Chapter Text
By all means this should have been a good thing. I got my hit of O without any problems, I was at least ninety percent sure that Surrender-not had not seen me and life went on as usual in the damp, sweltering heat of Calcutta. Yet the incident replayed in my mind endlessly, like the buzz of a mosquito that returned louder when you swatted it.
When I stumbled out of the opium den a few nights ago, I had not been sure it was truly him. I did not take Banerjee for a man who enjoyed a bit of afeem on the side, but what did I know? I looked twice and thrice, but there was no mistaking that Surrender-Not Banerjee was loitering across the street. In a city of thousands Bengalis, all brown and short and dark-haired, I would recognise this man in dimly lit alleys and inkblot nights. I would have known him high on O and with my eyes closed.
Just when I wanted to sneak away to take the scenic route home, a native approached him, arms raised and hell bent on slamming his body against Surrender-Not’s. I was already halfway across the street to intercept the man, having thrown all my determination not to be seen out of the window. Banerjee could hardly complain about me being there if I saved him from a mugging, right?
Instead, the man kissed him. The stranger coiled his arms around my sergeant like a snake and put his lips against his. The gesture was reciprocated, and Surrender-Not kissed the man back with vigour, placing his hand on the man’s lapels.
I did take the scenic route. I turned on my heel and stalked away as quickly as I could, thinking about what I saw the entire way home.
This in itself was not worth breaking my head about. I’ve known men in the trenches to seek affection and pleasure with each other, and I could not begrudge them for squeezing some well deserved comfort out of a life that would end sooner rather than later. It also cleared up matters in regards to Banerjee’s ineptitude around women and his resistance to his mother’s marriage plans.
By all means, this should have been like solving a case and easing my mind by putting a difficult matter to rest. After all, Banerjee was less likely to tattle about my opium habit if I had some dirt on him in return.
I was not entirely sure what the Bengalis thought about men sharing a bed the way most men do with women, but I knew for a fact that Lord Taggart could dismiss him on the spot for such a thing. It would not even have to be a proven fact, the way it would have to be when a sahib was accused, my testimony would close the case within a day.
Then why did I think about it during every waking moment when my brain had a second to spare? I could be tapping away at my typewriter to write my reports and when I sipped my tea I would see their linked hands in my head. I could be shaving and wonder if I’d seen a beard on Banerjee’s gentleman caller. Would it be inconvenient to kiss a bearded man and scratch your chin on it? I had never kissed a bearded woman, so I did not know, and I sure as hell was not going to ask Annie if she’d ever kissed a chap with a beard.
For something that took approximately five seconds, I sure remembered a lot of details. Surrender-Not had worn a casual shirt made out of a fabric the natives wear and did not look like an Cambridge alumnus, his eyes had crinkled when they met the man’s, and his hand had slid softly up the man’s chest and around his neck. Then, the stranger shifted their bodies so that Surrender-Not’s back was against the wall and his hand pressed Surrender-Not’s against the stones. They stopped kissing, the stranger placed his hand in the crook of Banerjee’s elbow and let him lead the way.
Perhaps it was the opium. I remember fewer things when I’ve been without it for a while, so perhaps I remembered a thousand details about those five seconds because I’d just had a hit. Maybe I should get some O before every interrogation and save my sergeant the trouble of writing down what the suspect or witness says.
Surrender-Not had led the man the way he always led me when I was too British to navigate a certain Indian setting, except I hung from his arm metaphorically instead of physically. Part of me would prefer to swap. I'd rather hook my elbow through my segeant's and rest my hand on his arm like he was taking me out to the opera than face my own inconpetence.
It had been days and it was steadily becoming a problem. I lay in bed and stared at my mosquito net. Automatically, my mind went to Banerjee’s slim hand against the wall, the man’s hand covering his, and their palms touching. Surrender-Not's fingers had been slightly curled. The man had pinned Banerjee’s hand above shoulder height and stretched his own to keep it there. It was, I thought, a rather vulnerable position to be in. If the man had wanted, he could have immobilized and killed Banerjee.
Now that was a problem. I did not fancy another sergeant, the ones I’d seen around Lal Bazar were not the brightest lot and I’d rather overdose than work with sergeant Michaels and his annoyingly nasal voice. This was clearly what bothered me about the whole situation.
Yet how did I tell my subordinate that I saw him in an intimate embrace with another man and would prefer he did not let it happen again? He’d think me one of those religious Christian types fond of preaching about sin, when in reality I could not care less about what men did together in bed. I merely wanted to avoid investigating my own sergeant’s bloody murder in a back-alley.
Explaining to lord Taggart why I was leaving no stone in Calcutta unturned to look for a possibly homophile suspect would be a whole mess. “No, Lord Taggart, I cannot tell you why I suspect this particular man, but it is imperative that we find him and bring him to justice for the murder of an officer of the law. Yes, the fact that he is a homophile is crucial- No sir, I cannot tell you why I think that.”
I turned in my bed and tried to force myself to fall asleep. Was Surrender-Not currently asleep in his own room and dreaming about him? It was none of my business with whom Surrender-Not chose to spend his nights, but I could not help but wonder who this gentleman was and what about him caught my sergeant’s attention.
Surrender-Not was a handsome little oriental of twenty-something years who, for all his awkwardness, could have a horde of concubines of his own. He could match the oratory skills of the men in the house of Lords, was well read enough to spar with professors and a clean enough shot to make a career as amateur sniper. The gentleman who caught his eye could hardly be an addicted lowlife or a killer, my sergeant would never stoop so low.
With a groan, I decided to make this question a problem for tomorrow.