Shantaram полностью

Didier Levy was only thirty-five years old, but those years were stitched to him in lumpy wads of flesh and deep lines that gave him the plump and careworn look of a much older man. In defiance of the humid climate, he always wore baggy canvas trousers, a denim shirt, and a rumpled, grey woollen sports coat. His thick, curly black hair never seemed to be shorter or longer than the line of his collar, just as the stubble on his tired face never seemed to be less than three days from its last shave. He spoke a lavishly accented English, using the language to provoke and criticise friend and stranger alike with an indolent malignity. There were people who resented his rudeness and rebukes, but they tolerated them because he was frequently useful and occasionally indispensable. He knew where everything-from a pistol, to a precious gem, to a kilo of the finest Thai-white heroin-might be bought or sold in the city. And, as he sometimes boasted, there was very little he wouldn’t do for the right amount of money, provided there was no significant risk to his comfort and personal safety.

‘We were talking of the different ideas people have about the best thing in the world,’ Karla said, ‘But I don’t have to ask what you think.’

‘You would say that I think money is the best thing in the world,’ he suggested lazily, ‘and we’d both be right. Every sane and rational person one day realises that money is almost everything. The great principles and the noble virtues are all very well, in the long run of history, but from one day to the next, it’s money that keeps us going-and the lack of it that drives us under the great wheel. And what about you, Lin? What did you say?’

‘He didn’t say anything yet, and now that you’re here, he won’t get a chance.’

‘Now be fair, Karla. Tell us, Lin. I would like to know.’

‘Well, if you press me, I’d have to say freedom.’

‘The freedom to do what?’ he asked, putting a little laugh in the last word.

‘I don’t know. Maybe just the freedom to say no. If you’ve got that much freedom, you really don’t need any more.’

The beer and coffee arrived. The waiter slammed the drinks onto the table with reckless discourtesy. The service in the shops, hotels, and restaurants of Bombay, in those days, moved from a politeness that was charming or fawning to a rudeness that was either abrupt or hostile. The churlishness of Leopold’s waiters was legendary. It’s my favourite place in the whole world, Karla once said, to be treated like dirt.

‘A toast!’ Didier declared, raising his glass to touch mine. ‘To the freedom… to drink! Salut!’

He drank half the long glass, let out a loud, wide-mouthed sigh of pleasure, and then drank the rest. He was pouring himself a second glass when two others, a man and a woman, joined our group, sitting between Karla and me. The dark, brooding, undernourished young man was Modena, a dour and taciturn Spaniard who did black-market business with French, Italian, and African tourists. His companion, a slim and pretty German prostitute named Ulla, had for some time allowed him to call himself her lover.

‘Ah, Modena, you are just in time to buy the next round,’ Didier shouted, reaching past Karla to slap him on the shoulder. ‘I will have a whisky and soda, if you please.’

The shorter man flinched under the blow and scowled unhappily, but he called the waiter to his side, and ordered drinks. Ulla was speaking with Karla in a mixture of German and English that, by accident or intent, obscured the most interesting parts of her conversation.

‘How could I know it, na? How was it possible for me to know that he was a Spinner? Total verruckt, I tell you. At the start, he looked totally straight to me. Or, maybe, do you think that was a sign? Maybe he was a little bit too straight looking. Naja, ten minutes in the room and erwollte auf der Klamotten kommen. On my best dress! I had to fight with him to save my clothes, der Sprintficker! Spritzen wollte er, all over my clothes! Gibt’sja nicht. And later, when I went to the bathroom for a little sniff of cokes, I came back to see daβ er seinen Schwanz ganz tief in einer meiner Schuhe hat! Can you believe it! In my shoe! Nicht zu fassen.’

‘Let’s face it,’ Karla said gently, ‘The crazy ones always know how to find you, Ulla.’

‘Ja, leider. What can I say? Crazy people love me.’

‘Don’t listen to her, Ulla my love,’ Didier consoled her. ‘Craziness is the basis of many a fine relationship. In fact, craziness is the basis of every fine relationship!’

‘Didier,’ Ulla sighed, mouthing his name with a smile of exquisite sweetness, ‘have I told you to get fucked yet?’

‘No!’ he laughed, ‘But I forgive you for the lapse. Between us, my darling, such things are always implied, and understood.’