A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth Page B

that so ?' said Lata severely.
     
     
'Courant and Robbins - it's an excellent work.'
     
     
'Oh ?' said Lata. Then, realizing that the young man was referring to the mathematics book she had picked randomly off the shelf, she said, 'Is it?' by way of closure.
     
     
But the young man was eager to continue the conversation.
     
     
'My father says so,' he went on. 'Not as a text but as a broad introduction to various, well, facets of the subject. He teaches maths at the university.'
     
     
Lata looked around to see if Malati was listening. But Malati was intent on her browsing in the front of the shop. Nor was anyone else eavesdropping; the shop was not busy at this time of year - or this time of day.
     
     
'Actually, I'm not interested in mathematics,' said Lata with an air of finality. The young man looked a littledowncast before he rallied and confided, genially: 'You know, nor am I. I'm a history student myself.'
     
     
Lata was amazed at his determination and, looking straight at him, said, 'I must go now. My friend is waiting for me.' Even as she was saying this, however, she could not help noticing how sensitive, even vulnerable, this wavy-haired young man looked. This appeared to contradict his determined, bold behaviour in speaking to an unknown, unintroduced, girl in a bookshop.
     
     
'I'm sorry, I suppose I've been disturbing you ?' he apologized, as if reading her thoughts.
     
     
'No,' said Lata. She was about to go to the front of the shop when he added quickly, with a nervous smile, 'In that case, may I ask you your name ?'
     
     
'Lata,' said Lata shortly, though she didn't see the logic of 'in that case'.
     
     
'Aren't you going to ask me mine?' asked the young man, his smile broadening amiably.
     
     
'No,' said Lata, quite kindly, and rejoined Malati, who had a couple of paperback novels in her hand.
     
     
'Who's he ?' whispered Malati conspiratorially.
     
     
'Just someone,' said Lata, glancing back a bit anxiously. 'I don't know. He just came up to me and began a conversation. Hurry up. Let's go. I'm feeling hungry. And thirsty. It's hot in here.'
     
     
The man at the counter was looking at Lata and Malati with the energetic friendliness he showered on regular customers. The little finger of his left hand was searching for wax in the crevices of his ear. He shook his head with reproving benevolence and said in Hindi to Malati:
     
     
'Exams are coming up, Malatiji, and you are still buying novels ? Twelve annas plus one rupee four annas makes two rupees altogether. I should not allow this. You are like daughters to me.'
     
     
'Balwantji, you would go out of business if we did not read your novels. We are sacrificing our examination results at the altar of your prosperity,' said Malati.
     
     
'I'm not,' said Lata. The young man must have disap-
     
     
64peared behind a bookshelf, because she couldn't see him anywhere.
     
     
'Good girl, good girl,' said Balwant, possibly referring to both of them.
     
     
'Actually, we were going to get some coffee and came into your shop unplanned,' said Malati, 'so I didn't bring - ' She left the sentence unfinished and flung a winning smile at Balwant.
     
     
'No, no, that is not necessary - you can give it later,' said Balwant. He and his brother extended terms of easy credit to many students. When asked whether this wasn't bad for business, they would reply that they had never lost money trusting anyone who bought books. And, certainly, they were doing very well for themselves. They reminded Lata of the priests of a well-endowed temple. The reverence with which the brothers treated their books supported the analogy.
     
     
'Since you suddenly feel famished, we are going straight to the Blue Danube,' said Malati decisively once they were outside the shop. 'And there you will tell me exactly what happened between that Cad and you.'
     
     
'Nothing,' said Lata.
     
     
'Hah!' said Malati in affectionate scorn. 'So what did you two talk about