away now – he had gone to the Anahita, to arrange the transfer of her cargo to the Bogue, where the collection depot had been set up – and other than him there was no one that he could have talked to.
Even laudanum didn’t help: if anything it made the sounds seem louder and the dreams more vivid. One night, after a copious dose, he dreamt that Chi-mei had come to the Achha Hong to see him. This was something she had often threatened to do: it happened all the time, she said, flower-girls were often smuggled into factories. They dressed up in men’s gowns and braided their hair and no one was any the wiser.
In Bahram’s dream, it was a day like any other in Fanqui-town: he was dressing to go the Club, in the evening, when Vico came into his bedroom.
Patrao, a Chinese gentleman has come to see you. One Li Sin-saang.
Who is he? Do I know him?
I don’t know, patrao. I don’t think he’s been here before. But he said it was important.
All right then, show him into the daftar.
The daftar was empty, of course, at that time of day: the munshi was down in his cubicle and the khidmatgars had finished cleaning up. Bahram went to one of the big armchairs and sat down. Soon the door opened and a short, slight figure in a round cap and panelled gown came in.
The light in the daftar wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the face, so Bahram did not recognize her immediately. With a formal bow, he said: ‘Chin-chin Li Sin-saang.’
She said nothing until she was sure Vico was gone. Then she burst into peals of laughter. ‘Mister Barry too muchi foolo.’
He was thunderstruck. ‘Chi-mei? What for come this-place? Chi-mei have done too muchi bad thing.’
Chi-mei paid no attention: picking up a lamp, she went around the daftar examining the objects that had accumulated in it. It was clear from her expression that not many of them met with her approval.
‘Allo olo thing. What-for Mister Barry puttee here?’
The tone was comforting in its familiarity: she often spoke to him like this, in a register that was at once querulous and indulgent, as though she were trying to correct a child. He laughed.
The only object that seemed to please her was his desk, with its many locked drawers. She looked it over carefully, then tapped one of the drawers. ‘What thing have got inside?’
Bahram pulled out a bunch of keys and opened the drawer. Inside was a large lacquered box.
‘That box Chi-mei give Mister Barry, no?’
‘Yes, Chi-mei have give that-thing.’
‘What-for Mister Barry keepee here? No likee?’
‘Likee. Likee.’
She lost interest in the desk and looked around the room again. ‘What-place Mister Barry sleepee?’ she said. ‘Here bed no have got.’
‘Sleepee bedroom,’ he said, pointing involuntarily. ‘But Chi-mei can-na go.’
Ignoring him she opened the door and crossed the corridor. He followed her into the bedroom, haplessly protesting. She paid him no mind: on seeing the bed, with its silken cover, she lay down and unbuttoned the fastenings of her gown. The sight of her breasts, emerging slowly from within the gown, mesmerized him. He went to lie beside her, but when he reached for her she changed her mind.
‘Mister Barry bed no good. More better go boat. Come now, Mister Barry. We go boat. Come riverside. Ha- loy!’
‘Why?’ he said. ‘Chi-mei here now. More better stay.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Time to go river now. Come, Mister Barry. Here no good.’
He was sorely tempted but something held him back. ‘No. Not time now. Can-na go.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Stay here, Chi-mei; stay with Mister Barry.’
There was no answer and when he looked towards the window, she was gone: the shutters were open and the curtains were fluttering in the breeze.
He woke up in a sweat and found that the window had indeed blown open. He got out of bed and pushed it hurriedly shut.
He was shaking; to go back to bed was impossible in this state. He lit a candle, found his key-ring and carried it into the daftar. He went to his desk and unlocked the drawer: sure enough, the lacquer box that Chi-mei had given him was lying within, covered in dust. He took it out and wiped the dust away before removing the lid. Inside was a finely carved ivory pipe, a metal needle, and a small octagonal box, also made of ivory. The box was empty but Bahram remembered that at the start of the season Vico had brought him a container of prepared opium, as a sample: it was locked in another drawer. He found the key and opened the drawer: the container was still there.
He gathered everything up in his arms and went to his room. He placed the candle on his bedside table, opened the container and scooped up a droplet of the brown paste with the tip of the needle. Then he roasted the opium over the flame, and when it began to sizzle he placed it in the bowl of his pipe and took a deep draught.
When the last wisp of smoke was gone he blew out the candle and lay back against his pillows. He knew he would sleep well that night; he could not understand why he hadn’t thought of doing this before.
The next day when he woke, it was well past the usual time. He could hear the khidmatgars conferring outside his door in hushed, worried voices. Rising quickly from the bed, he hid the pipe, the lacquered box and the container of opium inside one of his trunks. Then, opening the windows, he let the room air out for a couple of minutes before letting the khidmatgars in.
One of them said: Sethji, Mesto is in the daftar. He has served your hazri.
The thought of food made Bahram faintly nauseous. I’m not hungry, he said. Tell Mesto to take it away. All I want is chai.
Sethji, the munshi wanted to know if you have any work for him today. He said there were some letters to be answered.
No. Bahram shook his head. Tell the munshi there’s no work for him today.
Ji, Sethji.
Bahram spent most of the morning in a chair by the window, looking in the direction of the river, gazing at the spot where Chi-mei’s boat had once been moored.
Around mid-day some lascars came to the Maidan and put on a display of acrobatics, climbing up the flagpoles and doing tricks on top. The spectacle pleased Bahram and he thought of asking the shroffs to give the fellows some baksheesh on his behalf. But to get up and pull the bell-rope was too much of an effort and he forgot about it. In the afternoon it was very hot and he decided to take a siesta – but when he went to lie down, it occurred to him that he would rest better after a pipe. So he fetched the paraphernalia and smoked a little before stretching himself out on his bed.
He had never felt so peaceful.
The days and nights began to melt into each other, and sometimes, when the chimes from the chapel came to his ears, it amazed him to think that this bell had once ruled his life.
One day a khidmatgar announced that Zadig had come to see him. Bahram did not much feel like making conversation, but there was nothing to be done for Zadig had already been shown up to the daftar. He changed his clothes and washed his face before crossing the corridor. But despite all that Zadig seemed to be shocked by his appearance.
Bahram-bhai! What has happened to you? You’ve become so thin.
Me? Bahram looked down at himself. Really? But I’ve been eating so much!
This was not a falsehood: nowadays a couple of mouthfuls were enough to make him feel that he was stuffed to bursting.
And you’re so pale, Bahram-bhai. Your khidmatgars tell me you hardly ever leave your rooms. Why don’t you go out more often, take a few turns around the Maidan?
Bahram was nonplussed by this. Go outside? But why? It’s so hot out there. It’s much better here, isn’t it?
Bahram-bhai, there’s always something interesting happening in the Maidan.
The daftar’s window was open and turning towards it now Bahram heard a sound like that of something solid being hit by a plank of wood. He rose and went to the window. A game of cricket was under way in the Maidan: he saw to his surprise that there were several Parsis among the players. The batsman was Dinyar Ferdoonjee, dressed
