The Lives of Others Read Online Free PDF Page B

Madan has always been her creature, while his role has only been to pay his salary.
    Madan walks in, teapot, cup, saucer, milk, sugar, plate of Marie biscuits all on a tray, sets it down and proceeds to pour while beginning his daily bulletin. ‘Chicken ishtu for you today. Light like water. Ma’s orders. With toast. No butter. The rest are having deep-fried aubergines, dal, spinach balls stuffed with cottage cheese, fish fry. Soaking the pieces of bhetki in marinade now, have to take them out in the next hour. Said to Ma, one or two pieces of fish fry won’t do Baba any harm, she wouldn’t listen to me. Well, we are poor, illiterate people, what do we know, but since when have people died of eating, I ask you? They die of hunger. But if Ma says it’s bad for you, then it must be. But what harm can a couple of pieces do? Want some with your tea now? Could quickly sneak in a couple for you, no one would be any the wiser.’
    Prafullanath blows on his tea, thereby avoiding answering the question.
    Madan continues, ‘So it’s Durga Puja next month. I will be going to the country after Kali Puja for twenty days, as usual. That Gagan will be bringing you your tea. Will probably forget it half the time, not bring it on time, you’ll have to keep nagging. Said to Ma, whatever gets done, or doesn’t get done more likely, see that they don’t slip up with Baba’s afternoon tea and bishkoot. Gagan’s mind is like a sieve, nothing except bad habits stays in it, that and finding money for cigarettes and god knows what else, wouldn’t be a tiny bit surprised if it wasn’t just cigarettes. Even saw him whispering to Suranjan-da by the stairs that day, very close they were too.’
    Prafullanath coughs, shifts around on the sofa as far as his creaking body will allow, shuffles his feet and starts pouring out the tea onto his saucer to cool it faster. The tea dribbles out and drips into a small brown puddle on the low table; a few warm drops fall on his pyjama and, in trying to avoid more of them falling and staining the white cotton, he moves his shaky hand quickly, only to have the drops now fall on the floor, on the edge of the sofa, on a different spot on the table, on the tray that holds the tea things.
    Madan pounces at once and starts mopping up the spilt tea with a dishcloth that he always carries, slung on his shoulder. ‘Eeesh, eeesh, let me, let me, I’ve got it.’ With that only concession towards what he knows to be a deliberately engineered distraction, he reverts to his monologue. ‘Don’t get me wrong, but Suranjan-da is at an impressionable age, and Gagan such a ne’er-do-well, such close whispering under the stairs; and then that other time on the terrace, I swear I saw something pass hands, could have been I saw wrong, but as they say, a poor man has four eyes and four ears.’
    Prafullanath sips his cooling tea, coughs and tries to say ‘Achha, achha’ dismissively, but it comes out as a pathetic croak.
    ‘Saying this to you and no one else, he doesn’t earn that little, thanks to your generosity and Ma’s and Bor’-da’s, but where does all that money go? Don’t think he sends any to the country, doesn’t have a wife and children to support, but every month, without fail, Ei, Madan-da, can you lend me ten rupees, can you lend me twenty rupees, will return it the very minute I get paid, swear on Ma Kali . I say, where does all his money go?’
    This time Prafullanath manages a gruff, ‘All right, all right’ before beginning to dip his fingers for the dregs of the biscuit, which has become too soggy after being dunked into the tea to make it to his mouth and has dropped instead into the cup. Madan notices the mishap, feels a small surge of joy inside him and continues without a pause, ‘But anyway, who am I to say anything? To each his own. My interest is to look out for Suranjan-da. Nowadays people of many hues seem to be all over the place. Take the Datta family next door, their maid,