Travelers by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala Page A

would burn his mouth and how he would scream. And he couldn’t eat with his fingers either—oh, no, he has to have his knife and spoon. Like this,” Gopi said and gave an imitation of Raymond eating. He made very refined movements with imaginary cutlery. Lee, looking up briefly, laughed.
    â€œBut you’re quite different,” Gopi said with enthusiasm, leaning across the table toward her. “You know what I think? I think you were Indian in your last birth.”
    â€œReally,” Lee said, too busy at present to realize that a very great compliment had been paid to her. “Hand me one of those, will you?”
    â€œThese?” He held out a chili to her but instead of taking it in her hand she darted forward and bit into it. “Hm, lovely,” she said.
    Gopi burned and blushed. He was aware that everyone, everyone in the shop had been watching them and had seen her bite into the chili which he held out for her; and for them, as for him, the gesture was as intimate as a kiss. There was a great silent gasp. Even the party of Sikhs at another table—huge burly men who had seemed totally absorbed in eating—even they had seen and their mighty jaws stopped chewing in wonder.
    Someone came to serve them with a new plate of kebabs. He spoke to Gopi in an appreciative undertone. Gopi nodded and tried to smile. The man offered the kebabs to Lee, who said, “I couldn’t.” “Just one more, Memsahib,” said the man, holding up one tempting forefinger. “Oh, all right,” Lee said. The man winked at Gopi and moved off. The Sikhs made a joke to him as he passed and he answered with another joke. Everyone was having a grand time. To celebrate the occasion, someone put a record on the phonograph. It was a very old machine with ahorn and the record too was very old. It was hardly audible, but “Ah!” everyone cried as they recognized the song. The woman’s voice that emerged from the scratching and crackling was laden with passion.
    â€œShe is singing for her lover,” Gopi told Lee. “She says, ‘Love’s madness has carried me away in its embrace.’ It is a very old popular song. Everyone loves it. Ah!” He shut his eyes in ecstasy. “Now she is saying, ‘Save me, bring me back, don’t you see that I have been snatched away by this madness!’ They are very beautiful words.” He leaned again across the table toward Lee. “This place is a hotel also.”
    â€œI like it,” Lee said. She looked around the little dark room: it was painted green and was dense with the smell of spicy cooking and incense. She liked the song too and the way everyone was enjoying it so much.
    â€œThe rooms upstairs are also very nice,” Gopi said. When she didn’t react, he swallowed once or twice and said with effort: “Would you like to see?”
    â€œNot especially,” Lee said. She had been inside a lot of homes by this time and was no longer as interested as she once had been in seeing how people really lived.
    â€œThere’s a very good view,” Gopi said temptingly. Lee showed more interest—as he had expected. How these people cared for views! Gopi had learned this lesson from Raymond. What it was they saw so much in a view God only knew.
    â€œWould you like to see?” he asked again.
    â€œAll right.”
    Gopi felt victorious. He raised his hand and soundlessly snapped his fingers. The proprietor nodded and beamed. The hunchbacked boy was sent over to their table; he was carrying a bunch of keys as well as his filthy cloth.
    Gopi jumped up. “Come on.” But Lee took her time; she leaned back luxuriously in her chair and held her stomach. “I’m so full,” she said happily. She saw everyone looking and smiling at her and smiled back. “Lovely food,” she said. They noddedat her encouragingly. The record came to an end on a last note of passion and pain.