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to raise my hand.”
    “That’s a joke-and-a-half,” said Yezad. “Children wanting to play with toys is not misbehaviour.”
    “Go ahead, defend him. That’s how children become bad.”
    “You see, Murad dikra,” said Jal, wincing, a finger to his ear, “the mechanism is delicate. One extra turn and the spring could break. Then my drummer would be silent, like my Elvis.”
    He finished winding and placed the monkey on the table. Its arms began moving up and down, the sticks striking the drum with a feeble tap each time. “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ll start the other fellow as well.” And the monkey with the Booze bottle now raised it to his mouth, lowered it, repeated the sequence. “I tell you, these two are great. You never tire of watching them.”
    The boys took no interest. The pleasure of winding the toys, setting them in motion, was what they had sought.
    “Ungrateful children, turning their backs on the monkeys,” said Coomy.
    “Enough now, Coomy,” said Nariman. “Let’s forget it.”
    But a tide of grievance had risen in her veins. She said she would not forget it – maybe that was the way he dealt with problems. No wonder he had ruined his own life, and everyone else’s. No wonder he had carried on shamelessly with that Lucy Braganza, and destroyed Mamma’s life and …
    Nariman looked at the others, raising his hands in a helpless apology, and Roxana tried to stem the outburst. “From where to where are you jumping, Coomy? Why drag up all that? In front of the children? And what’s the connection with the monkeys?”
    “Don’t interfere between Pappa and me. If you want to see the connection, think a little.”
    Six lives he, a father in name only, had drenched with unhappiness, she continued, and she would never forgive that, especially his disgraceful behaviour with his mistress after marriage. What character of woman – not woman, witch – would do such things? And if she wanted to die in that manner, then why hadn’t she done them all a favour and —
    “Coomy, we must show Roxie the new doll you got,” interrupted Jal. “Look, it’s a Japanese doll, Roxie.”
    He was partly successful; Coomy lowered her voice, but kept muttering. Dutiful admiration from Roxana for the pretty kimono, the rich colours, and the pure gold threads in it, made her roll to a stop. She pointed out the little parasol, which was her favourite detail, even more than the sweet little slippers.
    Then the toys were shut away in the cabinet. Having made up for her children’s sins at the shrine, Roxana sat again beside her father, thankful that peace had been restored.
    Three Scotch and sodas, two Fantas, one rum with Thums-Up, and Coomy’s homemade sarbut were finally ready. They drank a toast to Nariman, after which he proposed they drink to the health of the four monkeys.
    “Four?” asked Jal.
    “Two of Coomy’s and two of Roxie’s.”
    They laughed, and Coomy smiled sportingly. Nariman asked the boys how things were shaping up at St. Xavier’s since the start of the new school year. “Do you like your new classes?”
    “They’re not new any more, Grandpa,” said Jehangir. “School reopened a long time ago: eleventh of June. Almost two months ago.”
    “That long?” smiled Nariman, remembering his own childhood when time behaved with the same good sense instead of tearing past insensitively as it did now, whole days and weeks gone in the blink of an eye. “And how are your teachers?”
    “Fine,” the two answered together.
    “Tell Grandpa what Teacher has made you,” Roxana prompted.
    “I’m a Homework Monitor,” said Jehangir, elaborating that there were three of them in the class and they had to check if the students had completed the previous day’s homework.
    “And what happens when someone hasn’t?” asked Nariman.
    “I have to tell Miss Alvarez, and the boy gets a zero.”
    “And do you?”
    “Of course,” said Jehangir, while his mother made a face to protest the