What Else Is There for a Boy Like Me? by Patrick Moon

Author:Patrick Moon
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781783067886
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

It’s good to see him in such excellent spirits. However, so blissfully carried away is he with this unsparingly frank self-assessment that he forgets to keep his foot on the accelerator. The boys are waiting patiently with some Prince Hotel finger chips.

‘This table is fine?’ asks Mohamd, jumping up to greet us. He has changed for the occasion, sporting a well pressed white shirt. Gajendra, leaping equally smartly to his feet, looks his consciously western best in a Tommy Hilfiger tee-shirt.

‘You really have to leave?’ I ask, thinking how much remains to be talked about.

‘Goppu has one VIP guest on Monday and tonight the bus goes only to Ahmedabad. Tomorrow night, we take different bus to Jaisalmer – if all goes well, we reach city by Sunday night. But you said you go back to Udaipur, no? Maybe I meet you there. It would be good experience, I think.’

‘You mustn’t neglect your work. Or your driving lessons.’

‘Or the visa application,’ adds Andrew.

‘But you still haven’t told them your news,’ prompts Gajendra.

‘It’s nothing,’ mumbles Mohamd.

‘He’s no longer single!’ chuckles Gajendra.

‘I’m only engaged,’ Mohamd corrects him. ‘Also my brothers. To three girls from nearby village.’

‘But doesn’t that change everything?’ I try not to sound dismayed. ‘Didn’t you think there was more time.’

‘Still two, three years, I think. The girl’s still young. I haven’t seen her, but my father say only fifteen. In any case, my elder brother has to marry first and that won’t happen till he has a job. I’m sure I still have time.’

‘Mumda has to marry this girl,’ says Gajendra emphatically. ‘He shouldn’t be talking this way. He knows he must respect his parents’ wishes. But hey…’ He changes the subject to something apparently comic. ‘He hasn’t told you about Opie.’

Reluctantly, Mohamd recounts an exchange at the safari lodge. Opie buttonholed him near the gate, demanding his share of the commission on my Jaisalmer carpet. ‘I told him, “I get no commission from that shop. I explain this before. How can I give you one third of nothing?” He says to me, “You’re lying,” and I say, “We go to temple and I swear on the God.” But what else to do? Only put my hand in my own pocket.’

Gajendra continues chuckling at the absurdity of Opie’s behaviour, but now I understand why Mohamd seemed so ill at ease; and why Sheikh stayed until the boys returned to Bhuj; indeed, why he came with them this morning. Anyway, that’s the last time they need ever see Opie.

Unless, of course, Mohamd does come to Udaipur.

Deliberately changing the subject, I ask them how the Desert Festival went.

‘One Spanish couple, two domestic,’ says Mohamd. ‘Not much shopping. Not like Goppu. Three rich London couples, who almost empty Riyaz’s shop!’ With no trace of rancour, he reiterates for Andrew the typical pecking order at the travel agency.

‘It could be worse,’ chuckles Andrew. ‘You could be Muslim, like Mr Sheikh.’

‘Hey, maybe travel agent think you are Muslim,’ laughs Gajendra.

‘Muslim name, Hindu boy,’ I remind him how he first introduced himself.

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