Classic Ruskin Bond by Ruskin Bond Read Free Book Online Page B

dribbled slightly. An awkward silence fell on the company; but Kapoor, who was a friendly, gentle sort of drunkard, looked round benevolently and said, ‘Everybody here? Fine, fine, they are all here, all of them . . . Throw some more wood on the fire!’
    The fire was doing very well indeed, but not well enough for Kapoor; every now and then he would throw a log on the flames until it was feared the blaze would reach the house. Meena, Kapoor’s wife, did not look flustered, only irritated; she was a capable person, still young, a charming hostess, and, in her red sari and white silk jacket, her hair plaited and scented with jasmine, she looked beautiful. Rusty gazed admiringly at her; he wanted to compliment her, to say, ‘Mrs Kapoor, you are beautiful’, but he had no need to tell her, she was fully conscious of the fact.
    Meena made her way over to one of the Big Men, and whispered something in his ear, and then she went to a Little Shopkeeper and whispered something in his ear, and then boththe Big Man and the Little Shopkeeper advanced stealthily towards the spot where Mr Kapoor was holding forth, and made a gentle attempt to convey him indoors.
    But Kapoor was having none of it. He pushed the men aside and roared, ‘Keep the fire burning! Keep it burning, don’t let it go out, throw some more wood on it!’
    And, before he could be restrained, he had thrown a pot of the most delicious sweetmeats on to the flames.
    To Rusty this was sacrilege. ‘Oh, Mr Kapoor . . .’ he cried, but there was some confusion in the rear, and his words were drowned in a series of explosions.
    Suri and one or two others had begun letting off fireworks: fountains, rockets and explosives. The fountains gushed forth in green and red and silver lights, and the rockets struck through the night with crimson tails; but it was the explosives that caused the confusion. The guests did not know whether to press forward into the fires, or retreat amongst the fireworks; neither prospect was pleasing, and the women began to show signs of hysterics. Then Suri burnt his finger and began screaming, and this was all the women had been waiting for; headed by Suri’s mother, they rushed the boy and smothered him with attention; whilst the men, who were in a minority, looked on sheepishly and wished the accident had been of a more serious nature.
    Something rough brushed against Rusty’s cheek.
    It was Kapoor’s beard. Somi had brought his host to Rusty, the bemused man put his face close to Rusty’s and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders in order to steady himself. Kapoor nodded his head, his eyes red and watery.
    ‘Rusty . . . so you are Mister Rusty . . . I hear you are going to be my schoolteacher.’
    ‘Your son’s, sir,’ said Rusty, ‘but that is for you to decide.’
    ‘Do not call me “Sir”,’ he said, wagging his finger in Rusty’s face, ‘call me by my name. So you are going to England, eh?’
    ‘No, I’m going to be your schoolteacher.’ Rusty had to put his arm round Kapoor’s waist to avoid being dragged to the ground; Kapoor leant heavily on the boy’s shoulders.
    ‘Good, good. Tell me after you have gone, I want to give you some addresses of people I know. You must go to Monte Carlo, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve seen Monte Carlo, it’s the only place with a future . . . Who built Monte Carlo, do you know?’
    It was impossible for Rusty to make any sense of the conversation or discuss his appointment as Professor of English for Kishen Kapoor. Kapoor began to slip from his arms, and the boy took the opportunity of changing his own position for a more comfortable one, before levering his host up again. The amused smiles of the company rested on this little scene.
    Rusty said, ‘No, Mr Kapoor, who built Monte Carlo?’
    ‘I did. I built Monte Carlo!’
    ‘Oh yes, of course.’
    ‘Yes, I built this house, I’m a genius, there’s no doubt of it! I have a high opinion of my own opinion,