Free The Crow Eaters by Bapsi Sidhwa Page A

wearily up the stairs on the third night of his clandestine forays, he sat down for a moment. Endeavouring to soothe his nerves he systematically ticked off the things he had so far accomplished. His psychological assault on Jerbanoo had worked as well as could have been expected in the time allowed, and the tasks he had set himself regarding the store were satisfactorily concluded. Now only the books remained – the account books, ledgers and receipts. He would take everything over to his auditors on Saturday. They were due for checking anyway – and, most important, the books would be safe. He sat on the steps a full hour before tip-toeing to his room.
    Although Freddy slept soundly, he got up feeling completely enervated. It was already past eight and Putli’s string-bed alongside his was empty. He peered at himself in the mirror, stroking his stubbly cheeks, and fancied his face showed tell-tale traces of guilt and tension. He splashed himself with cold water from a bucket until the shock numbed his nerves and revived his spirits. Refreshed and alert, he changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas and a starched muslin coat-wrap.
    He called to Putli but there was no answer.
    Emerging from the room Freddy walked straight to the prayer table. Covering his head with a black skull cap, hesoftly chanted prayers. As he held a match to the wick of the holy lamp, Jerbanoo came into the dining room and he asked, ‘Where’s Putli?’
    ‘She’s retired to the
other room
.’
    ‘What! When?’ he gasped.
    ‘This morning. Didn’t you know?’
    Mutely he shook his head. Strength drained from his body. The match in his hand burnt through to his skin and he flung it away with a tiny sob. The room grew hazy and swam before his eyes. He saw Jerbanoo’s bulk hover about the table as through a mist. Somehow managing to keep himself erect, he groped his way back to his room.
    Freddy locked the door and sagged limply on the rumpled bed-sheets. He stared at the wall before him. A lizard slithered across the whitewash and snapped up a moth. Crossing his hands tightly over his fluttering stomach he rocked back and forth and moaned, ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
    Translated into plain English, Jerbanoo had only said that Putli, being in one of her rare non-pregnant phases, had started her monthly cycle.
    Now, you must wonder, why all this fuss about a healthy woman’s very natural condition? It meant a postponement of Freddy’s plans.
    Unnerved as he was, it appeared to signal to him the end of everything. It was an unexpected hitch. No, he thought, striking his forehead in self-disgust, not a hitch but a careless oversight. Despite all his careful thinking, planning down to the minutest detail, he had overlooked this one obvious factor. His timing had misfired and he had only himself to blame. Putli would not be able to step out of the house for five days at least, starting from the 13th – and Sunday, 15th March would come and go for ever.
    ‘You damned fool, you stupid donkey!’ he hissed bitterly, swearing at himself in English. Freddy had been coiled into a precise little ball of unfolding action and the unexpected caught him off balance. It wasn’t until the next day that he once again regained his poise. The plans would have to bepostponed for a week. But the agony of waiting a week seemed to Freddy a year of slow torture.
    Putli retired to the
other room
for five days. It was a tiny windowless cubicle with an iron bedstead, an iron chair and a small steel table. The room opened directly on to the staircase landing opposite the kitchen.
    Every Parsi household has its
other room
, specially reserved for women. Thither they are banished for the duration of their unholy state. Even the sun, moon and stars are defiled by her impure gaze, according to a superstition which has its source in primitive man’s fear of blood.
    Putli quite enjoyed her infrequent visits to the
other room
. It was the only chance she ever had to rest. And since