in cleared his throat to announce his pre- sence, and asked, 'Shall I lay thah's ghussal
'My bath' What time is it?"
Already nie 'luck Nine blast! Why the hell didn't you remind me before?"
I did, sahib twe
"Oh, all night In ten mimes Give me a drink first a proper drink, damn you a stiff one The boy came back in ten minutes Ghussal tayar, sahib," he announced "All right pour me another drink first
"Shall I open a fresh bottle, sahib "What? Khatun already blast! Never mind, I'll have the ghussal first "Shall I serve dinner after sahib bath
'Achhi baat
Henry had his bath and came out wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown The soup was already on the table, and Herman had taken up a position under the table Henry ate without interest or appetite, reading The Brothers Karamazos and listening to the radio and all the while rubbing his bare feet un the dog's back. He pushed away his half eaten plate of roast mutton and fold the boy to bring coffee There is a pudding sahib, the boy said 'Pudding' Oh no he shook his head. Lemole tarts, sah b. School miss-sahib sent Very nice tarts."
What's that? Who sent them?" asked Henry
"Miranda miss, sahib.' 'Oh, all right, bring them in. Bring the coffee afterwards, and the brandy."
He had not forgotten Ruby Miranda by any means; but since he had been back, he had not felt the least inclination to see her. She must have been working in the school for more than two weeks now, he reflected. Strange that he had not spoken to her even once. It was sweet of her to send him something she had made herself, Henry thought, really touching-
The boy brought the tarts, nestling in a shallow blue dish; golden- yellow, creamy and light, and, surprisingly, they were piping hot.
He must go and see Miss Miranda at the school, perhaps send for her to come and see him at his bungalow, Henry was thinking as he picked up the crumbs from his plate with his fingers. He did not even wonder if she would come to his bungalow, for somehow the tarts she had sent set his mind at rest on that point. For the first time in weeks, his thoughts went rushing off in a new direc tion, breaking the shell of his gloom. It was like sunlight bursting through a heavy cloud formation; he was suddenly freed from his obsession with the one-tusker and with Kistulal's death.
Ruby Miranda was something to look forward to. The image of the Chandni Chowk whore in the clinging ice-blue dress came flooding into his mind, evoking longings that had seemed almost to have ceased to exist; the woman with the tlawless olive skin and the contours of the harem favourite, heavy-bosomed and narrow- hipped the thought of her body so temptingly close at hand sent a delicious thrill through him.
Just bring the coffee,' he said to the boy. 'Never mind the brandy."
Henry slept very soundly that night, a dreamless easy sleep, for the first time since the death of his shikar.
Shiva walks with the Faithful It was not until a whole month later, in the middle of December, that Henry asked Ruby Miranda what she and her family had thought of his offer to give her a job.
She had come to the bungalow soon after dinner, slipping through the pantry entrance, and when it was time for her to go back to her cottage it had begun to rain. This was the second time in a week that it had begun to rain while Ruby Miranda was in Henry's bungalow; but then, in December, with the south-west monsoon fully set, you had to expect a certain amount of rain in the Assam hills.
Henry, pleasantly tired and sleepy, had cursed the rain. Instead of going to bed, he would have to busy himself setting up the camp- bed for Ruby Miranda in the gun-room. He did not like having any of his servants about when Ruby Miranda was in the house, and had already sent them off for the night. 'Must get the spare-room done up,' he told himself. Then it can rain all it likes."
That was the occasion on which Henry had idly asked her what her family had thought of his offer of a job.
They were lying side by side on the carpet in front of the gun- room fire, and the only light in the room came from the red glow of the burning logs.
The gun-room leading off the side verandah was the only room in the bungalow which could be securely locked from inside; that was where the wall safe was, and Henry's guns and ammunition, and anything else that was worth locking up. It had a strong, teak- wood door and its windows were heavily barred. It was made for security; it was also made for privacy-the only room in the house that could be cut off from the world by closing just one door and sliding a bolt into place.
'Dad was all for it; it was Mum who raised the shudy." said Ruby. She was leaning against the sofa, and the soft red light from the fre touching the contours of her body created a photographic effect of lights and shadows; the light fell on the edge of her hair, like a halo, and the bridge of her nose and the round curve of her breasts. Her green and white polka-dot dress lay neatly folded on the back of the sofa behind her.
"Your mother didn't like the idea much, what?" asked Henry. No, Mum wanted me to stay right in the colony and get married. Give's a fag.'
Henry got up and switched on the light, knowing that as soon as the light came on Ruby would reach for her dress and cover her- self with it. It always amused him to think that she could not bear to be seen naked in bright light.
He found the cigarettes and matches and switched off the light again and came and sat beside her. He gave her a cigarette and lit one himself. Ta,' said Ruby, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke through her nostrils. Ta muchly."" Henry wished that Ruby wouldn't say things like 'ta muchly' or Give's a fag, but he had not said anything to her about it, sensing that she would resent it. She was sensitive about her speech and accent, and was always trying to learn new words and phrases, and practising how to pronounce them correctly.
She lay back smoking, her eyes half-closed, and Henry watched. her almost objectively, studying the light and shade effect of the pink fire-light on the honey-coloured body, picking out the con- tours, deepening the shadows. Outside, there were clouds and a howling wind and the patter of rain; but inside it was warm and dry and the only noise was the int splutter of the logs of the fire.
What was your mother's objection?' asked Henry.
"Mum said, "Don't go running after Englishmen; they don't marry, not the pucca ones. You stay right rere in the colony, Roob- girl, find a husband for yourself".
Henry felt uncomfortable when their talk veered towards the subject of marriage; it was odd how often Ruby Miranda seemed to bring the word 'marriage' into her conversation with him.
'Dad was far more reasonable. "Roob-girl's not going to find a husband," he told Mum, "she's going to become a schoolmistress and earn a hundred rupees a month. Let'e go." said Dad." Lying back on the deep Mirzapur rug in front of the fire in the gun-room of the manager's bungalow at Silent Hill, her limbs bathed in the warmth of the fire, Ruby Miranda's thoughts went flying back to that day, nearly two months earlier, when Mr. Henderson, the station-master, had come to their house and told her father that she could get the job of schoolmistress at Silent Hill just for the asking.
It had caused a bitter, humiliating family quarrel later that evening, after Mr. Henderson had drunk his rum and gone away. She could see her father, grey and paunchy and bleary-eyed, sitting on the hardwood chair dressed in a torn singlet and soot-covered khaki shorts, his feet on the table before him, and the inevitable bottle of rum by his side. He had already finished nearly half the bottle. but of course Mr. Henderson had had several drinks out of it. Her mother was grinding the massala for the vindaloo, and the whole house was filled with the heady aroma of vinegar and garlic. The quarrel had built up without warning; one moment they were all talking quite genially, and all of a sudden her father had lost his temper.
"You keep shut up! he had yelled at her mother. 'You leave my Roob-girl alone. She's going to be a schoolmistress and earn money. You stop poking your nose in!"
"Achh! schoolmistress! I know what kind of mistress, her mother had answered contemptuously. You leave running after Englishmen. I tell you Roob."
Look oo's talking! Mr. Miranda had said, laughing derisively and throwing his head back. Just look oo's talking. And my Roob girl isn't running: the Englishmen's running after her, paying her good money....
All you can think of is money, money, money!-money for your grog. You'll be willing to sell your family for your grog! Ma had retorted.
'Shut up, stop shooting your... mouth,' her father had shouted. 'I could tell you some stories of people running after Englishmen. ha, ha...!'
You dare to insult me in front of my children, you son of a Gurkha coolie woman!' Ma had flared up.
'Shut up, shut up, you Irish Tommy's spawn! You say one word more and I'll bash your bloody face!"
So your father himself was quite in favour of your coming here? Henry was asking. 'Oh, yes, quite in favour, Ruby told him, obviously liking the new phrase.
And in the end your mother said yes?" Ruby Miranda could never have brought herself to tell Henry why in the end her mother had agreed to her taking on the job; that it was all a sordid matter of rupees and annas. A grown-up girl was not much use in the house if she had to be fed and clothed: there were six other mouths to feed, and at times her mother had found it difficult to give them all even daal and rice twice a day.
The Mirandas could not afford to turn down a salary of a hundred
" "Yes,' said Ruby Miranda, looking blankly into the flames and thinking back to that evening. 'Yes, in the end Ma agreed." rupees a month. It's all due to his grog. Ma Miranda had said as a parting shot. Otherwise my Roob-girl would not have to go and take a job. My bachhas can go without food, but your Dad's got to have his grog.
But it wasn't the grog, either, you couldn't buy much rum at a rupee a bottle if you had to feed a family of seven on a hundred and fifty rupees a month. Ruby looked at the raw-boned, heavily built Englishman lying naked beside her and gazing at her with half-closed eyes, the man of lust without love, who was merely seeking physical fulfilment and paying her a hundred rupees a month of the company's money for his private pleasure; and was asking about her family soli- citously not because he was the least bit interested, but it was rain- ing outside and he was making conversation, being polite because he was a well-brought-up Englishman. But of course, even if he had been genuinely interested, she could never have told it in all its detail to Henry laid bare the raw, quivering poverty of the house- hold; the unseemly, inevitable daily quarrels, the harsh, unwashed words flung at random, the keeping up of appearances on a hun- dred and fifty rupees a month.
She looked at Henry with bitterness and a touch of sudden anger, contrasting his life, untouched, as it seemed to her, by poverty or sordidness, with her own humiliating background. Lying beside her, spent and contented, gazing avidly at her naked body, he looked what he was, a man from another world.
"It was Eddie who was quite against my taking the job,' said Kuby. He was the one who protested to mother.... Henry stiffened. 'Eddie?"
'Eddie Trevor. He was sweet on me--my, he was really jay!'
"Oh, the hockey chap."
Eddie was always jay; he didn't like anyone even to speak to me."
The thought of a callow, loose-limbed Anglo-Indian youth with a bobbing Adam's apple being "ay' of him was vaguely irritating.
Was Trevor...er, very friendly with you?" "Yes," said Ruby dreamily, 'very friendly."
'How friendly?' demanded Henry, not sounding casually curious any more, barely able to conceal his resentment
Eddie has always been in love with me, ever since he was a boy. He's always wanted to marry me,' Ruby said with a look of ecstasy on her face, 'marry me as soon as he got a job."
Again, like a fly circling round a sore, their talk had come buzz ing back to the subject of marriage. I'd better see about fixing the camp-cot for you," said Henry rising. 'No, no, I'm not going to switch on the light.
There was no question of telling a man like Henry Winton, who took his fun where he found it, her precise relationship with Eddie Trevor. He was almost certain to disapprove, unless, of course, he chose to laugh it off as a boy-and-girl crush, and somehow that would have been even worse. For it had been something far, far deeper and more precious, going beyond mere sex and a desire for female companionship, more earthy and more noble at the same time. Eddie loved her with a kind of fierce possessiveness that was almost pathological: no one else could understand it; it was intense, elemental, almost animal-like. At times, Ruby had found herself trembling with fear but also trembling even more with desire.
The bloody English swine will give you a brat.' Eddie had said. Eddie never believed in mincing his words. 'He'll have all his fun and then the bugger'll drop you in the muck. That's what he's sending for you for, after coming and inspecting the whole lot of you railway colony girls at the gala. Schoolmistress, my arse!"
'No fear, her father had said with a broad wink at Eddie. 'It's chum who'll catch the Englishman by his... and get him to marry her in the end. You trust my Roob-girl. She'll be a memsahib."
Eddie had turned fiercely on her father. Marry her? Baah!
You saw them at the gala. Did those two look the marrying kind? Marrying and Eddie completed his sentence with a meaningful gesture.
It was her mother who had broken up the argument. 'You get a job, Eddie Trevor; then you can talk. You go here and there play. ing hockey, flighty as anything; then you want to run round with my Roob when you haven't a pie to your name all you want is to spoil her name and keep all the other boys away. And then when my Roob girl is going to get a good job, you come poking your nose in. She's got a job now, not you; who are you to talk?"
Ma Miranda had lashed at Eddie's Achilles heel, knowing that it would hurt, and Eddie Trevor had turned ied. He had stamped out of the house without saying a word.
Her mother's savage attack upon Eddie Trevor, on whom she had always doted, her father's coarse jollity, even their incessant bickering with each other, were again merely the symptoms, the bare, surface manifestations of a more deep-seated, more widely- spread cancer: the awareness of rootlessness, of not belonging, not being wanted, even of being despised in the teeming brown world of India. She could never have explained to Henry Winton the throbbing, compulsive craving of Anglo-India to seek living kin- ship with the West; the desperate, daily struggle of separation and alignment, the tight clutching of the tenuous, often imaginary strands of relationship with the sahibs, the constant vigilance against further assimilation with the smothering, enveloping peoples of the Indian soil. Above all, she could never have laid bare to any outsider her own personal dream of becoming some day a sahib's lady, going into the reserves, all-white clubs with her head held high, escorted by an Englishman without the slightest trace of coloured blood; of bearing blue-eyed, flaxen-haired children, of going to London for a dizzy round of the town and to gaze at the King himself; and then of settling down in a cool, antiseptic, wholly English suburb and washing away the contamination of India and Tinapur. No effort was too much for the fulfilment of that con- stant, aching dream, no sacrifice too great-not even the sacrifice of the love of a man like Eddie Trevor.
That was the sort of dream of which you spoke to no one at all, no matter how close you were to him: even if you knew that it was the secret, unspoken dream of Anglo-India itself. Only her mother had fathomed her secret thoughts, and in her way had tried to help; and only then had she realized with something of a shock that there was nothing unusual in her mother's knowing about it, for her own private dream must once have been her mother's dream too.
We're going to the bazaar, child," said Mrs. Miranda to her a couple of days before she was to leave for Silent Hill. 'Don't wear anything posh; you know what the bazaar folk ate. And don't say anything to your Pa.
Ruby had worn her plain white dress that came well below her knees, and she did not say anything about the visit to her father. As soon as Mr. Miranda had eaten his tiffin and gone back to his loco-shed, Ruby's mother had called a tonga.
Take us to Bichwa-baba,' she told the tonga-wallah.
The tonga went winding into the alleys of the city, crowded and narrow, but Mrs. Miranda seemed to know where she was going, and once, when the tonga-driver himself was not sure which way to go, it was she who told him. Ruby Miranda sat in the tonga slightly shocked and excited.
She had heard of Bichwa-baba, of course, as almost everyone in Tinapur had, and seen photographs of him. He was said to be more than a hundred years old, and a very holy man: he could read your thoughts and he could give you a wish-fulfilment charm that never failed- at least, that is what the Hindu boys and girls in the railway colony school had always asserted. What Ruby had not known was that her mother, a devout Catholic, was also a disciple of the Baba.
Their tonga came to a halt in front of a grey stone archway, and Ruby's mother told the driver to wait. They walked through the archway into a wide, cobble-stoned courtyard. In the far corner was a square, bricked-up platform surrounding a peepul tree. Under this tree sat a man covered in ashes, and naked except for his loin cloth. Even before they came close to the platform, Ruby had re cognized him as Bichwa-baba.
He was sitting on a tiger skin spread out on the platform, his legs folded under him. For a man who was reputed to be over a hundred years old, his body was surprisingly firm and youthful, and his beard, glossy and well-oiled, was without a trace of grey. Only his hair was unkempt and thickly matted, as though plastered with a hard glue, and it was piled up on top of his head in a solid bun. His eyes were tightly closed. Mrs. Miranda removed her shoes before climbing up the steps of the platform. She went up on tiptoe, as though afraid to dis- turb the Baba's meditations, clutching the bunch of flowers and the bundle of joss-sticks she had brought with her. On the platform. she lit the joss-sticks and stuck them in a sand-filled bowl kept there for the purpose, and placed the flowers at the Baba's feet. After that she opened her purse and took out a silver rupee which she placed on the tiger skin. Then she came down, walking backwards, step by step, and stood beside her daughter with folded hands. The air was already filling with the strong scent given by the burning joss-sticks. "Shiva walks with men. Bichwa baba pronounced in a deep. booming voice. "God walks with men and women: only they have not the faith to see."
He opened his eyes and looked at the two women. Then he picked up his bead chain from near his feet and began counting the beads, his lips moving all the time, without making a sound.
The lady has no wish for herself,' said Bichwa-baba. Mother
love brings her here." Mrs. Miranda's eyes shone with pleasure. 'Yes, Bichwa-baba maharaj,' she said. "The child stands at your feet."
'Shiva walks with the faithful," said Bichwa-baba. 'God stands beside those who have faith. What is thy wish?'
Mother and daughter looked at each other, but they did not speak: both were conscious of a feeling of madequacy and guilt. You could not put thoughts such as theirs into words, not even before a man of God.
Bichwa-baba closed his eyes once again and picked up his bead chain and began to mumble to lumself.
I see a man, a white man," he said in a very soft voice. 'Far away and not so far away; light-eyed and light-hired. Somewhere, far away, a temple bell was clanging, and the air was heavy with the joss-stick smoke. Both mother and daughter stood with bowed heads.
'Come forward,' Bichwa-baba called "Take off your shoes, dear ,' whispered Mrs. Miranda.
After Ruby had removed her shoes, Mrs. Miranda led her up the steps to the platform.
Bichwa-baba picked up the coin that had been placed at his feet and held it high in the air. 'Money is illusion," he pronounced, and once again his voice was loud and clear. 'Money is dust, less than dust.'
Even as they watched, the coin had vanished.
He closed his eyes tightly and began to mumble a prayer. Then he held up his right hand and made a swipe through the air as though to catch some insect, and both Ruby and her mother saw that he now held a tiny white paper packet in his hand. Power is his who has faiths, he said. 'Come forward, my child, hold out your hands. Mrs. Miranda nudged her daughter, and Ruby knelt down before the holy man with outstretched hands, palms upwards.
On days when the moon is bright, prepare something by thine own hands... Be it drink or food... Mix this powder... only a few grains at a time... Make the man of your heart partake of it."
The thin paper packet fell neatly into Ruby's open palms. Bichwa-haha's voice had once again dropped to a whisper, and Ruby had to lean forward to hear what he was saying.
Only when the moon is bright... It may take many, many moons... the man who can resist this love potion does not live.... "What does it mean, Bichwa-baba? What does it mean? Ruby asked. suddenly frightened.
The ways of Shiva are mysterious, whispered the Baba, but he had become almost totally inaudible.
Come, my child, said Mrs. Miranda tenderly, pulling her daughter's arm. 'Don't ask too many questions. It will work: I know."
And Ruby Miranda had looked at her mother, shocked, for in that instant, she had realized that her mother too had once come to the Baba with a similar wish and had been given the same powder. Almost with a sense of personal guilt, she dragged her eyes away from her mother's face, shining and starry-eyed, know- ing that whoever it was for whom her mother had come to the Bichwa-baba for his love potion, it could not have been her father. Ruby Miranda could never have brought herself to speak to any one of that visit, The ridiculous, fairy-tale wonder of it was that it had worked: Bichwa-baba's holy powders had worked like magic, just as her mother had assured her they would. For two whole weeks after she had come to Silent Hill, Henry Winton had barely looked at her. Was she mistaken then? she had asked herself. Was there nothing more to Henry Winton's offer of a job than the need of an extra teacher in his garden school? Could she have been wrong about the way he had looked at her at the railway institute gala. following her with his eyes all the evening and causing Eddie Trevor to be so jealous? Above all, could het mother too be wrong?
She had gone about her work, knowing that she was not popu- lar with the other staff at the garden, thankful that she had a neat two-roomed cottage to herself close to the school house where she rould get away as soon as school ended; and yet resenting the fact that she was forced to spend the long, lonely evenings there all by herself, day after day, feeling increasingly bewildered and frustrated. After the heady pace of the railway colony, the daily games of bad- minton and the long motorcycle rides with Eddie Trevor, the weekly dances at the institute at which she was the most sought after partner, the gossip of the colony, the long, late-night sing. songs beside the reservon, the Sunday gatherings in the church grounds, she was finding the new life altogether dull and meaning- les
Then, on a hight, moonlit night, she had made the lemon tarts. with just a few grains of Bichwa-baba's powdery mixed in the lemon-und, and had sent them ofl to Henry's bungalow. And after that she had lam awake most of the might trembling with nervous- ness lest he should take it amiss--you never knew how an English- man would react to such a typically Indian gesture.
The very next morning, Henry had sent a man telling her to call at his office with the school's nspector's report. Oh, he had been so polite and charming at that meeting, just as though he were speak- ing to a visiting manager's wife.
And now, only another moon later, it had become almost routine for her to come to his bungalow after finner. He saw to it that there were no servants in the bungalow itself; but in their quarters nearby they were still up and about, and of course they knew all about her visits to the sahib. Henry's servants, and indeed the staff of the Silent Hill tea estate, had begun to treat her with a new respect; it was almost as though she were the memsahib, and once, when Henry had lost his temper with one of the supervisors, the head boy came to her, pleading on his behalf to put in a word with the sahib. At the same time, Ruby could not help feeling vaguely disturbed by the thought that their relationship had come to a sort of stand- still. In many ways, he was still formal and guarded, as though anxious to underline the fact that neither of them had any claims upon the other except those of expediency. He had never offered to visit her in her cottage even though the cottage was just as secluded as his bungalow. Once she had suggested that he should have a meal in her cottage, but Henry had not been encouraging. Once or twice she had offered to help him out with the running of his household, but he had brushed aside the idea quite firmly. He did not so much as let her make a cup of tea or an omelette when they felt hungry, as they sometimes did, late at night; instead, he always preferred to open a bottle of beer and bring out cheese and biscuits to go with it."
He was a strange, complex man, Ruby thought, not downright and open like Eddie Trevor; and at times she wondered to herself how she would ever get used to the idea of forsaking Eddie for Henry Winton. In the privacy of the gun-room, he made love to her with a searing intensity: possessive, demanding, and at the same time willing to abandon himself completely to her, readily giving in to her own passions; and yet, whenever he met her out- side, he was excessively cool and formal. Eddie could never be like that. Eddie had always been natural; frank and earthy, always un inhibited in his talk and behaviour, and if his ways were at times embarrassing, his language coarse, she could at least understand him perfectly. Henry, on the other hand, was an enigma; he be haved as though he were secretly in love with someone else, and yet, so far as she could see, there was no other woman in his life. Her whole system cried out for a different kind of love; to lift their relationship from a hole-and-corner affair of passion to the sphere of love. After their long hours before the fire in the evenings, after all that passionate, blind intimacy, their total surrender to each other, Ruby could not help wondering why he had not asked her to marry him. She would make him a good wife, Ruby thought, even if she never succeeded in putting Eddie Trevor out of her mind. In fact, until that evening, Henry had never shown the slightest interest in her life apart from their life together. As such, that evening when it had begun to rain while she was in his bungalow and he had asked her about her family and how they had reacted to his offer to her of a job, Ruby had felt a faint surge of hope in her heart.
'Oh, God, please, please make him fall in love with me, please, please make him propose to me,' she said to herself, and she pic- tured herself standing in front of Bichwa-baba's peepul tree with folded hands, and she could almost smell the smothering heavy- scented fumes rising out of the joss-stick bowl and hear the din of the pooja bells in some temple in the distance. 'Please,' she en- treated the Baba with all the reverence she was capable of, "oh, please!'
'I'm afraid I'll just have to put on the light. Henry said from the doorway, and laughed when he saw her make a grab for the dress she had once again folded neatly and put on the sofa. He switched on the light and came in carrying a canvas camp-bed. He put the bed down along the wall and went out again and came bark a few minutes later, carrying sheets and pillows and blankets.
I was thinking of getting the guest-mom done up, he said, 'so you won't have to sleep on a camp-cot every time you're... er. caught by the rain and have to spend the night here.
"That would be great! Ruby exclaimed, clutching desperately at his words 'Really nice! But won't it cost an awful lot of money?'
"The Brindian Company will pay, said flenry laughing, and then he said, 'Oh! He stood in the doorway, staring at her, holding the sheets and blankets in his hands. She had flung her dress over the back of the sofa and was lying stark naked; and she was smiling at him and her eyes were dream; and half-closed.
'I see you've got over your objection to strong light,' said Henry. Ruby went on smiling, biting her lower lip, and closed her eyes completely. Then she held out her arm to him in a gesture of in- vitation. He dropped the bed-clothes he vas carrying and came and sat beside her, and he had to bend very low to hear what she was saying: 'Don't you think you'd better switch off the light, first, darling?" whispered Ruby. 'Please."
