"How long are we staying?"
"This is as far as we are going. You can walk up to Kalimpong by yourself," they said and pointed at a path through the trees. "Shortcut."
Panic lurched in him. "How will I take my things?"
"Leave them here. Safekeeping." They laughed. "We’ll send them to you later."
"No," said Biju, terrified by the realization that he was being robbed.
"Go!" They pointed.
He stood there. The foliage loomed in a single mass; the sound of frogs swelled into the same tone that had expanded in Biju’s ear through the phone that day when he called his father from the streets of New York.
Up above, the mountains stretched -
Below, they dropped straight down, as in a nightmare, all the way to the Teesta.
"Go, will you?! Bhago," a man said, pointing now with his rifle.
Biju turned.
"But give us your wallet and remove your shoes before you go."
He turned around again.
"His belt is also nice," said another of the men, eyeing the leather. "Such nice clothes you get in America. The quality is very good."
Biju handed over his wallet. He took off his belt.
"You’re forgetting your shoes."
He took them off. Under fake soles were his savings.
"Your jacket." And when his denim jacket was off, they decided even his jeans and T-shirt were desirable.
Biju began to quake, and fumbling, tripping, he took off the last items of clothing, stood in his white underpants.
By this time, dogs from all over the busti had arrived galloping. They were battered and balding from fights and disease, but they, like their masters, had the air of outlaws. They surrounded Biju with gangster swagger, tails curved up over them like flags, growling and barking.
Children and women peered from the shadows.
"Let me go," he begged.
One of the men, laughing wildly, pulled a nightgown off a hedge where it was drying. "No, no, don’t give that to him," squealed a toothless crone, clearly the owner of the garment. "Let him have it, we’ll buy you another. He’s come from America. How can he go and see his family naked?"
They laughed.
And Biju ran -
He ran into the jungle chased by the dogs, who also seemed in on the joke, grinning and snapping.
Finally, when Biju had passed what the dogs deemed their line of control, they tired of him and wandered back.
Darkness fell and he sat right in the middle of the path – without his baggage, without his savings, worst of all, without his pride. Back from America with far less than he’d ever had.
He put on the nightgown. It had large, faded pink flowers and yellow, puffy sleeves, ruffles at the neck and hem. It must have been carefully picked from a pile at the bazaar.
Why had he left? Why had he left? He’d been a fool. He thought of Harish-Harry – "Go for a rest and then return." Mr. Kakkar, the travel agent, who had warned him – "My friend, I am telling you, you are making a big mistake."
He thought of Saeed Saeed.
One last time, Biju had run into him.
"Biju, man, I see this girl, Lutfi’s sister, she is visiting from Zanzibar, and the MINUTE I see her, I say to Lutfi, ‘I think she is the ONE, man.’"
"You’re already married."
"But in four years I get my green card and.. .fsshht… out of there… I get divorced and I marry for real. Now we are only going to have a ceremony in the mosque… This girl… she is…"
Biju waited.
Saeed exploded with amazement: "SO…"
Biju waited.
"CLEAN!! She smell… SO NICE! And size fourteen. BEST SIZE!"
Saeed showed him with his hands apart what a sweet handful his second wife was.
"But when I meet her, I don’t even touch her. Not even like this – " He stuck out his finger like a coy snail from a shell. "I behave myself. We will buy a house in New Jersey. I’m taking a course in airplane maintenance."
Biju sat there in terror of what he’d done, of being alone in the forest, and of the men coming after him again. He couldn’t stop thinking of all that he’d bought and lost. Of the money he’d hidden under fake soles in his shoes. Of his wallet. Suddenly, he felt an old throbbing of the knee that he had hurt slipping on Harish-Harry’s floor.
Fifty-three
At Cho Oyu, the frogs were croaking in the jhora, in the bed of spinach, and high in the water tank above the trees. Late into the night, the cook made his way through the nightshade and knocked on the judge’s door.
"What is it?" asked the judge.
The cook opened the door wrapped in such a haze of alcohol, it watered his own eyes like an onion. After his stop at Thapa’s Canteen and all the drinking he’d done there, he’d returned to his own supply of chhang and imbibed that as well.
"If I have been disobedient," he slurred, approaching the foot of the judge’s bed with unfocused eyes, "beat me."
"What?" said the judge, sitting up in bed and switching on the light, drunk himself. He on whiskey.
"What?"
"I’m a bad man," cried the cook, "I’m a bad man, beat me, sahib, punish me."
How dare he -
How dare he lose Mutt how dare he not find her how dare he presume to come and disturb the judge -
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING????!!!" the judge yelled.
"Sahib, beat me -
"If it will make you feel better," said the judge, "all right."
"I’m a wicked man, a weak man. I’d be better dead than alive."
The judge got out of bed. In bed he was heavy; standing he was light. He had to keep moving… If he didn’t extend himself into action, he would fall. He smacked the cook over the head with his slipper. "If this is what you want!"
Then the cook fell at his feet, clasping one of them and weeping for mercy. "I’m a bad man, forgive me, forgive me…"
"Leave," said the judge, repulsed, trying to wrench his foot free. "Leave."
The cook would not. He held tighter. He wept and slobbered on it. Slime came from his nose, tears from his eyes.
The judge began to beat him harder and harder to get him to let go. He kicked out and hit.
"Sahib. I drink. I’m a bad man. Beat me. Beat me."
Smacking him, beating him, beating him -
"I’ve been bad," the cook said, "I’ve been drinking I ate the same rice as you not the servant’s rice but the Dehradun rice I ate the meat and lied I ate out of the same pot I stole liquor from the army I made chhang I did the accounts differently for years I have cheated you in the accounts each and every day my money was dirty it was false sometimes I kicked Mutt I didn’t take her for walks just sat by the side of the road smoked a bidi and came home I’m a bad man I watched out for nobody and nothing but myself – Beat me!"
The surge of anger was familiar to the judge.
He said, "You filth, you hypocrite. If you want punishment I’ll give it to you!"
"Yes," wept the cook, "that is right. It’s your duty to discipline me. It’s as it should be."
Sai came rushing from her room, hearing the thuds. "What is happening??? Stop. Stop it immediately. Stop it!" she screamed, "Stop it!"
"Let him," the cook said. "Let him. He wants to kill me. Let him kill me. What is my life? It’s nothing. Better that it’s gone. It’s useless to everyone. It’s useless to you and to me. Kill me! Maybe that will give you satisfaction. It will give me satisfaction. Go on!"
"I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!"
"Kill me."
"I’ll kill you."
The cook didn’t mention his son… he had none… he’d never had one… it was just his hope writing to him… Biju was nonexistent…