The History House

The Cost of Living

C H A P T E R 21 THE COST OF LIVING When the old house had closed its bleary eyes and settled into sleep, Ammu, wearing one of Chacko’s old shirts over a long white petticoat, walked out onto the front verandah. She paced up and down for awhile. Restless. Feral. Then she sat on the wicker chair below the moldy, button-eyed bison head and the portraits of the Little Blessed One and Aleyooty Ammachi that hung on either side of it. Her twins were sleeping the way they did when they were exhausted—with their eyes half open, two small monsters. They got that from their father

The Madras Mail

C H A P T E R 20 THE MADRAS MAIL And so, at the Cochin Harbor Terminus, Estha Alone at the barred train window. Ambassador E. Pelvis. A millstone with a puʃ. And a greenwavy, thickwatery, lumpy, seaweedy, ɻoaty, bottomless bottomful feeling. His trunk with his name on it was under his seat. His tiɽn box with tomato sandwiches and his Eagle ɻask with an eagle was on the little folding table in front of him

Saving Ammu

C H A P T E R 19 SAVING AMMU At the police station, Inspector Thomas Mathew sent for two CocaColas. With straws. A servile constable brought them on a plastic tray and oʃered them to the two muddy children sitting across the table from the Inspector, their heads only a little higher than the mess of ɹles and papers on it

The History House

C H A P T E R 18 THE HISTORY HOUSE A posse of Touchable Policemen crossed the Meenachal River, sluggish and swollen with recent rain, and picked their way through the wet undergrowth, the clink of handcuʃs in someone’s heavy pocket

Cochin Harbor Terminus

C H A P T E R 17 COCHIN HARBOR TERMINUS In his clean room in the dirty Ayemenem House, Estha (not old, not young) sat on his bed in the dark. He sat very straight. Shoulders squared. Hands in his lap. As though he was next in line for some sort of inspection. Or waiting to be arrested. The ironing was done. It sat in a neat pile on the ironing board. He had done Rahel’s clothes as well.