Animal's People (22 page)

Elli says she has decided to take matters into her own hands. “If the poor won't come to me then I will go to them. I will confront them in their own houses, I'll rouse out the sick and ask them straight, ‘Will you die listening to rubbish, or will you let me help you?'”

“Well, I don't know,” says I, thrilled by this tirade. “Seems nothing's changed. People still think they must avoid.”

“You're here, aren't you?”

“I do as I please. Maybe I'm jamisponding on you.”

“Jamisponding?” When she realises what this means Elli starts laughing, after she has finished laughing she says, “Come on, let's get these X-rays done, then can we go?”

“Of course, we can go.” Must be that I hesitated for she's sensed something is wrong. “What's up? Don't care to be seen with me?”

“It's not that.” I get on well with Elli doctress, plus because of my back I don't want to upset her, but a principle is a principle.

“First there's something we must agree.”

This principle, it's one of Chunaram's, in fact his only principle, since no others does he have. Elli seems not very sharp on the uptake so I've to explain.

“There's a question of the fee.”

“What?!”

“For this type of work I always get a fee.”

“A fee?” she says again, as if she has not heard me right.

“Fifty rupees. Nothing it's, to an auto-riding superstar like you.”

“Animal, you're amazing, you really are.” Shaking her head, she's. “Do you actually have a conscience?”

Well, conscience I don't believe in, if I was given one I'd hand the fucking thing straight back. “Elli, this is my business. For showing foreigners round I always get a fee.”

“I thought we were friends,” she says, looking kind of hurt.

“What has that got to do with it?”

“Friends don't charge each other for favours.”

“We are friends,” says I, “but not equal friends.”

“Crap. Of course we're equal.”

“No, we're not. You are rich and I am poor.”

“What has that to do with friendship?” She's led me through to the room where's the X-ray mashin. “Come on, you're joking.”

“Elli, someone like you needs a lot of money. How could I go about with you? I can't even afford to stand you a Coca-Cola. You know how much I spend in one day? Guess.”

She thinks then says, “Forty rupees.”

“Forty?” I've laughed till I've choked, held up some fingers.

“Four?”

“Yes, four.”

“That's ten cents US. No one can live on that, not even in Khaufpur. Move a little to your left.” While talking she's positioning me against the X-ray mashin. A little this way, a bit that.

“You're right. No one can, but I do. Know how? I walk everywhere, four legs, leff-rye-leff-rye, no autos for me. All morning I'm roaming around doing my work. Two rupees I'll spend on chai. Lunch I eat at Pandit Somraj's place, no cost. Every afternoon I'll show up at Chunaram's. One rupee's for a samosa, one more for a chai.”

“How about we make a deal? You do this for me just as I am doing this,” she waves at the X-ray mashin, “for you.”

“Elli, you may choose to work for nothing, but why does that also have to be my choice?”

She's thought about this. “You said our friendship was not equal, well I am giving you something, you can give me something, each of us gives freely, not because we have to, but because we want to. This makes us equal.”

“Elli, this equality leaves me broke.” Got to stop her cheapskatery, so I jerk my chin at Jara, who's lying near Elli's feet, panting, with a dog smile on her face. “Why's the dog allowed in, Elli? So desperate you're for patients, you even took me.”

“Goddamn!” she shouts. “Hold still. Take a deep breath and shut the fuck up! One…two…three…”

When the X-ray is done she says to me, “Now you listen to me. I'll do what I can for you because I want to. I'm a doctor, that's what I do. But I'm damned if I'll pay you to take me around. So make up your mind. Will you do it, or won't you?”

So I've thought about this, then called to the dog. “Come on, let's go.”

We get to the door of the room. Elli's still standing by the X-ray mashin, looking really sad.

“Well, madam doctress? What are you waiting for?”

This big smile appears on her face. She runs up and gives me a hug, for which she's got to get down on her knees, she kisses me on both cheeks, I'm thinking how I love being hugged by women, also I'm thinking stop, stop, stop, because I've got Monsieur Méchant living in my pants.

“Forget your doctress's bag, forget you know Hindi, people will be shy to speak if they know you can understand. Make out you're some dumb fucking jarnalis. Look around with big eyes. Sigh a lot, ask stupid questions in Inglis. Then you can see for yourself how things are.”

“Do we need an auto?” she asks, “your friend is probably outside.”

“No more autos for you, Elli. You cannot enter the Kingdom of the Poor except on foot. Come on, I'll show you. Full tour. Everything. Follow me.”

I've run à quatre pattes into the Claw up past Nekchalan's shop, where his spoony mates are gathered. She's following some way behind. “Good morning,” she says, polite as a pot of ghee, hypocrite bastards, they don't reply. The lane's crowded, hard for her to keep me in sight so I lig on slowly, Jara the dog keeps stopping and looking round as if to say, come on Elli, hurry up. Once or twice I check back that she's there. She's not happy. Quite a few low-lifes there are in the Claw, their eyes glued to those bluesy melons, sweet-sweet noises they're making like you'd tempt a dog. At last she's followed me out of the Claw through a gulli to the main road. At the city end this same road is smarter, there's more money, big shops there are, families with fat children licking ice creams, in our part it's a filthy chute with truck exhaust for air.

Across the big road we come to the corner of Kali Parade and take the road that runs past the Kampani's factory. On our left now is the wall, high as a man, covered with writing, some of it's by Zafar and friends, who paint at night when the police are asleep. Zafar's lot never write what they really feel which is
FUCK YOU WICKED CUNTS I HOPE YOU DIE PAINFULLY FOR THE HORRIBLE THINGS YOU DID TO US AND THE ARROGANT FUCKING CRUELTY YOU'VE DISPLAYED EVER SINCE
. They write high-sounding shit like
JUSTICE FOR KHAUFPUR
and
KAM
PANI MEET YOUR LIABILITIES
but in a few places freer spirits have been at work.
HANG PETERSON
and
DEATH TO AMRIKA
. These are the bits the munsipal scrubs out which need repainting more often than any other.

“Aiwa! Aiwa! Aiwa!” No sooner do we enter the Nutcracker, that place assembled by an earthquake, than there's a gang of kids on our trail.

“Animal, Animal,” comes a little voice I know well. Someone's running along behind us. “Animal, who's this? Where are you going?”

“Hi Aliya, this is a very important jarnalis. Don't make her cross because she eats small children. It's what they do in her country. They roast them with yogurt and mint leaves.”

“Don't be silly,” says the child. “Can I come too?”

“Where do you think we're going?”

“How should I know? But you always do interesting things.”

“What do you think we're doing today?”

“Going fishing?” she asks hopefully.

“I'm taking her to meet your granny and grandpa.”

“Then I won't come,” she says, making a face, and runs off.

Low are the doorways we come to now, perfect for a four-foot animal. I know a lot of people here, so I'm in and out, calling greetings to those inside. People come stooping to their thresholds. Some stare. Others beckon us in but I tell them we can't stop.

It's old Huriya's house I'm heading for, an earthquake-erected room with a floor of bare earth. The air is made delicious by the smell of wood burning in the hearth. I love the scent, plus these people, Aliya's grandparents, Hanif and Huriya, she's squatting kneading dough on a board.

“Hello Dadi, what's cooking?”

“Hello Animal, I'm making rotis for his lordship's meal.”

Hanif's bent in front of the cage in which are his two green and purple parakeets. His fingers feel for gaps between the wires, when he finds one he feeds in a seed, one seed at a time. He's looking not at the beautiful birds, but up into a corner. Hanif hasn't seen a thing since that night.

“Who's this you've brought with you?” the old lady asks.

“Oh no one, just a jarnalis.”

“Another one?”

“Well you know, Chunaram collects them.”

“Will she have tea?”

“She's Amrikan, there's no way to ask her.”

“Well, if she can't talk, she can't refuse,” says Huriya, reaching for the pot in which they store water.

“Don't waste it, Dadi.” Huriya's old, the pump's a long way off. “We're not stopping long. We've just come from the Chicken Claw.”

“A guest in the house and you talk of waste!” She starts unscrewing a paper containing some black tea leaves. “I'll send the child for more later. So what's the latest from the Claw?”

“Haven't you heard? Yesterday the foreign-waali doctress was trying to entice people into her clinic. But still no one's going.”

“Yes, we know about that,” comes the gruff voice of the old man, Hanif Ali. “I don't agree with it.”

“As if that Kampani has not done enough wickedness,” Huriya says. “Make your friend comfortable. Ask her to sit.”

“She's not my friend, she's a jarnalis.” Elli pulls a face, useless jamispond she'd make. “So why don't you agree with the clinic, baba?”

“You're hearing me wrong,” says the old boy, giving a harsh cough. “I don't agree with what's going on. A clinic is a clinic. So what if it's paid for by the sisterfuck Kampani? Don't they owe us for the harm they've done? Isn't our own granddaughter sick and needing good treatment?”

Elli says to me in Inglis, “Call the child. I'll look at her.”

“Not a word of Hindi does this fool jarnalis speak,” I'm shaking my head sadly. “Aliya's out there somewhere. Let me call her.”

“Leave the child be, we have a guest. Will she take something with her tea?” Huriya gives Elli an encouraging smile. “These rotis are nice and hot.”

Elli's looking as if she wants to say something, but she mimes no thank you, and returns the smile.

“She seems almost to understand,” says Huriya. “Her eyes are a little close set, but she's quite pretty really, isn't she? In that bizarre way that foreigners are. It's a pity her clothes are so indecent.”

“Hah! Fine thing is this,” says the old bugger. “An indecent woman in my own house and I haven't the eyes to see her. What a cruel fate. Her voice is sweet, does she have good tarboozas?”

Ouf! Shot, sir! I'm creased up laughing. Elli is impassive, which makes it even funnier.

“You be quiet,” says his wife. “Don't go embarrassing yourself.”

“Baba, you were saying about this clinic?” Good idea to turn the talk away from Elli's melons.

“Well, I want to talk to Zafar about it,” Hanif grumbles. “If it is a good clinic why shouldn't we take Aliya there, poor child? Animal, when will Zafar brother come?”

“I don't know, baba. Zafar brother is an important guy. Everyone wants him. I guess he'll come soon.”

“Inshallah. Where are you taking the foreigner?”

“Round and about. To hear people's stories. You could tell her yours.”

“Mine? Who'd want to hear my story?” But you can see the idea tickles him, I guess he's never been asked before. Then he remembers. “What's the good? She doesn't speak our language.”

“Never mind, did you ever read anything good a jarnalis wrote?”

“Me read?” He points at his eyes. “What, like you ride a bike?”

“I can ride a bike bloody,” says I. “Arse to handlebars, hands on pedals, look between legs to see where you're going. Easy. One day I'll show you.”

“What nonsense,” chuckles the old man. “Such a prize idiot as you I think there's never been. How is Ma Franci, recovered yet from her adventure?”

“Day by day going madder.”

“It was a sweet time she spent with us,” says Huriya, reaching for heaven's kettle. “Like a schoolgirl she was, all naughtiness plus pranks.”

“She's talking a great deal about her childhood. Plus also angels.”