The Mountain Shadow

‘Lin,’ he whispered in the hug. ‘I am about to win a discount on your rent, before you are even a registered guest.’

‘Let’s pay the rent first,’ I whispered back, ‘and you can win the discount later.’

‘Shrewd,’ he said, pulling apart again.

I checked in with one of my false passports, and took a look at my new rooms.

There was a large living room, with a bedroom and bathroom leading from it through high, wooden doors. A kitchenette filled one corner alcove.

At the far end of the room there was an archway of French doors, leading to a shadowed balcony. I walked through, opened the shutters, and looked out at the busy junction below.

The view was superb: a giant child’s toy, wound up and whirling through its cycle of light, sound and movement. Beyond were the trees of the Bombay Gymkhana, their leafy shadows making a tunnel of the road.

I looked around me and saw that there were only short, flimsy partitions between my balcony and the two sets of rooms beside it. The rooms looked deserted.

The hotel manager was standing beside me.

‘Anyone in the next rooms?’ I asked.

‘Not at the moment, but we’ve got two parties coming tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow never comes,’ I said in Hindi. ‘We’re here now, and we’d like to take all three of these front-facing suites for a year, cash in advance.’

‘Suites?’ the manager and Didier said, at the same time.

‘Suites,’ I said. ‘All three. From tonight. A year in advance. Are we good?’

‘Hold on a minute,’ the manager said. ‘I just have to check with my greed.’

He paused, for a bit, with a thinking face, and then made up his mind.

‘What do you know,’ he said, ‘we’re suddenly unbooked.’

You’ve got to like a man who anthropomorphises his own greed: at the very least, it’s a conversation.

‘What’s your name, sir?’

‘Jaswant,’ he said. ‘Jaswant Singh. And how shall I call you, sir?’

‘Just call me baba. Is that okay?’

‘Sure, sure, baba. No problem. A year, you said? In advance?’

I paid the money, and he left us alone to go through the rooms.

We took down the temporary barriers between balconies, and walked all the way around, from hotel room to hotel room.

‘Why do you need three of these rooms, Lin? I refuse to call them suites.’

‘The walls at the ends of these balconies are sealed, Didier. If I have all three suites to myself, nobody can sneak up that way.’

‘I see,’ he said.

‘But I only need two of them. The other one is for you, Naveen, if you want it.’

‘For me?’ Naveen asked.

‘You haven’t got an office yet, have you?’

‘No. I work from my apartment.’

‘Well, now you have an office, detective, if you want it.’

He looked at Didier, who shrugged a smile.

‘This just occurred to you now?’ Naveen asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Because you have an extra room?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I love it. You’re on,’ Naveen said, shaking my hand. ‘Nice to have you at the other end of the balcony.’

Didier joined us, placing his hands on ours.

‘This is the beginning of something very –’

‘Shit!’ Naveen said, breaking away. ‘She’ll kill me!’

‘Who will kill a detective?’ Didier demanded.

‘Diva. If I don’t pick the spoilt brat up on time, she’ll give me hell for two days. I have to run. I’ll grab a key on the way out, Lin. The room on the right, okay with you?’

It was exactly the room that I wanted him to take.

‘You got it, Naveen.’

‘You’re going to meet Karla?’ Didier asked me, as we watched him leave.

‘At eight.’

‘I have some things to do, my friend, so I will leave now. But I will be available for you later, and I will wait in the Taj for some time, if I discover any news.’

‘Thanks, Didier.’

‘It is nothing.’

‘No, I mean it. The owner of this building is your friend, and this is one of your areas, because the local don is your friend, and that’s why I’m safe here. Thanks, for everything.’

‘I love you, Lin. Please, do not suffer that I say it. We French have no chains on the heart. I love you. We will solve the mystery of sad, sweet Lisa, and then we will march on.’

He left, and I stood in each of the strange, new rooms I’d just rented for a year, on instinct. It was my first home, after the home I’d made with Lisa. I was trying to live again: trying to plant a new tree, in a new place.

I walked back to the balcony, folded my arms on the rail and watched the wheel of lights, red-yellow-white, making slow fireworks where five avenues met and dispersed.

A crow landed on my balcony for a moment, inspected me, ruffled its feathers and flew away. A group of teenagers crossed with the signal, laughing and happy, on their way to the budget shops on Fashion Street.

A distant temple bell sounded, followed by chanting. Then the Azaan rang out from somewhere nearby, clear and beautifully sung.

Is this the place? I asked myself. I wanted a place. Any place. I wanted a home.

Is this where I find it? I wanted connection. I wanted to give everything I had to one love, and be loved in return.

Is it here? I stared at the crossroad, hoping for an answer, as white, red and yellow lights made dragons from weaving lines of cars.