'No, Mr Reid,' said Paulette. 'It was for wholly another purpose. And you should know that I have come on behalf of others, our common friends…'
'Who, may I ask?'
'Serang Ali, for one.'
At the sound of that name, Zachary covered his eyes with his hands: if there was anything at that moment that could have made him feel any more humiliated than he did already, it was this mention of the man he had once thought to be his mentor. 'It is all clear to me now, Miss Lambert,' he said. 'I see how you have gained your intelligence in regard to my origins. But tell me, Miss Lambert, was it Serang Ali's idea, or yours, to use this information for blackmail?'
'Blackmail? Oh for shame, Mr Reid! For shame!'
The wind was blowing so hard, Baboo Nob Kissin dared not stand upright on the rain-lashed deck: fortunate indeed that he had moved his lodgings from the midships-cabin to the deckhouse – or else the summons to the fana would have required him to cross a much greater length of deck. Even this short distance seemed impossibly long, much too far to negotiate on his feet: instead he made his way forward on all fours, cowering in the shelter of the bulwarks as he crawled slowly towards the fana.
The hatch that led below was fastened tight against the water, but it opened at the first tap of his knuckles. There was a lamp swinging inside, illuminating the faces of Serang Ali and the lascars, lying in their jhulis, rolling with the motion of the ship, watching him as he made his way to the chokey.
The gomusta had no eyes for anyone other than the man he was seeking, no thought but for the completion of his errand. Squatting beside the bars, he held the keys out to Neeclass="underline" here they are, take them, take them; may they help you find your release, your mukti…
But once he had placed the keys in Neel's palm, he would not let go of his hand. Do you see her now? In my eyes? Ma Taramony? Is she here? Within me?
When Neel's head moved, and Baboo Nob Kissin saw that he was nodding, his joy was beyond containment. You're sure? he said. Sure she's there now? It is time?
Yes, said Neel, looking into his eyes, nodding in confirmation. Yes, she is there. I see her – a mother incarnate: her time has come…
The gomusta let go of Neel's hand and wrapped his arms around himself: now that the last shreds of his former being were to be discarded, he was aware of a strange affection, a tenderness for the body that had so long been his. There was no reason for him to remain here any longer: he made his way back to the main deck and took a step towards the deckhouse. His eyes fell on Kalua, and once again, he lowered himself to all fours, and crawled along the bulwarks. Pulling himself level with the drooping figure, he put an arm around him and held on as a wave surged across the deck, almost sweeping his legs out from under him.
Wait, he whispered to Kalua. Wait just a little bit longer, and you too will find your freedom; moksha is at hand for you too…
Now that Taramony's presence was fully manifest in him, it was as if he had become the key that could unlock the cages that imprisoned everyone, all these beings who were ensnared by the illusory differences of this world. It was the fullness of this insight that carried him, drenched and battered, but ecstatic in the possession of his new self, towards the after-cabins. At Zachary's door, he paused as he so often had, to listen for a flute, and caught instead the sound of whispering voices.
It was here, he remembered, in this very place, that the start of his transfiguration had been signalled, by the sound of a flute: everything had come full circle now, everything was as foretold. His hand went to his amulet and he slipped out the piece of paper that lay inside. Hugging it to his chest, he began to turn around and around; the ship was dancing with him too, the deck heaving to the rhythm of his whirling footsteps. Seized by the transcendent, blissful joy of pure ananda, he closed his eyes.
This was how Mr Crowle found him: turning around and around, with arms raised in the air. 'Pander, y'fuckin cunt-pensioner…!' He stopped the gomusta's dance with a slap across the face. Then his eyes went to the sheet of paper which the gomusta, now cowering, was clutching in his hands. 'What's this then? Let's have a look.'
Sweeping a hand across her eyes, Paulette brushed away a flurry of tears. She could never have imagined that her meeting with Zachary would take such a hostile turn, but now that it had, it was best not to make things worse than they were already. 'It is no use, Mr Reid,' she said, rising to her feet. 'It has clearly been a great meprise for us to speak with each other. I came to tell you that your friends are direly in need of you; I came to speak of my own… but it is no use. Everything I say seems only to deepen our misunderstandings. It is best that I leave now.'
'Wait! Miss Lambert!'
The thought of losing her panicked Zachary. Leaping to his feet, he reached blindly towards the sound of her voice, forgetting, in the darkness, how small his cabin was. Almost as soon as he raised his hand, his fingers brushed against her arm; he made as if to pull away, but his palm would not move; instead, his thumb pushed back the fabric of her shirt. She was close enough that he could hear her breathing; he could even feel the warmth of her exhalations misting on his face. His hand went along her shoulder, to the back of her neck, pausing between her collar and bandanna, to explore the patch of bare skin that had been exposed by her upswept hair. Strange how he had once been appalled by the thought of seeing her as a lascar; strange that he had wanted to keep her forever wrapped in velveteen. For even though he could not actually see her now, the very knowledge of her guise made her seem more desirable than ever, a creature so changeable and elusive as to be impossible to resist: his mouth was suddenly fastened on hers, and her lips were pressed against his.
Even though they could see nothing in the darkness of the unlit cabin, their absorption was such that they both slowly closed their eyes. When a knock sounded on the door neither of them noticed. It was only when Mr Crowle shouted – 'Y'in there, Mannikin?' – that they sprang apart.
Paulette flattened herself against the bulwark as Zachary cleared his throat. 'Yes, Mr Crowle: what is it?'
'Could y'step out?'
Prising the door apart a few inches, Zachary saw that Mr Crowle was standing outside. Cowering beside him was Baboo Nob Kissin, whose neck was firmly in the first mate's grip.
'What's going on, Mr Crowle?'
'I've got something y'need to see, Mannikin,' said the first mate, with a grim smile. 'Something I got from our friend Baboon here.'