‘The Night Prowler was out again last night.’ This portent of doom first thing in the morning made Sergeant Akal Singh once again forget to duck as he walked through the door of the Totogo Police Station in central Suva.
‘Arre yaar,’ he muttered with feeling. In the six months he had been in Fiji, Akal had knocked his head on that very door any number of times. It wasn’t a particularly low door, but his turban added inches to his already formidable height.
Akal smoothed his hands over the turban, cursing the lack of mirror in the sparsely furnished front room of the station, or indeed any of the police buildings. One had been ordered for the European officers’ barracks, but the ship from Sydney had been delayed. There was no talk of ordering one for the Indian and Fijian barracks.
‘Is my turban correct?’ he asked Taviti. The Fijian corporal was manning the front desk, and had been the one to deliver the news about Akal’s current nemesis.
‘Um, I think it’s alright, sir. I don’t know much about turbans.’
‘Is it straight? Is any hair falling out? Are there lumps and bumps?’
‘Yes, sir, straight, sir, no hair falling out, sir. Seems like a lot of work.’
Akal continued to smooth his hands over the sides of his turban, checking everything was in place despite Taviti’s reassurances. ‘It’s a bloody bugger in this heat, I tell you. But the ladies love it.’
He waited for Taviti to scoff at this, given the dearth of women in Akal’s life, but instead the Fijian man mirrored Akal, his hand running thoughtfully over his tight wiry curls.
‘You think I should try it?’
‘Do you think you can handle all the women?’
‘Probably not. But my wife could!’ Taviti shot back as he slapped the counter, resulting in a satisfyingly meaty echo throughout the room.
Both men roared with laughter until they ran out of breath.
Akal had never in his life laughed as hard as he did with Taviti. No matter whether something was actually funny or not, Akal found himself convulsing in breathless spasms, Taviti’s laughter rolling over him, while not really knowing why. Still chuckling, Akal dropped down into the spindly wooden visitor’s chair and started to inspect the dust on his shoes…
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