Read Online In a Free State by V.S. Naipaul - Free Book Online Page A

the whole world to be reduced to tears. I said, ‘Sahib, I cannot stay with you any longer.’
    They were just words, part of my mood, part of my wish for tears and relief. But Priya didn’t soften. He didn’t even look surprised. ‘Where will you go, Santosh?’
    How could I answer his serious question?
    ‘Will it be different where you go?’
    He had freed himself of me. I could no longer think of tears. I said, ‘Sahib, I have enemies.’
    He giggled. ‘You are a joker, Santosh. How can a man like yourself have enemies? There would be no profit in it.
I
have enemies. It is part of your happiness and part of the equity of the world that you cannot have enemies. That’s why you can run-run-runaway.’ He smiled and made the running gesture with his extended palm.
    So, at last, I told him my story. I told him about my old employer and my escape and the green suit. He made me feel I was telling him nothing he hadn’t already known. I told him about the
hubshi
woman. I was hoping for some rebuke. A rebuke would have meant that he was concerned for my honour, that I could lean on him, that rescue was possible.
    But he said, ‘Santosh, you have no problems. Marry the
hubshi
. That will automatically make you a citizen. Then you will be a free man.’
    It wasn’t what I was expecting. He was asking me to be alone for ever. I said, ‘Sahib, I have a wife and children in the hills at home.’
    ‘But this is your home, Santosh. Wife and children in the hills, that is very nice and that is always there. But that is over. You have to do what is best for you here. You are alone here.
Hubshi-ubshi
, nobody worries about that here, if that is your choice. This isn’t Bombay. Nobody looks at you when you walk down the street. Nobody cares what you do.’
    He was right. I was a free man; I could do anything I wanted. I could, if it were possible for me to turn back, go to the apartment and beg my old employer for forgiveness. I could, if it were possible for me to become again what I once was, go to the police and say, ‘I am an illegal immigrant here. Please deport me to Bombay.’ I could run away, hang myself, surrender, confess, hide. It didn’t matter what I did, because I was alone. And I didn’t know what I wanted to do. It was like the time when I felt my senses revive and I wanted to go out and enjoy and I found there was nothing to enjoy.
    To be empty is not to be sad. To be empty is to be calm. It is to renounce. Priya said no more to me; he was always busy in the mornings. I left him and went up to my room. It was still a bare room, still like a room that in half an hour could be someone else’s. I had never thought of it as mine. I was frightened of its spotless painted walls and had been careful to keep them spotless. For just such a moment.
    I tried to think of the particular moment in my life, the particular action, that had brought me to that room. Was it the moment with the
hubshi
woman, or was it when the American came to dinner and insulted my employer? Was it the moment of my escape, my sight of Priya in the gallery, or was it when I looked in the mirror and bought the green suit? Or was it much earlier, in that other life, in Bombay, in the hills? I could find no one moment; every moment seemed important. An endless chain of action had brought me to that room. It was frightening; it was burdensome. It was not a time for new decisions. It was time to call a halt.
    I lay on the bed watching the ceiling, watching the sky. The door was pushed open. It was Priya.
    ‘My goodness, Santosh! How long have you been here? You have been so quiet I forgot about you.’
    He looked about the room. He went into the bathroom and came out again.
    ‘Are you all right, Santosh?’
    He sat on the edge of the bed and the longer he stayed the more I realized how glad I was to see him. There was this: when I tried to think of him rushing into the room I couldn’t place it in time; it seemed to have occurred only in my