Free Travelers by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala Page B

Shyam had once taken him there. He lived in a room on the first floor. It smelled of cooking oil and urine and was crammed with women and children and a sick old man lying on a mat in a corner. Everyone had smiled and smiled at Raymond. The sick old man had been raised to a sitting position to enable him to salaam. Even when they had pointed out certain deficiencies to Raymond—such as a burst drain and some dangerously exposed electric wiring—they had continued smiling as if their discomfort was of small consequence and they were only drawing his attention to it incase he might (without inconvenience to himself) be able to assist them.
    â€œAnd now she is expecting again,” Shyam confided. “In four-five months, yes, Sahib, there will be one more, what to do.” But he beamed.
    Raymond saw that it was his duty to beg Shyam to stay. They began their usual dialogue on the subject. Raymond said he understood Shyam’s position perfectly and that in fact Shyam was quite right to want to leave, but that nevertheless as a personal favor to himself Raymond would be much obliged to him if he would stay. Shyam gave himself time to think this over, but finally shook his head and said how could he, it was impossible. So they carried on for a while. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Raymond realized that, in view of other things, it was not as impossible to overlook the insult to Shyam’s honor as had at first appeared.
    Gopi Leaves
    â€œNo, don’t, Gopi,” Lee said.
    Gopi was taking her to Raymond’s flat and, as she walked before him up the stairs, he pinched her—not so much out of desire as out of bravado. He had gone to fetch her in the hope that Raymond would be glad to see her and they would all three of them have a good time together and then everything would be forgotten and Raymond would be happy with him again. He pushed open the door and shouted: “See whom I have brought!”
    Raymond was glad to see her; and even more to see Gopi in such a good mood. He had been thinking of him all day. He remembered how Gopi had lingered before going out, hoping that Raymond would say something kind. Raymond had reproached himself all day for saying nothing. How glad he was now to be able to make up for that! When he saw that he was forgiven, Gopi’s spirits soared. He pinched Lee again and laughed uproariously when she slapped him away.
    â€œI think she is a very cold-hearted girl,” he told Raymond. “She cares nothing for love, only for food.”
    â€œI am hungry,” Lee admitted.
    â€œYou see!” Gopi flung himself with a great laugh on to a sofa and in his exuberance punched a cushion.
    Raymond said, “I believe Shyam’s baked a cake.” After every reconciliation Shyam baked a cake. They were not very nice cakes—rather hard and tasting of baking powder—but of course it was the spirit in which they were offered that was important.
    Lee exclaimed with pleasure and went straight out into the kitchen. But Gopi’s face clouded. He said in rather a hard voice, “When is he leaving?”
    Raymond blushed. He said, “No, he’s not.” And in answer to the look that Gopi hurled at him, he began to stammer: “How can he, Gopi, be reasonable.”
    Lee returned with Shyam behind her. He bore his cake aloft. It looked squat and a bit blackened but it sat proudly on Raymond’s best hand-painted plate. Shyam placed it in the center of the table with a flourish. There was triumph in the way he did not glance in Gopi’s direction.
    Gopi got up and went into the bedroom, banging the door. Shyam solicitously helped Lee to cut the cake. He asked Raymond also to taste a piece but Raymond didn’t hear him; he was looking at the closed bedroom door. After a while he went in there.
    Gopi was opening drawers and pulling out his things. He kept quite a few of his clothes in the flat; now he was flinging them one by one