Dina agreed. “Now remember, tomorrow is Saturday, everyone will be home — you mustn’t come for the next two days.” She put their plates in the sink and opened the door to let them out.
“Hoi-hoi,” said Ishvar. “What’s this?” A thread had unravelled from the quilt he was sitting on, and was tangled in one of the castors.
“Let me see.” Om reached down to slide the quilt out as his uncle levered himself up slightly on his arms. They found the patch from which the thread had strayed.
“Good thing you saw it,” said Dina. “Or that piece might have fallen off completely.”
“It’s easy to fix,” said Ishvar. “Can I borrow your needle, Dinabai? For a few minutes?”
“Not now. I told you my sister-in-law is returning early.” But she went to her room and fetched a spool of thread with a needle stuck into it. “Take this with you.” She opened the door again for them. “Don’t forget the umbrella.” She tucked it under Om’s arm.
“It was very useful last night,” he said. “I hit a thief who tried to grab our coins.” He raised the rope and hauled. Ishvar made a clacking-clucking sound with his tongue against the teeth, imitating a bullock-cart driver. His nephew pawed the ground and tossed his head.
“Stop it,” she scolded. “If you behave that way on the pavement, no one will give you a single paisa.”
“Come on, my faithful,” said Ishvar. “Lift your hoofs or I’ll feed you a dose of opium.” Chuckling, Om trotted away plumply. They quit clowning when they emerged into the street.
Dina shut the door, shaking her head. Those two made her laugh every day. Like Maneck used to, once. She washed the two plates, returning them to the sideboard for Nusswan and Ruby to dine off at night. Then she dried her hands and decided to take a nap before starting the evening meal.
