The Sleeping Dictionary (23 page)

As I arranged the chief’s uniform, Bonnie finished undressing him, and herself as well, and then gave me a meaningful look. Dutifully, I stripped off all my clothes and went to join in. I should have been familiar with Bonnie’s nakedness. But in our bedroom, I’d always kept my eyes respectfully averted. Now she was reaching toward me,
making it impossible not to really see her. How very slim she was: much like a classical statue from a history book, with a narrow waist and hips and small high breasts without nipples. I realized as she drew my hands to her breasts that she did have nipples, but very small ones. The thatch between her legs was light, too: an unearthly blond, but I knew this came from a peroxide soak on the villa roof.

How different Bonnie and I appeared reflected in the round mirror: light and dark, curvy and boyish. Day and moonlight. From the way Chief Howard was rubbing himself, I sensed that he liked the contrast. With a happy laugh, he shouted to Bonnie to open his briefcase. With one graceful hand, she drew out a length of gold cloth.

“Sir, you’ve brought your turban again! Goody!” Bonnie clapped, but I sensed it was only the beginning of something strange.

“She’ll know how to wrap it; she’s from a nawab’s palace,” the chief said, pointing a long finger at me. “Tonight I’m playing maharajah with my old wife and a new one.”

“Don’t call me old, Bobby!” Bonnie tipped up her nose at him, all the while showing me how to kneel on the bed in front of the major so he could play with my breasts as I tied on the shimmering cloth. In a warm voice, she stroked my hips from behind and sang out her lines. “Sir, I am only waiting to serve and give you every pleasure you deserve!”

I hadn’t seen Bonnie work before, but I was quite impressed with her musicality. I was having a harder time with the turban. Growing up in Johlpur, I’d never seen anyone wearing a turban except for itinerant holy men. I certainly had never wrapped a man’s head with one. But I tried to seem comfortable as I rolled the gaudy length around the man’s balding pate, averting my eyes from his face. When I’d finished, the police chief did not at all look Indian, but reminded me of the pictures of wizards in children’s books. His eyes twinkled at me and he whispered that my job would be to bring Bonnie to good pleasure. If I could do this, my life would be spared.

“She will service us both, Rajah,” Bonnie said, draping a possessive leg over him and giving me a sultry look. What was I to do? I had
never trained on women. Her parts were not like his. I could only hope she’d pretend with me the way we all did with the customers.

Bonnie rolled from side to side, arching her back. She murmured, “Touch me as you’d like to be touched, darling! It’s as simple as that.”

But it wasn’t. I’d had some strong feelings when I’d thought about Pankaj and his letters, but I had never imagined being touched in turn. Over the last half year, so many men stroked, pinched, and poked me, I could not match any of these movements with feelings of pleasure. I was frozen as I looked at Bonnie undulating on the bed, and I wondered how to proceed: top or bottom?

In his pretend rajah’s accent, the chief said: “Rajah’s pet will play, too.” He rolled onto his side and then moved his hands and knees to the foot of the bed where his pants lay. I whipped my head around to catch him reaching in the pocket. He brought out an object carefully, but it half escaped from his hand, and I caught my breath.

It was a snake. A short brown one. I was so horrified I could not even say anything. I just clapped my hand over my mouth. The chief was keeping the creature low so Bonnie couldn’t see it. In any case, she didn’t notice; she was quite involved in chattering to me.

“Be a good pet, Pammy. Fluff my fur and brush it,” she said. “There is a little brush in the nightstand, remember. . . .”

I glanced from her to the major, who was crawling determinedly forward, keeping his hand with the snake out of sight. His eyes gleamed at the sight of Bonnie’s parted thighs and in the midst of my grooming her, he suddenly lunged forward. The snake’s head snapped, and Bonnie caught sight of it coming toward her womanly place. In an instant, her pale face had gone all white and her eyes rolled back in her head. Then she jerked and collapsed on the pillows.

The chief was still laughing and trying to show Bonnie the snake, not noticing her collapse. Filled with fear and sorrow, I gently lifted Bonnie’s arm, which fell limply to her side. Then I shouted “Bonnie!” in her ear.

Her lack of response told me death must have been
instantaneous, although it was so recent she was still warm. Looking at her, I felt the same hollow feeling in my stomach when I’d seen Bidushi’s covered corpse. This was a terrible way to die; and I would not let myself be the next victim. With my heart pounding, I jumped from the bed and ran straight out into the hall.

“Bonnie’s dead! Chief Howard killed her!”

At my screamed words, I heard a murmuring begin in some rooms; but I wanted to be sure Mummy downstairs heard, too. I shouted again, “Bonnie’s been killed! Chief Howard’s snake must have bitten her!” and I heard the sounds of people moving behind the doors, and soon men were running out, half dressed; they were not coming into the Hibiscus Suite, although I’d left the door wide open, but running downstairs, one after the other.

Mummy lumbered up the stairs. “What in hell are you shouting about? Look at you naked in the hallway! No shame!”

I had been so scared I hadn’t taken time to dress. Panting, I said, “He killed Bonnie with a snake—”

“Hardly!” said Mummy, walking into the bedroom. Bonnie still lay spread on the bed, unmoving; the chief had his pants on and was furiously buttoning his shirt. He had forgotten about the turban on his head.

“Stuff and nonsense!” he said, pointing a finger at me. “All I brought was a toy. A little pretend snake.”

“Show me,” Mummy said, and he put it in her hands; now I could see it was made of many wooden pieces that fit together and painted to look like a snake’s skin. “Pamela, this is a common toy from the bazar. Any fool can see!”

“Oh. Then Bonnie must have died of—fright.” I heard my voice falter and hated myself for having been so stupid.

“Very doubtful!” Mummy slapped Bonnie’s face hard; and before my amazed eyes, her head turned.

“What happened?” my friend said hazily, lifting a long arm to her brow.

“You saw a toy, lost your senses, and your little friend caused a near riot,” Mummy said briskly. “Every other customer in the house had fled and the most important of all, Chief Howard, has been inconvenienced.”

“Bobby, I’m so sorry, but I am deathly afraid of snakes—” Bonnie shuddered. “Is it still here?”

“Take the damn thing with you!” Mummy said, shoving it in my hand. “Go upstairs. Wash yourself. There are other customers waiting downstairs, and if you’re lucky, they haven’t heard what you’ve done.”

“Come back to me, Bobby,” Bonnie murmured weakly. “We can get another girl in for the double—”

“No. The mood’s spoiled,” he said, and with angry, swift movements, he began dressing himself.

Later on, after the man departed and new customers had arrived, Rose Villa settled into normalcy. In our bedroom, Bonnie slowly drank a whiskey and slipped into a fresh dress. Passing me on her way out the door, she put a hand on my shoulder.

“Buck up.” She gave me a half smile. “I know you only did it because of worry.”

Relief flooded my tight body, because I was so glad she had survived. That was the important thing to remember, not the shame. “Bonnie, I’m very sorry, but I honestly thought you had been struck dead—”

She held a finger up like a teacher, and her eyes burned into mine. “Pamela, a lot of things will happen here that look like something fearful but really are not. You’ll manage it, if you’re tough. But do remember: don’t tell on the men. They hate it.”

FALL TURNED TO winter and then spring. I pushed down the shame of the Snake Mistake, as everyone was calling it, and kept working. Enough money was flowing into the house that Mummy continued to
treat me well, and after paying her my room and board fees, and making my bank deposit, I allotted myself four rupees per week spending money for clothing and books. I struck an arrangement with a bookseller to return books I’d read for half of what I’d paid. Most of them I gave back: but not the Brontës nor the Austens, not Shaw’s
Pygmalion
and certainly not
The Home and the World
, the famous Bengali novel by my beloved Rabindranath Tagore. I lost myself in the plight of the character Bimala, torn between a good husband who loved her and a dashing activist who persuaded her to steal for him without so much as saying a word.

I was mulling over the book’s difficult ending when Premlata rapped on the door to tell me that Mummy wished to see me. I was only half dressed in my blouse and petticoat, so I quickly wrapped myself in a sari and went out to the veranda, where she sat with her accounting book.

“A special customer whom you haven’t met will arrive this evening.” Mummy gave me her most insincere smile. “He’s called Mr. David Abernathy and is the acting superintendent at the Hijli Detention Camp. His favorite girl here is Natty, but as you know, she is on leave.”

“Yes, I heard.” I was thinking of the name
Hijli.
Last fall, the newsagent had told Lucky and me about the slaughter of prisoners there who’d made the mistake of celebrating an Englishman’s death. Perhaps Mr. Abernathy had shot one of them himself. I felt even more querulous about this unknown man than I had Chief Howard. “He telephoned that he will be arriving later this evening, so I’m giving him to you,” Mummy said. “He does not like to sit in the parlor with others but goes directly to the room. You will meet him there wearing only some good lingerie. And scent is very important. What kinds of perfumes do you have?”

“Just sandalwood and jasmine. Mummy, what about Doris or Bonnie—wouldn’t an Anglo-Indian girl suit him better?” I was loath to be anywhere near a prison officer.

“Not in this case. He’s been with Natty a very long time, and if he finds he prefers one of the others, well, there will be a catfight the likes we’ve never had. You’re not in that group and”—here she lowered her voice—“he’s a bit different, in his tastes. He requires special patience. You’ve got that in spades, and really, my dear, you have no choice in the matter.”

NATTY’S MONTHLY MADE her not only idle but also cross, demanding sweets from the kitchen and back massages from Premlata. I found the girl curled up in bed with a hot-water bottle and
Vanity Fair
. I told her Mummy was assigning me to Mr. Abernathy and begged her to explain what was different about him. Natty rolled her eyes and said, “Prepare yourself for a very long, boring night with the Taster. God help you if you’re ticklish.”

“The Taster?” I asked, feeling confused.

“Just listen.” In vulgar terms, Natty told me how Mr. Abernathy’s pattern was to spend upward of an hour laying out food on her body and then eating it with his hands and mouth. He would rarely desire sexual congress—just this ritual. I should know it was coming if he brought any restaurant packages or tiffin boxes.

“Of course he’s fat,” Natty drawled. “That’s why I call him the Taster. I imagine he’s dining morning, noon, and night—and at all points in between! Imagine, coming into town to see a girl and not being able to stop chewing one’s cud for a bloody minute!”

“What kind of food does he eat?” I could bear a lot but not to be treated like a plate on which hot, oily food was dropped.

“Restaurant food: usually Indian and Chinese. One time he brought English food from his canteen. Beef.” From the look in her eyes, I knew she was trying to terrify me, so I thanked her for the information and left.

There was scant time before his arrival, so I quickly slipped down
to the kitchen. I resolved that I was going to do this well. I’d satisfy the man, earn my money, and keep Natty from mocking me for failure.

When the Taster arrived an hour later, I was on the side of the bed wearing violet silk camiknickers. I rose, and without even looking at him, bent forward to respectfully touch his feet; but he caught my hands in his, pulling me to stand just inches away from him. He was big, but to my relief, not as grossly heavy as I’d expected. But he’d brought two tiffin boxes.