Fishy Chronicles 82: The Webs We Weave (14) – Games people play

Sarah and I waited on either side of Sonimol’s door (FC81). My cousin Mobby was hiding inside the room with the servant because we had surprised him in the middle of a night-time rendezvous.

We had to wait a long time because there were no noises coming from the room. Sometimes I thought I heard whispers.

After about half an hour, though it seemed longer, Sarah wiggled her fingers at me, gesturing for me to go to her. I walked the three steps to her reluctantly. She cupped her hands around my ear and whispered, “Get me the cricket bat. Behind table… storeroom.” She pointed at the storeroom’s doorway.

I walked a few paces towards the doorway, but stopped. This could be a ploy to get me away from the servant’s room – Sarah could latch the door behind me once I was in the storeroom. I returned to my post by Sonimol’s door. Sarah looked like she was going to explode. Her outstretched arm and forefinger jabbed the air furiously in the direction of the storeroom’s doorway, her eyes bulging with rage. I shook my head slowly, watching her nervously.

“Why not!” she hissed from across me.

I put my fingers to my lips and hopped, praying the couple inside the room weren’t able to hear us. “Shhh!” I rounded my mouth.

She came to me and grabbed the neck of my t-shirt, trying to strangle me. “Listen, you!” she spat into my face, “You do what I say or get out of here.”

“You go back to your room. I’ll stay here and sort matters.”

She dragged me a little away from the door and spat again, this time into my ear and on my cheek, “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’ll think of something…” I regretted suggesting we follow Mobby to see what he was doing (FC81).

She opened her mouth, but I jammed my palm against her mouth, trying to shush her. A furious look shot into her face and she started to shake me. I pinched her upper arm hard and she yelped in pain, letting me go. She went back to her side of the door, rubbed the tender fleshy area of her upper arm and looked daggers at me.

A few minutes later, she went to the storeroom and got the cricket bat. Shock coursed through me. Was she going to beat me with it?

She leaned the bat against the door and then got a small nest table from the sitting room and sat on it carefully.

It was old, carved and delicate and I wondered if it would break under her weight. But I was quite sure this family would brave a broken heirloom rather than bear down heavily on Sarah.

I was surprised Mobby Dick was so quiet inside the servant’s room. I darted over to Sarah and cupped her ear, “Do you think he’s still in the room?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a window in there.”

“He’s too wide to squeeze through the bars,” she whispered hoarsely into my ear.

I’d forgotten the window bars. “We can’t stay here all night.”

“You can’t, for sure.”

I glared at Sarah, who grinned and puckered her lips to kiss the air in front of her mouth. I walked back to my post and put my ear to the door. How was it possible that Mobby the Dick was so silent in there? Why did Herman Melville give his whale two names. Could Mr Melville have foreseen one of those names becoming a popular swear word 200 years on? And why did Sarayumama put two bs in Mobby’s name. Had she ever read Moby Dick?

I went back to Sarah. “How are we going to get Mobby out?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long do you plan to stick around?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

I wanted to hit Sarah on her head with the bat leaning against the wall. “What are you planning to do with the cricket bat?”

“I’ll figure it out soon.”

“So why did you get it?”

“Chumma (Just like that).”

“Idiot!”

“What! What did you say?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear myself,” I said, rushing back to my spot, suddenly scared.

Sarah was furious. She got up from the spindly stool and charged at me. She caught my ear and wrenched hard.

“You’re just bloody evil! All of Ammachi’s* horrible genes in you,” I shouted, giving Sarah a mighty shove. She tottered backwards and fell, landing on the nest stool. It flattened out with a disturbing crunch.

Sarah lay still on the ground in shock, her hands clutching her mouth to stifle her scream. “Run, Chechi, run!” I whispered as loudly as I dared and started running back to my bedroom through the storeroom and into the corridor.

I was suddenly afraid my grandfather, sleeping in the room opposite the storeroom’s other door, would wake up with the sound of the nest stool smashing and catch us. I was even more worried my demon cousin would rise from where she had fallen beside Sonimol’s door and catch and strangle me with her ferociously strong hands.

I turned to look and saw Sarah close on my heels with the bat tucked into her armpit. As I neared the corridor, sweating now and tense that my grandfather’s door would open any moment, we heard Sonimol’s door open and a pair of slippered feet slapping the ground in hot pursuit.

I waited further along the corridor for Sarah, terrified Mobby would be upon us soon. But she was pulling a starched embroidered table cloth – an unholy reminder that Sarayumama was once young – off a tiny corner table near the sitting room’s entrance. My heart thundered in my chest and ears as I waited near my door, willing my cousin to give up her tomfoolery and run to her door. Being older didn’t necessarily mean wiser!

But in an instant, I understood her interest in our aunt’s stiff muslin endeavour. Sarah grabbed Mobby from behind, her arm looped around Mobby’s neck jerking his head back, and with her other hand shoved the cloth deep into his mouth. My cousin gagged and bent over, scratching at his mouth.

Sarah picked up the cricket bat she had rested against the wall and watched him roll on the floor. There was a cold calculating look on her face. I hugged the wall near my bedroom, watching in shock as Sarah raised the bat and slammed it on Mobby’s back and legs and every body part he was unable to roll over and protect. I ran into my room unable to watch anymore, and threw myself under my sheet, trembling.

In a while I heard Sarah’s door close and after a very long time Mobby’s.

I wiped the sweat off my face and neck and continued to shiver with tension, trying to calm down.

When the sky started to lighten, and my mother woke up and left the room to begin her chores, I crawled into her side of the bed, curled up and continued the prayer I had spent the whole night repeating – I begged God to take me away from this awful place.

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* grandmother in Malayalam

Sarayumama is the narrator’s father’s older sister.

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This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala during her childhood. 

Her cousin Sarah and she have discovered their cousin Mobby attempting a rendezvous with a servant in the middle of the night. 

Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94

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#fiction #keralasyrianchristians #lifeinakeralavillage #FishyChronicles #mumbaimalayalis #malayalam #nesttable #heirloom #cricketbat #embroideredtablecoth #servant #servantquarters #clandestinelove #love #forbiddenlove             

 

Fishy Chronicles 43: Trouble Brews At The Bank

I waited till Genie left the flat and then changed hurriedly.

I was at the door, looking through my purse to see if I had my keys, when I heard Penaaz, “Where are you going?”

I turned to see Fish treading water and watching me. Did I want to answer them? For sure they knew where I was going. “Out.”

“What do we tell Genie when he returns?” Gregory asked, innocently.

“He won't notice,” I said.

“Unlikely. That's the first thing he asks us when he returns home,” Portas said, folding his fins against his chest.

“Tell him I've gone grocery shopping.”

“He bought groceries yesterday... including the ingredients for Saturday's appams,” Pervez said, copying Portas's posture. Our appam and stew plan with the Lonavala group was back on (https://viewfromthetopofthetank.blogspot.com/2019/07/fishy-chronicles-27-mutiny-at-pretty.html).

I drew in a deep breath. Sometimes this felt like an inquisition. I had forgotten to feed Fish this morning – I'd cleaned the tank but been preoccupied. Perhaps that’s why they were cranky now and grilling me. Their beef cake would take ages to thaw, so I dropped some processed fish food into the tank.

There was immediate uproar.

“Slow-releasing food again!” Portas shouted, zipping around the tank in a rage. I looked at the fish food canister. I had indeed poured in the wrong fish food. I only stored food Fish liked, but they hated the slow-releasing variety that I used when I was travelling and couldn't find someone to feed them.

“Are you running away?” my darling Dimitri said, panic in his voice. Suddenly Fish were still and silent.

“Don’t be silly, guys. This is my home. Besides, where else could I go?”

“Are things so bad...”

“... do you have debt...”

“... do you owe money...”

“... Genie will take care of everything... don't worry...”

“... running away from home isn't going to solve anything...”

I felt tense listening to Fish. The chatter stressed me unreasonably, reminding me of the mess I was in and the gaping crevasse of hopelessness I was staring at. I opened the door and left.

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This is a fictional series about Fish, Genie and the narrator. She does the rounds of her bank, which collapsed swallowing her savings, and meets Arief there. He takes her for a drive and contemplates jumping off the Worli Sea Link Bridge. She convinces him to have tea with her, but...

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Several minutes later my phone began to ring. It was Genie. Fish had a lot of time on their hands. When the phone wouldn't stop ringing after 30 minutes, I messaged Genie that I had errands to do and would be back by 4pm.

“What errands?” he texted back.

I stared at the masses standing before the shuttered bank. It was going to be another long day. I messaged back, “Bank work". I waited for another message, but there was none.

I walked about slowly, trying to smile at people who looked familiar. I could only see Kuriakose Uncle from church, who, at this moment, looked pale and ill. He was sitting on the ground and was being fanned with a newspaper by his wife. Other worried church members hovered around them. I hesitated and then slowly started moving towards them.

I felt a hand grip my arm and pull gently. I looked back.

“What are you doing here, Arief!”

“I could ask you the same question.”

A group shoved me out of the way and Arief steadied me and pulled me towards him. We stood and watched people banging the shutters of the bank angrily. There had been a rumour that RBI* officials were going to visit, but none had turned up. It felt hopeless.

Arief cleared his throat. He looked stressed, his face was tight and he ran his hand through his hair.

“How much did you lose?” I asked, instantly regretting the question.

“I'd rather not say.”

I nodded. Suddenly I didn’t feel alone, but I didn’t feel better.

“Want to get a coffee?” Arief asked. He pushed through the crowd, pulling me along by the hand. We walked silently into a small side street and he opened the driver's side door of the large SUV. I got in through the other side.

We sat quietly not talking and then he began to drive. After 15 minutes I asked where we were going, because Arief had had a fixed look on his face and had rubbed his stubbly chin often.

“Vashi Bridge or Worli Sea Link. Which do you prefer?”

“For what?”

“Let's throw ourselves off the bridge. End it all.”

“Let me off here.”

“No.” Arief looked angry and his jaw hardened. He came to an abrupt stop on the side of the road and unlocked the doors. “Well?” He asked when I didn’t budge.

“How much petrol do you have?” I dreaded the thought of leaving Arief alone. What if he actually went through with his silly plan.

“What?”

“How about we go to Sanjay Gandhi National Park and jump in front of the lions.”

“Sounds very painful. I might lose my nerve.”

“So, then, if you haven’t decided on the MO, let's get a cutting chai and sit somewhere we don't have to pay for AC or extra petrol.”

“Any suggestions?”

“How about Bandstand. There are bound to be chaiwallas there.”

He started the engine and then had a thought. I raised my eyebrows.

“Would you get mad at me if I asked you a Genie question?”

I tried not to sigh. “Is it personal?” Who was I kidding. Every Genie question was personal.

“How come Genie isn't with you today?”

“What a silly question. Ask me the next one.”

“No. Seriously. How come?” Arief asked curiously.

“... I left home when he wasn’t around.”

Arief gasped in mock shock and I pounded him with my flimsy purse, angry with myself for being conned.

“Seriously, how could Genie bear to let you go out alone. Does he know about your money?”

I hesitated. “Yes. He knows.” Yesterday Genie had ordered all the groceries we would need... for a year, including sanitary napkins, soap and garbage bags. We had had an argument. Rather I had tried to argue and he had carried on cleaning the loft. Finally I told him the foodgrains would rot and gave him a list of the things he had missed and we needed. We had to return provisions because we didn't have place to store them.

The kiranawala came back, grinning knowingly at the two of us. How I hated that look. But just then a mosquito drove his skinny mouth into him and the shopkeeper screamed in pain. I grinned. My Nobby was a star – he had trained his friends to lurk and bite.

The kiranawala almost fell backwards. He had lost his goodwill with Genie too, because he looked daggers at the man. He hurried out and I closed the door.

I looked up and caught Arief watching me carefully. “What?”

“The talk is there's something going on between you.”

I opened the door, streaked across the road and ran into a side street. My phone rang. I could hear running footsteps behind me and panicked. I ducked into a building, ran up the stairs, heard faint footsteps, took the lift down and ran into the restaurant next door. There was a side entrance and I quickly exited through that and jumped into a rickshaw. No bus for me today. I felt my phone vibrate.

“Hey! What was that all about?!” Arief shouted.

“Some ground rules for you! Genie and I are friends and have known each other for years. He was protective then, more so now. If you want to put a different, dirty twist to it you can bugger off!”

“Just telling you what everyone's saying.”

“I KNOW WHAT EVERYONE'S SAYING AND IT’S LAZY CRAP!”

There was silence for a long time and I wanted to rage some more but also wanted to hear how Arief would apologise. Plus, I didn't want to be rude... to a friend.

“You didn't need to shout,” he said softly, sounding annoyed.

“Did you get the picture?”

He cut the line and I laughed.

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I went back to the bank, not wanting to face Fish or Genie. I groaned. Arief and Genie were sitting on a low wall near a chaiwalla and sipping tea from small, murky glasses. What was it about men. The camaraderie between the two was unmistakable, yet an hour ago the goat was interrogating me about Genie. Bah!

I walked towards them and Genie smiled and ordered a tea for me. He made place on the wall, luckily on his other side. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“I went to the aquarium.”

“Meet anyone we know?”

“Yes. Moby Dick and Rudy the shark. I watched them do the marine mammal waltz. The other fish cheered. Record turnout at Taraporevala Aquarium.” (Read about Rudy here   https://viewfromthetopofthetank.blogspot.com/2019/09/fishy-chronicles-38-in-jaws-of-nightmare.html).

“Is that so?” Genie's dimples grew deeper.

“That is so. The internet is on fire. That is today's taaza khabar**.” I couldn't help it, I smiled.

He handed me my chai and the three of us clinked our glasses and said "cheers".

We took a sip and suddenly there was a loud sound of shattering glass and we ducked involuntarily. There was a crashing sound and I felt Genie's arm around me, pushing me into the ground and keeping me there. All about me I heard people screaming and running and angry shouts. I closed my eyes and kept them shut, feeling absolute terror.

(Continued in https://viewfromthetopofthetank.blogspot.com/2019/11/fishy-chronicles-44-bust-up-at-bank.html )

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*Reserve Bank of India; ** Breaking news