Unseen Prose Passage

Granny knew I’d been in the train for two nights, and she had a huge breakfast ready for me. Later she told me there’d been a letter from Uncle Ken. "He says he’s the manager in Firpo’s hotel in Simla," she said. "The salary is very good. It’s a steady job and I hope he keeps it." Three days later Uncle Ken was on the veranda steps with his bedding roll and battered suitcase. "Have you given up the hotel job?" asked Granny. "No," said Uncle Ken. "They have closed down." "I hope it wasn’t because of you." "No, Aunt Ellen. The bigger hotels in the hill stations are closing down." "Well, never mind. Come along and have your lunch." Over lunch, Uncle Ken talked very seriously about ways and means of earning a living. "There is only one taxi in the whole of Dehra," he mused. "Surely there is business for another?" "I’m sure there is," said Granny. "But where does it get you? In the first place, you don’t have a taxi. And in the second place, you can’t drive." "I can soon learn. There’s a driving school in town. And I can use Uncle’s old car." "I don’t think it will run now," said Granny. "Of course, it will. It just needs some oiling and greasing and a spot of paint." "All right, learn to drive." So, Uncle Ken joined the driving school. After a month Uncle Ken announced that he could drive and that he was taking the car out for a trial run. "You haven’t got your license yet," said Granny. "Oh, I won’t take it far," said Uncle Ken. "Just down the road and back again." He spent all morning cleaning up the car. Granny gave him money for a can of petrol. After tea, Uncle Ken said, "Come along, Ruskin, hop in and I will give you a ride. Bring Mohan along too." Mohan and I needed no urging. We got into the car beside Uncle Ken. "Now don’t go too fast, Ken," said Granny anxiously. "You are not used to the car as yet." Uncle Ken nodded and smiled and gave two sharp toots on the horn. He was feeling pleased with himself. Driving through the gate, he nearly ran over a cat. Miss Kellner, coming out for her evening rickshaw ride, saw Uncle Ken at the wheel of the car and ran indoors again. Uncle Ken drove straight and fast, tootling the horn without a break. At the end of the road there was a roundabout. "We’ll turn here," said Uncle Ken, "and then drive back again." He turned the steering wheel, we began going round the roundabout, but the steering wheel wouldn’t turn all the way, not as much as Uncle Ken would have liked it to... So, instead he went on and straight through the Maharaja of Jetpur’s garden wall. It was a single-brick wall, and the car knocked it down and emerged on the other side without any damage to the car or any of its occupants. Uncle Ken brought it to a halt in the middle of the Maharaja’s lawn. Running across the grass came the Maharaja himself. When he saw that it was Uncle Ken at the wheel, the Maharaja beamed with pleasure. "Delighted to see you, old chap!" he exclaimed. "Jolly decent of you to drop in again. How about a game of tennis?"

Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bipin Chowdhury would drop in at New Market to buy books. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didn’t like spending time in idle chat. Those who called in the evening got through their business quickly and left. Those who didn’t show signs of leaving would be told around eight o’clock by Bipin Babu that he was under doctor’s orders to have dinner at eight-thirty. After dinner, he would rest for half an hour and then turn in with a book. This was a routine that had persisted unbroken for years. Today, Bipin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned around and found himself looking at a round-faced, meek-looking man who now broke into a smile. "I don’t suppose you recognize me." Bipin Babu felt ill at ease. It didn’t seem that he had ever encountered this man before. The face seemed quite unfamiliar. "Have we met before?" asked Bipin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. "We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. My name is Parimal Ghose." "Ranchi?" Now Bipin Babu realized this man was making a mistake. Bipin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He smiled and said, "Do you know who I am?" The man raised his eyebrows, and said, "Who doesn’t know Bipin Chowdhury?" Bipin Babu turned towards the bookshelves and said, "You’ve made a mistake. I’ve never been to Ranchi." The man now laughed aloud. "What are you saying, Mr. Chowdhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldn’t because of the pain in the knee. Can’t you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr. Dinesh Mukherjee. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didn’t like hotel food. I’ll tell you more; you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sightseeing trips. Am I right or not?" Bipin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. "Which month in Nineteen fifty-eight are you talking about?" The man said, "October." "No, sir," said Bipin Babu. "I spent October Nineteen fifty-eight with a friend in Kanpur. You’re making a mistake. Good day." But the man didn’t go, nor did he stop talking. "Very strange. One evening I had tea with you on the verandah of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife a decade ago." When Bipin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. Bipin Babu’s car was safely parked in Bertram Street. He told the driver as he got into the car, "Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram." Driving up the Strand Road, Bipin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi. He had an excellent memory. Unless he was losing his mind!

Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bipin Chowdhury would drop in at New Market to buy books. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didn’t like spending time in idle chat. Those who called in the evening got through their business quickly and left. Those who didn’t show signs of leaving would be told around eight o’clock by Bipin Babu that he was under doctor’s orders to have dinner at eight-thirty. After dinner, he would rest for half an hour and then turn in with a book. This was a routine that had persisted unbroken for years. Today, Bipin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned around and found himself looking at a round-faced, meek-looking man who now broke into a smile. "I don’t suppose you recognize me." Bipin Babu felt ill at ease. It didn’t seem that he had ever encountered this man before. The face seemed quite unfamiliar. "Have we met before?" asked Bipin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. "We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. My name is Parimal Ghose." "Ranchi?" Now Bipin Babu realized this man was making a mistake. Bipin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He smiled and said, "Do you know who I am?" The man raised his eyebrows, and said, "Who doesn’t know Bipin Chowdhury?" Bipin Babu turned towards the bookshelves and said, "You’ve made a mistake. I’ve never been to Ranchi." The man now laughed aloud. "What are you saying, Mr. Chowdhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldn’t because of the pain in the knee. Can’t you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr. Dinesh Mukherjee. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didn’t like hotel food. I’ll tell you more; you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sightseeing trips. Am I right or not?" Bipin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. "Which month in Nineteen fifty-eight are you talking about?" The man said, "October." "No, sir," said Bipin Babu. "I spent October Nineteen fifty-eight with a friend in Kanpur. You’re making a mistake. Good day." But the man didn’t go, nor did he stop talking. "Very strange. One evening I had tea with you on the verandah of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife a decade ago." When Bipin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. Bipin Babu’s car was safely parked in Bertram Street. He told the driver as he got into the car, "Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram." Driving up the Strand Road, Bipin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi. He had an excellent memory. Unless he was losing his mind!

For some time Mother had greatly envied us our swimming, both in the daytime and at night, but as she pointed out when we suggested she join us, she was far too old for that sort of thing. Eventually, however, under constant pressure from us, Mother paid a visit into town and returned to the villa coyly bearing a mysterious parcel. Opening this she astonished us all by holding up an extraordinary shapeless garment of black cloth, covered from top to bottom with hundreds of frills and pleats and tucks. "Well, what do you think of it?" Mother asked. We stared at the odd garment and wondered what it was for. "What is it?" asked Larry at length. "It’s a bathing-costume, of course," said Mother. "What on earth did you think it was?" "It looks to me like a badly-skinned whale," said Larry, peering at it closely. "You can’t possibly wear that, Mother," said Margo, horrified. "Why, it looks as though it was made in nineteen-twenty." "What are all those frills and things for?" asked Larry with interest. "Decoration, of course," said Mother indignantly. "What a jolly idea! Don’t forget to shake the fish out of them when you come out of the water." "Well, I like it, anyway," Mother said firmly, wrapping the monstrosity up again, "and I’m going to wear it." "You’ll have to be careful you don’t get waterlogged, with all that cloth around you," said Leslie seriously. "Mother, it’s awful; you can’t wear it," said Margo. "Why on earth didn’t you get something more up to date?" "When you get to my age, dear, you can’t go around in a two-piece bathing suit... you don’t have the figure for it." "I’d love to know what sort of figure that was designed for," remarked Larry. "You really are hopeless, Mother," said Margo despairingly. "But I like it... and I’m not asking you to wear it," Mother pointed out angrily. "That’s right, you do what you want to do," agreed Larry; "don’t be put off. It’ll probably suit you very well if you can grow another three or four legs to go with it." Mother snorted indignantly and swept upstairs to try on her costume. Presently she called to us to come and see the effect, and we all trooped up to the bedroom. Roger the dog was the first to enter, and on being greeted by this strange apparition clad in its voluminous black costume rippling with frills, he retreated hurriedly through the door, backward, barking ferociously. It was some time before we could persuade him that it really was Mother, and even then he kept giving her vaguely uncertain looks from the corner of his eye. However, in spite of all opposition, Mother stuck to her tent-like bathing-suit, and in the end we gave up. In order to celebrate her first entry into the sea we decided to have a moonlight picnic down at the bay, and sent an invitation to Theodore, who was the only stranger that Mother would tolerate on such a great occasion. The day for the great immersion arrived, food and wine were prepared, the boat was cleaned out and filled with cushions and everything was ready when Theodore turned up.

For some time Mother had greatly envied us our swimming, both in the daytime and at night, but as she pointed out when we suggested she join us, she was far too old for that sort of thing. Eventually, however, under constant pressure from us, Mother paid a visit into town and returned to the villa coyly bearing a mysterious parcel. Opening this she astonished us all by holding up an extraordinary shapeless garment of black cloth, covered from top to bottom with hundreds of frills and pleats and tucks. "Well, what do you think of it?" Mother asked. We stared at the odd garment and wondered what it was for. "What is it?" asked Larry at length. "It’s a bathing-costume, of course," said Mother. "What on earth did you think it was?" "It looks to me like a badly-skinned whale," said Larry, peering at it closely. "You can’t possibly wear that, Mother," said Margo, horrified. "Why, it looks as though it was made in nineteen-twenty." "What are all those frills and things for?" asked Larry with interest. "Decoration, of course," said Mother indignantly. "What a jolly idea! Don’t forget to shake the fish out of them when you come out of the water." "Well, I like it, anyway," Mother said firmly, wrapping the monstrosity up again, "and I’m going to wear it." "You’ll have to be careful you don’t get waterlogged, with all that cloth around you," said Leslie seriously. "Mother, it’s awful; you can’t wear it," said Margo. "Why on earth didn’t you get something more up to date?" "When you get to my age, dear, you can’t go around in a two-piece bathing suit... you don’t have the figure for it." "I’d love to know what sort of figure that was designed for," remarked Larry. "You really are hopeless, Mother," said Margo despairingly. "But I like it... and I’m not asking you to wear it," Mother pointed out angrily. "That’s right, you do what you want to do," agreed Larry; "don’t be put off. It’ll probably suit you very well if you can grow another three or four legs to go with it." Mother snorted indignantly and swept upstairs to try on her costume. Presently she called to us to come and see the effect, and we all trooped up to the bedroom. Roger the dog was the first to enter, and on being greeted by this strange apparition clad in its voluminous black costume rippling with frills, he retreated hurriedly through the door, backward, barking ferociously. It was some time before we could persuade him that it really was Mother, and even then he kept giving her vaguely uncertain looks from the corner of his eye. However, in spite of all opposition, Mother stuck to her tent-like bathing-suit, and in the end we gave up. In order to celebrate her first entry into the sea we decided to have a moonlight picnic down at the bay, and sent an invitation to Theodore, who was the only stranger that Mother would tolerate on such a great occasion. The day for the great immersion arrived, food and wine were prepared, the boat was cleaned out and filled with cushions and everything was ready when Theodore turned up.