The Crow Eaters (6 page)

ONLY three days were left.

Freddy had been too busy to feel anxiety. But now that the preliminary work was done, he began counting the hours to the final moment. He was suddenly as tense as an over-wound clock. Climbing wearily up the stairs on the third night of his clandestine forays, he sat down for a moment. Endeavouring to soothe his nerves he systematically ticked off the things he had so far accomplished. His psychological assault on Jerbanoo had worked as well as could have been expected in the time allowed, and the tasks he had set himself regarding the store were satisfactorily concluded. Now only the books remained – the account books, ledgers and receipts. He would take everything over to his auditors on Saturday. They were due for checking anyway – and, most important, the books would be safe. He sat on the steps a full hour before tip-toeing to his room.

Although Freddy slept soundly, he got up feeling completely enervated. It was already past eight and Putli’s string-bed alongside his was empty. He peered at himself in the mirror, stroking his stubbly cheeks, and fancied his face showed tell-tale traces of guilt and tension. He splashed himself with cold water from a bucket until the shock numbed his nerves and revived his spirits. Refreshed and alert, he changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas and a starched muslin coat-wrap.

He called to Putli but there was no answer.

Emerging from the room Freddy walked straight to the prayer table. Covering his head with a black skull cap, he
softly chanted prayers. As he held a match to the wick of the holy lamp, Jerbanoo came into the dining room and he asked, ‘Where’s Putli?’

‘She’s retired to the
other room
.’

‘What! When?’ he gasped.

‘This morning. Didn’t you know?’

Mutely he shook his head. Strength drained from his body. The match in his hand burnt through to his skin and he flung it away with a tiny sob. The room grew hazy and swam before his eyes. He saw Jerbanoo’s bulk hover about the table as through a mist. Somehow managing to keep himself erect, he groped his way back to his room.

Freddy locked the door and sagged limply on the rumpled bed-sheets. He stared at the wall before him. A lizard slithered across the whitewash and snapped up a moth. Crossing his hands tightly over his fluttering stomach he rocked back and forth and moaned, ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’

Translated into plain English, Jerbanoo had only said that Putli, being in one of her rare non-pregnant phases, had started her monthly cycle.

Now, you must wonder, why all this fuss about a healthy woman’s very natural condition? It meant a postponement of Freddy’s plans.

Unnerved as he was, it appeared to signal to him the end of everything. It was an unexpected hitch. No, he thought, striking his forehead in self-disgust, not a hitch but a careless oversight. Despite all his careful thinking, planning down to the minutest detail, he had overlooked this one obvious factor. His timing had misfired and he had only himself to blame. Putli would not be able to step out of the house for five days at least, starting from the 13th – and Sunday, 15th March would come and go for ever.

‘You damned fool, you stupid donkey!’ he hissed bitterly, swearing at himself in English. Freddy had been coiled into a precise little ball of unfolding action and the unexpected caught him off balance. It wasn’t until the next day that he once again regained his poise. The plans would have to be
postponed for a week. But the agony of waiting a week seemed to Freddy a year of slow torture.

Putli retired to the
other room
for five days. It was a tiny windowless cubicle with an iron bedstead, an iron chair and a small steel table. The room opened directly on to the staircase landing opposite the kitchen.

Every Parsi household has its
other room
, specially reserved for women. Thither they are banished for the duration of their unholy state. Even the sun, moon and stars are defiled by her impure gaze, according to a superstition which has its source in primitive man’s fear of blood.

Putli quite enjoyed her infrequent visits to the
other room
. It was the only chance she ever had to rest. And since this seclusion was religiously enforced, she was able to enjoy her idleness without guilt.

Putli spent her time crocheting or tatting. She left the room only to use the bathroom. Then she would loudly proclaim her intention and call, ‘I am coming. I want to pass urine,’ or, as the case might be, ‘I want to wash.’

In either case, if Jerbanoo or Freddy were at the prayer table they anxiously shouted, ‘Wait!’

Hastily finishing their prayers they scurried out of the room and called back.

‘All right, you can come now.’

Once the all-clear was sounded, Putli made a beeline for the bathroom, carefully shading her face with a shawl from the prayer table.

She was served meals in her cubicle. A tin plate and spoon, reserved for the occasion, were handed over by the servant boy. She knew she couldn’t help herself to pickles or preserves for they would spoil at her touch. Flowers, too, were known to wilt when touched by women in her condition.

The family was permitted to speak to her through closed doors, or, in an emergency, even directly. Provided they bathed from head to foot and purified themselves afterwards.

Freddy spent five harrowing days. Without Putli, the strain
of being courteous to Jerbanoo was almost unbearable. However, his mind was functioning once again and the extreme stage of depression passed. He set a new date for the target. Sunday, 22nd March. This would see the New Year through merrily at least. The New Year was on the 21st.

By the time Putli emerged from the
other room
Freddy was convinced that the delay had been for the best. Given another seven days, the plans he had set in motion had time to jell. Yes, he reflected, the 15th might have been a trifle premature.

Freddy prudently told his auditors that the books were not quite ready and he would bring them the following Friday.

The 21st passed happily. They started the New Year with a visit to the Fire Temple, lunched with the Chaiwallas, and after a long drive, congregated at the Bankwallas for dinner.

Next morning, worn out by the excesses of the previous day, the family slept late. It was Sunday, 22nd March.

FREDDY alone was up early. He went down to the store and, working behind closed shutters, quickly packed two large cardboard cases with all the cigars, caviar and other costly items he could lay his hands on. Placing the cartons by the landing door downstairs, he went up and had a bath. Only then did he hear the household stir to life.

Now that the moment was upon him, Freddy was calm. And more than calm, in a mild state of elation. Just before lunch was served, he announced merrily:

‘We are all going to the Toddywallas after the meal. They are expecting us for a game of cards. We’ll take the boy along – he will keep an eye on the children.’

The children were overjoyed. They loved playing with the Toddywalla brood.

‘All right,’ assented Putli.

‘I’m not coming,’ said Jerbanoo.

‘But you like cards! Come on, you’ll enjoy yourself,’ pleaded Putli.

‘I’m too tired from yesterday. You all carry on. I’ll catch up on my sleep.’

‘Oh, just this once, Mother! You can catch up on your sleep tomorrow. We’re still in a holiday mood. Do come along.’

Freddy, unperturbed by Putli’s coaxing, refilled Jerbanoo’s glass with port wine. He knew Jerbanoo would never accompany them.

Freddy had singled out Mr Toddywalla for an invitation because he knew Jerbanoo did not get along with Soonamai, Mr Toddywalla’s mother-in-law. He did not know the exact
cause of the enmity between them but made a shrewd guess.

At first the two mothers-in-law got along like a house on fire. Soonamai’s relationship with her son-in-law was conspicuously cordial. Capitalising on this to point out to Putli and Freddy how well Mr Toddywalla treated his mother-in-law, Jerbanoo had enjoyed many a glorious scene at the cost of Freddy’s discomfiture. She had poured out her tales of woe to Soonamai, who had listened patiently and with sympathy.

Then Jerbanoo made the fatal mistake of according the entire credit for their halcyon relationship to Mr Toddywalla. Soonamai could not bear it any longer. She subtly suggested that it was she who did so much for her son-in-law; in fact the happy state of affairs had been brought about by her.

Jerbanoo did not take the hint.

Then Soonamai, angered by her dense, unfeeling friend’s chatter, took to giving Jerbanoo pointed little tit-bits of advice. It was their duty as women to win over their menfolk. Naturally, men were tired and irritable after a hard day’s work, and it was the little things that mattered: like her fixing Mr Toddywalla’s breakfast with her own hands, pressing his shoulders of an evening, handing him his tea in his room – agreeing with his views. Jerbanoo ought to try a little tact … she might try to do those little things men liked so much … save choice bits of food for Faredoon, show him special deference, consider him before her daughter and herself in everything. After all he was the breadwinner …

At last Jerbanoo realised what her friend was up to. She, Jerbanoo, was being blamed for not getting along with Freddy! She was astonished.

‘You want me to dance to the tune of that infernal toad?’

‘Well, why not. If it keeps everyone happy,’ said Soonamai.

‘You may be a hypocrite and a toady – that is your lookout and your family’s concern – but don’t expect me to join you!’ said the forthright and indomitable lady. The two women sat in glum silence, avoiding each other’s eyes, until Freddy fetched Jerbanoo home. They had not spoken since.

As soon as the children had eaten, Putli bustled about getting them ready for the outing. Freddy generously poured more wine into Jerbanoo’s glass. Jerbanoo was almost nodding at the table. Freddy glanced at his watch. It was ten past one.

‘We’re ready,’ announced Putli, ushering the children before her towards the staircase. ‘You’d better get to bed before you fall asleep right here,’ she told her mother.

‘Yes, I feel I could sleep for ever,’ agreed Jerbanoo.

‘Now now, that’s no way to talk on an auspicious day,’ admonished Putli affectionately.

Freddie’s hair prickled all the way from the base of his neck to his ankles. The damn woman was uncanny! He rubbed his hand on his spine to erase the hairy caterpillar and stood up.

‘Carry on. I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said to Putli, and Putli instructed the children to go down and wait in the tonga.

Freddy washed his hands and tying neat bows on his coat, followed the family downstairs. At the landing he beckoned the servant boy and between them they hauled the two cartons into the front of the tonga.

‘Got to make this delivery today,’ he explained.

The servant boy jumped on to the cases. Two of the youngest children sat in front, next to their father. Putli, snugly holding the baby in her arms, sat at the back of the tonga with Hutoxi. The horse swished his tail and a few bristles, escaping over the wooden dashboard, tickled the children in their faces. They squealed with delight. Freddy leaned over to smooth the tail down.

The wind stung fresh against their faces and brought them the fragrance of flowers blooming all over Lahore. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Toddywallas. The children ran to join their friends in the garden and Mr Toddywalla led the Junglewallas into his study. A group of friends were already gathered around the large circular table, playing cards. Freddy and Putli were greeted effusively. There was a lot of scraping and shifting as two more chairs were fitted into the expanded circle. Freddy seated Putli on a chair and standing
behind her, lightly placing his hands on her shoulders, said, ‘I’ll join you a little later. I’ve got to make an urgent delivery. The cases are lying in the tonga.’

‘Oh, come on now,’ said Mr Toddywalla taking Freddy by his arm and leading him to a chair. ‘Sit down. You can’t work on Sunday. What will the padres at Saint Anthony’s say if you do business on a Sabbath? They will throw the children out of school!’

There was a titter of laughter. Freddy affectionately loosened the grip of the other’s arm and slipping out of reach waved, ‘I’ll be back soon.’

Freddy went straight to the rented warehouse and deposited the crates. Then he headed home. There was very little traffic on the streets. He parked the tonga in a lane two blocks from the back alley and walked to his own lane. The narrow alley was deserted. Putting a key in the lock he quickly opened the door and stepped inside. As far as he could make out no one had seen him.

Now everything would have to be done in split seconds. He had rehearsed these few moments so often that he found himself moving like an automaton.

Freddy removed two gallon cans of kerosene oil, a pair of rubber gloves and an old oilskin coat from an attic beneath the steps. Deftly rolling up his sleeves he put on the gloves and the long coat. Unscrewing the caps on the cans he poured some oil over the heap of old newspapers in the attic. One after the other he opened the store-rooms and sprinkled oil on a few crates and gunny bags, counting on the cheap stock of spirits and rum to do the main work.

Stepping into the main storeroom, Freddy felt trapped by a sudden grip of sentimental sorrow. This would never do! Wrenching his mind back to his task, he doused the old desk and counter. He sprinkled oil on shelves, painfully averting his eyes from the discolouring labels on biscuit cans, tea and honey jars as the oil spread.

He led a trail from the desk, through the passage, to the attic. He crept up the wooden steps pouring a steady trickle of oil.
When he reached the landing on top he listened. The house was absolutely quiet. The dining room door was closed. He held his breath. He thought he heard the faint vibration of Jerbanoo’s snores coming through the rear of the house, behind the
other room
. Quickly, stealthily, he climbed down.

Freddy entered one of the musty, lightless store-rooms. He struck a match and held it briefly to a sack reeking of oil. The room lit up in a flash. There was a great billow of smoke that stung Freddy’s eyes. Stepping out quickly, he locked the door. Rushing at a frantic pace, his movements economical and precise, he repeated the performance in the other two storerooms and locked the doors. His eyes streaming, he sprinkled the remaining oil all over the floor and flung the empty cans into the attic. He tossed a lighted match in behind them and as the attic exploded in a blinding flare, Freddy shut the door and threw himself against it in a crazy, heart-pounding jolt of panic. He heard a subdued, hissing roar. Shedding his coat and gloves he fled to the landing. Composing himself, he stepped out into the alley and locked the door with trembling fingers.

A short while later he was dealing out a deck of cards and bluffing his way to a tidy little pile of chips.

But, why did Freddy, obviously shrewd and far-sighted, attempt something as commonplace as arson and murder in order to benefit through insurance? A time-worn scheme – but not in India in the year 1901, among a semi-starved mass of superstitious people. Here a religiously conditioned, fatalistic people were unconditionally resigned to the ups and downs of life. They were an obedient and spiritually preoccupied race, used to being governed, slavishly subservient to their masters, to law, order and decree. In other words, an oriental people as yet quite unused to the ways of the West and its political, industrial and criminal practices.

Insurance in India was in its infancy. Its opportunities struck Freddy as brand new; a creative thought without precedent. In its own way, Freddy’s brainwave was as unique as the discovery of the wheel.