The Blue Notebook: A Novel by James Levine

Author:James Levine [Levine, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Teenage Prostitution, Teenage girls, Diaries, India, Fiction, Literary, Diaries - Authorship, Indentured Servants, Teenage Girls - India, General
ISBN: 9780385528719
Google: NcqyIldDdxIC
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2009-07-07T07:22:58+00:00

As Mr. Bent-Nose reassembled himself and prepared to depart from my nest, he pecked me on the cheek as if bidding a favored niece farewell. He said, “I have done you a favor, my sweetest.” To be honest, he had already done me a favor by finishing his sweet-cake in five minutes yet staying with me for an hour. He continued, “A senior manager from my company” (I had no idea what he did, except that I was sure he did it badly) “was asking around the office if anyone knew a pretty girl for a party. I told him to come down here and get the girl with the green curtain over her … room.” “Oooh,” I said (I had no idea of his name and I certainly could not call him Mr. Bent-Nose), “you are so kind to me. I will have something extra special for you next time.” I drew him to me and embraced him. After I had expressed my extreme gratitude, which I knew would delight him, I forgot him.

Late that night, after the night rush, a taxi drove down the Common Street and stopped close to our nests. A man got out of the white car. In silhouette he appeared to be quite handsome. He was large and full figured and effused power like fresh tea. From the taxi headlamps I saw that he wore a light blue suit. It is astonishing how quickly Mamaki can move when the nectar of money is puffed in her nostrils; she sprung on the man with the agility of a mountain goat. The man stared in the direction of my nest. My green curtain was partly drawn and the small electric light lit me from the back. I am not sure if he saw my face, but he stared at me for longer than a glance. I then remembered the earlier comment of Mr. Bent-Nose. The man spoke with Mamaki for several minutes and looked over at me again. He climbed back into the taxi, which sped off, just missing an elderly woman carrying heavy sacks to the Street of Thieves before the protection of darkness lifted. Even after the taxi had disappeared, Hippopotamus was still waving goodbye, a huge smile on her face.

The next day, something out of the ordinary was in the air; I could taste it. My supper tray contained rice, meat, fruit, and lassi, and as I started to eat, Mamaki waddled into my nest and sat beside me on my throne. She was flushed with excitement and overexertion, desperate to talk. She spoke like the mad people who have more words to get out than their lips can speak: “Batuk, darling, the man who came last night …” (puff, puff) “the one in the taxi …” (puff, puff) “… he is going to send a car for you later and take you to a hotel … for a treat. A hotel!” She repeated “hotel” as if it were heaven. “Now, darling,” she

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