question_answer

On the morning of June 21, the papers printed an item in the international section - it was a slow news day - on the annual Yulin dog meat festival. Wedged in between an article on the birth of quintuplets to a couple in Cleveland, Ohio, and an advertisement for a miracle hair loss treatment, the piece described how visitors to the southern Chinese city of Yulin could celebrate the summer solstice by dining on lychee fruit and fresh dog meat. Animal rights activists condemned the Chinese. The Chinese condemned Western hypocrisy. The dogs were in no position to condemn anybody.

The festival had been a tradition in Yulin for four hundred years, but there had been no Facebook back then. When Eram dropped the newspaper and grabbed his phone that morning, he found his newsfeed awash with outrage and photographs. Photographs of ten thousand dogs skewered-and-roasted, or awaiting their turn in cages.

By the time he had driven like fury over to Pall Hill, each of his eight calls to Gehna had gone unanswered. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, he bounded up four flights of stairs and skidded into the apartment. Gehna'’s mother, who was sitting at the table, was startled into spilling soup down her house robe.

"“Morning, Mrs R, what’'s the word?”" Eram said, trying to catch his breath. "“May I just say that that is a lovely, what is it, a kaftan? That is a lovely kaftan. Very fetching. Listen, Gehna’'s not taking my calls. Is she around, do you know?”

Nina Rai glared at him. “"Eram. You know you are welcome in my home. But you will enter it with decorum and not like some crazed hooligan. Would you like a bowl of gazpacho?”"

"“Mmm, I would absolutely love a bowl of gazpacho, just, not right this second",” said Eram. He was already backtracking towards Gehna’s room. “"So, is she here? Gehna?”"

"“We had breakfast. She was looking at something on her phone and then she said she had a headache.”"

"“Probably came across some big words, ha ha. I'’ll just pop in and check on her.”"

Eram heard Mrs Rai yelling behind him to leave the door open. It wasn'’t that she thought Gehna and he would start lucking as soon as they were alone in a room. At least, that wasn’t her primary concern.

What troubled her far more was that the servants - the cook, the cleaning lady, the driver - shouldn'’t be handed the means to gossip about her daughter’'s morals (or looseness thereof). Which was funny, thought Eram, because how would she explain Gehna’'s soon-to-be-enormous belly? He pushed the door to Gehna'’s room firmly closed behind him.

The only sound in the room was from the air conditioning. The curtains were drawn. It was a tomb, almost subterranean in the weight of its stillness. Eram’'s mind shied away from the implications of that thought.

No. He felt his way in the dark to where he could just about make out a roughly Gehna-shaped pile of blankets and pillows on the bed. He poked his finger at what he guessed was a shoulder.

"“Oi. Wake up, Rai.”"

Who is Mrs R.?

A) Nina Rai

B) Gehna’s mother

C) Both (a) and (b)

D) A code name not revealed in the passage