Shantaram полностью

‘Yeah, you know that, and I know that now, but yesterday was the first I heard of it. In this heat, I’ve been in the habit of taking three showers a day. I never realised that men had to climb six flights of stairs, to fill a damn tank, so that I could take those showers. I felt horrible about it, you know? I told Prabaker I’d never take another shower in that hotel again. Not ever.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said, No, no you don’t understand. He called it a people-job. It’s only because of tourists like me, he explained, that those men have a job. And he told me that each man is supporting a family of his own from his wages. You should have three showers, four showers, even five showers every day, he told me.’

She nodded in agreement.

‘Then he told me to watch the men while they got themselves ready to run through the city again, pushing their water wagon. And I think I knew what he meant, what he wanted me to see. They were strong, those guys. They were strong and proud and healthy. They weren’t begging or stealing. They were working hard to earn their way, and they were proud of it. When they ran off into the traffic, with their strong muscles, and getting a few sly looks from some of the young Indian girls, I saw that their heads were up and their eyes straight ahead.’

‘And you still take a shower in the hotel?’

‘Three a day,’ I laughed. ‘Tell me, why was Lettie so upset with Maurizio?’

She looked at me, staring hard into my eyes for the second time that evening.

‘Lettie has a pretty good contact at the Foreigner Registration Branch. He’s a senior police official who has an obsession with sapphire gems, and Lettie supplies them to him at the wholesale rate, or a little below. Sometimes, in exchange for this… favour… she can arrange to have a visa renewed, almost indefinitely. Maurizio wanted to extend his visa for another year. He allowed Lettie to think he was in love with her-well, you can say he seduced her-and when he got what he wanted, he dumped her.’

‘Lettie’s your friend…’

‘I warned her. Maurizio is not a man to love. You can do everything else with him, but not love him. She didn’t listen to me.’

‘You still like Maurizio? Even after he did that to your friend?’

‘Maurizio did exactly what I knew he would do. In his own mind, he made a trade of his affection for the visa, and it was a fair trade. He would never try anything like that with me.’

‘Is he afraid of you?’ I asked, smiling.

‘Yes. I think he is, a little bit. That’s one of the reasons I like him. I could never respect a man who didn’t have the good sense to be at least a little bit afraid of me.’

She stood up, and I rose with her. Under the street lamp her green eyes were jewels of desire, wet with light. Her lips widened in a half-smile that was mine-a moment that was mine alone-and the beggar, my heart, began to hope and plead.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘when you go to Prabaker’s village, try to relax completely, and go with the experience. Just… let yourself go. Sometimes, in India, you have to surrender before you win.’

‘You’ve always got some wise advice, haven’t you?’ I said, laughing gently.

‘That’s not wise, Lin. I think wisdom is very over-rated. Wisdom is just cleverness, with all the guts kicked out of it. I’d rather be clever than wise, any day. Most of the wise people I know give me a headache, but I never met a clever man or woman I didn’t like. If I was giving wise advice-which I’m not-I’d say don’t get drunk, don’t spend all your money, and don’t fall in love with a pretty village girl. That would be wise. That’s the difference between clever and wise. I prefer to be clever, and that’s why I told you to surrender, when you get to the village, no matter what you find when you get there. Okay. I’m going. Come and see me when you get back. I look forward to it. I really do.’

She kissed my cheek, and turned away. I couldn’t obey the impulse to hold her in my arms and kiss her lips. I watched her walk, her dark silhouette a part of the night itself. Then she moved into the warm, yellow light near the door of her apartment, and it was as if my watching eyes had made her shadow come to life, as if my heart alone had painted her from darkness with the light and colours of love. She turned once to see that I was watching her, before she softly closed and locked the door.

That last hour with her was a Borsalino test, I was sure, and all the walking way back to the hotel I asked myself if I’d passed it, or if I’d failed. I still think about it, all these years later. I still don’t know.