The anger or madness that had possessed the swordsman subsided, and he surrendered passively. Men who knew him stepped forward and escorted him out to the alley, beyond the iron gate. Seconds later, one of the men returned and approached me. Looking into my eyes, he held out his hands, palms upward, for the sword. I hesitated, but then handed it over. The man gave us a polite and apologetic bow, and left the den.
In the bubble and chatter that followed his departure, I checked on Karla. Her eyes were wide and she pursed her lips in a wondering smile, but she wasn't distressed. Reassured, I went to thank the man who'd stepped in to help us. He was tall, taller than I am by a few centimetres, and had a strong, athletic build.
His thick, black hair was unusually long for Bombay in those years, and he wore it in a high ponytail. His silk shirt and loose trousers were black, and he wore black leather sandals.
"Abdullah," he replied, when I'd told him my name, "Abdullah Taheri."
"I owe you one, Abdullah," I said, giving him a smile that was as cautious as it was grateful. He'd moved with such lethal grace that he made the trick of disarming the swordsman seem effortless. But it wasn't as easy as it looked. I knew how much skill and courage it had taken, and how big a role instinct had played in his timing. The man was a natural; a born fighter.
"That was damn close."
"No problem," he smiled. "He was drunk, I think, that fellow, or not right in his head."
"Whatever his problem was, I still owe you one," I insisted.
"No, really," he laughed.
It was an easy laugh, revealing white teeth. The sound of it came from deep within his chest: a laugh from the heart. His eyes were the colour of sand, in the palm of your hand, a few minutes before the sun sinks below the sea.
"All the same, I want to thank you."
"Okay," he conceded, clapping a hand to my shoulder.
I returned to Karla and Prabaker. When we turned to leave the den, Abdullah was already gone. The alley outside was deserted, and within a few minutes we caught a taxi back to Colaba. Karla was silent during the ride, and I too said nothing, miserable that my attempt to impress her had ended in such confusion and near disaster. Only Prabaker felt free to speak.
"What a lucky escapes!" he said, from the front seat, grinning at us in turn as we sat together but apart in the back of the taxi. "I thought a sure thing that fellow would chop us up in teeny pieces. Some of the people should not be smoking the charras, isn't it? Some of the people get very angry when they relax their brains."
At Leopold's I got out of the taxi and stood with Karla while Prabaker waited. A late-afternoon crowd surged around the island of our silent stare.
"You're not coming in?"
"No," I answered, wishing that the moment was more like the strong, confident scene I'd imagined through most of that day.
"I'm going to collect my stuff from the India Guest House, and move to the slum. In fact, I won't be coming to Leopold's for a while, or anywhere else for that matter. I'm going to... you know... get on my feet... or... I don't know... find my feet ... or... I'm going to... what was I saying?"
"Something about your feet."
"Yeah," I laughed. "Well, you gotta start somewhere."
"This is kind of goodbye, isn't it?"
"Not really," I muttered. "Well, yes. Yes, it is."
"And you only just got back from the village."
"Yeah," I laughed again. "From the village, to the slum. It's quite a jump."
"Just make sure you land on your-"
"-feet. Okay. I got it."
"Listen, if it's a question of money, I could-"
"No," I said quickly. "No. I want to do this. It's not just money. I..."
For three seconds I balanced on the edge of telling her about my visa problems. Her friend, Lettie, knew someone at the Foreigner Registration Branch. She'd helped Maurizio, I knew, and there was a chance that she could help me. But then I drew back from the edge, and covered the truth with a smile. Telling Karla about the visa would lead to other questions that I couldn't answer. I was in love with her, but I wasn't sure that I could trust her. It's a fact of life on the run that you often love more people than you trust. For people in the safe world, of course, exactly the opposite is true.
"I... think this will be quite an adventure. I'm... actually looking forward to it."
"Okay," she said, nodding her head slowly in acceptance. "Okay.
But you know where I live. Come by and see me, when you get the chance."
"Sure," I answered, and we both smiled, and we both knew that I wouldn't visit her. "Sure. And you know where I am, with Prabaker. You do the same."
She reached out to take my hand in hers, and then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. She turned to leave, but I held her hand.
"Don't you have any advice for me?" I asked, trying to find another laugh.
"No," she said impassively. "I'd only give you advice if I didn't care what happens to you."
