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watching the twirling dancers I had found myself reliving that moment when, on
the ground with the pig s tusk touching my boot, the world had come rushing
back in on me. I met his gaze and said,  I ve never felt anything quite like
it.
His eyes held mine, and a look of what? understanding? memory? came into
them.  The exhilaration of survival. He said it so softly I didn t think it
was meant for me to hear. It was as if I had reminded him of something long
forgotten.
And then he blinked, and the moment passed.  So I take it to mean that you
will join us again.
 I don t know about that, I told him.  I should think the sensation becomes
less astonishing with repetition. It may be a thing that should be done once,
and treasured for its uniqueness.
I wished him a good night, and steered Sunny through the crowd of guests and
servants to the door. She paused to look back in, half wistful, and we both
saw the maharaja watching us.
On the stairway, she said to me,  He doesn t seem entirely happy.
 The maharaja? No, he doesn t, does he?
 But you d think, with all this . . . She gestured at the stones, the garden
beyond, the world created for this one man s pleasure.
I didn t answer. I thought the maharaja had, in fact, looked at me with envy.
And how else, if a man had arranged his entire life with the goal of
excitement? He had conquered every danger he had set himself against racing
cars, aeroplanes, casino tables, dangerous game animals fought with sparse
weapons; what thrills were there left to seek?
Chapter Eighteen
The morning found me aching from scalp to soles, and I nearlyasked
thechuprassiwho brought the tea tray to fetch me strong drink, or a nice dose
of morphia. But then I noticed the thick white envelope tucked under the
saucer, which proved to be a note written by the same elegant hand that
produced the daily schedule:
His Highness will see you at nine o clock for a tour of Khanpur zoo. Please
meet him in the toy room.
Under those circumstances, intoxication did not seem a good idea, so I waved
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the servant away and tottered into the bath-room to switch on the geyser. At
least with a gentle walking tour of the maharaja s zoo, I might avoid too much
sitting on my black-and-blue posterior.
The bath loosened me enough to dress and take a gentle turn through the
gardens, where the combination of motion and crisp, fresh air had me moving
almost normally as I turned for the dining room. Half a dozen of my fellow
guests were there, distributed among three tables. I waved to Faith and Lyn
but chose a seat near the novelist Trevor Wilson, whose presence in Khanpur
interested me. I eased myself onto the chair, murmured a greeting, and opened
his discarded copy of the previous day sPioneer. When he d had a few minutes
to become accustomed to my presence, I pushed the paper away as if weary of
the world s problems.
 Mr Wilson, pardon me, but you ve been here for quite a while, I believe you
said? It s just that I was thinking of taking a walk into the city this
afternoon, and wondered if there was anything you could suggest that I see
there?
 I m not much of one for sight-seeing, he answered, then proceeded to list
for me a dozen sights that should not be missed, encompassing as he did so a
fairly comprehensive history of Khanpur. I kept my gaze on him as he spoke,
nodding and exclaiming occasionally to keep him going. We spoke of Moghul
ruins and inheritance rights for a while as I slowly worked the conversation
around to what I was really interested in.
 So, how long have you actually been here?
 Eighteen months, more or less.
 I imagine you ll have enough material for half a dozen books, by the time
you leave.
He couldn t hide a wince, although whether at the idea of leaving or of
writing, I couldn t be certain.  Oh, exotic adventure stories aren t exactly
my bailiwick. The book of his that I had read comprised two hundred pages of
hallucination, internal monologue, and sexual reminiscences on the part of a
young man who lay in hospital after having been sent down from Cambridge, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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