Stark-naked, Ommony confronted him, and Benjamin betrayed the naked fear that has nothing to do with physical consequences. Ommony looked straight into his eyes and analyzed it, as he had done fifteen years ago when he protected Benjamin against accusers.
“All right, Benjamin. I’ll trust you this once more. But no flinching. See it through.”
He dressed himself, Benjamin watching alertly for the least mistake, but that was an art in which no man in the world could give Ommony instruction; he knew costumes as some enthusiasts know postage stamps, and he bound on the cream-colored silk turban without a glance in the mirror that Benjamin held for him.
“I’ll need an old trunk now, and three or four changes,” he said abruptly. “No, cow-hide won’t do—no, there’s glue in that imported thing—observe caste prejudices, even if I’m supposed to have none—basket-work’s the stuff. That’s it. Throw me in a trousseau.”
He began to pace the floor, adjusting himself to the costume, finding it not difficult; his natural, sturdy gait learned in forest lanes with a gun under his arm, suggested independence and alertness without a hint of drill, which is the secret of self-assurance; add good manners to that and an intimate knowledge; there is not much acting needed.
He looked stout and a bit important in the flowing cotton clothes. The short beard gave him dignity. His skin, weathered by twenty years of outdoor life, needed no darkening. Even his legs, and his bare feet thrust into red morocco slippers had the ivory color that belongs to most of the higher castes; and an actor must be of Brahman or Kshattriya origin if he hopes to be admitted anywhere within the pale from which the lower castes are utterly excluded. His profession makes him technically unclean, but that is rather an advantage than a handicap.
“And the name? The honored name?” asked Benjamin admiringly.
“Gupta Rao. I’m a Bhat-Brahman of Rajputana.”
Benjamin sat down and laughed with his head to one side, nursing a knee.
“Oh, you Ommony! A Jew you should have been! Hey-yey-clever! Now who would have thought of that but you! Yah-tchah! Bhat-Brahman—of whom even rajahs are afraid! Gossiping tongue! The privilege to slander! Yah-keh-keh-keh! You are a clever one! Not even a Brahman will challenge you, for fear you will make him a laughing-stock! Keh-hah-hah-hey-hey-hey! Ah, but wait, wait! We forgot the pan. You must have a pouch to carry betel-nut. And the caste-mark—keep still while I paint the caste-mark.”