Animal's People Read Online Free Page B

reproachful look.
    She was as thin as me, her hide shrunken over her ribs. A pink sore on her nose was leaking some clear mess. With my own body pumped full of victory I suddenly felt sorry for her. I fed myself then moved off, gestured for her to come close. “Eat!” She licked her lips, wagged her tail so hard her whole backside shook. Man, what a dog. A yellow dog, of no fixed abode and no traceable parents, just like me. After this we always shared. I named her Banjara, gypsy, free spirit, because she belongs nowhere and everywhere is her kingdom.

    Jara and me, one day we are up to our tricks outside a cafe where I’ve not been before, it’s not one of my usual dirty dabas. This is a smart coffeehouse with a garden and a big sign saying Coca-Cola , I can’t read the sign but I know what it says. These girls are sitting at a table under a tree, drinking lassi. Three girls, college students by look. Often they’ll be quite generous, so I’ve started my patter about how we are perishing from starvation etc., at a sign from me, Jara, canny bitch, rolls on her back and plays dead.
    One of the three gets up. Comes out, stands looking at the dog and me. Some girls primp themselves up like film stars with kajal round the eyes, long sleek hair and all, this one isn’t like that. Her hair looks like it hasn’t been oiled for a month, kameez and scarf don’t match, nose is a touch too long. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t offer money. She doesn’t do any of the things people normally do when I pester them. She’s frowning, all serious.
    â€œPretty clever. Did you teach her?”
    â€œFor five rupees she’ll whine the national anthem.”
    â€œIs begging fun?”
    Well, this catches me, no one’s ever asked such a thing before. This girl bends to pat Jara and her hair falls over her face, pretty she may not be but there’s a sweetness in her which you sometimes see in people without looks.
    â€œIs it fun to be hungry?” I reply. “No, so then don’t mock, give me five rupees.”
    â€œNot I,” says she, chewing her lip. “You’ve a look of mischief about you, I’ve seen you before. You roam round the city doing scams.”
    â€œWhat scams? If you won’t give five rupees at least give a smile.”
    â€œYou like winding people up. I think you enjoy being annoying.”
    â€œIt’s all they deserve. People are cretins.”
    â€œCretins? So is that what makes it fun?”
    â€œFun was your idea, not mine,” I say, liking this girl. Most people who talked to me just told me to fuck off.
    â€œGet off with you, you’re up to all the tricks. I’d be surprised if you go hungry.”
    â€œWhat do you know about it?”
    But she was right. I was well schooled in street work. My teacher was Ali Faqri, he’d in turn been trained by the prince of scams, Abdul Saliq the Pir Gate beggar. Faqri told me to stop creeping round behind the eateries. There, if I was caught arse-up in the bins, best I could expect was disgust maybe a kicking. “Go round the front,” Faqri said. So I began parading up and down in view of the clientele, nothing puts a person off their food more than a starving Animal watching every mouthful. The proprietors hated me but they’d give me hand-outs rather than have me upset their customers. I got the same left-overs, only this time served nicely in a bowl. In this way I learned that if you act powerless, you are powerless, the way to get what you want is to demand it.
    â€œI’m Nisha,” says this serious girl. “What’s your name?”
    â€œAnimal. Now you have to guess why.”
    â€œOkay Animal, you’re bright, you could do something more useful than this.” Nisha told me that if I came to her father’s house, which was in a part of Khaufpur known as the Chicken Claw, she would find me some work to do.
    â€œAnd,” says