Gita produced his medicine sack and began assembling some articles which might be of some help. He also brought the man a drink of water and some of their store of mangoes and pears. The man drank thirstily, but refused to eat a bite of the fresh fruit. He continued to watch them with mute suspicion as they exposed his leg and set about cleaning it.
The sight was almost more than Spence could stand, and the stink of it brought tears to his eyes. The foul limb had rotted away to nothing resembling a human appendage. Using a collapsible canvas bucket they found in Simba's howdah he fetched water from a nearby ditch running with clean rainwater. A few curious crows who had been watching the beggar from a distance now assembled on the branches of a nearby tree for a closer look.
Gita and Adjani delicately picked up the leg, which by the look of it had been crushed in an accident-perhaps when he had dived in front of an oncoming vehicle for some scrap of refuse someone had tossed to the ground. Spence began pouring the water over it, bathing it and washing away the filth and ooze.
This exertion started the blood flowing freely again over the gangrenous flesh and the gentle flooding of the water dissolved the decaying skin and muscle. Flesh and bones dropped from the leg as the water splashed down. The limb split and the stench of putrid flesh overcame Spence. The bucket dropped from his hand and he turned aside as the contents of his stomach came surging up.
Spence wiped his mouth on his sleeve and grimly picked up the bucket, but before he could begin again a crow from the tree above fluttered down and seized a small bone with a morsel of flesh still clinging to it. The bird snatched up its prize in its yellow beak and jumped back into the air and away.
"They're hungry, too," said Gita. "Do not blame them."
Spence, tears brimming in his eyes, raised the bucket and poured the rest of the water over the leg. They then tore up one of Gita's muslin sacks to use as a bandage; they wrapped what was left of the limb carefully and neatly in the dry cloth. They started to strip the sopping coverings from the beggar to clean him up, but he clutched at them so furiously that they let him keep his rags.
Gita offered more fruit, speaking softly in the man's tongue, explaining that they were not going to hurt him and did not expect to be paid for their kindness. The beggar gingerly accepted the fruit and opened his mouth, full of blackened, rotting teeth, to eat.
He took two or three mouthfuls and then lay back, still watching them as if he expected them to pounce on him at any moment. He closed his eyes and, with a long whimper and a violent shake of his bones, he died.
Spence could not understand why the beggar died so suddenly and so quietly. He looked at the still body in amazement, and then turned abruptly away.
"Spence, it's all right," said Adjani, coming close to him.
"We did the right thing. We did what we could."
Spence shook his head sadly. "It was not enough."
Gita, standing over the body with outstretched arms, said,
"See how he died, Spencer Reston? This one of the streets who in his life never knew a moment of compassion or concern knew both at the moment of death. He ate and drank and was bandaged and someone knew of his passing."
Spence looked at the body for a long time, trying to comprehend the life this discarded bit of human litter must have known.
He could not-any more than he could imagine exchanging places with a jellyfish. The gulf between their respective worlds was just too great-light-years apart.
But Spence, in an effort of pure, selfless compassion, had tried.
They wrapped the body with the governor's flag which they found rolled into the howdah and carried it a few meters into the trees beside the road. They laid it in a hollow beneath a tree and with their hands covered it with rain-damp earth.
"Father," said Adjani as they stood over the grave, "receive one of your own."
They climbed silently back onto the elephant once more and rode on into Siliguri.
16
… EVERY TIME AUGUST ZANDERSON looked at his daughter he saw the image of his insane wife. Ari had grown by degrees more listless and confused as the days passed and she continued to follow Hocking to their secret rendezvous. Each time she returned just a little more forgetful, a little more vague, a little less Ari.
She did not eat well and had grown pale and hollowcheeked. She now slept a great deal, and even when awake seemed lost to the material world. It was as if the young woman was turning into a ghost before his eyes.
He had argued in vain for her to stop meeting Hocking, but he had no control over her. Every time Hocking came she was ready and waiting for him, though he came at odd times of the day and night.
Zanderson had threatened Hocking-also in vain-and had offered himself in his daughter's place. This had brought nothing but mocking laughter and derision. But seeing his daughter wither before his eyes made him determined not to let her go without a fight. He planned to confront Hocking next time he came. He had broken a chair leg and hidden it close to hand in case his point needed driving home with extra persuasion.
Now, as Ari slept like one of night's children, he paced before the door waiting for the summons he knew would come in time. When he heard the rattle of the bolt in the lock of the huge heavy wooden door, Zanderson squared his shoulders and took his place just inside the entrance.
Hocking swept into the room and at first did not see that his way was barred by the form of the director. But their eyes met and flocking seemed taken aback somewhat, though he recovered instantly, saying, "Get out of my way. Get back."
"Ari's staying here, Hocking. Leave her alone."
"Get away, you fool! I'm warning you."
"And I'm telling you it's over. You're not taking her away from here any more. I won't let you."
Hocking's features sharpened at the challenge. "What will you do, Director? How will you stop me?"
"Don't force me to defend myself. I will." Zanderson's voice rose with anger. "I'm warning you. Get out of here and leave her alone."
"Stay out of this. You don't know what you're doing. I'm only trying to help you."
"Help me? Ha! Look at her!" Zanderson waved his hand wildly toward Ari's form. "She's been sleeping all day! She's,exhausted. If this keeps up you'll kill her!"
Hocking glared at the man before him. His hand flattened on.he tray of the pneumochair. "I'm telling you for the last time to yet out of my way."
The director stepped slowly aside. Hocking moved forward to pass him and quick as a flash Zanderson's hand snaked out and matched up the club. He swung it full force at Hocking's skull.
The move was not fast enough. Hocking's finger twitched on his knurled tray at the same instant and the improvised club bounced in the air a bare centimeter from his head and fell away.
Stunned amazement blossomed on the director's face as he watched his well-aimed blow go awry. Hocking's eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a snarl of rage. "How dare you assault me!" His voice crackled over the chair's audio system.
Zanderson, his determination evaporating, raised his weapon once more and brought it down. He felt the chair leg meet a resistant force which deflected it from its target. At the same moment he felt his fingers tingle and his hand grow numb. The club grew heavy and fell from his hand. The next thing the director knew he was on his knees, his hands clamped over his ears as a high-frequency sound burst through his brain. The sound drained all strength from his body and he toppled heavily to the floor.