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Mr
    Bhoolabhoy also took an interest in him.”
    “The most I can afford is five rupees less a month than you suggest he might want. If he
    works very well we might reconsider.”
    “And food, Memsahib.”
    “Initially you must see him fed, Ibrahim, but you won’t be out of pocket. The first thing is
    to get him. On trial. If he gives satisfaction then you may confirm to him the wage offered
    and when your next pay day cornes round I will give you what is necessary to pay him plus
    whatever seems fair as a little subsistence allowance.”

    “Come,” Ibrahim said to Joseph. “Bhoolabhoy Sahib wishes to see you. There is a
    prospect.” And Joseph, as though summoned by a disciple had risen from the graveside and
    followed Ibrahim to Smith’s. Ibrahim was pleased with the look of him because it was a
    malleable look. At Smith’s Mr Bhoolabhoy opened the old mali’s shed and revealed to Joseph
    the treasures stored there. The boy stood at the entrance as though it were holy grotto.
    When he entered, urged by Mr Bhoolabhoy and Ibrahim to do so, he went first to the
    wooden shelves where old mali had left several pots of geranium cuttings which had died for
    want of attention. Or had they? The boy fingered one and finding a green bud amid the sear
    leaves muttered something to himself. Then he ran his hands over a pair of garden shears
    which were rusty. Finally he knelt and examined the old lawn mower which still had ropes
    attached where the grass box should have been, if it had ever had a grass box.
    “Come,” Ibrahim said again, and led Joseph and Mr Bhoolabhoy to the gap in the wall
    beyond which stretched the untended grass. Seeing that Tusker was esconced in the old
    wicker-chair on the verandah, asleep or not asleep, Ibrahim said, “Manager Sahib will show
    Joseph what is required?” Upon which Mr Bhoolabhoy led Joseph into The Lodge’s
    compound while Ibrahim stayed behind.
    They did not go near the verandah but if Tusker’s eyes were open he couldn’t have missed
    them. Bhoolabhoy Sahib stood in the middle of the lawn gesticulating. Joseph stood as if
    rapt, then knelt and touched the grass. Bhoolabhoy pointed at the bed of canna lilies but
    neither of them went near. Then they came back and Joseph went at once to the shed,
    untied the ropes and slowly pulled the machine out into the sunshine. After examining it he
    searched among the shelves in the hut, found a can of oil, some sandpaper, an old brush, a
    rusty worn-down knife. He cleaned the knife first and then began to clean the blades of the
    mower. All these actions were performed in silence.
    “Okay, we’re in business,” Ibrahim said.
    By midday the machine was clean, bright and slightly oiled and Joseph without a word
    trundled it into the compound of The Lodge and set it down on the grass. One push proved
    that the grass was too long for the way the machine was set. He had brought a spanner from
    the shed and now bent to adjust the blades. He adjusted them several times before the
    mower was running smoothly and quietly. Grass sprayed from the blades like a green
    fountain leaving beneath a fourteen-inch wide strip of yellowing turf. Joseph knelt to inspect
    this strip, smoothing his hand over it, then gathering a handful of cuttings to inspect them.
    Ibrahim left him to it. It was nearly time to collect the trays for Sahib’s and Memsahib’s
    lunch. He kicked off his chappals and climbed up to the verandah. The Sahib was awake but
    not looking at Joseph. The delightful purring sound of the mower beginning the job of
    cutting the lawn did not seem to be reaching him. Neither was it reaching Memsahib who
    was inside at her escritoire writing more letters. It was still apparently reaching neither of
    them when he brought the trays and Joseph was still hard at work. Ignoring the boy he went
    to get his own midday meal. When he returned to collect the trays the sound of the mower

    was no longer to be heard. The boy must have given up and,