The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

“Yes. He is good worker,” he said thoughtfiuly. “Highly
intelligent.”
“He is,” Chacko said. “An excellent carpenter with an
engineer‟s mind. If it wasn‟t for-”
“Not that worker, comrade,” Comrade Pillai said. “Party
worker.” Comrade Pillai‟s mother continued to rock and grunt.
There was something reassuring about the rhythm of the grunts.
Like the ticking of a clock. A sound you hardly noticed, but would
miss if it stopped.
“Ah, I see. So he‟s a card-holder?”
“Oh yes,” Comrade Pillai said softly “Oh yes.”
Perspiration trickled through Cha‡ko‟s hair. He felt as
though a company of ants was touring his scalp. He scratched his
head for a long time, with both his hands. Moving his whole scalp
up and down.
“Org kaaryam parayattey ?” Comrade Pillai switched to
Malayalam and a confiding, conspiratorial voice. “I‟m speaking as
a friend, keto . Off the record.”
Before he continued, Comrade Pillai studied Chacko, trying
to gauge his response. Chacko was examining the gray paste of
sweat and dandruff lodged under his fingernails. I
“That Paravan is going to cause trouble for you,” he said.
“Take it from me… get him a job somewhere else. Send him off.”
Chacko was puzzled at the turn the conversation had taken.
He had only intended to find out what was happening, where
things stood. He had expected to encounter antagonism, even
confrontation, and instead was being offered s1y, misguided
collusion.
“Send him away? But why?! have no objections to him being
a card-holder. I was just curious, that‟s all… I thought perhaps you
had been speaking to him,” Chacko said. “But I‟m sure he‟s just
experimenting, testing his wings; he‟s a sensible fellow, comrade. I
trust him…”
“Not like that,‟ Comrade Pillai said. “He may be very well
okay as a person. But other workers are not happy with him.