Such an interesting evening, Maya thought. She remembered again the salons of her childhood, the late-night readings, how she listened to the men – and on one occasion a woman, a doctor in Kabul –talk about their life and experiences, and how she dreamt of visiting all the new worlds they described.
She was roused out of her reverie when the room came alive with new levels of animation, and different voices broke over each other in argument. They were talking of someone called Hurrychand Chintamon. Henry appeared particularly enthused, his face flushed, his eyes darker than before as he talked of the American Constitution, whose First Amendment allowed for freedom of expression.
“We should listen to what he has to say, shouldn’t we?”
Edith’s lips were set in the way Maya knew. “It’s a lot of nonsense, and quite scurrilous, Henry. The council is indeed planning a petition to stop him. He does advocate a lot of shocking, unmentionable things. Straight out…,” she broke off.
Maya tried not to catch Henry’s eye, whose face was now beetroot red. Everyone in the room was pretending not to know what the other meant, or to give away anything. Chintamon had once been keen on photography, with...Read more
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