The Pointing Man | Page 3

he became the shop assistant of Mhtoon
Pah. He was useful because he could speak English, and he had been
dressing-boy to a married Sahib who lived in a big house at the end of
the Cantonment, therefore he knew something of the ways of
Mem-Sahibs; and he had taken a prize at the Sunday school, therefore
Absalom was a boy of good character, and was known very nearly as
well as Mhtoon Pah himself.
It was a hot, stifling evening, the evening of July the 29th. The rains
had lashed the country for days, and even the trees that grew in among
the houses of Paradise Street were fresh and green, though one of the
hot, burning breaks of blue sky and glaring sunlight had baked the road
into Indian-red dust once more, and the interior of Mhtoon Pah's curio
shop was heavy with stale scents and dark shadows that crept out as the
gloom of evening settled in upon it. Mhtoon Pah moved about looking
at his goods, and touching them with careful hands. He hovered over an
ivory lady carrying an umbrella, and looked long at a white marble
Buddha, who returned his look with an equally inscrutable regard. The
Buddha sat cross-legged, thinking for ever and ever about eternity, and
Mhtoon Pah moved round in red velvet toe-slippers, pattering lightly as
he went, for in spite of his bulk Mhtoon Pah had an almost soundless
walk. Having gone over everything and stood to count the silver bowls,
he waited as though he was listening, and after a little the light creak of
the staircase warned him that steps were coming towards the shop from
the upper rooms.
"Absalom," he called, and the steps hurried, and after a moment's talk
to which the boy listened carefully as though receiving directions, he
told him to close the shop and place his chair at the top of the steps, as
he desired to sit outside and look at the street.

When the chair was placed, Mhtoon Pah took up his elevated position
and smoked silently. The toil of the day was over, and he leaned his
arm along the back of his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. He
could hear Absalom closing the shop behind him, and he turned his
curious, expressionless eyes upon the boy as he passed down the steps
and mingled with the crowd in the street. Just opposite, a story-teller
squatted on the ground in the centre of a group of men who laughed
and clapped their hands, his flashing teeth and quick gesticulations
adding to each point he made; it was still clear enough to see his
alternating expression of assumed anger or amusement. It was clear
enough to notice the coloured scarves and smiling faces of a bullock
cart full of girls going slowly homewards, and it was clear enough to
see and recognize the Rev. Francis Heath, hurrying at speed between
the crowd; clear enough to see the Rev. Francis stop for a moment to
wish his old pupil Absalom good evening, and then vanish quickly like
a figure flashed on a screen by a cinematograph.
Lights came out in high windows and sounds of bagpipes and beating
tom-toms began inside the open doors of a nautch house. An
evil-looking house where green dragons curled up the fretted entrance,
and where, overhead, faces peered from a balcony into the street. There
was noise enough there to attract any amount of attention. Smart
carriages, with white-uniformed syces, hurried up, bearing stout,
plethoric men from the wharf offices, and Mhtoon Pah saluted several
of the sahibs, who reclined in comfort behind fine pairs of trotting
horses.
Their time for passing having gone, and the street relieved of the
disturbance, lamps were carried out and set upon tables and booths, but
a few red streaks of evening tinted the sky, and faces that passed were
still recognizable. A bay pony ridden by a lady almost at a gallop came
so fast that she was up the street and round the corner in a twinkling. If
Mrs. Wilder was dining out on the night of July 29th she was running
things close; equally so if she was receiving guests.
A flare of light from a window opposite fell across the face of the
dancing man, who pointed at Mhtoon Pah, and appeared to make him

offer his principal for sale, or introduce him to the street with an
indicating finger. The gloom grew, calling out the lights into strength,
but the concourse did not thin: it only gathered in numbers, and the
long, moaning hoot of an out-going tramp filled the air as though with a
wail of sorrow at departure. Lascars in coal-begrimed tunics joined in
with the rest, adding their voices to the