lived in a big, dark flat up two flights of stairs. Wolf wasn't there. Willie hadn't met him and wasn't looking forward to meeting him. Sarojini said simply, “He's with his other family.” And Willie was happy to leave it like that, to probe no further.
The flat seemed to have been neglected for years, and it made Willie think, with a sinking heart, of the estate house he had just left. Sarojini said, “It hasn't been decorated since before the war.” The paint was old and smoky, many layers thick, one pale colour upon another, with decorative details on plaster and wood clogged up, and in many places the old paint layers had chipped through to dark old wood. But while Ana's house was full of her family's heavy furniture, Sarojini's big flat was half empty. The few pieces of furniture were basic and second-hand and seemed to have been chosen with no particular care. The plates and cups and knives and spoons were all cheap. Everything had a makeshift air. It was no pleasure at all to Willie to eat the food Sarojini cooked in the small stale-smelling kitchen at the back.
She had given up the style of sari and cardigan and socks. She was in jeans and a heavy sweater and her manner was brisker and even more authoritative than Willie remembered. Willie thought, “All of this was buried in the girl I had left behind at home. None of this would have come out if the German hadn't come and taken her away. If he hadn't come, would she and all her soul have just rotted to nothing?” She was attractive now—something impossible to think of in the ashram days—and gradually from things she said or let drop Willie understood that she had had many lovers since he had last seen her.
Within days of coming to Berlin he had begun to lean on this strength of his sister. After Africa, he liked the idea of the great cold, and she took him out walking, treacherous though the pavements were, and shaky though he still was. Sometimes when they were in restaurants Tamil boys came in selling long-stalked roses. They were unsmiling, boys with a mission, raising funds for the great Tamil war far away, and they hardly looked at Willie or his sister. They were of another generation, but Willie saw himself in them. He thought, “That was how I appeared in London. That is how I appear now. I am not as alone as I thought.” Then he thought, “But I am wrong. I am not like them. I am forty-one, in middle life. They are fifteen or twenty years younger, and the world has changed. They have proclaimed who they are and they are risking everything for it. I have been hiding from myself. I have risked nothing. And now the best part of my life is over.”
Sometimes in the evenings they saw Africans in the blue light of telephone kiosks pretending to talk, but really just occupying space, taking a kind of shelter. Sarojini said, “The East Germans fly them into East Berlin, and then they come here.” Willie thought, “How many of us there now are! How many like me! Can there be room for us all?”
He asked Sarojini, “What happened to my friend Percy Cato? You wrote about him a long time ago.”
Sarojini said, “He was doing well with Che and the others. Then some kind of rage possessed him. He had left Panama as a child and he had a child's idea of the continent. When he went back he began to see the place differently. He became full of hatred for the Spaniards. You could say he reached the Pol Pot position.”
Willie said, “What is the Pol Pot position?”
“He thought the Spaniards had raped and looted the continent in the most savage way, and no good could come out of the place until all the Spaniards or part-Spaniards were killed. Until that happened revolution itself was a waste of time. It is a difficult idea, but actually it's interesting, and liberation movements will have to take it on board some day. Latin America can break your heart. But Percy didn't know how to present his ideas, and he could forget he was working with Spaniards. He could have been more tactful. I don't think he cared to explain himself too much. They eased him out. Behind his back they began calling him the negrito. In the end he went back