part0011

The speaker was Robert Nicholson, and the time, a day before his departure to England. He had shown Ted Baker all his duties. He had conducted him around the area of his administration, and now felt certain that his young protégé would do a fairly good job after taking over where he had left off.

The elder man smiled wryly. His companion's flattery pleased him not a little, but his smile was occasioned by the conscious knowledge of how much really remained to be done despite his indefatigable efforts in the years that had passed.

"And of course, there are the reams of paper work", he continued. "Always try to keep abreast of them and never allow them to fall into arrears. For once that happens it's most difficult to catch up again. Not that I consider the half of it necessary", he mused, "The I.G.P. at Madras seems to forget we are policemen with heaps of executive work to do. Instead, he buries us beneath avalanches of memos, often calling for detailed reports on trivial matters. At times, I wrote letters all day as if I was a member of some correspondence club. Matters have become much worse latterly, ever since the coming of this damned with little or no work to do. But those good old days have gone. If I had my way, I would've eliminated this Gandhi pest years ago. But, as usual, the British are slack and lenient—far too soft. Now the struggle has come, and by God it has come to stay. What's worse, it's growing; and I don't know how or where it'll end".

Ted Baker listened patiently to his compatriot. In the few weeks he had been with him he had come to like Robbie immensely, although he recognised that the elder man had distinctively imperialistic ideas. Ted excused him for this, remembering that he came from the old school of colonists who had spent so many years in the country that they seemed incapable of adapting themselves to the changing times.

Such deep resentment was to be expected from one who had experienced servility all his lifetime from the Indians, and discovered suddenly that that obsequiousness had disappeared.

He was brought back from his musings by Nicholson's voice.

“Do keep in touch with me, my boy. Write to the address I've given you and pass me all the news. Damn it all, man", the old policeman's voice grew husky and trembled audibly, "I cursed this country, I cursed its climate, its people, and well-nigh everything I could curse; I longed to go home for good. But now that the time has come, I feel a strange void within me for which I cannot account, because, and here his voice grew huskier and fell almost to a whisper, "although I cursed India, I love her. The reality of parting with her forever has brought me face to face with myself and the make-believe I had built up around me".

His eyes were unnaturally bright as he ceased speaking, and Ted became aware that, despite his gruff and stern exterior, Robert Nicholson was crying—that is, crying as much as a seasoned old veteran would permit himself to cry.

A lump arose in Ted's throat and he had to swallow hard. He forced himself to look out of the window, for it is difficult to witness a strong man's grief and yet remain unmoved. Nicholson was silent for a while. Then he opened the box of Trichinopoly cigars that lay on his table.

"Help yourself", he invited, and selected a cheroot. He lit it and when the tip began to glow puffed five or six times to ensure the cigar was burning evenly. Drawing in the smoke contentedly, he exhaled it in a thin blue stream and watched as it floated towards the roof.

"I hope I shall be able to buy these in England" he commented.

"Don't worry, sir", Ted remarked laughingly. "I'll send you boxes of them regularly. That's a promise".

"Thanks, Ted. And I'll send you something from home in return. Whatever you would like".

Both men ceased speaking and the cheap, Government-supplied clock ticked out the seconds loudly from the place where it hung on the wall of Robert's erstwhile office. He was thinking. Each minute brings my farewell to India nearer.

Then Nicholson took a slow, deep breath. "I'm going to say something now which I would not dream of telling any other man. But I want to say it to you, Ted, because . . ." and here he halted for a few seconds, "because I like you. I hope you won't be offended. If I tread on any soft spot please don't hesitate to say, 'shut up', and I'll close up like a clam. May I?" He looked up at Baker, his piercing brown eyes voicing his query.

"By all means go ahead, sir", invited Ted, wondering what was coming, "your advice is far too valuable' to resent".

"Well then, since you've asked for it. Keep away from that damned Greystone woman".

Robert Nicholson looked at Ted Baker squarely. The latter turned red and started to stammer a denial.

But Robert cut him short. "Look Ted, I'm an old man and I've seen life. There was a time when I was young like you, and as hot-blooded. I've had my little adventures with women".

A half-smile flitted over his lined face as his mind rolled back across the years. "I've been tempted myself, and I've seen women tempt men. And such a woman is Ruth Greystone. It's as obvious as the nose on your face that she's out to entangle you with her wiles. I saw that at your first visit. Listen. You must never let it happen, do you hear me! John Greystone is too fine a chap for one of us to seduce his wife, even if it's done unsuspectingly and unwillingly. John is a good fellow; while Ruth is a bitch".

Ted felt himself becoming angry at being forced to listen to all this. Just because he is my elder, and my official superior, doesn't mean that I have to allow him such liberties, he reasoned.