Who Will Catch Us As We Fall (21 page)

Jeffery thought about the necklace again. ‘Answer him.' There was a forcefulness in his tone that surprised even David.

‘What do you want?' The man's smile was gone.

‘To help you.' David stuck his belly out in satisfaction. ‘We can come to an arrangement that can benefit both of us.'

‘What makes you think I want to help you?'

David strode around the shop. He trailed his fingers through the headphone packages, knocked on the screen of an expensive Sony TV, extracting a whimper from the shop owner. ‘As you said, you obtain all of these goods from overseas. And yet, you do not pay tax on them.'

‘You don't know that.' A bristling voice.

‘Yes, I do. No matter, I shall report you and by the time you're done paying whatever tax you have evaded, plus the hefty fine for avoiding it, your business will be over.' David leered at the shop owner. ‘No more trips to America. In the meantime, all the
matatus
in your
sacco
will be subject to inspection and I can say with surety that they won't pass. You'll have to pay for the repairs, of course, before they can operate. Must think of the safety of Kenyan passengers.'

A forced smile. ‘Why all this hostility,
bwana
? I never said I wasn't willing to help you out.'

David stopped at the front desk once more. ‘Good. Now that we are no longer pretending with each other and you have decided to stop wasting my time, let's discuss.'

As they talked, Jeffery moved outside, the bell chiming loudly above him as he leaned against the closing door, shutting his eyes and listening to the sounds of people and cars playing havoc on the streets.

Two weeks later, in the same bar, this time scooping up meat in heaps of ugali himself, David slipped something into his hand.

‘Thirty thousand – your share. Of course, I took what I lent you plus interest.' It didn't matter. Jeffery took the cash, dumbstruck, as if it might be snatched away from him at any moment.
I have to look after my well-being
,
he thought, as he slipped the money into his back pocket, wolfing down his food and washing it away with warm beer and a burp.

The following day, Jeffery returned to Biashara Street, to Taj's Fancy Shop, and purchased the gold-plated jewelry set he had seen, adorned with scarlet stones. It came in a set with earrings and a petal-like pedant to drape in her hair and it would fall like a symbol upon her forehead announcing that she was his, or would be soon enough.

He waited for the rest of the day at Klub House and it was late evening by the time he scrambled off his stool toward her, having ordered them drinks.

‘I've been waiting all day for you.' His voice close to a snap.

She looked at him quizzically, as if she didn't recognize him. Suddenly embarrassed, he said, as if begging, ‘I'm the one who—'

She took the wine, unimpressed. ‘I remember you.'

‘Where were you?' he asked.

‘It's not your business but I have a job as a waitress.'

‘At which bar?'

She smiled a little condescendingly. ‘I don't mix my businesses. I'm sure you understand that,' she said, looking pointedly at his blue shirt, the telltale silver buttons and stitched-in badge that sat on top of his breast pocket.

‘I bought you this.' He removed the velvet box, placed it on the table beside her. ‘I very much hope you like it.' He spoke formally, desperate to impress her.

She touched the gift, fingers lingering. ‘What is it?'

‘Why don't you open it?' Her expression overjoyed him; she was grinning fully, showing off all her teeth, not the sultry smile he knew she reserved for clients.

With a small gasp she lifted the cover, laying a trembling hand on the red cushion inside. She stared at the set for the longest time, pausing only to take a long gulp of her wine. The maroon liquid stained her mouth, darkening it. He saw the pink contrast of her tongue as she licked the droplets away and he touched her hand urgently.

‘Do you like it?'

Her throat rippled, her eyes brimming. ‘Aqua Bar.'

‘Pardon?' His eyebrows came together in a question.

She shut the case and drained the last of her drink, took his hand. She placed it high up on her thigh and leaned forward so that he caught sight of the chocolate slope of her breasts. He stumbled close to her, breathing raspily. She whispered in his ear, ‘That's the bar where I work.'

Pooja sat in the small armchair and surveyed her family. Raj was lounging on the couch, a half-read newspaper laid over his lap. Leena was resting her head against his shoulder, legs tucked up, playing with the frill of her full skirt. It had rained last night and now the house was filled with the residues of it; humid and stifling. She toyed with her stockings, wondering why her mother had made her wear them. Jai was perched at the edge of the sofa cushion.

‘Can I go now? Michael is waiting for me.'

‘No you cannot go,' Pooja answered. ‘We're all going to the temple.'

Groans. Rolling eyes. Slumping shoulders and pouting mouths. ‘But,
Maaa
!'

‘No
But,
Maaas
.' Pooja pulled her mouth back to imitate her daughter's high-pitched whine. ‘I said we're going, so we're going.'

Raj slammed his newspaper shut, a swell of irritation in his chest forcing him upward. His wife was always deciding things without talking about them first. ‘Where is all of this coming from?'

Her children had been acting up. Such nonsense, non-stop. Talking back, hiding things from her, lying and fighting – still playing too much with that boy even though school had started. That was what worried her the most. They needed direction now more than ever.

She had spoken to Mrs Laljee from Flat 39 about this yesterday, when the elderly woman had come to borrow a cup of sugar and vanilla essence for a pound cake. ‘I was wondering if I could come in?' She had pushed her way through Pooja's door and into the living room.

‘Of course.' She had led the woman to the couch, calling into the kitchen, ‘Angela! Bring some tea and biscuits.'

The two women sat side by side, their knees turned toward each other. Mrs Laljee folded her gray salwar kameez
between her knees and adjusted her
chuni
to sit more comfortably, hoisting the chiffon scarf upon her head.

‘Is everything alright?' Pooja asked.

‘Is everything okay with you,
beta
?' Mrs Laljee put a motherly hand on her thigh.

‘Why wouldn't it be?' At last, Pooja saw the reason for the woman's visit.

‘Oh, Pooja.' Mrs Laljee shook her head. ‘I'm so worried about your daughter.'

Putting her fingers on top of the woman's hand in a tight clutch, she felt suddenly grateful that she could finally confide in someone who was willing to listen. ‘What have you heard? She's just growing up – that's all.'

‘I remember she used to be such a sweet, polite girl. Now all I hear are stories that she's stealing money and running around fruit markets in her skirt, like some kind of hooligan! It doesn't look nice.' She grimaced, as if embarrassed. ‘Forgive my intrusion – you know I'm not one to pry.'

The women fell silent when Angela entered the room. They waited for her to put down the tray, and when she picked up the tea pot, Pooja stopped her. ‘I'll do it.'

Once the housemaid was gone, Mrs Laljee spoke again. ‘Does she have to bring that boy with her every day?'

‘There's no one else to look after him.'

‘Then get a new maid. Is she really worth all this trouble?'

‘I thought about getting a new girl but Raj refused.' Then, more concerned, ‘What kind of trouble do you mean?'

‘I don't know – these
kharias
can get up to anything, really.' Mrs Laljee didn't bother to lower her voice. ‘And if something does happen, people will blame you.' She accepted a tea cup, swirled a chocolate biscuit in the hot liquid. ‘My
ayah
has a daughter and I wouldn't even let her in my house.' She sucked the tea out of the cookie, pushing it whole into her mouth. ‘I suppose it's okay for Jai to play with him, for now at least, but it's different with girls. You could be getting yourself into some serious hot water if you don't discipline her now.'

‘What shall I do?' Pooja asked, out of ideas.

‘Start bringing them to the
Gurdwara
,' had been Mrs Laljee's answer. ‘They can meet some new friends there – those who share the same values, speak the same language. We should never underestimate the power of community, especially in this country. It's important we stick together.'

‘Raj would never agree. He's not a religious man.' Pooja gestured with an irritated scoff at the picture of Pio Gama Pinto. ‘That's who he talks to.'

‘Nonsense.' Mrs Laljee picked up another biscuit. ‘That's not a divine being. Pio was just a silly man who gave up his life for a silly dream. You must encourage Raj to come along,' she urged. ‘A man without God is like a house without a toilet. It's unnatural and doesn't make sense.'

Listening to his wife retell the story, Raj kicked away the footstool in front of him. ‘I'll be damned if I let Mrs Laljee run this family!'

She ignored his anger and stated again, ‘We're going.'

And true to her word, twenty minutes later, Raj and his son were dressed, the house tightly locked up, and Angela and Michael instructed to stay out on the veranda until the Kohlis returned.

Raj tied a scarf around Jai's head in the shoe room of the
Gurdwara.
Pooja had taken their daughter to the other side; men and women sat separately and, today, Raj was glad for it. He tied his own cloth in an expert knot at his neck. It was compulsory to cover one's head as a sign of respect when entering the temple and, after doing so, Raj led his son into the prayer hall.

The commotion stopped at the entrance; once Raj crossed the carpeted threshold, all he could hear was the gentle whirring of fans overhead and the murmurings of prayer. They walked quietly to the far end of the room and sat by the wall.

Contrary to his wife's thinking, Raj did believe in God. It was the setting that the temple provided for finding and connecting with Him that he found questionable. The
Gurdwara
was composed of two floors. The top floor was the prayer room, where people came in as early as four thirty in the morning to sit in quiet meditation, listening to the songs and scriptures. When Raj was younger, the prayer room had been a neat and simple space where it was easy to lose yourself in the
kirtan
,
the singing of hymns.

It had been possible to attach a part of yourself to the melancholic, yearning words and for a little while, at least, escape the confines of your body and catch up with your soul. But recently, the money donated by the community had been used to upgrade the look of the temple and now there were marble floors, gilded frescos and ornate domes, more of a showpiece than a sanctuary, and Raj couldn't help but feel that, for all of this beauty, God was no longer there.

Below the quiet praying room was the
langar
,
the canteen where food was served to all visitors for free. It was a place overrun with chaotic shouting and laughing, children dashing between legs. A breeding ground for gossip, politics and falling in love, Raj found that the recent generation of temple-goers came to the
Gurdwara
for nothing more than a hot lunch and a couple of hours of socializing.

Mrs Laljee was a prime example of this. She regularly came to the temple under the pretense of religion but Raj knew she spent most of her time in the canteen, either cooking or wandering from group to group while they were eating, eager to learn new stories or throw around her opinions.
She would have made an expert lawyer
,
Raj thought to himself.
Full of bullshit.

And now she had roped in his wife. He sighed, thought about the countless houses he had seen in Runda and Muthaiga, spacious and wonderfully isolated. It was time to tell his wife that they were moving.

The heat made Leena's eyelids heavy and she struggled to keep them open. Her mother had wrapped a
chuni
around her head and shoulders and together with the weighty velvet dress and black stockings, packed in by swaying women in the throes of God, she felt as if she were slowly dying.

The languid movement of the fans overhead was like a wicked lullaby and she found herself jerking uncomfortably in and out of sleep. She coughed, stretched, even pinched the underside of her arm, all in an effort to keep awake. Pooja continuously glared at her in irritation, raising a finger to her lips indicating Leena to be quiet.

She peeked over at the men's side and saw Jai somewhere near the back. She wondered how he managed to sit so upright, be so attentive, even though the songs were in a language that was foreign to them and the music was wailing and dramatic. Her eyes continued to wander but stopped suddenly when she saw Tag. As if he felt her gaze upon him he turned slightly and gave her a secret grin. Blushing, she quickly snapped back and was suddenly wide awake. Her heart pulsated uncomfortably and her knee refused to stop bouncing. She leaned back out to take another peek but was blocked by the rising figure of her mother and felt Pooja's strong fingers grip her elbow and force her up. ‘I have to help in the kitchen and you're coming with me.'

There was no possibility of falling asleep in the
langar
.
Leena's ears filled with the banging of pots, the steamy whistles of pressure cookers and the air was thick with spices and heat. Pooja washed her daughter's hands, wrapped the
chuni
tighter around her head and handed her a pot full of
kichri
, a mixture of rice, daal lentils and vegetables, and told her to stand at the table outside.