The Elephanta Suite by Paul Theroux

Author:Paul Theroux [Theroux, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-55199-407-9
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2007-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

5

Instead of going up to the Elephanta Suite, Dwight lingered in the lobby, and when he was certain that Shah was on his way home, he signaled for the Sikh to hail him a taxi, and he went to Chow-patty—not the lane, but nearby. He didn't want anyone to know the address, not even a taxi driver.

Inside, the stairwell reeked of urine and garbage. A rat on the stairs was not startled by his stamping but only crouched and became compact, twitching its whiskers in a way that reminded Dwight of Shah's active thinking. It was a familiar rat—you got to recognize them, Dwight thought; the stinks, too. Or was it all false? Appearances were meaningless, phenomenal distinctions were misleading, and this great smelly cloud of shit was just an illusion.

Indru's outer door was made of rusted iron grating like the slammer on a prison cell, for security and for the air, though the air was sour even here on the third-floor landing.

She had heard him. She approached the door holding a circular brass tray with a flame burning in a dish of oil. And while Pad-mini unlocked the steel door and swung it open and made a namaste with her clasped hands, Indru passed the flame under Dwight's chin and applied a dot of paste to his forehead.

"You are welcome," Indru said.

He kicked off his shoes and followed her to the second room. It was open to the alley, the TV sets of the neighbors, the smell of spices and boiled vegetables, the whine of traffic, horns beeping, distant music that always seemed to evoke for Dwight an atmosphere of strangulation.

"Don't put the light on," he said. "Just keep that candle."

"Deepak," Indru said. "Is how we make pure the air. Shall I wash feet?"

"That would be very nice."

Somehow Padmini had heard. She brought a basin of warm water and a cloth and set it down before him. Still watching, she backed away as Indru began gently to massage his bare feet in the water.

"Have you eat?"

But he didn't hear. He was watching her head, her hair, her swinging braid that slipped against his legs like a long tassel as she knelt before him. She was so intent on her task, canted forward, narrow shoulders working, that he could look down to the small of her back, her white dress tightened against her buttocks.

"That's fine."

"Not quite finish."

"Stop," he said. His throat constricted, his face went hot. "Close the door, please."

The way she got to her feet in pretty little stages, first lifting her head to face him, tossing her braid aside, then raising herself by digging her fingers into his knees for balance, almost undid him. Then she was peeling off his shirt as he approached the charpoy. He watched her shimmy out of her dress, using her shoulders. When her dress dropped to her ankles she stepped out of it, kicking the door closed with one foot.

"I know what you want," she said as he took her head, cupping her ears, and moved it like a melon on his lap.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.