to live in the American West.
Back home, I found that I needed to talk for a long time. Mala sat and listened sympathetically. Eventually I told her about the tea-chests.
‘You worked him out, no need to remind me,’ I cried. ‘You knew his insides. Imagine! He was so sick, so crazy, that he fantasised all these frenzied last-tango encounters with you. For instance, just after we got home from Venice. For instance, in those two days I was alone with Lucy on Bougainvillaea , and he said he had to go to Cambridge for a lecture.’
Mala stood up and turned her back on me, andbefore she spoke I guessed her answer, feeling it explode in my chest with an unbearable raucous crack, a sound reminiscent of the break-up of log-jams or pack-ice. Yes, she had warned me against Eliot Crane, warned me with the bitter passion of her denunciation of him; and I, in my surprise at the denunciation, had failed to hear the real warning, failed to understand what she had meant by the passion in her voice. That mess-head. He’s bad for you.
So, here it came: the collapse of harmony, the demolition of the spheres of my heart.
‘Those weren’t fantasies,’ she said.
C HEKOV AND Z ULU
I
On 4th November, 1984, Zulu disappeared in Birmingham, and India House sent his old schoolfriend Chekov to Wembley to see the wife.
‘Adaabarz, Mrs Zulu. Permission to enter?’
‘Of course come in, Dipty sahib, why such formality?’
‘Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, Mrs Zulu, but Zulu-tho hasn’t been in touch this morning?’
‘With me? Since when he contacts me on official trip? Why to hit a telephone call when he is probably enjoying?’
‘Whoops, sore point, excuse me. Always been the foot-in-it blunderbuss type.’
‘At least sit, take tea-shee.’
‘Fixed the place up damn fine, Mrs Zulu, wah-wah. Tasteful decor, in spades, I must say. So much cut-glass! That bounder Zulu must be getting too much pay, more than yours truly, clever dog.’
‘No, how is it possible? Acting Dipty’s tankha must be far in excess of Security Chief.’
‘No suspicion intended, ji. Only to say what a bargain-hunter you must be.’
‘Some problem but there is, na?’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘Arré, Jaisingh! Where have you been sleeping? Acting Dipty Sahib is thirsting for his tea. And biscuits and jalebis, can you not keep two things in your head? Jump, now, guest is waiting.’
‘Truly, Mrs Zulu, please go to no trouble.’
‘No trouble is there, Diptyji, only this chap has become lazy since coming from home. Days off, TV in room, even pay in pounds sterling, he expects all. So far we brought him but no gratitude, what to tell you, noth- thing. ’
‘Ah, Jaisingh; why not? Excellent jalebi, Mrs Z. Thanking you.’
Assembled on top of the television and on shelf units around it was the missing man’s collection of Star Trek memorabilia: Captain Kirk and Spock dolls, spaceship models – a Klingon Bird of Prey, a Romulan vessel, a space station, and of course the Starship Enterprise. In pride of place were large figurines of two of the series’s supporting cast.
‘These old Doon School nicknames,’ Chekov exclaimed heartily. ‘They stay put like stuck records. Dumpy, Stumpy, Grumpy, Humpy. They take over from our names. As in our case our intrepid cosmonaut aliases.’
‘I don’t like. This “Mrs Zulu” I am landed with! It sounds like a blackie.’
‘Wear the name with pride, begum sahib. We’re old comrades-in-arms, your husband and I; since boyhood days, perhaps he was good enough to mention? Intrepid diplonauts. Our umpteen-year mission to explore new worlds and new civilisations. See there, our alter egos standing on your TV, the Asiatic-looking Russky and the Chink. Not the leaders, as you’ll appreciate, but the ultimate professional servants. “Course laid in!” “Hailing frequencies open!” “Warp factor three!” What would that strutting Captain have been without his top-level staffers? Likewise with the good
Back home, I found that I needed to talk for a long time. Mala sat and listened sympathetically. Eventually I told her about the tea-chests.
‘You worked him out, no need to remind me,’ I cried. ‘You knew his insides. Imagine! He was so sick, so crazy, that he fantasised all these frenzied last-tango encounters with you. For instance, just after we got home from Venice. For instance, in those two days I was alone with Lucy on Bougainvillaea , and he said he had to go to Cambridge for a lecture.’
Mala stood up and turned her back on me, andbefore she spoke I guessed her answer, feeling it explode in my chest with an unbearable raucous crack, a sound reminiscent of the break-up of log-jams or pack-ice. Yes, she had warned me against Eliot Crane, warned me with the bitter passion of her denunciation of him; and I, in my surprise at the denunciation, had failed to hear the real warning, failed to understand what she had meant by the passion in her voice. That mess-head. He’s bad for you.
So, here it came: the collapse of harmony, the demolition of the spheres of my heart.
‘Those weren’t fantasies,’ she said.
C HEKOV AND Z ULU
I
On 4th November, 1984, Zulu disappeared in Birmingham, and India House sent his old schoolfriend Chekov to Wembley to see the wife.
‘Adaabarz, Mrs Zulu. Permission to enter?’
‘Of course come in, Dipty sahib, why such formality?’
‘Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, Mrs Zulu, but Zulu-tho hasn’t been in touch this morning?’
‘With me? Since when he contacts me on official trip? Why to hit a telephone call when he is probably enjoying?’
‘Whoops, sore point, excuse me. Always been the foot-in-it blunderbuss type.’
‘At least sit, take tea-shee.’
‘Fixed the place up damn fine, Mrs Zulu, wah-wah. Tasteful decor, in spades, I must say. So much cut-glass! That bounder Zulu must be getting too much pay, more than yours truly, clever dog.’
‘No, how is it possible? Acting Dipty’s tankha must be far in excess of Security Chief.’
‘No suspicion intended, ji. Only to say what a bargain-hunter you must be.’
‘Some problem but there is, na?’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘Arré, Jaisingh! Where have you been sleeping? Acting Dipty Sahib is thirsting for his tea. And biscuits and jalebis, can you not keep two things in your head? Jump, now, guest is waiting.’
‘Truly, Mrs Zulu, please go to no trouble.’
‘No trouble is there, Diptyji, only this chap has become lazy since coming from home. Days off, TV in room, even pay in pounds sterling, he expects all. So far we brought him but no gratitude, what to tell you, noth- thing. ’
‘Ah, Jaisingh; why not? Excellent jalebi, Mrs Z. Thanking you.’
Assembled on top of the television and on shelf units around it was the missing man’s collection of Star Trek memorabilia: Captain Kirk and Spock dolls, spaceship models – a Klingon Bird of Prey, a Romulan vessel, a space station, and of course the Starship Enterprise. In pride of place were large figurines of two of the series’s supporting cast.
‘These old Doon School nicknames,’ Chekov exclaimed heartily. ‘They stay put like stuck records. Dumpy, Stumpy, Grumpy, Humpy. They take over from our names. As in our case our intrepid cosmonaut aliases.’
‘I don’t like. This “Mrs Zulu” I am landed with! It sounds like a blackie.’
‘Wear the name with pride, begum sahib. We’re old comrades-in-arms, your husband and I; since boyhood days, perhaps he was good enough to mention? Intrepid diplonauts. Our umpteen-year mission to explore new worlds and new civilisations. See there, our alter egos standing on your TV, the Asiatic-looking Russky and the Chink. Not the leaders, as you’ll appreciate, but the ultimate professional servants. “Course laid in!” “Hailing frequencies open!” “Warp factor three!” What would that strutting Captain have been without his top-level staffers? Likewise with the good
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