Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Come back at dawn and I will show you something,' he said.
'Tomorrow?'
'Unless, of course, the sun does not rise tomorrow morning.' He
hissed like a boiling kettle. 'But it tends to be, ah,
reliable
. . .'
The ancient oarsman slumped back, arms spread over the bows, a
noise similar to the distant squeal of car brakes emerging through
his toothless mouth.
'Poor bastard,' I remarked.
'Too much lazy, these peoples,' Amar commented.
I felt like hitting him.
I should have. Instead, I let him lead me through the mud - which
probably wasn't even mud, since wild dogs showed too great an
interest in its contents - back to the carnival lights and the seething
human river of the main ghat. I knew what this totally unnecessary
guided trip was really about.
'Boatman need baksheesh,' he now added, right on cue, to my
mounting tab. 'And you promise to give for the poors.' He paused.
'You not forget?'
'I told your father I'd send him some photographs, and my book,'
I replied, which was true. 'He seemed happy enough, not that he
ever asked for anything, anyway.'
'He does not want book or photograph,' Amar scoffed. 'He is big
whisky drinker - he care only for whisky. And for the money,' he
said hastily.
'Really?'
'I would not lie to you, my friend.'
'Well, he
seemed
to want the picture and the topic - and
there's
a
few thousand rupees already, Amar. Book, photo enlargement,
postage, insurance . . . Is he really your father, by the way?'
He stumbled slightly, propping himself against a silversmith's
stall and almost knocking it over. 'I think your eyes say yes but your
heart say no,' he told me, clumsily rearranging the bracelets he'd
scattered from the table there. The angry and very fat silversmith
frowned at both of us.
'Translate that, can you? Please.'
'You will not send book or picture. I know. Too much America
