Page 49 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“All the better,” I returned. “Less scandalous, isn’t it?”

“Scandal has no place here. Shall I just—” He waved toward the shore.

“Please.” Some boldness made me say, “Slowly, if you would.”

He laughed, and accommodated my request. I hurriedly sketched his body, strong legs and nipped waist, hairy calves, the suggestion ofhis genitals. On the shore, he waited, but I could see gooseflesh rising on his body. “Good, thank you!” I cried.

He wrapped himself in a blanket and carried his clothes over. “Let me see.”

Without modesty, I showed him the sketches, coming out of the water, and then standing on the shore. “Well done, you.” He wiped his face with the blanket. “Have you drawn male bodies before?”

I thought of the stolen moments in Nainital, the dangerous sketches I kept hidden. But to this fellow artist, I felt I could admit the truth. “Yes.”

“Elsie, you surprise me! But I’m glad. It can be difficult to find models. Probably more so for women. At the Slade, you’ll be able to draw both men and women.” He grinned. “The sex bits are covered. You’ll have to use your imagination.”

“Better than nothing.” I sketched his bare foot, the high arch and long toes. “No matter. I look forward to it more than I can say.”

“It’s quite wonderful, being there,” he said. “You shall adore it.” His stomach growled, and he hopped to his feet. “Are you going to stay and sketch, or will you come back and have breakfast with me?”

I allowed him to pull me to my feet. “I’ll join you.”

“Wonderful. No one else will be about until ten.”

“Do you have any of your sketches with you? I’d love to see your work.”

“I do not, but”—his eyebrows rose mischievously—“I suspect I know a willing model or two. Would you like that?”

I wavered. “Other guests?”

“Yes.” Something in the depth of his glittery expression challenged me. Was I a bohemian, or not?

Two choices faced me—the life my father and brother had laid out for me, or the life I wanted, which would be entirely built from unconventional choices. The decision was easy. “Yes,” I said. “I would love that.”

His smile was small, but highly rewarding. I didn’t think I’d often met a man so beautiful as Rocky, but his beauty lit nothing in my heart. My desire was left behind, in India. Perhaps I would never feel such a shimmer again.

The thought made me feel terribly sad.

—27—

September 30, 1940

Talwarpur Palace

Dearest Elsie,

[In Urdu]: One beautiful thing today is the music I can hear from my balcony, where I write this letter. I do not know who plays, but it is a sweet raga lifting into the morning. I am grateful for this moment of peace, knowing it is rare in this world today.

[In English]: Your letter arrived riddled with holes from the censor, but I gather you went into the city to see what you could see. You might write in Urdu to avoid this trouble (or will even that work?). I welcome the drawings, and Channan is delighted with hers. She takes the tonic faithfully, and some days she indeed seems to have more strength, but she remains bedridden and quite frail. In truth, the injuries of her youth weakened her long ago. I suspect it is only her love of Kirandeep that has allowed her to linger so long.

She tells me to say that she has a wonderful view from that bed, over the plains of Talwarpur and a sky full of clouds drawing themselves in new ways every hour. She wishes she could draw so she could show you. I’ve told her I would buy her a camera, but she refuses.

Kirandeep is away at school, and has not shown much inclination to write home. Unlike his father, he is not a studious lad, but a vigorous one who loves athletic activities and charging through the world to eat it all alive. He is a boy who vividly enjoys the company of his fellows, and I encourage that.

We have taken in a new tiger, found half starved (near Nainital, actually) from a terrible infection in her mouth. By her teeth, she is quite old, so she will not enter the general population, but stay in the local park where she can be fed and tended more gently, though still have a sense of freedom. She was quite savage in pain, but once her bad teeth were pulled, she became much more approachable. Soon she will be given the run of the small park.

So you see, even in the midst of darkness, there is hope.

Do not despair,jaanu. Wars end. The earth will turn. Yours is only to endure, and you will do that by painting and tending to the people you love. I’ve enclosed a pressed sword lily for you to remember your beloved land, and the people here who love you. I shall try to manage another telephone call when I go to Delhi in a month’s time.