The Moonlight Palace Read Online Free PDF Page A

, like many Indians did when speaking English. “Vould you care for some dee?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “I wish you would,” he said.
    “In that case, yes,” I answered.
    “I will ask you to do the honors.” He gestured toward a tray set out on the low rolling table, with cups and saucers, a plate of sugared biscuits, and a silver teapot. I poured the tea for both of us. He thanked me and then ignored his tea. I sipped mine nervously while we spoke.
    His office seemed almost like a Hindu shrine, it was so filled with figurines of goddesses and embroidered wall hangings and religious Hindu paintings, and it smelled overwhelmingly of incense. There were two or three statues of Ganesh, the elephant god, and Shiva, the many-armed god, and others I did not recognize. Mr. Kahani seemed to feel me looking at them.
    “An interesting collection, yes?”
    “Very,” I agreed.
    “Blessings come from many sources,” he said. “Won’t you have a ginger cookie? Do you like sweets?”
    Mr. Kahani asked many questions. Most seemed to have nothing to do with work, or with my qualifications as an assistant. What kind of athletics did I like? he asked. What was my favorite meal of the day? Did I have trouble resting, or did I sleep through the night? Was I given to stomach ailments? Moods? I gave up trying to give the right answers. It was like taking a quiz in a ladies’ magazine.
    Early on in this peculiar interview, we were interrupted. A tall, moustached man rapped on the door and was introduced as Mr. Kahani’s long-term employee, Ron. It seemed a strange name for an Indian, and I was not told his last name. The man had a business question for Mr. Kahani, he explained, but while they spoke he looked at me closely. I had the idea that he had been sent especially to study me. After that, Mr. Kahani asked questions about books we had both read. At no point did he tell me I had gotten the job, but he began to speak as if I would be working there.
    “Of course, it is a secretarial position,” he said. “Very definitely. Only I hope that from time to time—if the paperwork is slow for some reason—you may be willing to help out in the store as well. I will consider it strictly as a favor. Of course, you will be paid for your time just as if it were wholly secretarial.” I understood from this that I would be working behind the counter, and that neither of us would mention it to my Uncle Chachi.
    The clock struck the hour. “I must let you go now,” said Mr. Kahani. He sat without moving. I did not know if I was supposed to offer assistance. Some instinct made me wait. “You have been worrying about something,” he said.
    I was startled. “I have been worrying about everything.” Could this man read minds? I wondered. Perhaps he was gifted with second sight?
    “Well, you must not worry anymore,” he said. “You should get plenty of rest, chew your food thoroughly, and relax.”
    I think it was the musicality of his accent that made everything he uttered sound wise and portentous. There was a hypnotic sleepiness about his voice. The smell of incense around us was almost intoxicating. I wondered if people always invest the blind with special powers.
    Mr. Kahani escorted me to the door, stepping carefully this time around the tea table. He steered me by the elbow. I would learn that he never used a cane or a guide of any kind. He might take someone’s arm, but he always made it appear as if he were leading them, and not the other way around. Just before I stepped through the doorway, he spoke again.
    “You are too young to be so anxious about the future. The only sure thing in this life is change. That is the one thing you may rely upon.” He spoke slowly and dreamily, like a man talking in his sleep. “And tell your uncle he can count on me as well.”
    I thanked him.
    “You see?” he said. “Things are looking better already. If you think you have come to an unhappy ending, it is not the true end. Keep going