We walked slowly. I looked up often at the sky, so heavy with stars that the black net of night was bulging, overflowing with its glittering haul. Imprisonment meant years without a sunrise, a sunset, or a night sky, locked in a cell for sixteen hours each day, from early afternoon to late morning. Imprisonment meant that they took away the sun and the moon and the stars. Prison wasn't hell, but there was no heaven in it, either. In its own way, that was just as bad.
"You can take this good-listener business a little too far, you know."
"What? Oh, sorry. I was thinking." I apologised, and shook myself into the moment. "Hey, before I forget, here's that money Ulla gave me."
She accepted the roll of notes from me and shoved it into her handbag without looking at it.
"It's strange, you know. Ulla went with Modena to break away from someone else who was controlling her like a slave. Now she's Modena's slave, in a way. But she loves him, and that makes her ashamed that she has to lie to him, to keep a little money for herself."
"Some people need the master-slave thing."
"Not just some people," she responded, with sudden and disconcerting bitterness. "When you were talking to Didier about freedom, when he asked you the freedom to do what?-you said, the freedom to say no. It's funny, but I was thinking it's more important to have the freedom to say yes."
"Speaking of Didier," I said lightly, trying to change the subject and lift her spirits, "I had a long talk with him tonight, while I was waiting for you." "I think Didier would've done most of the talking," she guessed.
"Well, yes, he did, but it was interesting. I enjoyed it. It's the first time we've ever talked like that."
"What did he tell you?"
"Tell me?" The phrase struck me as peculiar; it carried the hint that there were things he shouldn't tell. "He was giving me some background on some of the people at Leopold's. The Afghans, and the Iranians, and the Shiv Sainiks-or whatever they're called- and the local mafia dons."
She gave a wry little smile.
"I wouldn't take too much notice of what Didier says. He can be very superficial, especially when he's being serious. He's the kind of guy who gets right down to the skin of things, if you know what I mean. I told him once he's so shallow that the best he can manage is a single entendre. The funny thing is, he liked it. I'll say this for Didier, you can't insult him."
"I thought you two were friends," I remarked, deciding not to repeat what Didier had said about her.
"Friends... well, sometimes, I'm not really sure what friendship is. We've known each other for years. We used to live together once-did he tell you?"
"No, he didn't."
"Yeah. For a year, when I first came to Bombay. We shared a crazy, fractured little apartment in the Fort area. The building was crumbling around us. Every morning we used to wake with plaster on our faces from the pregnant ceiling, and there were always new chunks of stone and wood and other stuff in the hallway. The whole building collapsed in the monsoon a couple of years ago, and a few people were killed. I walk that way sometimes, and look up at the hole in the sky where my bedroom used to be. I suppose you could say that we're close, Didier and I. But friends? Friendship is something that gets harder to understand, every damn year of my life. Friendship is like a kind of algebra test that nobody passes. In my worst moods, I think the best you can say is that a friend is anyone you don't despise."
Her tone was serious, but I allowed myself a gentle laugh.
"That's a bit strong, I think."
She looked at me, frowning hard, but then she, too, laughed.
"Maybe it is. I'm tired. I haven't had enough sleep for the last few nights. I don't mean to be hard on Didier. It's just that he can be very annoying sometimes, you know? Did he say anything about me?"
"He... he said that he thinks you're beautiful."
"He said that?"
"Yes. He was talking about beauty in white people and black people, and he said Karla is beautiful."
She raised her eyebrows, in mild and pleased surprise.
"Well, I'll take that as a significant compliment, even if he is an outrageous liar."
"I like Didier."
"Why?" she asked quickly.
"Oh, I don't know. It's his professionalism, I think. I like people who are expert at what they do. And there's a sadness in him that... kind of makes sense to me. He reminds me of a few guys I know. Friends."
