‘No problem. Really.’
He smiled at me, obviously trying to gauge whether I had calmed down enough for him to make an exit.
While I snivelled, he patted my leg through the sheet and eyed the door.
‘I want to go home, Igor. I WANT TO GO HOME!’
His face fell.
‘You’ll be fine soon. You just need to get your strength back.’
‘I WANT TO GO HOME!’
‘Go, then. If you want to go home, you can.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘I can’t. There’s still three weeks on my ticket.’
‘Then change it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘I can’t. It’s… it’s a wadyoucallit.’
‘Apex?’
‘That’s it.’
‘You can still change it. You just have to pay.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t.’
‘Why? You can’t afford it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How much money do you have left?’
‘About five hundred pounds.’
‘What’s that? Seven hundred dollars?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Then you can go home. Even if you buy a new ticket you have enough to go home.’
‘I can’t, though.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
‘Because what?’
‘Just because.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s embarrassing.’
‘Aaahh, so this is it. If you go home early, you’ll feel like you’ve given up.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’ll feel like you’ve failed the test.’
‘I’ve done over two months – I’ve almost finished. It’s stupid to give up now.’
‘It’s not meant to be a strength test, you know.’
‘What else is it, then?’
‘A holiday?’
‘It’s not a holiday. It’s travelling. They’re completely different.’
‘Well, why don’t you stay, and try to turn it into a holiday? Then you have some fun. Go to one of these stupid resorts where people just hang out on the beach and forget they’re in India. Why don’t you sit the rest of your time on the beach in Goa?’
‘I’ve just come from Goa.’
‘There’s other places the same. You could go to Kovalam. Or Ajmer.’
‘That’s where I was before Goa.’
‘And now you’ve had enough of India?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it doesn’t seem like you’ve seen any of it.’
‘I don’t care. I’m sick of India.’
For the first time since I had known him, Igor went silent.
‘You think I’m stupid,’ I said.
He shrugged.
‘You do. You think I’m stupid.’
‘Not stupid. Just young. Too young.’
‘For what?’
‘For this country.’
‘There are Indians much younger than me.’
He laughed. ‘But they live here.’
‘So?’
‘Dave – I have to go.’
‘OK.’
‘I’m going now.’
‘Go, then.’
‘Bye, Dave. All the best.’
‘Bye. And thanks.’
‘Have fun, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
He walked out of the room and closed the door without even looking back at me. It seemed a shame to part like that, but I couldn’t really help it. I didn’t want to be abandoned again, and I found it hard to be magnanimous.
After staring at the closed door for a few hours, I decided that the time had come for a taste of the outside world. It took me a while to locate my shoes, which were next to the toilet where I had taken them off a week ago.
On wobbly legs, I headed down the corridor, through the hotel lobby and out into the devastatingly bright sun.
I tottered across the road, and after a brief wander I was so tired that I sat on the kerb to rest. It was a good spot for watching the world go by, and I was soon joined by an oldish man, who came and sat next to me.
‘Would you believe me if I told you that before partition most of my playmates were British citizens,’ he said.
He looked like he was probably a bit of a boring old duffer, and normally I would have blanked him, but for once I was pleased to have someone to talk to, and tried to think of a friendly response.
‘Really? That’s… um, impressive.’ I said.
‘Oh, most assuredly. Johnny, Peter and Freddie were the names of my three closest chums. Of course, they all departed after 1947.’
‘All of them?’
‘Partition, old chap. A lot of good eggs decamped pretty sharpish.’
‘That’s terrible. And… er, why did you have so many English friends?’
‘British, old boy. One mustn’t forget our Caledonian compatriots. Freddie was a Scot, you see.’
‘Oh, right. But why were they all…?’
