A Passage to India, E. M. Forster [book series for 10 year olds TXT] 📗

“She is in no state to see anyone. Besides, you don’t know her well.”

“Hardly at all.⁠ ⁠… But you see I believe she’s under some hideous delusion, and that that wretched boy is innocent.”

The policeman started in surprise, and a shadow passed over his face, for he could not bear his dispositions to be upset. “I had no idea that was in your mind,” he said, and looked for support at the signed deposition, which lay before him.

“Those field-glasses upset me for a minute, but I’ve thought since: it’s impossible that, having attempted to assault her, he would put her glasses into his pocket.”

“Quite possible, I’m afraid; when an Indian goes bad, he goes not only very bad, but very queer.”

“I don’t follow.”

“How should you? When you think of crime you think of English crime. The psychology here is different. I dare say you’ll tell me next that he was quite normal when he came down from the hill to greet you. No reason he should not be. Read any of the Mutiny records; which, rather than the Bhagavad Gita, should be your Bible in this country. Though I’m not sure that the one and the other are not closely connected. Am I not being beastly? But, you see, Fielding, as I’ve said to you once before, you’re a schoolmaster, and consequently you come across these people at their best. That’s what puts you wrong. They can be charming as boys. But I know them as they really are, after they have developed into men. Look at this, for instance.” He held up Aziz’ pocket-case. “I am going through the contents. They are not edifying. Here is a letter from a friend who apparently keeps a brothel.”

“I don’t want to hear his private letters.”

“It’ll have to be quoted in Court, as bearing on his morals. He was fixing up to see women at Calcutta.”

“Oh, that’ll do, that’ll do.”

McBryde stopped, naively puzzled. It was obvious to him that any two sahibs ought to pool all they knew about any Indian, and he could not think where the objection came in.

“I dare say you have the right to throw stones at a young man for doing that, but I haven’t. I did the same at his age.”

So had the Superintendent of Police, but he considered that the conversation had taken a turn that was undesirable. He did not like Fielding’s next remark either.

“Miss Quested really cannot be seen? You do know that for a certainty?”

“You have never explained to me what’s in your mind here. Why on earth do you want to see her?”

“On the off chance of her recanting before you send in that report and he’s committed for trial, and the whole thing goes to blazes. Old man, don’t argue about this, but do of your goodness just ring up your wife or Miss Derek and enquire. It’ll cost you nothing.”

“It’s no use ringing up them,” he replied, stretching out for the telephone. “Callendar settles a question like that, of course. You haven’t grasped that she’s seriously ill.”

“He’s sure to refuse, it’s all he exists for,” said the other desperately.

The expected answer came back: the Major would not hear of the patient being troubled.

“I only wanted to ask her whether she is certain, dead certain, that it was Aziz who followed her into the cave.”

“Possibly my wife might ask her that much.”

“But I wanted to ask her. I want someone who believes in him to ask her.”

“What difference does that make?”

“She is among people who disbelieve in Indians.”

“Well, she tells her own story, doesn’t she?”

“I know, but she tells it to you.”

McBryde raised his eyebrows, murmuring: “A bit too finespun. Anyhow, Callendar won’t hear of you seeing her. I’m sorry to say he gave a bad account just now. He says that she is by no means out of danger.”

They were silent. Another card was brought into the office⁠—Hamidullah’s. The opposite army was gathering.

“I must put this report through now, Fielding.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“How can I not?”

“I feel that things are rather unsatisfactory as well as most disastrous. We are heading for a most awful smash. I can see your prisoner, I suppose.”

He hesitated. “His own people seem in touch with him all right.”

“Well, when he’s done with them.”

“I wouldn’t keep you waiting; good heavens, you take precedence of any Indian visitor, of course. I meant what’s the good. Why mix yourself up with pitch?”

“I say he’s innocent⁠—”

“Innocence or guilt, why mix yourself up? What’s the good?”

“Oh, good, good,” he cried, feeling that every earth was being stopped. “One’s got to breathe occasionally, at least I have. I mayn’t see her, and now I mayn’t see him. I promised him to come up here with him to you, but Turton called me off before I could get two steps.”

“Sort of all-white thing the Burra Sahib would do,” he muttered sentimentally. And trying not to sound patronizing, he stretched his hand over the table, and said: “We shall all have to hang together, old man, I’m afraid. I’m your junior in years, I know, but very much your senior in service; you don’t happen to know this poisonous country as well as I do, and you must take it from me that the general situation is going to be nasty at Chandrapore during the next few weeks, very nasty indeed.”

“So I have just told you.”

“But at a time like this there’s no room for⁠—well⁠—personal views. The man who doesn’t toe the line is lost.”

“I see what you mean.”

“No, you don’t see entirely. He not only loses himself, he weakens his friends. If you leave the line, you leave a gap in the line. These jackals”⁠—he pointed at the lawyers’ cards⁠—“are looking with all their eyes for a gap.”

“Can I visit Aziz?” was his answer.

“No.” Now that he knew of Turton’s attitude, the policeman had no doubts. “You may see him on a magistrate’s order, but on my own responsibility I don’t feel justified. It might lead