The Crow Eaters by Bapsi Sidhwa Page A

chair. ‘Sit down. You can’t work on Sunday. What will the padres at Saint Anthony’s say if you do business on a Sabbath? They will throw the children out of school!’
    There was a titter of laughter. Freddy affectionately loosened the grip of the other’s arm and slipping out of reach waved, ‘I’ll be back soon.’
    Freddy went straight to the rented warehouse and deposited the crates. Then he headed home. There was very little traffic on the streets. He parked the tonga in a lane two blocks from the back alley and walked to his own lane. The narrow alley was deserted. Putting a key in the lock he quickly opened the door and stepped inside. As far as he could make out no one had seen him.
    Now everything would have to be done in split seconds. He had rehearsed these few moments so often that he found himself moving like an automaton.
    Freddy removed two gallon cans of kerosene oil, a pair of rubber gloves and an old oilskin coat from an attic beneath the steps. Deftly rolling up his sleeves he put on the gloves and the long coat. Unscrewing the caps on the cans he poured some oil over the heap of old newspapers in the attic. One after the other he opened the store-rooms and sprinkled oil on a few crates and gunny bags, counting on the cheap stock of spirits and rum to do the main work.
    Stepping into the main storeroom, Freddy felt trapped by a sudden grip of sentimental sorrow. This would never do! Wrenching his mind back to his task, he doused the old desk and counter. He sprinkled oil on shelves, painfully averting his eyes from the discolouring labels on biscuit cans, tea and honey jars as the oil spread.
    He led a trail from the desk, through the passage, to the attic. He crept up the wooden steps pouring a steady trickle of oil.When he reached the landing on top he listened. The house was absolutely quiet. The dining room door was closed. He held his breath. He thought he heard the faint vibration of Jerbanoo’s snores coming through the rear of the house, behind the
other room
. Quickly, stealthily, he climbed down.
    Freddy entered one of the musty, lightless store-rooms. He struck a match and held it briefly to a sack reeking of oil. The room lit up in a flash. There was a great billow of smoke that stung Freddy’s eyes. Stepping out quickly, he locked the door. Rushing at a frantic pace, his movements economical and precise, he repeated the performance in the other two storerooms and locked the doors. His eyes streaming, he sprinkled the remaining oil all over the floor and flung the empty cans into the attic. He tossed a lighted match in behind them and as the attic exploded in a blinding flare, Freddy shut the door and threw himself against it in a crazy, heart-pounding jolt of panic. He heard a subdued, hissing roar. Shedding his coat and gloves he fled to the landing. Composing himself, he stepped out into the alley and locked the door with trembling fingers.
    A short while later he was dealing out a deck of cards and bluffing his way to a tidy little pile of chips.
    But, why did Freddy, obviously shrewd and far-sighted, attempt something as commonplace as arson and murder in order to benefit through insurance? A time-worn scheme – but not in India in the year 1901, among a semi-starved mass of superstitious people. Here a religiously conditioned, fatalistic people were unconditionally resigned to the ups and downs of life. They were an obedient and spiritually preoccupied race, used to being governed, slavishly subservient to their masters, to law, order and decree. In other words, an oriental people as yet quite unused to the ways of the West and its political, industrial and criminal practices.
    Insurance in India was in its infancy. Its opportunities struck Freddy as brand new; a creative thought without precedent. In its own way, Freddy’s brainwave was as unique as the discovery of the wheel.

Chapter 11
    JERBANOO tossed on her charpoy. Noise disturbed her dreams. There was a far-away