|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedablkek
 

silence and another series of small nodsthe man handed Comrade Pillai
the sachet of photographs. “Okay thencomradeI’ll be off.” He had a bus to catch.
“So!” Comrade Pillai’s smile broadened as he turned all his attention like a searchlight
on Rahel. His gums were startlingly pinkthe reward for a lifetime’s uncompromising
vegetarianism. He was the kind of man whom it was hard to imagine had once been a
boy. Or a baby. He looked as though he had been born middle aged. With a receding
hairline. “Mol’s husband?” he wanted to know. “Hasn’t come.” “Any photos?” “No.”
“Name?” “Larry. Lawrence.”
“Oower. Lawrence.” Comrade Pillai nodded as though he agreed with it. As
though given a choiceit was the very one he would have picked. “Any issues?”
“No” Rahel said. “Still in planning stagesI suppose? Or expecting?’ “No.” “One is
must. Boygirl. Anyone” Comrade Pillai said. “Two is of course your choice.”
“We’re divorced.” Rahel hoped to shock him into silence. “Die-vorced?” His voice
rose to such a high register that it cracked on the question mark. He even pro-
nounced the word as though it were a form of death. “That is most unfortunate” he
saidwhen he had recovereyilai：
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedablkfp