Read Online Waiting for the Monsoon by Threes Anna - Free Book Online

moved on. When he got to the balcony door, he inserted a small key in the lock and managed to open the door without a sound. Quickly he slipped outside, onto the balcony, and into the night, shutting the door behind him. By the light of the rising moon, he walked over to the window of Charlotte’s bedroom. All her windows and doors were wide open, and the curtains swayed slightly. He went down on his knees and crept farther. The bedroom itself was pitch black. He peeked over the edge of the windowsill and heard the whirr of the fan above her bed. No matter how hard he listened and strained his eyes, the mosquito net made it impossible for him to tell whether she was in the bed or not. By the light of the moon, he saw that there were crumpled pieces of paper on the floor. He crept to the door and stole inside.
    The fragrant scent of memsahib Charlotte permeated the room. Hema loved that scent, and he inhaled softly. On all fours, he moved closer to Charlotte’s bed. He had to take care not to disturb the wads of paper. If she woke up now, he was sure she would fire him. Without a sound he crept closer, taking care to avoid her slippers, and looked through the mosquito net. The bed was empty. He looked under the bed, behind the chair, and in the bathroom. There was no sign of an indisposed woman. He crept back to the balcony on his creaking knees, forgetting that he could just as well have gotten up and walked. Not until he reached the door of the former nursery did he grasp the doorknob and pull his stiff old body up to a standing position.
    Hema was not thinking of the pain in his back, his worn-out knees, or his torn nails. He was worried about his memsahib Charlotte. More and more often she was short of breath when she returned from the club: at her age, the cycle ride in the blazing sun was brutal. Why didn’t she just hail a rickshaw for a few rupees, like he did? The lunch he’d prepared had remained untouched. The doorbell rang. She said she wasn’t hungry. She told him to go ahead and eat, and save what was left. Hema had gone to the door. The caller was a man he had seen before. He had straight hair that hung over his eyes and he was wearing an expensive shirt. He said that his name was Arjun Soumitra, but Hema suspected that that was not his real name. Memsahib had told him to take the visitor into the salon. But Hema had left him standing in the hall while he hurriedly unrolled the large carpet. For some time the Persian rug had been kept rolled up in plastic behind the sofa and was brought out only when there were guests, which was a rare occurrence. He placed the table in the middle of the rug and ushered the man in. The man walked straight over to memsahib’s dresser and picked up one of the large bowls, which were her pride and joy. Hema had coughed discreetly, but the man continued to examine the porcelain. Hema wasn’t sure whether it would be right to leave him alone in the room. Just as he had been about to go and fetch memsahib, she walked into the room. She had greeted the man amiably and sent Hema out of the room.
    Noiselessly Hema made his way across the nursery floor, after which he locked the door and hung the key on the nail. He went down the stairs and halted in the middle of the marble hall. He listened and heard the house creak: no matter how hard he tried to combat them, more and more insects were gnawing their way through the dry wood of the walls and appearing in the most unexpected places. He heard sounds coming from the piano room. The door was closed, as memsahib had ordered. He knocked and walked in.
    Charlotte was standing on a wobbly construction consisting of a chair and a stool. She seemed relieved to see Hema. “Take a candle and give me a bit of light.”
    Hema, who was used to his employer’s whims and was much relieved that she wasn’t lying dead on the floor, picked up a candlestick and held it aloft.
    â€œHigher,” said Charlotte from