Category:

"Here, let me give you a hand," the young man said, reaching for the larger of the two suitcases. Shiv picked up the smaller one and followed him into the house. From inside came the sounds of laughter, and music. "It's their anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Polak's," the young man explained. "Their twenty-fifth, and everyone's celebrating. There's lots of food, and champagne. It's very jolly." The woman by his side held out her hand. "Violet," she said. "I'm Millie Polak's niece." He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with his hand—put it out to shake her proffered one or just nod. He nodded. She stared at him, perplexed. Finding his voice, Shiv said, "I'm sorry I arrived early."

 

"Early?" The man laughed. "You've only come from the other end of the world to us. Joseph Rowland, Joe to everyone." He held out his hand. On firmer ground with a man's hand, Shiv took it and released it almost immediately, aware of the English aversion to touch. "Less than a second," a friend back home had told him. "Touch it, then let it go." But Joe's grip was firm, friendly.

Shiv focused on him, his easy, smiling ways, his affluent charm. He sensed how much separated them—his dark skin, an almond brown, seemed to have turned several shades darker just standing there, and his clothes, wet and puckered around his ankles, would mark him for life in this man's eyes. He had picked an orange scarf to wear around his neck. "You'll need colour there," his mother said. "It is a cold, dark, rainy country." Now the bright orange scarf felt like a glossy python around his neck. He couldn't wait to throw it off.

Joe gave him a quick, curious glance. His discomfort grew. A wet, bedraggled brown man walking into a celebratory party—so far from the first impression he wanted to make. He threw a quick look at the hallway mirror as he entered and saw, to his dismay, a wary, uneasy face. He seemed as he felt, defenceless and vulnerable.

Joe left the suitcase by the stairs. "There's the lav, if you need it," he said, pointing to a door by the stairs.

Shiv nodded and went towards it with relief.

* * *

THE HEAT FROM the blazing fire in the grate hit his face, drying and warming him at the same time. He saw flushed red faces, glasses filled with wine, trays of cheese and smoked salmon, brown bread and butter. He recalled the pictures his English tutor back in Hyderabad Sind had showed him in anticipation of a time when he would leave India for England. "Beer." "Wine." "Smoked salmon." "Mince pies." "Spotted dick." Now here they were, those trays of smoked salmon and deviled eggs, wine and beer. The women were in pearls, the men in suits, and everyone was very jolly. Mr. and Mrs. Polak received him warmly, she with an embrace, he with a hearty handshake. "You're here, my boy," he said. "Just in time. We're celebrating our twenty-fifth, Millie and I and our friends. Feast today, we go back to gruel tomorrow!" Everyone laughed as they turned to look at him. Mr. Polak handed him a fluted glass and poured a hissing liquid into it. Champagne? Shiv wondered. "Cheers! Welcome to London!" Mr. Polak said.

Shiv squirmed as his guests examined his thin wet trousers, the bright silk scarf wrapped around his neck, marked his uneasiness. One elderly woman fixed her lorgnettes on him as she ran them up his body from head to toe. Her jowly face and bejeweled fingers glinted; her inquisitive eyes were like lice combs as they teased out his discomfort. He felt like an animal in a zoo.

"I've never seen one of them in the flesh before, Henry," she said, turning to her host.

"He won't be a stranger to you for long, Lady Sophia," Mr. Polak said. "You'll be seeing a lot of him, I promise you that!"

He came over to Shiv with the bottle of champagne in his hand. Shiv placed his hand over the glass. "I'd better not, sir. Still feeling a little sea-whipped from the journey here." He observed Mr. Polak's large, slightly red ears, like abalone shells. With ears like that, you'd miss nothing in a court of law.

"Nonsense!" Mr. Polak said. "You'll be the British in India when we leave." He refilled the glass. "You're here to learn, to work and think like us. Some would say that there's an even more important requirement—that you play and drink like us." When Shiv raised his glass to his host, Polak's genial face broke into a proud smile. "Good stock, this one," he said, turning to Lady Sophia.