Hillstation (9 page)

4

‘I just love this bit,'
giggled Cindy, clapping her hands.

We had gathered in the lobby where Mrs Dong was nailing a notice over the reception desk headed, ‘Rools!' Item One of which was, ‘No Loitering', problematic, I thought, in an area designed principally for that purpose. Item Two was, ‘No argue bout Rates!' Item Three was, ‘No argue bout Rools', and so on. She had somehow persuaded Pol to hold it up while she hammered.

All the ladies, meanwhile, had changed. Martina was in knee-length cream shorts and a pale pink blouse. Cindy, whose fiery hair now tumbled playfully over her shoulders, wore a tight black dress that flowed in a single piece from her neck to her calves. Sharon, meanwhile, had a pair of faded jeans, long tan boots and a blue t-shirt stencilled with the words, ‘Go Ahead Punk, Make My Day'. Mike had remained in his crumpled suit and was looking, as ever, overheated.

Cindy peeked through the shutters. ‘Are the press here?' she said, excitedly. ‘What about TV? I don't know, do they have TV? Is it autographs or straight to limo? Marty?'

Hendrix had snatched the medicine a little too hastily and was now chasing its contents across the floor. I was still out of breath from my sprint, though the journey had been relatively uneventful. The dogs who chased me had thudded against the clinic door as I slammed it behind me, whining and scratching as I headed for my office.

From Dev's room, I could hear Father shouting, ‘Research, I'll give you research. Sit up when I'm talking to you.' However generous the offer to assist with Dev's work, Father had evidently failed to appreciate how prolonged study causes one's head to rest on the desk.

It took me a while to find the remedy for Hendrix's fish-phobia since I'd forgotten what colour the box was. Still, I thought it would give the dogs time to get bored and go away. In the event, they had merely camped in the shade opposite, leaping up when I reappeared. But I was ready for them, scattering Imodium pellets as I ran down the road, something they always lapped up enthusiastically, though it made them quiet for a few days afterwards.

Pol was ready to help me through the window, which was just as well since one or two tradespeople had, by now, made their way to the rubble at the back. I thought the mood less festive and a little more earnest than earlier, especially when Mr Briniwal, the upholsterer, rushed towards me brandishing a mallet.

Mike was in the middle of a speech when we finally reached the lobby. ‘So let us remember,' he said glancing through the shutters, ‘that we are not merely Entertainers, we are Ambassadors. And as Ambassadors, we bring to this country, to this land, to the good people of… ah, this place, a little touch of England, though, strictly speaking, touch and you're out, sonny.' He chortled.

‘Can we get on with it?' said Martina.

‘Just waiting for the nod, darling,' said Mike, glancing out again.

‘You must let me know if the symptoms persist,' I said to Hendrix who was fishing behind a sofa.

‘You're the dude,' he said.

‘Seriously,' said Mike, ‘a lot of people talk about The Brotherhood of Nations…'

‘Like who?' said Sharon.

‘Well, lots of people.'

‘Name one,' said Sharon.

‘Just take it from me,' said Mike, a little sharply, ‘that people do. But how is that to be achieved? Through wars, conquest and exploitation?'

‘You mean there's another way?' said Sharon playing, I suspected, the devil's advocate.

‘There is only one thing that can truly forge new bonds, new chains…'

‘Now you're talking!' said Cindy.

‘And that is art. Paintings, music, all that. Stories and legends. For instance, they've got this thing about some… whatever, having its head chopped off. And we… well, we've got two thousand years of civilisation culminating in the invention of the Calendar.'

‘Gregorian?' said Pol.

‘Pirelli,' said Mike, straightening up. ‘Okay ladies. We're on.'

‘Yippee,' said Cindy, jumping up and down.

‘Got anywhere for this?' said Sharon, holding out a wrinkled piece of gum.

‘Find something,' said Mike. ‘Brendan? You ready?'

‘Huh?' said Hendrix from under a chaise longue.

‘My people,' said Cindy, waving at the window, ‘I love you all.'

‘Okay,' said Mike gripping the door handle. ‘Keep it loose, nice and relaxed. Marty, that's beautiful. Shal, maybe a smile.'

‘I'm pouting,' said Sharon.

‘Okay, but not too much. They'll think you're gonna to throw up.'

‘They might be right,' said Sharon.

‘Rock and Roll,' said Mike thrusting his chin forward, wrenching the doors open and marching out with his hands above his head.

For a moment the noise hushed to an eery silence. Somebody sniffed. A foot scraped. It seemed to me that I could hear the crowd breathing. Then a hundred voices erupted as one: ‘Saucepans you can see your face in!' ‘Hand-made shoes in finest leather all styles considered!' ‘The best samosas in Pushkara, don't listen to that lying bastard Bister!'

‘You have waited a thousand years!' shouted Mike, arms outstretched.

‘Somebody tell him the meaning of OTT,' muttered Martina.

‘Remember when he said we was the best thing to happen here since Queen Victoria put her foot on it?' said Sharon.

‘Lead balloon or what?' said Cindy primping her curls with brusque fingers.

‘But wait no more!' shouted Mike.

‘Yak's wool hats to keep your head toasty!' ‘The only Aubergines in Pushkara worth stuffing!' ‘Don't listen to her, she gets her produce out of my rejects.' ‘Shut up.' ‘No you shut up.' ‘Your son isn't worthy of my daughter!' came the response.

‘I bring you, direct from England,' Mike continued, sounding a bit hoarse now, ‘a bevy of bouncing beauties, the gorgeous, the wonderful, the aptly-named Heaven's Blessings!'

‘You know he used to call bingo?' said Sharon.

‘You're kidding,' said Cindy.

‘It's a great honour,' continued Mike lowering his voice, ‘to introduce the star of show, representing Legend's Lingerie, the award-winning Queen of the Screen…'

‘That's how he started. Up in Scarborough,' said Martina.

‘Come a long way,' said Hendrix.

‘You reckon?' scoffed Sharon.

‘I mean this is a long way from Scarborough,' said Hendrix, wistfully.

Mike was glancing round, gesturing urgently with his hand. ‘Voted Gorgeous Girl of the year in
Gorgeous Girl
Magazine not just once, not twice but three times, the unbelievable, the stupendous…'

‘Go boogie,' said Cindy, giving Martina a quick kiss.

‘Martina Marvellous!' shouted Mike.

Martina breathed in, lifted her head, pushed her shoulders back and stepped through the door.

The crowd surged forward. Mike jumped back. The Buddhist Cook sent Mr Bophal sideways with a clatter of enamelled coasters. Several traders attempted to retreat as others pushed their way up, but the porch was now so slippery with squashed vegetables that they all slid into each other and tumbled collectively down the steps. Tradespeople at the back, meanwhile, started flinging their goods at the door. Mike ducked as a watermelon thudded against the wall beside him. The chai seller threw tea over the people in front of him for which he received a finely made shoe in the face.

‘Was that a watermelon?' said Hendrix.

‘Makes a change from underpants,' said Sharon.

In all this commotion the only person, it seemed to me, who stood unruffled was Martina, her head slightly tilted, one hand resting delicately on her hip, the other caressing the nape of her neck as a number of men, tripping over the top step, prostrated themselves at her feet. As if gradually beginning to notice the mildly perplexing enigma of time and space, along with some of the people in it, she smiled down at them, a ripple of light streaming through the rich, brown tresses of her hair. The men stared upwards, like monks whose relentless austerities have finally yielded a glimpse of the divinity to which they had devoted their lives – in spite of the wives, aunties and grandmothers grabbing frantically at their feet in an effort to haul them back.

‘And a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen,' said Mike, keeping a wary eye out for more fruit. ‘Give it up now, for the slinky, sexy, stunning, delectable, delicious Cindy Swish. Let's hear it for Cin by name, Sin by nature!'

‘Wish me luck,' said Cindy giving Pol's hand a little squeeze before striding out, hips flicking, arms wide as if to hug the whole of Pushkara, mouthing the words ‘I love you' to anyone who cared to lip-read.

Scuffles were beginning to break out. Some of the young men, while fending off their wives had accidentally struck the people around them who, searching for the culprit, lashed out randomly causing yet more victims to thrash around in search of an adversary.

‘And last but not least…' said Mike.

‘So if I'm not least,' said Sharon, ‘how come I'm always last? Hey?'

But as it was unclear whom she was addressing, it was equally unclear who should reply.

‘The fabulous, fantabulous, stupendous…'

‘He's used that already,' said Sharon.

‘The indescribably beautifluous Sharon Shiver!'

‘Oh right,' said Sharon, ‘they get a shopping list, and I get, what, four measly words.'

She smoothed her t-shirt, pressed her gum under the rim of Mrs Dong's Rools, licked her lips and glided forward, nudging Martina aside as she swept her hands across the crowd in holy benediction, pinching the Buddhist Cook on his bottom, turning elegantly on her toes and strolling back to Martina, smiling.

‘You ever pull that again…' snarled Martina.

‘Maybe we should go back inside,' said Mike picking tomato pips from his lapel and flinching as a sandalwood biro bounced off his shoulder.

‘No, hang on,' said Sharon pointing at the far edge of the crowd. ‘What's that?'

As in a miracle, or by some tidal phenomenon, the villagers were parting slowly down the middle as a long bamboo cane twirled in the air above them. After a moment I could make out the brightly-feathered parade hat of Sergeant Shrinivasan as he strode purposefully forward, thwacking at anyone who didn't move quickly enough and sometimes at those who did. At last the Sergeant, medals glistening, presented himself at the top of the stairs.

‘The Pushkara Police Force at your service,' he said with a bow.

‘Alright,' said Mike. ‘Let's go. Where's Brendan?'

‘Who?' said Hendrix.

‘Jesus Christ,' said Mike. ‘How much have you taken? Okay, everyone, stay close.'

Cindy looked round. ‘Where's Pol?' she said. ‘I'm not going anywhere without my little spice boy.'

Pol grabbed my hand and dragged me, protesting, through the door. The Sergeant was beating his way back through the villagers, Mike close behind him, stepping gingerly over lost shoes and broken merchandise. Cindy squealed when she saw Pol, seizing his free hand and skipping daintily down the steps. I followed on, keeping my face down though I could hear the mutterings around me. Martina was smiling beneficently at the people while Sharon, it seemed to me, scowled, though she might have been pouting. Hendrix kept stopping to ask various villagers if there was any chance of ‘scoring a little something around here' before Sharon pushed him brusquely on.

Malek was standing next to his car beckoning vigorously for the Sergeant to hurry up. But the Sergeant knew how to march and was taking his time, red feathers swaying to the rhythm of his gait. Next to Malek's car was a rusty blue jeep which, along with its original inscription of ‘Pushkara Police Force' bore various slogans of the Sergeant's own invention such as, ‘The Law is the Law and Don't you Forget it, Mister' and ‘There is No Escape from my Very Long Arm'.

‘What's he doing here?' said Malek, pointing at me.

‘Tour Medic,' said Hendrix.

‘Well, you'd better make sure your low-born shadow doesn't accidentally fall across his high-born bloody foot.'

‘Where's the limos?' asked Sharon, looking around.

‘Stuck in traffic,' said Mike glancing at his shoes. ‘Guess we'll have to use these.'

Behind us, the villagers were regrouping. ‘Please take your seats,' said Sergeant Shrinivasan, poking viciously at Mrs Geegli who had stepped forward with some hand-pressed funeral briquettes.

‘I'm not getting in that thing,' said Sharon.

‘Suit yourself,' said Mike sliding hastily into Malek's car and rolling up the window as Mrs Mahmoud hurried towards us with a trolley of coconuts.

Sergeant Shrinivasan opened the door for Martina, saluting as she climbed in. Cindy blew a last kiss to the crowds and jumped in with Mike and Pol. I found myself sitting next to Martina as the Sergeant switched on his blue lights and tooted the horn. Hendrix clambered into the front, wiped his forehead and said, ‘Hit it, Sarge!' in the tone of one who has always wanted to. The jeep jolted forwards with a squeal of tyres and cloud of smog, pressing us back into our seats.

‘I must apologise for these ruffians,' said the Sergeant, swerving with a slight thud into Mrs Mahmoud. ‘What a carry on! And have you ever heard such nonsense? The best saris in Pushkara! In fact, they are very poor quality. Mr Bister, on the other hand, has good saris but somewhat expensive. I can get you the same quality for half the price. Perhaps after you have seen the hall we can visit the police station to try some on.'

‘I'm okay for the moment,' said Martina.

‘When have you seen what you are missing, then you will not think that you are “okay”,' chuckled the Sergeant.

‘No offence, mate,' said Hendrix, ‘but put a sock in it?'

The Sergeant chuckled again. ‘You bargain well, my friend. I can indeed put a sock in it. And not just one sock but two, thus providing a complete pair.'