Free Travelers by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

asked him to go back to England, Peter got terribly, terribly upset. He begged my father—he begged like an Indian person—with his hands folded—and do you know he even got down to touch Papa’s feet? Everyone was quite shocked. But he didn’t care what he did or what anyone thought of him, just so long as he was allowed to stay.”
    The huge plastic ball, thrown skillfully by Gopi, came bouncing on to Raymond. Gopi bobbed up and down in the pool, clapping his hands and shouting, “Come on, throw it back! We’re waiting!” Raymond threw it back. Asha half lowered her heavy lids over her eyes and sucked Coca-Cola like a sphinx.
    Raymond said, “If someone were to tell me now that I must leave, I think I’d do the same. Yes, I’d touch his feet to let me stay. I think I would,” he said.
    â€œYou see, I told you Peter was like you.” But then she sighed: “Poor, poor Peter. It was a tragedy. . . . You see, the reason why he wanted to stay so badly, he was involved with someone.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œNot a girl.”
    Raymond was silent.
    â€œI don’t know what he saw in him. He was very ordinary—a clerk attached to the palace guest house—a quite uncultured person who couldn’t appreciate Peter at all. I mean, Peter was intellectual—sensitive—like you, Raymond. . . . A tragedy,” she said again, in a voice full of dark memories.
    Shyam Gives Notice
    Gopi was in a bad mood. He was often, indeed usually, in a bad mood early in the morning, especially when he had to go to classes. He was getting sick and tired of his college. At one time he had quite enjoyed going there—not to the classes, which had always bored him, but to meet his friends and sit around with them in the canteen; but now that he was with Raymond and was leading a different kind of life, these friends no longer seemed so interesting to him.
    â€œDon’t go, then,” Raymond said, seeing how reluctant and cross Gopi was: and he looked tired—no wonder, since they had all been up to the early hours of the morning. Asha had come in her car, and she had brought some very sweet Russian champagne and carried them off for a midnight picnic in a ruined summer pavilion.
    â€œYes, it’s nice for you to talk,” Gopi said, looking malevolently at Raymond, who was still in his silk dressing gown and sipping his coffee at leisure. How easy life was for Raymond, how difficult for Gopi! Gopi felt harassed. There was nothing he wanted more than to cut his early-morning class but he had been doing it too often lately; if this went on, the college authorities would complain to his family and all sorts of unpleasant consequences would follow. Raymond could have no idea, he said, what it was like in a family such as his. Everyone bothered him all the time—not only his mother and his sisters but all his other relatives too. One uncle in particular was a constant torment to him. This uncle was an inspector in the public works department and in consequence considered himself a very important person whose achievement should be emulated. He wanted Gopi to enter government service and become a divisional officer like himself. “I don’t want to be like him,” Gopi said. “You should see him,” he added gloomily. Then he said, “I think I will go away to Benares.”
    â€œWhy?” Raymond asked, who hated it when Gopi said anything about going away.
    â€œTo stay with my other uncle. He is in business and I like it there very much. No one tells me do this, do that—go to college, pass your exams—” He held his head and groaned.
    â€œWell, anyway, eat your breakfast,” Raymond said soothingly.
    â€œWhere is my breakfast? Shyam! Hey, Shyam!”
    After some more shouts, Shyam came in with something on a plate which he placed in front of Gopi. “Thank you, Shyam,” Raymond said. Gopi stared at the