When the skywalker saw the cripple, she called him to her. Dr. Daruwalla followed shyly. Everyone who limps needs extra protection, Mrs. Bhagwan was telling the elephant boy; therefore, she wanted him to have a Shirdi Sai Baba medallion--Sai Baba, she said, was the patron saint of all people who were afraid of falling. "Now he won't be afraid," Mrs. Bhagwan explained to Dr. Daruwalla. She tied the trinket around the boy's neck; it was a very thin piece of silver on a rawhide thong. Watching her, the doctor could only marvel at how, as an unmarried woman, she'd once suffered the Skywalk while bleeding from her period--before it was proper for her to use a tampon. Now she mechanically submitted to the Skywalk, and to her husband's knives.
Although Mrs. Bhagwan wasn't pretty, her hair was shiny and beautiful; yet Ganesh wasn't looking at her hair--he was staring into her tent. Along the roof was the practice model for the Skywalk, the ladderlike device, complete with exactly 18 loops. Not even Mrs. Bhagwan could skywalk without practice. Also hanging from the roof of the troupe tent was a dental trapeze; it was as shiny as Mrs. Bhagwan's hair--the doctor imagined that it might still be wet from her mouth.
Mrs. Bhagwan saw where the boy was looking.
"He's got this foolish idea that he wants to be a skywalker," Farrokh explained.
Mrs. Bhagwan looked sternly at Ganesh. "That is a foolish idea," she said to the cripple. She took hold of her gift, the boy's Sai Baba medallion, and tugged it gently in her gnarled hand. Dr. Daruwalla realized that Mrs. Bhagwan's hands were as large and powerful-looking as a man's; the doctor was unpleasantly reminded of his last glimpse of the second Mrs. Dogar's hands--how they'd restlessly plucked at the tablecloth, how they'd looked like paws. "Not even Shirdi Sai Baba can save a skywalker from falling," Mrs. Bhagwan told Ganesh.
"What saves you, then?" the boy asked her.
The skywalker showed him her feet; they were bare under the long skirt of her sari, and they were oddly graceful, even delicate, in comparison to her hands. But the tops of her feet and the fronts of her ankles were so roughly chafed that the normal skin was gone; in its place was hardened scar tissue, wrinkled and cracked.
"Feel them," Mrs. Bhagwan told the boy. "You, too," she said to the doctor, who obeyed. He'd never touched the skin of an elephant or a rhino before; he'd only imagined their tough, leathery hides. The doctor couldn't help speculating that there must be an ointment or a lotion that Mrs. Bhagwan could put on her poor feet to help heal the cracks in her hardened skin; then it occurred to him that if the cracks were healed, her skin would be too callused to allow her to feel the loops chafing against her feet. If her cracked skin gave her pain, the pain was also her guide to knowing that her feet were securely in the loops--the right way. Without pain, Mrs. Bhagwan would have to rely on her sense of sight alone; when it came to putting her feet in the loops, two senses (pain and sight) were probably better than one.
Ganesh didn't appear to be discouraged by the look and feel of Mrs. Bhagwan's feet. His eyes were healing--they looked clearer every day--and in the cripple's alert face there was that radiance which reflected his unchanged belief in the future. He knew he could master the Skywalk. One foot was ready to begin; it was merely a matter of bringing the other foot along.
Jesus in the Parking Lot
Meanwhile, the missionary had provoked mayhem in the area of the chimp cages. Gautam was infuriated to see him--the bandages being even whiter than the scholastic's skin. On the other hand, the flirtatious Mira reached her long arms through the bars of her cage as if she were beseeching Martin for an embrace. Gautam responded by forcefully urinating in the missionary's direction. Martin believed he should remove himself from the chimpanzees' view rather than stand there and encourage their apery, but Kunal wanted the missionary to stay. It would be a valuable lesson to Gautam, Kunal reasoned: the more violently the ape reacted to the Jesuit's presence, the more Kunal beat the ape. To Martin's mind, the psychology of disciplining Gautam in this fashion seemed flawed; yet the Jesuit obeyed the trainer's instructions.
In Gautam's cage, there was an old tire; the tread was bald and the tire swung from a frayed rope. In his anger, Gautam hurled the tire against the bars of his cage; then he seized the tire and sank his teeth into the rubber. Kunal responded by reaching through the bars and jabbing Gautam with a bamboo pole. Mira rolled onto her back.
When Dr. Daruwalla finally found the missionary, Martin Mills was standing helplessly before this apish drama, looking as guilty and as compromised as a prisoner.
"For God's sake--why are you standing here?" the doctor asked him. "If you just walked away, all this would stop!"
"That's what I think," the Jesuit replied. "But the trainer told me to stay."
"Is he your trainer or the chimps' trainer?" Farrokh asked Martin.
Thus the missionary's good-byes to Ganesh were conducted with the racist ape's shrieks and howls in the background; it was hard to imagine this as a learning experience for Gautam. The two men followed Ramu to the Land Rover. The last cages they passed were those of the sleepy, disgruntled lions; the tigers looked equally listless and out of humor. The reckless driver ran his fingers along the bars of the big cats' cages; occasionally a paw (claws extended) flicked out, but Ramu confidently withdrew his hand in time.
"One more hour until meat-feeding time," Ramu sang to the lions and tigers. "One whole hour."
It was unfortunate that such a note of mockery, if not an underlying cruelty, described their departure from the Great Blue Nile. Dr. Daruwalla looked only once at the elephant boy's retreating figure. Ganesh was limping back to the cook's tent. In the cripple's unsteady gait, his right heel appeared to bear the weight of two or three boys; like a dewclaw on a dog or a cat, the ball of the boy's right foot (and his toes) never touched the ground. No wonder he wanted to walk on the sky.
As for Farrokh and Martin, their lives were once again in Ramu's hands. Their drive to the airport in Rajkot was in daylight. Both the highway's carnage and the Land Rover's near misses could be clearly seen. Once again, Dr. Daruwalla sought to be distracted from Ramu's driving, but the doctor found himself up front in the passenger seat this time, and there was no seat belt. Martin clung to the back of the front seat, his head over Farrokh's shoulder, which probably blocked whatever view Ramu might have had in the rearview mirror--not that Ramu would even glance at what might be coming up behind him, or that anything could be fast enough to be coming up from behind.
Because Junagadh was the jumping-off point for visits to the Gir Forest, which was the last habitat of the Asian lion, Ramu wanted to know if they'd seen the forest--they hadn't--and Martin Mills wanted to know what Ramu had said. This would be a long trip, the doctor imagined--Ramu speaking Marathi and Hindi, Farrokh struggling to translate. The missionary was sorry that they hadn't seen the Gir lions. Maybe when they returned to visit the children, they could see the forest. By then, the doctor suspected, the Great Blue Nile would be playing in another town. There were a few Asian lions in the town zoo, Ramu told them; they could have a quick look at the lions and still manage to catch their plane in Rajkot. But Farrokh wisely vetoed this idea; he knew that any delay in their departure from Junagadh would make Ramu drive to Rajkot all the faster.
Nor was a discussion of Graham Greene as distracting as Farrokh had hoped. The Jesuit's "Catholic interpretation" of The Heart of the Matter wasn't at all what the doctor was looking for; it was infuriating. Not even a novel as profoundly about faith as The Power and the Glory could or should be discussed in strictly "Catholic" terms, Dr. Daruwalla argued; the doctor quoted, from memory, that passage which he loved. " 'There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.'
"Perhaps you'll tell me what is especially Catholic about that," the doctor challenged the scholastic, but Martin skillfully changed the subject.
"Let us pray that this door opens and lets the future in for our children at the circus," the Jesuit said. What a sneaky mind he had!
Farrokh didn't dare ask him
anything more about his mother; not even Ramu's driving was as daunting as the possibility of another story about Vera. What Farrokh desired to hear was more about the homosexual inclinations of Dhar's twin; the doctor was chiefly curious to learn whether or not John D. was so inclined, but Dr. Daruwalla felt uncertain of how to inspire such a subject of conversation with John D.'s twin. However, it would be an easier subject to broach with Martin than with John D.
"You say you were in love with a man, and that your feelings for him finally lessened," the doctor began.
"That's correct," the scholastic said stiffly.
"But can you point to any moment or to any single episode that marked the end of your infatuation?" Farrokh asked. "Did anything happen--was there an incident that convinced you? What made you decide you could resist such an attraction and become a priest?" This was beating around the bush, Dr. Daruwalla knew, but the doctor had to begin somewhere.
"I saw how Christ existed for me. I saw that Jesus had never abandoned me," the zealot said.
"Do you mean you had a vision?" Farrokh asked.
"In a way," the Jesuit said mysteriously. "I was at a low point in my relationship with Jesus. And I'd reached a very cynical decision. There is no lack of resistance that is as great a giving-up as fatalism--I'm ashamed to say I was totally fatalistic."
"Did you actually see Christ or didn't you?" the doctor asked him.
"Actually, it was only a statue of Christ," the missionary admitted.
"You mean it was real?" Farrokh asked.
"Of course it was real--it was at the end of a parking lot, at the school where I taught. I used to see it every day--twice a day, in fact," Martin said. "It was just a white stone statue of Christ in a typical pose." And there, in the back seat of the speeding Land Rover, the zealot rotated both his palms toward heaven, apparently to demonstrate the pose of the supplicant.
"It sounds truly tasteless--Christ in a parking lot!" Dr. Daruwalla remarked.
"It wasn't very artistic," the Jesuit replied. "Occasionally, as I recall, the statue was vandalized."
"I can't imagine why," Farrokh muttered.
"Well, anyway, I had stayed at the school quite late one night--I was directing a school play, another musical ... I can't remember which one. And this man who'd been such an obsession for me ... he was also staying late. But his car wouldn't start--he had an awful car--and he asked me for a ride home."
"Uh-oh," said Dr. Daruwalla.
"My feelings for him had already lessened, as I've said, but I was still not immune to his attractiveness," the missionary admitted. "Here was such a sudden opportunity--the availability of him was painfully apparent. Do you know what I mean?"
Dr. Daruwalla, who was remembering his disturbing night with Madhu, said, "Yes--of course I know. What happened?"
"This is what I mean by how cynical I was," the scholastic said. "I was so totally fatalistic, I decided that if he made the slightest advance toward me, I would respond. I wouldn't initiate such an advance, but I knew I would respond."
"And did you? Did he?" the doctor asked.
"Then I couldn't find my car--it was a huge parking lot," Martin said. "But I remembered that I always tried to park near Christ ..."
"The statue, you mean ..." Farrokh interrupted.
"Yes, the statue, of course--I had parked right in front of it," the Jesuit explained. "When I finally found my car, it was so dark I couldn't see the statue, not even when I was sitting inside my car. But I knew exactly where Christ was. It was a funny moment. I was waiting for this man to touch me, but all the while I was looking into the darkness at that exact spot where Jesus was."
"Did the guy touch you?" Farrokh asked.
"I turned on the headlights before he had a chance," Martin Mills replied. "And there was Christ--he stood out very brightly in the headlights. He was exactly where I knew he would be."
"Where else would a statue be?" Dr. Daruwalla cried. "Do statues move around in your country?"
"You belittle the experience to focus on the statue," the Jesuit said. "The statue was just the vehicle. What I felt was the presence of God. I felt a oneness with Jesus, too--not with the statue. I felt I'd been shown what believing in Christ was like--for me. Even in the darkness--even as I sat expecting something horrible to happen to me--there was a certainty that he was there. Christ was there for me; he'd not abandoned me. I could still see him."
"I guess I'm not making the necessary leap," said Dr. Daruwalla. "I mean, your belief in Christ is one thing. But wanting to be a priest ... how did you get from Jesus in the parking lot to wanting to be a priest?"
"Well, that's different," Martin confessed.
"That's the part I don't get," Farrokh replied. Then he said it: "And was that the end of all such desires? I mean, was your homosexuality ever again engaged ... so to speak ..."
"Homosexuality?" said the Jesuit. "That's not the point. I'm not a homosexual, nor am I a heterosexual. I am simply not a sexual entity--not anymore."
"Come on," the doctor said. "If you were to be sexually attracted, it would be a homosexual attraction, wouldn't it?"
"That's not a relevant question," the scholastic replied. "It isn't that I'm without sexual feelings, but I have resisted sexual attraction. I will have no problem continuing to resist it."
"But what you're resisting is a homosexual inclination, isn't it?" Farrokh asked. "I mean, let us speculate--you can speculate, can't you?"
"I don't speculate on the subject of my vows," the Jesuit said.
"But, please indulge me, if something happened--if for any reason you decided not to be a priest--then wouldn't you be a homosexual?" Dr. Daruwalla asked.
"Mercy! You are the most stubborn person!" Martin Mills cried out good-naturedly.
"I am stubborn?" the doctor shouted.
"I am neither a homosexual nor a heterosexual," the Jesuit calmly stated. "The terms don't necessarily apply to inclinations, or do they? I had a passing inclination."
"It has passed? Completely? Is that what you're saying?" Dr. Daruwalla asked.
"Mercy," Martin repeated.
"You become a person of no identifiable sexuality on the basis of an encounter with a statue in a parking lot; yet you deny the possibility that I was bitten by a ghost!" Dr. Daruwalla cried. "Am I following your reasoning correctly?"
"I don't believe in ghosts, per se," the Jesuit replied.
"But you believe you experienced a oneness with Jesus. You felt the presence of God--in a parking lot!" Farrokh shouted.
"I believe that our conversation--that is, if you continue to raise your voice--is a distraction to our driver," said Martin Mills. "Perhaps we should resume discussion of this subject after we've safely arrived at the airport."
They were still nearly an hour from Rajkot, with Ramu dodging death every few miles; then there would be the wait at the airport, not to mention a likely delay, and finally the flight itself. On a Sunday afternoon or evening, the taxi from Santa Cruz into Bombay could take another 45 minutes or an hour. Worse, it was a special Sunday; it was December 31, 1989, but neither the doctor nor the missionary knew it was New Year's Eve--or if they knew, they'd forgotten.
At St. Ignatius, the jubilee celebration was planned for New Year's Day, which Martin Mills had also forgotten, and the New Year's Eve party at the Duckworth Sports Club was a black-tie occasion of uncharacteristic merriment; there would be dancing to a live band and a splendid midnight supper--not to mention the unusual, once-a-year quality of the champagne. No Duckworthian in Bombay would willingly miss the New Year's Eve party.
John D. and Deputy Commissioner Patel were sure that Rahul would be there--Mr. Sethna had already informed them. They'd spent much of the day rehearsing what Inspector Dhar would say when he and the second Mrs. Dogar danced. Julia had pressed Farrokh's tuxedo, which needed a lengthy airing on the balcony to rid it of its mothball aroma. But both New Year's Eve and the Duckworth Club were far from Farrokh's mind. The doctor was focused on what remai
ned of his journey to Rajkot, after which he still had to travel to Bombay. If Farrokh couldn't endure another minute of Martin's arguments, he had to initiate a different conversation.
"Perhaps we should change the subject," Dr. Daruwalla suggested. "And keep our voices down."
"As you wish. I promise to keep mine down," the missionary said with satisfaction.
Farrokh was at a loss to know what to talk about. He tried to think of a long personal story, something which would allow him to talk and talk, and which would render the missionary speechless--powerless to interrupt. The doctor could begin, "I know your twin"; that would lead to quite a long personal story. That would shut Martin Mills up! But, as before, Farrokh felt it wasn't his place to tell this story; that was John D.'s decision.
"Well, I can think of something to say," the scholastic said; he'd been politely waiting for Dr. Daruwalla to begin, but he hadn't waited long.
"Very well--go ahead," the doctor replied.
"I think that you shouldn't go witch-hunting for homosexuals," the Jesuit began. "Not these days. Not when there is understandable sensitivity toward anything remotely homophobic. What do you have against homosexuals, anyway?"
"I have nothing against homosexuals. I'm not homophobic," Dr. Daruwalla snapped. "And you haven't exactly changed the subject!"
"You're not exactly keeping your voice down," Martin said.
Little India
At the airport in Rajkot, the loudspeaker system had progressed to a new test; more advanced counting skills were being demonstrated. "Eleven, twenty-two, thirty-three, forty-four, fifty-five," said the tireless voice. There was no telling where this would lead; it hinted at infinity. The voice was without emotion; the counting was so mechanical that Dr. Daruwalla thought he might go mad. Instead of listening to the numbers or enduring the Jesuitical provocations of Martin Mills, Farrokh chose to tell a story. Although it was a true story--and, as the doctor would soon discover, painful to tell--it suffered from the disadvantage that the storyteller had never told it before; even true stories are improved by revision. But the doctor hoped that his tale would illustrate how the missionary's allegations of homophobia were false, for Dr. Daruwalla's favorite colleague in Toronto was a homosexual. Gordon Macfarlane was also Farrokh's best friend.