outlive him, for all he knew …
As for his store, there was not the remotest chance of its catching fire, being looted or caving in. Freddy plucked at his quivering chalky lips and groaned.
Chapter 7
FREDDY’S cloud of despair thickened as the week progressed. He did not even notice Jerbanoo’s presence. He allowed her to corner all the drumsticks and liver without comment. Putli grew alarmed. She tried to draw him out but he snapped at her peevishly.
Freddy was already in debt. A condition both stigmatised and loathed by Parsis. Although he owed a very small sum his secret debt assumed all the harrowing proportions of mendicancy, disgrace and ruin. He saw himself charged and jailed for insolvency, his property and possessions auctioned, his destitute family shuttled from one kindly home to the next …
And Jerbanoo didn’t help any. Her dismal pronouncements weighted the scales of his imagined doom catastrophically. He was sure her malign intent and ill-starred tongue were at the root of all his misfortunes. Sinister forces were at work undermining all his efforts. She was the jinx. He once again felt hopelessly sunk in a quagmire – with one difference – this time he was further trapped by the weight of a mountain.
Freddy’s misfortunes found an outlet. As always, Jerbanoo was the catalyst. Piously before supper she had trudged through the house with the sandalwood fire, wearing her
mathabana
open and austerely tucked behind her ears like an Egyptian head-dress. She had not bothered to knot it at the back when she sat down to dinner. Glancing at her, Freddy thought she looked like an Egyptian mummy.
This was a momentary diversion, and soon he lapsed into his world of premonitions and envisaged calamities. He picked at his food abstractedly, and in silent gloom.
The Egyptian mummy, meanwhile, both gobbled her food and mouthed her words with enviable dexterity. Her monologue fell on deaf ears, for Freddy had stopped listening to her altogether. She disturbed him no more than the flies buzzing round their food. Putli busily juggled the dishes, poured water into glasses and served the children.
Jerbanoo’s soliloquy droned on and on and towards the end of fifteen minutes she said something that pierced right through Freddy’s preoccupied stupor.
She had said, ‘… can you imagine how I feel? I may never see my sisters and brothers again! One by one they will die off and I won’t ever again see their faces! What does he care? Look at him – chewing unconcernedly like a cow. Poor dear innocent, he can’t hear a word of what I say – does he care if I live or die?’
Live or die! Live or die! The words reverberated dizzily in Freddy’s mind. And this vibration sparked the germ of an idea that had Freddy quaking in his chair. He turned pale. His legs beneath the table went limp. His hands trembled so violently that in desperation he flung his napkin on the table and, pretending to be offended by what Jerbanoo had said, marched stiff-necked from the room. He had never done this before. Jerbanoo had provoked him much worse without such a display. Putli and her mother exchanged bewildered glances and fell silent.
Freddy locked himself in his room and flung himself on his bed, trembling. The havoc wrought by the soundless detonation in his mind had shaken the foundations of his being. He felt sapped and dazed.
An hour later he opened the door to Putli’s insistent knock. Retreating like a zombie to his bed he covered his head with a pillow.
After a few anxious inquiries that met with granite silence, Putli fell asleep and Freddy spent a restless night quarrelling with his conscience.
The die was cast.
The following months kept Freddy in excruciating mental turmoil. His mind seethed with weird ideas and searing doubts. His conscience alternately roared, jeered, applauded and scorned. He had never thought so hard and his head throbbed with pain. He swallowed huge quantities of Aspirin and wandered about
As for his store, there was not the remotest chance of its catching fire, being looted or caving in. Freddy plucked at his quivering chalky lips and groaned.
Chapter 7
FREDDY’S cloud of despair thickened as the week progressed. He did not even notice Jerbanoo’s presence. He allowed her to corner all the drumsticks and liver without comment. Putli grew alarmed. She tried to draw him out but he snapped at her peevishly.
Freddy was already in debt. A condition both stigmatised and loathed by Parsis. Although he owed a very small sum his secret debt assumed all the harrowing proportions of mendicancy, disgrace and ruin. He saw himself charged and jailed for insolvency, his property and possessions auctioned, his destitute family shuttled from one kindly home to the next …
And Jerbanoo didn’t help any. Her dismal pronouncements weighted the scales of his imagined doom catastrophically. He was sure her malign intent and ill-starred tongue were at the root of all his misfortunes. Sinister forces were at work undermining all his efforts. She was the jinx. He once again felt hopelessly sunk in a quagmire – with one difference – this time he was further trapped by the weight of a mountain.
Freddy’s misfortunes found an outlet. As always, Jerbanoo was the catalyst. Piously before supper she had trudged through the house with the sandalwood fire, wearing her
mathabana
open and austerely tucked behind her ears like an Egyptian head-dress. She had not bothered to knot it at the back when she sat down to dinner. Glancing at her, Freddy thought she looked like an Egyptian mummy.
This was a momentary diversion, and soon he lapsed into his world of premonitions and envisaged calamities. He picked at his food abstractedly, and in silent gloom.
The Egyptian mummy, meanwhile, both gobbled her food and mouthed her words with enviable dexterity. Her monologue fell on deaf ears, for Freddy had stopped listening to her altogether. She disturbed him no more than the flies buzzing round their food. Putli busily juggled the dishes, poured water into glasses and served the children.
Jerbanoo’s soliloquy droned on and on and towards the end of fifteen minutes she said something that pierced right through Freddy’s preoccupied stupor.
She had said, ‘… can you imagine how I feel? I may never see my sisters and brothers again! One by one they will die off and I won’t ever again see their faces! What does he care? Look at him – chewing unconcernedly like a cow. Poor dear innocent, he can’t hear a word of what I say – does he care if I live or die?’
Live or die! Live or die! The words reverberated dizzily in Freddy’s mind. And this vibration sparked the germ of an idea that had Freddy quaking in his chair. He turned pale. His legs beneath the table went limp. His hands trembled so violently that in desperation he flung his napkin on the table and, pretending to be offended by what Jerbanoo had said, marched stiff-necked from the room. He had never done this before. Jerbanoo had provoked him much worse without such a display. Putli and her mother exchanged bewildered glances and fell silent.
Freddy locked himself in his room and flung himself on his bed, trembling. The havoc wrought by the soundless detonation in his mind had shaken the foundations of his being. He felt sapped and dazed.
An hour later he opened the door to Putli’s insistent knock. Retreating like a zombie to his bed he covered his head with a pillow.
After a few anxious inquiries that met with granite silence, Putli fell asleep and Freddy spent a restless night quarrelling with his conscience.
The die was cast.
The following months kept Freddy in excruciating mental turmoil. His mind seethed with weird ideas and searing doubts. His conscience alternately roared, jeered, applauded and scorned. He had never thought so hard and his head throbbed with pain. He swallowed huge quantities of Aspirin and wandered about
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