Devil's Rock Part 13

'What makes you think there's something wrong?' Zaki asked defensively. It was none of her business.

a.n.u.sha looked away. She fiddled with the snack-bar wrapper. 'Just then you looked like you wanted to cry.'

Zaki bit his lip. He stood up and wandered to the back of the landing stage. Did telling people things make them more likely to happen? If he told a.n.u.sha that his parents were splitting up, would that mean that they would split up? When his throat stopped hurting, he went and sat down again.

'My mum's been away a long time,' he said. 'I don't think she's going to come back.' There it was out. It was real. He'd given it life. He couldn't stop it happening.

They sat in silence, looking out across the estuary. Grey cloud was spreading from the south-west and the water had lost its sparkle, turning dark and uninviting. The breeze was picking up, ruffling the surface, the cold gusts sending cat's paws racing, like shadows, towards them.

a.n.u.sha s.h.i.+vered. 'It's getting chilly. What do you want to do?'

'I don't know. I don't much want to go home.'

'Why don't you come back to my place for a bit? We can have a look at the tape from the camcorder. Maybe we'll be able to see something if we watch it on a big screen.'

'Would that be OK with your parents?'

'They won't mind. And you could dry off; you're still half-soaked.'

School would be out in an hour and Zaki had no desire to meet any of his cla.s.smates; he set a brisk pace on the walk back into town, hoping to get indoors before the surging ma.s.s of school uniforms flooded up the high street. Much of the time, pa.s.sing traffic forced them to walk in single file, so there was little chance for further conversation, which left plenty of s.p.a.ce for one question to nag at Zaki's mind when the unknown thing had control of his body, why hadn't it tried to use the bracelet? Had a.n.u.sha disturbed it before it had a chance?

Zaki could feel the weight of the bracelet in his pocket. a.n.u.sha had suggested that her father might know where it was from. Should he show it to him, if he got the chance?

Chapter 14.

They were seated around the dinner table, Zaki, a.n.u.sha and her parents. At first Zaki had felt uncomfortable, not sure how he should behave, watching the others for clues. The food had been placed in the middle of the table and Mr Dalal had said, 'Help yourself! Help yourself! No need to wait for an invitation in this house.' But Zaki thought there might be a special order in which he should help himself from the different dishes and he was worried about taking too much. In the end Mrs Dalal had come to his rescue, spooning a large helping of rice on to his plate and then samples from the other bowls with the instruction to 'See what you like and help yourself to more'.

It had been a long time since Zaki had taken part in a family meal. At home, since his mother left, they seldom ate together and, if they did, it was usually in front of the television. The novelty of all eating together added to Zaki's discomfort, but the Dalals made sure he was included in the easy chatter and Zaki soon found that he was enjoying himself.

On arrival at a.n.u.sha's place, Zaki had been sent upstairs to take a shower while his clothes were rinsed and tumble-dried, then Mrs Dalal had inspected his injuries and applied ointment to the cut on his cheek. Quite what a.n.u.sha had said to her while he was showering he never discovered, but there were no awkward questions during the meal and no one mentioned their absence from school.

The white walls of the room in which they ate were decorated with pieces of brightly coloured, printed fabric Indian, Zaki supposed, but he didn't really know. He thought of the bare walls of the living room at home. n.o.body could see the point of putting up pictures when they all knew they would soon be moving on again.

There were shelves with a great many books and CDs. Woven rugs were scattered on the wooden floor.

A curious, grotesque mask hung on the wall directly opposite Zaki's place at the table. Its gaping mouth was full of large, discoloured teeth, and curved fangs protruded from the corners. The eyes were bulbous and the forehead was crowned with a coiled cobra that appeared ready to strike. The skin was painted yellow and the lips a garish red.

Zaki couldn't help noticing the large number of drums, musical instruments and instrument cases around the room and when Mr Dalal saw Zaki's eyes wandering from one instrument to another he struck his forehead in mock horror crying, 'Ah, how rude! We should have introduced you to the rest of the family.'

'Sandeep! Don't tease him,' scolded Mrs Dalal.

'Who's teasing? All the instruments have names, don't they?'

'Just ignore him, Zaki,' said Mrs Dalal. 'Poor Sandeep is a musician, so he can't help being mad, and he's also a mathematician, so he's doubly crazy.' She was pa.s.sing behind her husband's chair as she spoke and she put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a playful hug.

'That's why she loves me,' said Mr Dalal, looking very pleased with himself.

'Go and fetch the ice cream. Make yourself useful,' said Mrs Dalal.

'Do you know that we Indians are the greatest mathematicians in the world?' asked Mr Dalal as he prepared to leave the room. 'It's true! We invented everything, even zero. Without us, you'd still be counting on your fingers.'

'Out!' shouted Mrs Dalal, shaking a large serving spoon at him while she cleared plates from the table.

Mr Dalal danced out of the room while his wife shook her head despairingly.

'I met him in Vienna,' she said, as though that explained his antics.

'Were you on holiday?' asked Zaki.

'No, I was studying the cello; Sandeep was studying mathematics and teaching cla.s.sical Indian music. I went to one of his cla.s.ses thought it would make a change from Mozart. After that I seemed to keep b.u.mping into him and every time we met he complained about being hungry Sandeep's a vegetarian and Austrian food's all meat. One day, he said if I could find the ingredients he would teach me to cook an Indian meal. And that's how we got to know each other food and music.'

'Music is the food of love,' sang Mr Dalal, returning with the ice cream. 'It was your good karma that guided you to your wonderful husband.'

Mrs Dalal stuck her tongue out at him and carried the plates to the kitchen.

'What's karma?' asked Zaki.

'It means you cause what happens to you,' said a.n.u.sha. 'If you do good things, then good things will happen to you.'

'More or less,' said Mr Dalal. 'It's a bit more complicated than that.'

'So if bad things are happening, then you must have done something wrong,' said Zaki, and the empty, hopeless feeling started to grow inside him again.

A quick look pa.s.sed between father and daughter.

'What's happening now can be to do with something in a previous life, and you can be affected by other people's karma, and some people believe in the karma of places, even countries collective karma if you like,' said Mr Dalal.

'Is it like you're being punished?' asked Zaki.

'No, no, no.' Mr Dalal waved his hands. 'Karma should not be confused with rewards and punishments. This is not the way to think about karma. No, no. Karma is more like a natural force like gravity. Listen if I park my car on a hill and forget to put on the handbrake, what will happen?'

'It will roll down the hill.'

'Yes, and most likely smash into something at the bottom. But was the car trying to punish me?'

'Not really.'

'No, of course not. The car was just doing what it had to do because of gravity and no handbrake. Now, I might feel as though I was being punished for being stupid, but the car wasn't punis.h.i.+ng me, G.o.d wasn't punis.h.i.+ng me, it was simply cause and effect physics. You see? Karma is more like that.'

Zaki nodded. 'Do you think we really do have other lives?' he asked.

'This is getting very serious,' remarked Mrs Dalal, who was leaning in the kitchen doorway listening to their conversation.

'Yes, but very interesting!' said Mr Dalal with enthusiasm.

'Wouldn't we remember being alive before if you know we had been here before?'

'Can you remember being a baby?' asked Mr Dalal.

Zaki shook his head.

'But you wouldn't deny that you were a baby! Can you remember having a very vivid dream?'

Zaki nodded. He'd had rather a lot of those recently.

'But while you were having that dream you were actually lying in your bed and not flying through the air, or whatever it was you remember doing in your dream. True?'

'Well, yes I suppose.'

'So what we do or don't remember is not a very good guide to what has actually taken place. Just because you don't remember being here before doesn't mean you weren't here. Does it?'

'But, Dad,' a.n.u.sha interrupted, 'our bodies weren't here before. How could we be here before our bodies were even born!?'

'It depends whether or not we're just bodies and it depends what we mean by "before". Time, to a mathematician, is a very interesting thing.'

'Speaking of time,' said Mrs Dalal, 'I think it's time Zaki called his father.'

Zaki felt instantly miserable. He hadn't spoken to his father since stepping out of the van that morning. Now Now, Zaki thought, I'll be in trouble for skipping school. I'll be in trouble for skipping school. Well, it wasn't his fault everything was such a mess! Well, it wasn't his fault everything was such a mess!

'I told my dad I might come here,' he said, rather weakly.

Zaki saw a look pa.s.s between a.n.u.sha and her mother.

Mrs Dalal smiled. 'Would you prefer me to call him?'

Zaki could think of nothing he would like more.

'Would you like to stay over? We've got a spare room?' asked Mrs Dalal.

He felt a great surge of relief. 'Would that be OK?'

'Tell me your number and I'll see what I can do,' said Mrs Dalal.

Zaki told her the number and she left the room.

'Now, where were we?' asked Mr Dalal, clapping his hands together. 'The problems of life and time yes? The question of who we really are and where we really are. What is life? What is real?' His eyes sparkled as he looked from Zaki to his daughter. He was obviously enjoying himself.

'Well, are you going to tell us?' a.n.u.sha demanded.

'Me?!' cried Mr Dalal, throwing up his hands. 'What makes you think I know?'

'You're older. You've lived longer.'

'Ah! Only in this life,' said Mr Dalal with a sly chuckle.

'What's the point of having other lives if you can't remember them?' asked Zaki.

'Does there have to be a point?'

'Well . . .' began Zaki.

'We'd like there to be a point. We all want a reason for being here, but that suggests there is somebody out there who thought it all up an inventor G.o.d with a big master plan. Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't. Personally, I like to invent my own life. I don't want life to be a test that I can get right or wrong. Do you think, when we die, G.o.d gives us marks out of ten? "Dear, dear, deary-me! Sorry, Mr Dalal nought out of ten for you. You completely missed the point of your life."'

The cut on Zaki's cheek began to itch and p.r.i.c.kle. He rubbed it with the tips of his fingers. His present life was complicated enough; he didn't want to contemplate the possibility of others.

'If we're not just bodies, what else are we?' asked a.n.u.sha.

Zaki looked expectantly at a.n.u.sha's father, hoping for a clear answer. Hoping for some explanation for today's events. How was it that he had been able to slip out of his body? After all, he'd always thought he was his body. He hoped Mr Dalal would talk about souls or spirits.

Mr Dalal thought for a minute. 'You'd agree, wouldn't you, that a dead body is not the same as a living one?'

'Of course,' said a.n.u.sha.

'Doesn't that answer your question?'

'That's the trouble with Dad,' a.n.u.sha said to Zaki, 'he can never give you a straight answer!'

'Sometimes, when I'm sailing our boat, I forget about everything,' said Zaki slowly. There was something here, he was sure, but it kept slipping out of his reach.

Mr Dalal leant forward. 'Go on.'

Zaki hesitated, searching for the right words. 'It just feels right right to be there right to be doing what I'm doing. I think that's when I'm really me. I don't think that particular me has got anything to do with being in this particular body.'

'I would say you've found your true ident.i.ty,' said Mr Dalal with a big smile.

Mrs Dalal came back into the room and sat down next to Zaki. 'Your dad says that's fine and I told him I'd make sure you found your way home tomorrow.' This time it was Mrs Dalal who shot a meaningful glance at her daughter, who pulled a face. It seemed to Zaki that there was always a second conversation going on in this family, a conversation of the eyes in which unspoken understandings flashed backwards and forward.

'Thank you,' said Zaki. It felt good to be looked after.

'What have I missed?' asked Mrs Dalal.

'Dad's been going on,' said a.n.u.sha.

'Sandeep, you're not boring our visitor, are you?'

'Not even minutely,' declared Mr Dalal, quite unabashed.

Zaki felt for the bracelet in his pocket. He eased it out and laid it on the dining table. Mr Dalal's expression became suddenly serious. He looked from the bracelet to Zaki and raised one eyebrow.

'a.n.u.sha said you might know where it's from,' said Zaki.