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Ch 13 - A Passage to India · A Passage to India

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  Chapter thirteen. These hills look romantic in certain lights and at suitable distances,
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  and scene of an evening from the upper veranda of the club. They caused
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  misquested to say conversationally to Miss Derrick that she should like to have gone,
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  that doctor Aziz at mister Fieldings had said he would arrange something, and that
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  Indians seem rather forgetful. She was overheard by the servant, who offered them
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  ver mooths. This servant understood English, and he was not exactly a spy,
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  but he kept his ears open, and mahmoud Ali did not exactly bribe
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  him, but did encourage him to come and squat with his own servants,
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  and would happen to stroll their way when he was there. As the story
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  traveled, it a creatured emotion, and Aziz learnt with horror that the ladies
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  were deeply offended with him, and had expected an invitation daily. He thought
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  his facile remark had been forgotten. Endowed with two memories, a temporary and
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  a permanent, he had hitherto relegated the caves to the former. Now he
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  transferred them once for all, and pushed the matter through. They were to
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  be a stupendous replica of the tea party. He began by securing Fielding and
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  Old god Bualt, and then commissioned Fielding to approach Missus Moore and misquested.
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  When they were alone. By this device, Ronnie, their official protector,
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  could be circumvented. Fielding didn't like the job much. He was busy,
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  caves bored him. He foresaw friction and expense, but he would not refuse
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  the first favor his friend had asked from him, and did as required.
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  The ladies accepted. It was a little inconvenient in the present press of their
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  engagements. Still they hoped to manage it. After consulting mister Heaslop consulted.
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  Ronnie raised no objection provided Fielding undertook full responsibility for their comfort. He was
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  not enthusiastic about the picnic, but then no more were the ladies. No
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  one was enthusiastic. Yet it took place. Aziz was terribly worried. It
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  was not a long expedition. A train left Chandrapor just before dawn. Another
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  would bring them back for tiffin. But he was only a little official still
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  and feared to acquit himself dishonorably. He had to ask Major Calendar for a
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  half day's leave and be refused because of his recent malingering, despair, renewed
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  approach of Major Calendar through Fielding and contemptuous snarling permission. He had to borrow
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  cutlery from Mahmoud Ali without inviting him. Then there was the question of alcohol,
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  mister Fielding and perhaps the ladies were drinkers, so must he provide whisky,
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  sodas and ports. There was the problem of transport from the wayside station
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  of Marabar to the caves. There was the problem of Professor Godboulet and his
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  food, and of Professor Godboulet and other people's food, two problems, not
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  one problem. The professor was not a very strict Hindu. He would take
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  tea, fruit, soda, water and sweets whoever cooked them, and vegetables
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  and rice if cooked by a Brahman, but not meat, not cakes lest
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  they contain eggs. And he would not allow anyone else to eat beef.
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  A slice of beef upon a distant plate would wreck his happiness. Other people
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  might eat mutton, they might eat ham, but over ham Aziz's own religion
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  raised its voice. He did not fancy other people eating ham. Trouble after
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  trouble encountered him because he had challenged the spirit of the Indian earth, which
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  tries to keep men in compartments. At last the moment arrived. His friends
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  thought him most unwise to mix himself up with English ladies and warned him to
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  take every precaution against unpunctuality. Consequently, he spent the previous night at the
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  station. The servants were huddled onto the platform and joined not to stray.
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  He himself walked up and down with old Mohammed Latif, who was to act
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  as majordomo. He felt insecure and also unreal. A car drove up,
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  and he hoped Fielding would get out of it to lend him solidity, But
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  it contained Missus Moore, miss Quested and their go Onea's servant. He rushed
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  to meet them, suddenly happy. But you've come after all, Oh,
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  how very very kind of you, he cried. This is the happiest moment
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  in all my life. The ladies were civil. It was not the happiest
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  moment in their lives. Still, they looked forward to enjoying themselves as soon
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  as the bother of the early start was over. They had not seen him
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  since the expedition was arranged, and they thanked him adequately. You don't require
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  tickets. Please stop, your servant, There are no tickets on the Marrabar
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  branch line. It is its peculiarity. You come to the carriage and rest
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  till mister Fielding joins us. Did you know you are to travel? Poor
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  da? Will you like that? They replied that they should like it.
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  The train had come in and a crowd of dependence were swarming over the seats
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  of the carriage like monkeys. Aziz had borrowed servants from his friends as well
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  as bringing his own three, and quarrels over precedence were resulting. The ladies
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  servant stood apart with a sneering expression on his face. They had hired him
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  while they were still globe trotters at Bombay, in a hotel or among smart
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  people. He was excellent, but as soon as they consorted with any one
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  whom he thought second rate, he left them to their disgrace. The night
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  was still dark, but had acquired the temporary look that indicates its end.
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  Perched on the roof of a shed, the station master's hens began to dream
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  of kites instead of owls lamps were put out in order to save the trouble
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  of putting them out. Later, the smell of tobacco and the sound of
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  spitting arose from third class passengers in dark corners. Heads were unshrouded, teeth
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  cleaned on the twigs of a tree. So convinced was a junior official that
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  another sun would rise that he rang a bell with enthusiasm. This upset the
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  servants. They shrieked that the train was starting, and ran to both ends
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  of it to intercede. Much had still to enter the porta carriage, a
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  box bound with brass, a melon wearing of heads, a towel containing uavas,
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  a step ladder, and a gun. The guests played up all right.
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  They had no race consciousness. Missus Moore was too old, misquested,
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  too new, and they behaved to Aziz as to any young man who had
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  been kind to them in the country. This moved him deeply. He had
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  expected them to arrive with fielding, instead of which they trusted themselves to be
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  with him a few moments alone. Send back your servant, he suggested,
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  he is unnecessary. Then we shall all be Moslems together. And he is
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  such a horrible servant, Anthony, you can go. We don't want you,
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  said the girl impatiently. Master told me to come. Mistress tells you
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  to go. Master says keep near the ladies all the morning. Well,
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  your ladies won't have you. She turned to the host. No get rid
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  of him. Doctor Aziz Mohammed Latif, he called the poor relative, exchanged
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  fezes with the melon, and peeped out of the window of the railway carriage.
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  Whose confusion he was superintending. Here is my cousin, mister Mohammed Latif.
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  Oh, no, don't shake hands. He is an Indian of the
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  old fashioned sort. He prefers to Salam. There. I told you so,
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  Mohammed Latif, How beautifully you salam. See he hasn't understood. He
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  knows no English. You speak, lie, said the old man gently.
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  I speak a lie. Oh, jolly good, isn't he a funny old
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  man? We will have great jokes with him later. He does all sorts
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  of little things. He is not nearly as stupid as you think, and
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  awfully poor. It's lucky ours is a large family. He flung an arm
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  round the grubby neck. But you get inside, make yourselves at home.
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  Yes, you lie down. The celebrated Oriental confusion appeared at last to be
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  at an end. Excuse me, now, I must meet our other two
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  guests. I will discuss philosophy with him. That will be kind of you.
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  But the servants are even more important. We must not convey an impression
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  of disorganization. It can be done, and I expect you to do it.
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  A shriek from the poor da carriage. The train had started. Merciful
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  God, cried Mohammed Latif. He flung himself at the train and leapt on
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  to the footboard of a carriage. Aziz did likewise. It was an easy
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  feat for a branch line train is slow to assume special airs. We're monkeys,
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  don't worry, he called, hanging on to a bar and laughing.
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  Then he howled, mister Fielding, mister Fielding. There were Fielding and old
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  God Boulet held up at the level crossing appalling catastrophe. The gates had been
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  closed earlier than usual. They leapt from their tonga. They gesticulated, But
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  what was the good? So near and yet so far? As the train
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  joggled past over the points, there was time for agonized words. Bad,
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  bad, You have destroyed me God, Bolis Pujah, did it, cried
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  the Englishman. The Brahman lowered his eyes, ashamed of religion, for it
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  was so he had miscalculated the length of a prayer. Jump on, I
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  must have you, screamed Aziz beside himself right, give a hand. He's
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  not too He'll kill himself, Missus Moore protested. He jumped, He failed,
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  missed his friend's hand, and fell back onto the line. The train
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  rumbled past. He scrambled onto his feet and bawled after them, I'm all
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  right, You're all right, don't worry. And then they passed beyond range
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  of his voice. Missus Moore misquested, our ex edition is a ruin.
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  He swung himself along the footboard, almost in tears. Get in, Get
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  in, you'll kill yourself as well as mister Fielding. I see no ruin.
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  How is that? Oh? Explain to me, he said, piteously,
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  like a child. We shall all be Muslims together now, as you
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  promised. She was perfect, as always is, dear Missus Moore. All
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  the love for her he had felt at the mosque welled up again the fresher
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  for forgetfulness. There was nothing he would not do for her. He would
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  die to make her happy. Get in, doctor Azise, you make us
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  giddy, the other lady called. If they're so foolish as to miss the
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  train, that's their loss, not ours. I am to blame, I
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  am the host. Nonsense, Go to your carriage. We're going to have
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  a delightful time without them. Not perfect like missus Moore, but very sincere
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  and kind, wonderful ladies, both of them, And for one precious morning
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  his guests, he felt important and competent. Fielding was a loss personally,
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  being a friend increasingly dear. Yet if Fielding had come, he himself would
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  have remained in leading strings. Indians are incapable of responsibility, said the officials,
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  and Hamidullah sometimes said so too. He would show these pessimists that they
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  were wrong. Smiling proudly, he glanced outward at the country, which was
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  still invisible except as a dark movement in the darkness, then upwards at the
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  sky, where the stars were The sprawling scorpion had begun to pale. Then
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  he dived through a window into a second class carriage. Mohammed Latif, by
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  the way, what is in these caves? Brother? Why are we all
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  going to see them? Such a question was beyond the poor relative's scope.
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  He could only reply that God and the local villagers knew, and that the
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  latter would gladly act as guides. End of Chapter thirteen.