Chapter 31 - How To Hold A Gun (without quaking in fear)
I’ve discussed the facts behind this chapter (they are all true). So, here’s a freebie - this chapter is free to read! Enjoy!
How To Hold A Gun (without quaking in fear)
With India House nearly empty for the past month, Dr. Rajan had come up with an ingenious plan — and today was the day he’d find out if it had worked.
The London Polytechnic offered an endless buffet of classes, most of them designed to help the working classes pick up useful trades: French cooking, photography, cake decoration, welding, pipe fitting, and dozens of other practical skills. Including, crucially — shooting.
Rajan signed up for Photography, then added French Cooking. That was an ordeal. He had to clean a bucketful of snails and later arrange their glossy, cooked bodies on a dish. His vegetarian stomach flipped the whole time. The only way he got through it without vomiting was by thinking of guns.
Then he discovered a loophole: anyone could audit lessons. He could just show up — unregistered, unofficial — to a welding class and sit quietly in the back. He wouldn’t get certified, and he’d be the last to touch any equipment, but it also meant there’d be no trace of him dabbling in welding.
But what about shooting? Could he audit that too? Or just pretend to?
Today he’d find out.
He was shaking all over as he made his way to the gun range, where six others were already assembled. The instructor — a no-nonsense Scotsman with a moustache sharp enough to slice bread — started marking attendance. Rajan and one other man weren’t on the rolls.
“Are you two auditing the class?”
They both nodded.
Rajan held his breath. Was this the moment he’d be asked for ID? Proof of enrollment? Would they throw him out? Arrest him?
But the Scotsman simply said, “Very well, then. Pick up a pistol and follow me.”
Rajan nearly collapsed with relief — but when he picked up the pistol, his hands shook so badly that he dropped it with a loud, mortifying clatter.
“Careful, man! You might kill someone like that! Thank heavens the bloody thing isn’t loaded,” the instructor barked.
Rajan took deep breaths, steadying himself.
“Good. Calm yourself. Nervous people with guns are just one notch safer than idiots who wave them around as jokes.”
The hour that followed was a thorough introduction to firearms: the anatomy of the gun, types of pistols, how to load and clean them. Rajan paid close attention, all the while terrified that at any moment someone would ask to see his student card. But no one did.
As the bell rang, he gathered his things, eager to slip away before questions started flying.
“Mr. Rajan!” the instructor called.
Rajan froze, every muscle tight. He turned slowly, trying not to look guilty.
“Oh, didn’t mean to startle you, sir,” the Scotsman said, more kindly now. “Next time, come early. I’ll show you how to handle a gun so it doesn’t scare you so much. That’ll help with the shakes.”
Rajan exhaled a long, grateful breath. “Yes, sir. That would be very nice.”