‘Gustadpetitionpleasepetition. Signsignpetitionplease.’
He remembered. He had left it for a week on the sideboard. ‘But did you go to all the neighbours?’
‘GustadGustadyousignfirst. Gustadfirsttheneveryone. Seeseesee-Icansay. SeeseeseeGustadNoblesigned.’ Tehmul was right, he knew, people were always afraid to be the first to get involved.
Tehmul received the signed petition as though it was a magnificent trophy, beaming all over his trusting face. ‘GustadGustad. ThankyouGustad.’ He shushed with his finger at his lips. ‘Quietquietquiet. Nonoisenonoise.’
Gustad answered with a finger to his own lips, imitating the shushing sound. Tehmul was overjoyed at their conspiracy of silence. He burst out in a fit of giggling and left.
‘Veryquietverytastyverytastyjuice.’
Smiling, Gustad resumed attacking the tape. ‘Poor fellow. What will become of him if something happens to his brother, I don’t know. Why was he saying very tasty juice?’
Dilnavaz shrugged. ‘You people say poor fellow, but you keep encouraging his crazy ways. No one even helps to find him some simple job.’ The wrapping litter reminded her of the earlier vexation. ‘So much rubbish in this house. And you bring more books.’
He worked the penknife through the last piece of tape and unwound the black plastic which went around and across four times. She began clearing up: ‘With so much junk I cannot clean or dust properly, and all that paper still on the windows and ventilators. God knows when…’
The plastic slipped off and silenced her in mid-sentence. Stacks of currency notes, of hundred-rupee denomination, in neat bundles, now sat before their eyes. Crisp new bundles, with shiny staples, and a little encircling band of brown paper.
She found her voice first: ‘What is it? I mean, what is the meaning of it? Can it be a mistake?’
He gaped at the pile of money. Gradually, his gaze took in the background, the window, the compound. Outside, in the dusky light, was a mouth as open as his own, but the face around that mouth was Tehmul’s, looking in at the little hill of money.
That broke the spell for Gustad. With a roar, he slammed shut the window, cutting off from Tehmul’s vision the sight that made his eyes shine as they had on the day he saw the naked doll.
iii
Gustad realized that shutting the window was not enough. He rushed to the door. Tehmul, still agape, had not moved from the spot. ‘Come here!’ Anger did not work; he tried again, soft and coaxing. ‘Come, Tehmul, come. Let us talk.’ But Tehmul began backing away fearfully. ‘OK, OK,’ said Gustad, and shut the penknife, making sure that Tehmul observed it sliding into his trouser pocket. ‘See? No knife. Now you will come?’
‘OK, OK Gustad. Comingcomingcoming.’ He swayed and stumbled. ‘GustadGustadchickenneck.’ With one finger he traced a line across his throat from ear to ear, then shuddered. ‘PleaseGustadpleasenotmyneck.’
‘Don’t be silly, Tehmul. Knife is for opening the package.’ He smiled, and Tehmul smiled back. ‘You remember what you saw through the window just now?’
Tehmul’s frantic hands delineated hills and mounds in the air. ‘Moneymoneymoneymoney. Somuchsomuchsomuchmoney.’
‘Shh!’ He regretted the question, and looked around to see if anyone was approaching. He brought his face close to Tehmul’s, towering over him. ‘Talk softly.’
Tehmul cringed, then remembered they were partners in silence and his face broke into a grin. He raised his finger to his lips. ‘QuietquietGustad. Roshansleepingnonoise.’
‘Yes. Good. Now listen.’ Tehmul nodded vigorously. ‘What you saw is our secret. Your secret and my secret. OK?’
‘SecretsecretGustadsecret.’
‘Yes. Secret means you must not tell anybody. Tell no one what you saw.’
‘NoonenooneGustadnoone. Secretsecretsecret.’
‘Yes.’ He checked again — the compound was clear. ‘And I will give you one rupee for keeping the secret.’
Tehmul’s eyes lit up. ‘YesyesGustadoneoneonerupeesecret.’ He held out his hand while Gustad opened his wallet.
‘Remember. Tell no one.’ He handed over the note.
Tehmul examined the rupee, turned it over, held it up to the light, sniffed it. He grinned and began to scratch himself. ‘GustadGustadtwotwotworupees. Secretpleasetworupeessecret. Pleasepleaseplease.’
Gustad brought the wallet out again. ‘OK. Two rupees.’ Then he put a hand on Tehmul’s shoulder and said, in what he hoped was a menacing whisper, ‘Two rupees for not telling. But you know what will happen if you forget? If you tell someone?’
Tehmul’s grin vanished. He tried to squirm away, but the steel vice on his shoulder kept him from moving. He shook his head from side to side with all his might, as though the more forcefully he did it, the better he could appease Gustad.
‘If you forget, I will catch you like this.’ Gustad moved his hand from the shoulder to Tehmul’s nape. ‘Then I will take my knife.’ With his free hand he fished for the penknife in his pocket, as Tehmul trembled in his grasp. ‘I will open it.’ He sprang the blade with his teeth. ‘Like this.’ The effect of gleaming white incisors on the shiny blade was sinister. ‘And when it is open, I will cut your throat, like the goaswalla cut the chicken’s. Like this.’ He moved the knife across Tehmul’s throat from ear to ear, keeping the blade safely covered with his index finger. Tehmul started to whimper, and his eyes filled with tears.
‘Will you forget?’ Tehmul shook his head. ‘Will you tell anyone?’ The head shook again, and Gustad snapped shut the penknife. ‘Good. Now put the money in your pocket.’ He released his neck.
Tehmul folded the two notes till they were down to a square inch. He pried off his right shoe and tucked the square into his sock, under the heel. ‘GustadGustadthankyou. TworupeesGustad. Tworupeessecret.’ He started backing away slowly.
Gustad watched him go, sorry that he had to frighten the poor fellow. But it was the only way, nothing remained in Tehmul’s mind except fear. He forgot for a moment that the real problem still sat inside, on black plastic, upon his black desk.
iv
The bundles of currency had tumbled when the plastic was unwrapped, and Dilnavaz restacked them. ‘What trouble is Jimmy trying to bring down on our heads, God only knows. Sending all this money in a package, like onions and potatoes.’ She began wrapping the plastic.
He stopped her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Packing it. To send it back before there is any trouble.’
‘What are you saying, what trouble? You don’t even know whose money it is or what it is for.’
‘Trouble does not come with a big advertisement giving reasons and explanations. It just comes. And with idiots like Tehmul-Lungraa watching and blabbing, it comes faster. Take the money to Chor Bazaar, baba, give it back to your taxi-driver.’
He dismantled the neat stacks. ‘Not a word will pass from Tehmul’s mouth. I have spoken to him.’ He checked the first and last serial numbers in a few of the bundles: yes, there were a hundred notes to each. He counted the number of bundles: again a hundred. And yes, they were all in the hundred-rupee denomination. ‘My God!’ he whispered. ‘Ten lakh rupees!’
The vast sum, spoken, served to renew her fears. ‘Take it back, I beg you!’ She reached for a corner of the plastic, but he snatched it from her.