The Ivory Swing by Janette Turner Hospital

no matter what they do.
    Then his name was called and he went to the counter.
    Juliet thought: I will not tolerate this any longer, I will not. Yet if I simply give up and leave, how will I ever receive the parcel from home? Could I face this again on a different day? Never! But I cannot, I simply cannot sit here any longer. I will count to ten and then I will stand on this chair and scream.
    On her count of eight, the door to an inner sanctum opened at one side of the room and a civil servant, by the mere hauteur of his eyebrows clearly superior to the desk clerk, surveyed the room for a moment and then withdrew, closing his door again. With the speed of impulse and exasperation, Juliet crossed the floor, knocked, and entered without waiting for a response.
    The superior being was startled.
    â€œExcuse me,’ Juliet said. “But I have been waiting over three hours for an opportunity to ask a very simple question. I know you’ll be embarrassed by this inefficiency. I know you’ll want to do something about it immediately.”
    She held the post office card out to him.
    â€œThis is not the correct place,” he said, making no move to take it. “You must be waiting for the clerk at the desk in the other room.”
    â€œI’m afraid I will not be waiting one more insufferable minute for the clerk in the other room.” Juliet spoke very quietly, looked the man squarely in the eyes, and fabricated with deadly intent: “My husband has powerful friends in the government, and there is going to be much trouble for somebody because of this delay.”
    A pallor, like the blanching of cashew nuts left out in the sun, passed across the man’s face.
    â€œThere has been some mistake, dear lady. We are being most distressful, most distressful. You are having our fullest attention.” He took the card from her and snapped his fingers so that a servant girl appeared from behind a screen. “Please be bringing mango juice!” he ordered her. He examined the card carefully. “I am giving this my most immediate attention. Most immediate!”
    Then he left the room and Juliet sipped iced juice.
    Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Here we go again, she thought.
    And then he reappeared, the quintessence of regret. “I am making very thorough investigations, very thorough, I assure you. There is absolutely no parcel for you at Air India office, Mrs Professor. But I am making a racket, I promise you. Jolly bad show! I am telephoning the post office and discussing. It is their silly fault, all their fault. It is all a mistake. There was no parcel, no, absolutely never. They are assuring me. Jolly bad show, all this waiting. I am begging you to forgive.”
    Juliet stood as in a dream. Am I awake? Will peacocks swoop from the desk drawers?
    She had to struggle against some demon of hysterical laughter that cavorted deep in her throat. “I am forgiving you,” she spluttered. “I am absolutely forgiving you. Isn’t it?”
    Matthew Thomas stood patiently at the counter. It seemed that his request was a complicated one. It involved searches and gesticulations and a certain amount of argumentation. This was the way of things. More delays were promised.
    Mr Matthew Thomas was not in the habit of letting life’s little inconveniences upset him, but when he concluded his affairs with the desk clerk and left the Air India office at last, he was just in time to see the tourist woman leaving in a taxi.
    She is leaving for Burlingtonvermont, he thought. He felt bereft, as though a miracle had come floating by like a wind-blown petal and he had failed to catch hold of it. He was not quite able to repress the thought that it had been an unkind day.

8
    Along the rutted village roads that wound from the Nair estate to the beach, dark-eyed children massed to watch a passing wonder.
    â€œ Sahibs! Sahibs! ” they chanted, running alongside, bare feet percussive on the red earth.