Shantaram полностью

‘Not killed anyone, Lin. The story, what happened, the Wildlife Authority has a new policy, to stop cruelty to the dancing bears. They don’t know that Kano’s bear-wallahs, they love him so much, like a big brother, and he loves them also, and they would never hurt him. But the policy is the policy. So, the Wildlife-wallahs, they captured Kano, and they took him to the animal jail. And he was crying and crying for his blue bear-wallahs. And the bear-wallahs, they were outside the animal jail, and they were also crying and crying. And two of those Wildlife-wallahs, two watchmen on duty, they got very upset about all the crying, so they went outside, and they started beating Kano’s blue men with lathis. They gave them a solid pasting. And Kano, he saw his two blue men getting that beating, and he just lost his control. He broke down that cage and made an escape. The two bear-wallahs got a big feeling of courage, and they beat up the Wildlife fellows and ran away with Kano. Now they are hiding in our zhopadpatti, in the same hut that you used to have as your house. And we have to try to get them out of the city without getting captured. Our problem is how to get that Kano from the zhopadpatti to Nariman Point. There is a truck waiting there, and the driver has agreed to take Kano away with his bear-wallahs.’

‘Not easy,’ I murmured. ‘And with a goddamn wanted poster for the blue guys and the bear. Jesus!’

‘Will you help us, Lin? We feel very sorry for that bear. Love is a special thing in the world. When two men have so much love in their hearts, even so it is for a bear, it must be protected, isn’t it?’

‘Well…’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Sure it is,’ I smiled. ‘Sure it is. I’ll be glad to help, if I can. And you can do me a favour as well.’

‘Anything.’

‘Try to get me one of those wanted posters with the picture of the bear and the blue guys. I gotta have one of those posters.’

‘The poster?’

‘Yeah. It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it. Just, if you see one, grab it for me. Have you got a plan?’

The taxi pulled up outside the slum as the evening, emptied of its sunset and pale enough to unveil the first few stars, drew squealing, playing faronades of children back to their huts, where plumes of smoke from cooking fires fluttered into the cooling air.

‘The plan,’ Johnny announced as we walked quickly through the familiar lanes, nodding and smiling to friends along the way, ‘is to dress up the bear in a disguise.’

‘I dunno,’ I said doubtfully. ‘He’s real tall, as I remember, and kinda big.’

‘At first, we put a hat and a coat on him, and even an umbrella hanging from his coat, like an office-working fellow.’

‘How did he look?’

‘Not so good,’ Johnny replied without a trace of irony or sarcasm. ‘He still looked quite a lot like a bear, but a bear with clothes.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Yes. So, now the plan is to get a big Muslim dress, you know the one? From Afghanistan? Covering all the whole body, with only a few holes to see out of it.’

‘A burkha.’

‘Exactly. The boys went to Mohammed Ali Road to buy the biggest one they could find. They should be-ah! Look! They are here already, and we can try it, to see how does it look.’

We came upon a group of a dozen men and a similar number of women and children gathered near the hut where I’d lived and worked for almost two years. And although I’d left the zhopadpatti, convinced that I could never live there again, it always gave me a thrill of pleasure to see the humble little hut, and stand near it. The few foreigners I’d taken to the slum-and even the Indians, such as Kavita Singh and Vikram, who’d visited me there-had been horrified by the place and aghast to think that I’d chosen to stay there so long. They couldn’t understand that every time I entered the slum I felt the urge to let go and surrender to a simpler, poorer life that was yet richer in respect, and love, and a vicinal connectedness to the surrounding sea of human hearts. They couldn’t understand what I meant when I talked about the purity of the slum: they’d been there, and seen the wretchedness and filth for themselves. They saw no purity. But they hadn’t lived in those miraculous acres, and they hadn’t learned that to survive in such a writhe of hope and sorrow the people had to be scrupulously and heartbreakingly honest. That was the source of their purity: above all things, they were true to themselves.

So, with my dishonest heart thrilling at the nearness of my once and favourite home, I joined the group and then gasped as a huge, shrouded figure emerged from beside the hut and stood among us.

‘Holy shit!’ I said, gawking at the towering, immense form. The blue-grey burkha covered the standing bear from its head to the ground. I found myself wondering at the size of the woman that garment had been intended to cover, because the standing bear was a full head taller than the tallest man in our group. ‘Holy shit!’