CHAPTER VII

ingaside,sothathisoutlinemightvanish,hewrenchedoffhiscollar,andpulledoutofhisshirtthebackstud,agoldstud,whichwaspartofasetthathisbrother-in-lawhadbroughthimfromEurope.“Hereitis,”hecried. “Comeinwithitifyoudon’tmindtheunconventionality.” “Oneminuteagain.”Replacinghiscollar,heprayedthatitwouldnotspringupatthebackduringtea.Fielding’sbearer,whowashelpinghimtodress,openedthedoorforhim. “Manythanks.”Theyshookhandssmiling.Hebegantolookround,ashewouldhavewithanyoldfriend.Fieldingwasnotsurprisedattherapidityoftheirintimacy.Withsoemotionalapeopleitwasapttocomeatonceornever,andheandAziz,havingheardonlygoodofeachother,couldaffordtodispensewithpreliminaries. “ButIalwaysthoughtthatEnglishmenkepttheirroomssotidy.Itseemsthatthisisnotso.Ineednotbesoashamed.”Hesatdowngailyonthebedthen,forgettinghimselfentirely,drewuphislegsandfoldedthemunderhim.“EverythingrangedcoldlyonshelveswaswhatIthought.—Isay,Mr.Fielding,isthestudgoingtogoin?” “Ihaemadoots.” “What’sthatlastsentence,please?WillyouteachmesomenewwordsandsoimprovemyEnglish?” Fieldingdoubtedwhether“everythingrangedcoldlyonshelves”couldbeimproved.Hewasoftenstruckwiththelivelinesswithwhichtheyoungergenerationhandledaforeigntongue.Theyalteredtheidiom,buttheycouldsaywhatevertheywantedtosayquicklytherewerenoneofthebabuismsascribedtothemupattheclub.ButthentheclubmovedslowlyitstilldeclaredthatfewMohammedansandnoHinduswouldeatatanEnglishman’stable,andthatallIndianladieswereinimpenetrablepurdah.Individuallyitknewbetterasaclubitdeclinedtochange. “Letmeputinyourstud.Isee...theshirtback’sholeisrathersmallandtoripitwiderapity.” “Whyinhelldoesonewearcollarsatall?”grumbledFieldingashebenthisneck. “WewearthemtopassthePolice.” “What’sthat?” “IfI’mbikinginEnglishdress—starchcollar,hatwithditch—theytakenonotice.WhenIwearafez,theycry,‘Yourlamp’sout!’LordCurzondidnotconsiderthiswhenheurgednativesofIndiatoretaintheirpicturesquecostumes.—Hooray!Stud’sgonein.—SometimesIshutmyeyesanddreamIhavesplendidclothesagainandamridingintobattlebehindAlamgir.Mr.Fielding,mustnotIndiahavebeenbeautifulthen,withtheMogulEmpireatitsheightandAlamgirreigningatDelhiuponthePeacockThrone?” “Twoladiesarecomingtoteatomeetyou—Ithinkyouknowthem.” “Meetme?Iknownoladies.” “NotMrs.MooreandMissQuested?” “Ohyes—Iremember.”Theromanceatthemosquehadsunkoutofhisconsciousnessassoonasitwasover.“Anexcessivelyagedladybutwillyoupleaserepeatthenameofhercompanion?” “MissQuested.” “Justasyouwish.”Hewasdisappointedthatotherguestswerecoming,forhepreferredtobealonewithhisnewfriend. “YoucantalktoMissQuestedaboutthePeacockThroneifyoulike—she’sartistic,theysay.” “IssheaPostImpressionist?” “PostImpressionism,indeed!Comealongtotea.Thisworldisgettingtoomuchformealtogether.” Azizwasoffended.Theremarksuggestedthathe,anobscureIndian,hadnorighttohaveheardofPostImpressionism—aprivilegereservedfortheRulingRace,that.Hesaidstiffly,“IdonotconsiderMrs.Mooremyfriend,Ionlymetheraccidentallyinmymosque,”andwasadding“asinglemeetingistooshorttomakeafriend,”butbeforehecouldfinishthesentencethestiffnessvanishedfromit,becausehefeltFielding’sfundamentalgoodwill.Hisownwentouttoit,andgrappledbeneaththeshiftingtidesofemotionwhichcanalonebearthevoyagertoananchoragebutmayalsocarryhimacrossitontotherocks.Hewassafereally—assafeastheshore-dwellerwhocanonlyunderstandstabilityandsupposesthateveryshipmustbewrecked,andhehadsensationstheshore-dwellercannotknow.Indeed,hewassensitiveratherthanresponsive.Ineveryremarkhefoundameaning,butnotalwaysthetruemeaning,andhislifethoughvividwaslargelyadream.Fielding,forinstance,hadnotmeantthatIndiansareobscure,butthatPostImpressionismisagulfdividedhisremarkfromMrs.Turton’s“Why,theyspeakEnglish,”buttoAzizthetwosoundedalike.Fieldingsawthatsomethinghadgonewrong,andequallythatithadcomeright,buthedidn’tfidget,beinganoptimistwherepersonalrelationswereconcerned,andtheirtalkrattledonasbefore. “BesidestheladiesIamexpectingoneofmyassistants—NarayanGodbole.” “Oho,theDeccaniBrahman!” “Hewantsthepastbacktoo,butnotpreciselyAlamgir.” “Ishouldthinknot.DoyouknowwhatDeccaniBrahmanssay?ThatEnglandconqueredIndiafromthem—fromthem,mind,andnotfromtheMoguls.Isnotthatliketheircheek?Theyhaveevenbribedittoappearintext-books,fortheyaresosubtleandimmenselyrich.ProfessorGodbolemustbequiteunlikeallotherDeccaniBrahmansfromallIcanhearsay.Amostsincerechap.” “Whydon’tyoufellowsrunaclubinChandrapore,Aziz?” “Perhaps—someday...justnowIseeMrs.Mooreand—what’shername—coming.” Howfortunatethatitwasan“unconventional”party,whereformalitiesareruledout!OnthisbasisAzizfoundtheEnglishladieseasytotalkto,hetreatedthemlikemen.Beautywouldhavetroubledhim,foritentailsrulesofitsown,butMrs.MoorewassooldandMissQuestedsoplainthathewassparedthisanxiety.Adela’sangularbodyandthefrecklesonherfacewereterribledefectsinhiseyes,andhewonderedhowGodcouldhavebeensounkindtoanyfemaleform.Hisattitudetowardsherremainedentirelystraightforwardinconsequence. “Iwanttoaskyousomething,Dr.Aziz,”shebegan.“IheardfromMrs.Moorehowhelpfulyouweretoherinthemosque,andhowinteresting.ShelearntmoreaboutIndiainthosefewminutes’talkwithyouthaninthethreeweekssincewelanded.” “Oh,pleasedonotmentionalittlethinglikethat.IsthereanythingelseImaytellyouaboutmycountry?” “IwantyoutoexplainadisappointmentwehadthismorningitmustbesomepointofIndianetiquette.” “Therehonestlyisnone,”hereplied.“Wearebynatureamostinformalpeople.” “Iamafraidwemusthavemadesomeblunderandgivenoffence,”saidMrs.Moore. “Thatisevenmoreimpossible.ButmayIknowthefacts?” “AnIndianladyandgentlemanweretosendtheircarriageforusthismorningatnine.Ithasnevercome.Wewaitedandwaitedandwaitedwecan’tthinkwhathappened.” “Somemisunderstanding,”saidFielding,seeingatoncethatitwasthetypeofincidentthathadb