Читаем Shantaram полностью

He moved closer to the bear, shouting commands in Hindi. When Kano the bear stood to his full height, the handler stepped in and embraced him. The bear closed its paws around him, and rocked backwards and forwards. After a few seconds, it released the man, and he turned to the tumultuous applause of the crowd with a beaming smile and a showman’s bow.

‘No way,’ I said again.

‘Oh, come on, Lin. Hug it the bear,’ Prabaker pleaded, laughing harder.

‘I’m not hugging it any bear, Prabu.’

‘Come on, Lin. Don’t you want to know what is it, the messages?’

‘No.’

‘It might be important.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You might like that hugging bear, Lin, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘You might.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Well, maybe, would you like me to give you another big hugs, for practice?’

‘No. Thanks, all the same.’

‘Then, just hug it the bear, Lin.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Oh, pleeeeeeese,’ Prabaker wheedled.

‘No.’

‘Yes, Lin, please hug it the bear,’ Prabaker encouraged, asking for support from the crowd. There were hundreds of people crammed into the lanes near my house. Children had found precarious vantage points on top of some of the sturdier huts.

‘Do it, do it, do it!’ they wailed and shouted.

Looking around me, from face to laughing face, I realised that I didn’t have any choice. I took the two steps, reached out tremulously, and slowly pressed myself against the shaggy fur of Kano the bear. He was surprisingly soft under the fur-almost pudgy. The thick forelegs were all muscle, however, and they closed around me at shoulder height with a massive power, a non-human strength. I knew what it was to feel utterly helpless.

One fright-driven thought spun through my mind-Kano could snap my back as easily as I could snap a pencil. The bear’s voice grumbled in his chest against my ear. A smell like wet moss filled my nostrils. Mixed with it was a smell like new leather shoes, and the smell of a child’s woollen blanket. Beyond that, there was a piercing ammoniac smell, like bone being cut with a saw. The noise of the crowd faded. Kano was warm. Kano moved from side to side. The fur, in the grasp of my fingers, was soft, and attached to rolls of skin like that on the back of a dog’s neck. I clung to the fur, and rocked with him. In its brawny grip, it seemed to me that I was floating, or perhaps falling, from some exalted place of inexpressible peace and promise.

Hands shook my shoulders, and I opened my eyes to see that I’d fallen to my knees. Kano the bear had released me from the hug, and was already at the end of the short lane, lumbering away with his slow, thumping tread in the company of his handlers and the retinue of people and maddened dogs.

‘Linbaba, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, fine. Must have… I got dizzy, or something.’

‘Kano was giving you the pretty good squeezes, yes? Here, this is your message.’

I went back to my hut and sat at the small table made from packing crates. Inside the crumpled envelope was a typed note on matching yellow paper. It was typed in English, and I suspected that it had been typed by one of the professional letter-writers on the Street of the Writers. It was from Abdullah.

My Dear Brother,

Salaam aleikum. You told me that you are giving the bear hugs to the people. I think this is a custom in your country and even if I think it is very strange and even if I do not understand, I think you must be lonely for it here because in Bombay we have a shortage of bears. So I send you a bear for some hugging. Please enjoy. I hope he is like the hugging bears in your country. I am busy with business and I am healthy, thanks be to God. After my business I will return to Bombay soon, Inshallah. God bless you and your brother.

Abdullah Taheri

Prabaker was standing at my left shoulder, reading the note out aloud, slowly.

‘Aha, this is the Abdullah, who I am not supposed to be telling you that he is doing all the bad things, but really he is, even at the same time that I am not telling you… that he is.’

‘It’s rude to read other people’s mail, Prabu.’

‘Is rude, yes. Rude means that we like to do it, even when people tell us not to, yes?’

‘Who are those bear guys?’ I asked him. ‘Where are they staying?’

‘They are making money with the dancing bear. They are original from UP., Uttar Pradesh, in the north of this, our Mother India, but travelling everywhere. Now they are staying at the zhopadpatti in Navy Nagar area. Do you want me to take you there?’

‘No,’ I muttered, reading the note over again. ‘No, not now. Maybe later.’

Prabaker went to the open door of the hut and paused there, staring at me reflectively with his small, round head cocked to one side. I put the note in my pocket, and looked up at him. I thought he wanted to say something-there was a little struggle of concentration in his brow-but then he seemed to change his mind. He shrugged. He smiled.

‘Some sick peoples are coming today?’

‘A few. I think. Later.’

‘Well, I will be seeing you at the lunch party, yes?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you… do you want me, for to do anything?’

‘No. Thanks.’