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Authors: John Speed
Tags: Historical fiction, India
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his
dark face to Lucinda's. "Bijapur is full of sinners. A city of the damned.
Muslims have the blackest souls." He leaned toward Lucinda as if revealing a
confidence: "A Muslim will keep a dozen wives and a hundred concubines." But it seemed to Lucinda as if Anala were sizing her up for a place in his own
harem. "Well, we must save souls, not condemn them. What better way to
save a soul than trade, eh? In trade we find the vehicle for redemption." He
leaned so close to Lucinda that his ear nearly touched her breast. "If I had
not begun to trade with farangs, sister, my wife and I would still be damned
today, instead of glorying in Our Lord's salvation."
"How nice for you," Lucinda replied. Anala would not let go her hand.
Soon Anala had tallied everyone: Maya and Slipper, he decided, would
be entertained by his wife, while Pathan would join the Christian men for
dinner. There was some hope, Anala said, that the three Christians could
save his soul. The arrangements settled, Da Gama and Geraldo made
sweeping bows as Anala approached them, and managed this way to fend
off another embrace. Anala once more pressed his head against Lucinda's
breasts. "Sister," he said fondly. "My servant will see to your comfort," he
told them all as they left. "We say the rosary in here before supper."
"Oh good," Da Gama managed to say.
The silk-turbaned servant led Lucinda across the courtyard and opened the
door for her, saying, "Good evening, senhorita," in perfect Portuguese. The
room was spacious, dominated by two big canopied feather beds that stood
in the center of the room. Lucinda saw her smaller trunk had been placed
near the end of one of them. Wooden chairs stood stiffly against the walls,
as if no one had ever sat there, and here and there a small table and the odd
chest.
Maya was already there. On the carpet she had spread out a few of her
belongings from her floppy cloth bag. Lucinda wondered whether that one
bag was all of Maya's luggage.
Maya nodded toward the beds and lifted her eyebrows. "So this is how
farangs sleep," she said softly. "I will be too frightened to sleep so high.
How do you not roll off?"
"You don't roll off. You sink into the feathers like a big pillow. It's very
comfortable."
"Comfortable for farangs. Not for Hindis. I shall sleep on the floor."
"Our host and hostess are Hindi," Lucinda said. Maya looked up, but when she saw that Lucinda was serious Maya giggled. "I was surprised as
well," Lucinda went on. "The man calls himself Fernando, so who would
know? And he dresses like a Portuguese. I haven't seen the wife. Anyway,
she will be eating with us here."
Lucinda circled the room as she spoke, but stopped when she noticed
something unusual on a table. A sort of shrine, she decided; amidst a scattering of white grains of rice, a single silver lamp; lying next to it a crucifix,
the head and hands stained red by kumkum. "What is this?" she said, almost to herself.
Maya came to her side and looked. "She must love this god very much."
"Well, no Christian would treat a crucifix this way."
"No, she is Christian. But not like you are Christian." Maya looked suddenly concerned. "You say she's eating with us? Where will Slipper eat?"
"With us, of course."
"That will not be pleasant. I must speak to Deoga."
"Who is Deoga?"
Maya looked at her, confused. "Senhor Da Gama. Do you not call him
Deoga as well?"
"No," Lucinda replied, equally confused. "What is Da Gama to do?"
"Look here; look at this woman's puja. She is Hindi. She will not eat
with a hijra."
"Why don't we ask her first?" Lucinda suggested.
Maya looked at her as if suddenly seeing her heart. "You speak Hindi
so well that I imagined you understood our ways as well. Of course she'd
agree.
"Then where's the problem?"
"She would say so only to be polite. It would be most unkind to impose so. Like asking her to eat in a latrine."
Lucinda's face twisted. "But why?"
"Don't worry. Deoga can fix it. He's
dark face to Lucinda's. "Bijapur is full of sinners. A city of the damned.
Muslims have the blackest souls." He leaned toward Lucinda as if revealing a
confidence: "A Muslim will keep a dozen wives and a hundred concubines." But it seemed to Lucinda as if Anala were sizing her up for a place in his own
harem. "Well, we must save souls, not condemn them. What better way to
save a soul than trade, eh? In trade we find the vehicle for redemption." He
leaned so close to Lucinda that his ear nearly touched her breast. "If I had
not begun to trade with farangs, sister, my wife and I would still be damned
today, instead of glorying in Our Lord's salvation."
"How nice for you," Lucinda replied. Anala would not let go her hand.
Soon Anala had tallied everyone: Maya and Slipper, he decided, would
be entertained by his wife, while Pathan would join the Christian men for
dinner. There was some hope, Anala said, that the three Christians could
save his soul. The arrangements settled, Da Gama and Geraldo made
sweeping bows as Anala approached them, and managed this way to fend
off another embrace. Anala once more pressed his head against Lucinda's
breasts. "Sister," he said fondly. "My servant will see to your comfort," he
told them all as they left. "We say the rosary in here before supper."
"Oh good," Da Gama managed to say.
The silk-turbaned servant led Lucinda across the courtyard and opened the
door for her, saying, "Good evening, senhorita," in perfect Portuguese. The
room was spacious, dominated by two big canopied feather beds that stood
in the center of the room. Lucinda saw her smaller trunk had been placed
near the end of one of them. Wooden chairs stood stiffly against the walls,
as if no one had ever sat there, and here and there a small table and the odd
chest.
Maya was already there. On the carpet she had spread out a few of her
belongings from her floppy cloth bag. Lucinda wondered whether that one
bag was all of Maya's luggage.
Maya nodded toward the beds and lifted her eyebrows. "So this is how
farangs sleep," she said softly. "I will be too frightened to sleep so high.
How do you not roll off?"
"You don't roll off. You sink into the feathers like a big pillow. It's very
comfortable."
"Comfortable for farangs. Not for Hindis. I shall sleep on the floor."
"Our host and hostess are Hindi," Lucinda said. Maya looked up, but when she saw that Lucinda was serious Maya giggled. "I was surprised as
well," Lucinda went on. "The man calls himself Fernando, so who would
know? And he dresses like a Portuguese. I haven't seen the wife. Anyway,
she will be eating with us here."
Lucinda circled the room as she spoke, but stopped when she noticed
something unusual on a table. A sort of shrine, she decided; amidst a scattering of white grains of rice, a single silver lamp; lying next to it a crucifix,
the head and hands stained red by kumkum. "What is this?" she said, almost to herself.
Maya came to her side and looked. "She must love this god very much."
"Well, no Christian would treat a crucifix this way."
"No, she is Christian. But not like you are Christian." Maya looked suddenly concerned. "You say she's eating with us? Where will Slipper eat?"
"With us, of course."
"That will not be pleasant. I must speak to Deoga."
"Who is Deoga?"
Maya looked at her, confused. "Senhor Da Gama. Do you not call him
Deoga as well?"
"No," Lucinda replied, equally confused. "What is Da Gama to do?"
"Look here; look at this woman's puja. She is Hindi. She will not eat
with a hijra."
"Why don't we ask her first?" Lucinda suggested.
Maya looked at her as if suddenly seeing her heart. "You speak Hindi
so well that I imagined you understood our ways as well. Of course she'd
agree.
"Then where's the problem?"
"She would say so only to be polite. It would be most unkind to impose so. Like asking her to eat in a latrine."
Lucinda's face twisted. "But why?"
"Don't worry. Deoga can fix it. He's
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