"Oh, him?" he sniffed dismissively, turning down the corners of his expressive mouth. "Not at all. He is not dangerous. Although he is annoying, and annoying is worse than dangerous, n'est-ce pas? It is easier to live with a dangerous man than an annoying one."
Prabaker went to buy three beedie cigarettes from Kumar's shop counter, and lit them with the same match, holding them in one hand and burning the ends with the other. He passed one each to Didier and me, and sat down again, smoking contentedly.
"Ah, yes, there is another piece of news-Kavita has taken a new job at a newspaper, The Noonday. She is a features writer. It is a job with much prestige, I understand, and a fast track to a sub-editor's position. She won it in a field of many talented candidates, and she is very happy."
"I like Kavita," I felt moved to say.
"You know," Didier offered, staring at the glowing end of his beedie and then looking up at me, genuinely surprised, "so do I."
We laughed again, and I deliberately included Prabaker in the joke. Parvati watched us from the corners of her smouldering eyes.
"Listen," I asked, seizing the momentary pause in our conversation, "does the name Hassaan Obikwa mean anything to you?"
Didier's mention of Maurizio's new, ten-thousand-dollar Rolex had reminded me of the Nigerian. I fished the gold-and-white business card from my shirt pocket, and handed it over.
"But, of course!" Didier replied. "This is a famous Borsalino.
They call him The Body Snatcher, in the African ghetto."
"Well, that's a good start," I muttered, a wry smile twisting my lips. Prabaker slapped at his thigh, and doubled over with near hysterical laughter. I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.
"They say that when Hassaan Obikwa snatches a body away, not even the devil himself can find it. They are never again seen by living men. Jamais! How do you come to know him? How did you get his card?"
"I sort of, bumped into him, earlier today," I answered, retrieving the card and slipping it into my pocket.
"Well, be careful, my dear friend," Didier sniffed, clearly hurt that I hadn't provided the details of my encounter with Hassaan.
"This Obikwa is like a king, a black king, in his own kingdom.
And you know the old saying-a king is a bad enemy, a worse friend, and a fatal family relation."
Just then a group of young men approached us. They were labourers from the construction site, and most of them lived on the legal side of the slum. They'd all passed through my small clinic during the last year, most of them wanting me to patch up wounds they'd received in work accidents. It was payday at the site, and they were flushed with the excited optimism that a full pay packet puts into young, hard-working hearts. They shook hands with me, each in turn, and paused long enough to see the new round of chai and sweet cakes they'd bought for us delivered to our table. When they left, I was grinning as widely as they were.
"This social work seems to suit you," Didier commented through an arch smile. "You look so well and so fit-underneath the bruises and scratches, that is. I think you must be a very bad man, in your heart of hearts, Lin. Only a wicked man would derive such benefit from good works. A good man, on the other hand, would simply be worn out and bad tempered."
"I'm sure you're right, Didier," I said, still grinning. "Karla said you're usually right, about the wrong you find in people."
"Please, my friend!" he protested, "You will turn my head!"
The sudden crash of many drums exploded, thumping music directly outside the chai shop. Flutes and trumpets joined the drums, and a wild, raucous music began. I knew the music and the musicians well. It was one of the jangling popular tunes that the slum musicians played whenever there was a festival or a celebration. We all went to the open front of the shop. Prabaker stood on a bench beside us to peer over the shoulders of the crowd.
"What is it? A parade?" Didier asked as we watched a large troupe slowly walk past the shop.
"It's Joseph!" Prabaker cried, pointing along the lane. "Joseph and Maria! They're coming!"
Some distance away, we could see Joseph and his wife, surrounded by relatives and friends, and approaching us with ceremonially slow steps. In front of them was a pack of capering children, dancing out their unself-conscious and near-hysterical enthusiasm. Some of them adopted poses from their favourite movie dance scenes, and copied the steps of the stars. Others leapt about like acrobats, or invented jerky, exuberant dances of their own.
