“Vairum is in Madras at present,” Sivakami informs her son-in-law, “though we expect him back tonight. You know he does so much of his business there, now, he has even bought a house. He is there two or three days every week. Will you have coffee?”

“Yes, of course.” Goli leaps to his feet. “You tell him to wait for me-when is it?”

“He gets back, I don’t know, tonight some time,” Sivakami repeats, unsure if he has said he wants coffee.

“… if he wants to make a deal.” Goli has exited.

Sivakami sighs, unable to decide whether she should pass on the message. There’s no guarantee that Goli has anything to offer that Vairum would want, and the chances of his returning the next day are so uncertain. After the previous fiasco, why try again? Goli ran his cinema into the ground within a year, Vairum told her.

She decides to ask Muchami what the chances are that Vairum would simply catch wind of whatever it is Goli wants of him.

“Oh, don’t worry, Amma,” Muchami tells her as he supervises the replacement of some bricks in the floor of the main hall. “No doubt the son-in-law will show up at the clubhouse tonight to play cards. The son-in-law will talk about his business as he plays and I will find out. When Vairum returns tonight, he will have to meet with his manager about the plant opening tomorrow, so word may reach him of the son-in-law’s business, but if Vairum doesn’t find out what is happening before me, I will tell him first thing tomorrow. Okay? Taken care of.”

If Sivakami were still looking, she would have seen Muchami’s reassuring smile fade as he turns back to his work. Muchami doesn’t know what Goli plans on proposing to Vairum, but a few weeks ago an old Cholapatti acquaintance of Goli’s had asked Muchami to give Goli a message: Goli, she said, owed her money. This was not someone who had bought a deer’s head, though the debt dated to that period. It was the devadasi. Muchami had had to ask Vairum’s assistance, being unable to write himself and wanting to keep the contents of the message within the family. The letter had probably prompted this visit and spurred an even greater than usual desire in Goli for some fast cash.

Muchami finishes his work with all the appearance of calm. His next chore is to whitewash the upstairs rooms. It is the season; the relatively cool, damp weather helps the whitewash to cure and so every house on the Brahmin quarter undergoes this makeover in preparation for the harvest festival. When Muchami finishes, around five-thirty, Vairum still hasn’t returned. Muchami goes home, and after a bath and his evening meal, goes out again. He had had thoughts, anyway, of going out that night on a personal errand, the sort he still runs occasionally. He stops by the Kulithalai clubhouse on his way and makes a pretense of buying a bottle of goli choda, a lime-flavoured carbonated drink. Muchami hates the stuff but pops the wax seal on the glass marble stopper, and pretends to drink, just outside the door, where he can listen to the men inside.

The next day, Janaki arrives at school before Bharati. When Bharati shows up and takes her seat at their shared school bench, Janaki makes the signal that is shorthand for their latest big joke, something to do with their maths sir’s stooped posture. Today, Bharati doesn’t laugh, not even a snort, but stares straight ahead. Janaki looks at her in concern. Bharati turns as though she is going to ask Janaki a painful question, and enjoy asking it. Then their maths sir enters, loping under the burden of his body. The girls face forward in silence, looking down at the slates in their laps.

Their silence lasts until eleven-thirty, when their lunch gang joins them, pulling other benches over to form a triangle where the five meet daily. Bharati, of whom they are all afraid, narrows her fish-shaped eyes-liquid brown irises, whites shot with blood in the manner of classical beauties-and tells them, “Go away.”

They all stop. She says again, “Eat somewhere else today.” They back away without question.

Janaki asks, “What is wrong?”

Bharati freezes a look on Janaki and asks in a voice glittering darkly, “Why don’t you ask our father?”

Janaki doesn’t understand this, nor does she know how to reply.

Bharati replies for her. ‘ “Our father, what do you mean our father?’ Oh, I was surprised, too, let me tell you. Turns out your dad and my mother were friendly way back, before my mother met the man I’ve called Appa all these years. He’s a Brahmin, too, a freedom fighter, a Congressman, and now he’s in jail, and can’t give us money like he always has. He’s very honourable,” she says pointedly, so Janaki understands this to be a contrast with Goli. “He got to know my mother just after I was born. Now I know why my younger sisters don’t look much like me! Anyway, now my mother told your father it’s time he chips in, and he thinks he can sweet-talk and bully my amma into letting him off the hook.” Bharati leans in close. “It’s the age of Kali, my grandmother says: the brave are in jail and cowards walk free.”

Janaki is trembling. She still doesn’t understand much except that her family’s honour is at stake. She points at her friend. “You are the coward. You are so full of lies you wouldn’t know the truth if it punched you in the nose.”

And then she punches her friend in the nose. Bharati comes at Janaki, scratching her temple and cheek. Janaki hits at her, and Bharati grabs her by the hair saying, again in that voice like mica, “Where does your father go at night, if you know so much?”

The other children have collected in a wide circle around them. Janaki is slap-scratching anything within reach but replies reasonably, because she knows the answer. “He goes to the club.”

Bharati tosses her to the packed-earth floor and hisses, “Where does he go after the club?”

Janaki is weeping. Bharati walks away. As the teachers hurry over, Janaki yells, “I don’t even know where your house is.”

Bharati spits back over her shoulder, “Follow him tonight. You’ll find it soon enough.”

She pushes her way past teachers and students, to wash her face and clothes at the school pump. Neither girl is permitted to walk home unescorted, so, abject, stony, dishevelled, they finish out the afternoon on their shared bench.

As Janaki is learning things about her father that she doesn’t want to hear and claims not to believe, the man himself mounts the steps of Sivakami’s veranda. Vairum, having spent the morning inspecting the oil processing plant he is to open that afternoon, is lying down for a few minutes before leaving to drop in at Minister’s salon.

“Hullo!” Goli yells from the door. “Hullo! Vairum! Big chances afoot-come on out.”

Vairum slowly descends the spiral staircase into the main hall, as Sivakami, having her own meal in the kitchen, stands hurriedly and goes to wash her hands.

“Well, well!” Goli rubs his own hands together. “You are looking prosperous these days-filling out!” Vairum puts his hands on his hips as Goli continues, “So-I have a proposal.”

“Want to sell me another tract of your family land, eh?” Vairum stands on the last step, looking down at Goli. “Must be getting down to the last few parcels now. I sent for the registrar first thing this morning to make sure this wouldn’t take any longer than necessary.”

The young official, who had been sitting in the vestibule between the front door and the entrance to the main hall, unfolds his gaunt frame and pokes his head in hopefully.

Goli looks at him stupidly and then points at Vairum. “You hang on-don’t you assume anything, little man. We’ve got some bargaining to do.”

“I pay better than anyone else in the presidency, Athimbere, in part so I don’t have to waste time bargaining. Your father knew that better than anyone, and I know you know it, too, which is why you’re coming to me.”

“How dare you mention my late father,” Goli snarls, advancing on Vairum.