The Last Enchantments Read Online Free PDF Page A

India. He never turned his “er” into an “a”—it was always “player” or “gangster” exactly. I think it took away from his credibility as a member of the underground hip-hop community. So probably did the fact that he was studying applied economics.
    “Welcome,” I said.
    “Is it true you’re from New York?” he asked.
    “I am. What about you?”
    “The very elites of Mumbai.” Neither Tom nor I knew how to respond to this. Anil rode the pause before saying, “So, do you gents like rap music?”
    “Some of it,” I answered.
    “Hate it,” Tom said cheerfully. “Will, listen. We’re going out tonight, and our new housemate wants to come along. What do you think, is he in?”
    “For sure,” I said.
    So at eight o’clock we went to the Fleet Tavern. This time there were two people there. One was Jem, the bartender, wearing a Stiff Little Fingers T-shirt, smoking and staring at the jukebox again. He greeted us and went around the bar to pour pints.
    The other person there was new: an Asian girl with pink and black hair, a half-visible tattoo sneaking below the sleeve of her T-shirt. She had huge breasts. Her iPod headphones were in, and she was reading a textbook.
    “Hey!” Anil called out immediately and walked toward her.
    “Oh no,” said Tom.
    “What are you reading?” asked Anil.
    She removed one of her earbuds, and we could hear what sounded like electronica to me. “What?”
    “What are you reading?”
    “An essay about pluripotent stem cells.”
    “Doesn’t sound very interesting,” Anil said doubtfully.
    “Well, I finished Harry Potter.”
    “Do you want a drink?” Anil asked, but she said she was okay. She started to read again.
    “Are you a new grad student?” I asked.
    “Yes,” she said, eyes still on her book.
    We waited for a minute. Behind the bar, Jem was grinning at us. He gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Well, hope to see you around,” I said.
    No answer. “Is it too soon to tell her that I want to spend the rest of our lives together?” asked Tom as we left the table.
    We played bar billiards and spent several rounds of drinks—orange juice for Anil—glancing constantly and covertly in her direction. She never looked up from her textbook.
    Surprisingly early Jem called out for last orders. I went up with my empty glass. “Last call at nine thirty-seven?” I asked.
    “Fleet time,” he said, shrugging.
    “What’s that?”
    He looked at me with new interest. “Oh, are you a new student, then? I figured you were just one of the graduate students I never saw during term. I’m Jem.” We shook hands. He had a thick midlands accent. “I’m a third year. Undergrad.”
    “Cool.”
    “Yeah, the bar doesn’t usually close till midnight, but before term we only keep it open from five to ten for you lot. I’m the manager, actually. It’s good fun. There are about ten of us who bartend.”
    “Any grads?”
    “No, all undergrads.”
    “You should think about hiring a graduate student. It might get more people to come here.”
    He laughed. “You asking for a job?”
    I hadn’t been really, but suddenly it seemed like it could be fun, and I said, “Sure, if you have one open.”
    “I’ll let you know.” He lit a cigarette and took a sip of his own pint. “What are you here to study?”
    “English. You?”
    “Oh, classics. I work on Sallust these days.”
    “Are you going to be a classicist?”
    “Lord no.”
    “Then what?”
    “Fuck all, hopefully. I wouldn’t mind traveling. Probably a banker.”
    “You?”
    He grinned. “Me.”
    “So what is Fleet time?”
    “It’s a college joke. You’ll start hearing it if you pay attention. Fleet’s pretty relaxed, you’ll find, compared to Merton or somewhere swotty like that, and if you’re a bit late or early you just say, ‘Well, Fleet time,’ and it’s a big laugh. You can even say it at a tutorial once or twice a year. I use it as an excuse to close early.” He smiled, cigarette