Algren at Sea (66 page)

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Authors: Nelson Algren

BOOK: Algren at Sea
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I glanced about the room and saw nobody but the sleeping infant. I got up and looked into the bedroom. Nobody. Then the bath. Nobody. The windows were secure. Danielsen had frightened me more than I cared to admit to myself, I began to think, when I saw her.
She was squatting like a watchful fox in a corner, that old
ayah
who lived on the floor. And what had gotten her nose up was my cigar.
I held it out to her and she came a-scuttering, snatched it out of my hand, puffed at it twice while squatting, thrust it back to my hand and, holding in the smoke she had inhaled, held it until she'd scuttered back to her corner: there, her eyes bright with pleasure, she let the smoke out. I'd never seen anyone so old take so much joy out of so small a pleasure.
I returned to reading:
Nanavati married Sylvia in England in 1949. The couple had three children, the youngest being of three years. They came to stay in a flat
at Coloba in Bombay in December, 1957, as a Naval Officer Nanavati had to be away from home for long periods of duty at sea. During 1958, Nanavati was away from Bombay for about six months.
Mr. Trivedi said that Nanavati was introduced to Ahuja by another naval officer, Lt. Cdr. Yagnik, in July or August, 1950. During the absence of Nanavati at Sea, his wife used to visit Ahuja's house to see his sister, Miss Mammie Ahuja. She also happened to meet Ahuja during those visits. Actually, Nanavati visited Ahuja's house along with his wife only twice or thrice.
During these visits, the Prosecution said, “some intimacy appears to have developed between Ahuja and Sylvia.” On April 18, 1959, Nanavati returned to Bombay. He took ten days' leave from April 19 and stayed in Bombay. It was during this leave period that the murder of Ahuja was committed.
The prosecutor told the jury that just before the return of Nanavati, Sylvia, it appeared, had written “some sort of a letter” to Ahuja. During the leave period Nanavati noticed a “sort of inexplicable coldness” on the part of Sylvia towards him. He was unhappy about this change in her attitude, but could not find out the exact reason.
On the morning of April 27, 1959, the date of the offence—the couple got up early and took their sick dog to a veterinary surgeon. Later they went to a picture house to reserve some tickets for the afternoon show. They returned home after buying some vegetables at the Crawford Market.
At breakfast that day, Nanavati asked her the reason for the change in her attitude, but failed to get any answer. He raised the matter again during lunch. As he approached Sylvia, the Prosecutor said, she asked him to keep away. Further questioning elicited a reply from his wife.
To a query as to how she happened to lose her love for him and whether there was anyone else for whom she cherished her affection, she said “yes.” Nanavati then asked Sylvia if that person was Ahuja. To this too she replied in the affirmative. This naturally upset Nanavati.
She even acknowledged that she had not been faithful to her husband. This stunned Nanavati. From that moment Nanavati was hot.
“This gentleman in the dock is one of the ablest officers in the Navy and the Victim happens to be a flourishing Business Man dealing in motor cars.” By these words public Prosecutor Mr. C. M. Trivedi, broke the silence of the Court and opened the case for the prosecution.
I glanced up: she was waiting for another chance at the cigar. It was hardly more than a butt but, when I held it toward her, she came and returned to the corner with it: now it was
all
hers.
In the corner she puffed the dying butt with her eyes closed, as if she'd lived her whole life for this moment. She didn't open her eyes till the butt went dead. Then, as though she'd known my eyes had been on her, she looked up at me with a mischievous air.
“
Brrrr-andy
,” she demanded, in a low, long growl.
Martha had put the stuff too high on the shelf for the
ayah
to reach. Well, I could stand a snort myself.
When I brought the bottle down she crouched beside me, eyes alight with apprehension lest I drink it all and leave her not a drop. I had one drink but I didn't trust this one with the bottle. She understood and put her mouth up like a baby lamb. I let her have enough to stagger a ewe and drew it away. The stuff ran down the corners of her mouth, brown as her brandy-colored hide. She flashed me a smile white as milk and scrambled back to her corner. I put the bottle on the shelf and went back to the trial of Commander Nanavati:
SYLVIA'S EVIDENCE
Clad in pure white, Indian style, 28-year-old Sylvia Nanavati, English wife of Commander Nanavati, gave her evidence for the defence in the Bombay Sessions Court, in clear low tones, which had a touch of sadness at times and told the court “I was infatuated with Ahuja.”
Sylvia's evidence was eagerly awaited by the parties as well as the public because it was she from whom some extraordinary story was expected. She was refused by the prosecutor to be called as a prosecution witness as prosecution did not place any reliance on her.
Examined by the defence counsel, Mrs. Nanavati said that she was married to Commander in July, 1949 and had three children, aged 9 ½, 5 ½ and 3
.
She came to know Prem Ahuja three years ago. Before
she knew Ahuja, her married life was perfectly happy. Her friendship with Ahuja resulted in intimacy with him, roughly speaking about the beginning of 1958.
Mrs. Nanavati did not disclose this intimacy with Ahuja to her husband till April 27 last (1959). Describing her activities on that day, witness stated that in the morning, she and her husband went to the veterinary hospital at Parel, and on the way back to their residence at Colaba, she purchased from Metro Cinema one ticket for herself and three tickets for three children. Then she did shopping at Crawford Market and returned home at 12-30 P.M.
Before lunch, they were sitting in the sitting room when Commander Nanavati came and touched her. Witness asked him not to do so because she did not like him.
Defence counsel: Why did you not like him (husband)?
Mrs. Nanavati: At that time I was infatuated with Ahuja.
Witness, continuing, said that Commander Nanavati asked her why she was so cold and why she did not like him. She replied that she did not want to talk about the matter.
After lunch Commander Nanavati went to lie down in the bedroom and witness was in the sitting room. After a time her husband came out and told her they must talk this matter out. He further said that for the last few months “you have been cool to me.” He also asked for the reason, and said, “Don't you love me?”
Witness did not give any reply. Commander Nanavati then asked her whether she was in love with anyone else . . . and she said yes. He then wanted to know who the other person was, but witness said nothing.
Witness continued: When he asked me whether it was Ahuja I said yes. He asked me whether I had been faithful to him. I told him I had not been faithful to him.
Commander Nanavati just sat dazed. Suddenly he got up rather excitedly and said that he wanted to go to Ahuja's flat and square things up. Witness became alarmed and put her hand to her husband and said, “Please don't
go
there, he will shoot you.”
Commander Nanavati said: “Don't bother about myself. It does not matter, and in any case I will shoot myself.”
Witness then caught hold of his arm and tried to calm him down.
She told her husband “Why should you shoot yourself? You are the innocent one in this.”
After this, witness said, her husband cooled down a bit and asked her whether Ahuja was willing to marry her and look after the children. She avoided answering that question, because she was too ashamed to admit that she had felt that Ahuja was trying to avoid marrying her. Thereupon her husband told her that he was prepared to forgive her if she promised never to see Ahuja again. But witness hesitated to give an answer.
Witness: I was still infatuated with Ahuja, so I hesitated to give the answer. As this was question which affected my whole future, I could not give an answer at the moment.
Continuing, witness stated that in the meantime, the doorbell rang and the neighbour's child came in for going to the cinema. Then they got ready for the cinema and her husband said that they should not talk about it any more and that they would talk about it the next morning.
Witness went to the cinema with three children, her husband driving the car. Though she requested Commander Nanavati to go with her for the show, he did not go, but just took them to the cinema. Counter foils of the tickets, which were taken charge of by the police were then tendered.
After leaving them at the theatre, her husband told her that he was going to the ship, I.N.S. Mysore, to get some medicine for the dogs.
Witness identified a silk shirt and coloured pants as having been worn by Commander Nanavati at the time her husband told her that he would return and pick them up at the cinema, the show ending at 5-30 P.M.
When she came out of the cinema she did not find her husband, but she was picked up by a relative of her husband. When she reached home, she came to know as the incident in the case. Her husband had taken the keys of their flat.
Question: I am definitely suggesting that your husband never said that he would kill himself?
Witness
:
My husband clearly said that. Asked how she was indifferent to that statement of her husband, she replied:
“I was myself in a state of upset. So I did not think clearly, but I was not indifferent to my husband shooting himself.”
Question: Despite all that happened you went to the Cinema on that day?
Witness: It is difficult to explain things to the children. So as I had promised them, I took them to the Cinema.
Question: Where are you staying?
Witness: I am staying with the parents of my husband.
Question: “I am suggesting that you have agreed to oblige your husband now that lover is no more.”
Witness: It is not true. I am stating what I actually know.
I fell asleep over the sorrows of Nanavati; and slept so soundly I did not hear Martha let herself in. I did not waken until she called to me from the bed.
My tactic was to make no love to her until she took the initiative: had she been making love, my approach would be tolerated only because I was supporting her for a short while.
So now, when she fell to sleep on my shoulder, I merely held her.
The drumming of the overhead fan began to drum to a slower beat; like the throb of great engines hauling below deck. They were whispering the same warning over and over—or was it a seaman, whispering to himself while he listened, on the other side of my stateroom door? Baliram, in a white uniform and his face bloodied, stood, smiling knowingly, above me.
“Bombay is a great city, my friend,” he said sorrowfully—and bent so low above me I felt his breath on my face and wakened.
It was Martha's breath, while she slept with her head on my shoulder. She had thrown her arm across me, and on the nape of my neck I could feel her fingers lying lightly. Her breasts, crushed against me, yet felt firm. She moved her thigh across mine and caught the calf of my leg with her heel, pressing herself against me. Her fingers tapped my nape: she was awake and waiting. I swept my hand down her back to the fullness of her hips and gently backward till she joined her hands about my back. Then joined her thighs.
When her breath began coming harder I took her mouth till her lips went cool in release. A moment later she had fallen back to sleep; her head upon her palm.
All night, in voluptuous gravity, this woman of Assam, wearing golden earrings, slept; her cheek upon her palm. All night the ceiling fan above her whirred. I saw her purchased breasts: their rise and fall.
While four roses made a shadow, as of many roses, on the wall.
Beyond the door her ancient
ayah
slept upon the floor.
All night, along the flaring street below, I heard the cabareting taxis' roar.
A night that roses, at one rupee for four, made a shadow, as of many rupees, on the wall.
I wakened to a tremendous crash, flinging my hands across my eyes—I thought the overhead fan had fallen.
Martha was pulling on a robe. There came a long low wail of fright. I got up and stumbled into the living room.
The top shelf of the great bookcase had crashed to the floor on top of the
ayah,
lying prone and wailing with the brandy bottle smashed across a litter of broken records. That she had tried to climb the shelves for the bottle and had gotten high enough to reach it before the top shelf crashed was plain enough. Martha was rocking the baby while keeping up such a flow of abuse—in a tongue I'd never heard—that the kid was becoming more frightened than ever.

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