Broken Hug

On The Bridge

The sky suddenly grumbled and black clouds began to roll. He stood on the middle of the road and smiled at the gushing wind. It billowed his shirt and he laughed when it entered through his shirt and tickled him. The sky opened up and he smiled at the thick drops of water landing on him. He then sat in the park. By this time rain began falling in torrents and he was soaked to the skin. Ahead was a small bridge over a side road. He walked the hundred metres to it and peered down into the darkness. Pungent smell of muck and stagnant water reached his nostrils. He could faintly see some transparent plastic bags reflecting a dull glow over dirty, mud-blackened boulders. He climbed to the concrete railing and slowly, balancing himself, stood up on the narrow border. The collected muck and all the items huddled together seemed to call him. Come. Join us. We have found nirvana here. Don’t you have a poem on this? Read it, young professor.

            From your window

            your eyes fall

            on the clear

KUNCHENJUNGA

Between them lies

the path

of your FUNERAL SONG

bearing my coffin…

Yes, the boulders and the muck’s voice rose towards him.

He closed his eyes. Extended his hands. Like a bird. Eagle is a better terminology. And he smiled. He tilted five degrees forward.

Suddenly the face of the roadside little girl appeared in his mind. Her face looked lost. She opened her mouth. A word was forming around her lips, but her voice never reached him. In the midst of this a yellow stone appeared. It was moving in slow degrees and covered the little girl’s face.

Jump, the stone said.

And Rohan tilted two degrees further.

No, the girl made an effort, but her voice could hardly reach Rohan’s ears. .

Rohan could make out she was saying something but her voice did not reach Rohan. Then soon the voice became audible, faintly audible. No, don’t. She immediately appeared behind him and the stone began to shiver. The girl’s eyes and cheeks and streaks of hair over her eyes became more distinct. She stretched her hand and catching Rohan by the collar, pulled him back. He straightened up; and his body swayed to and fro like a well-oiled machine. Still in a daze, he lowered himself and sat on his haunches, slowly holding the railing with a weak grip. He lowered himself further and stood on the concrete road. There was the sensation of an invisible hand gently patting his forearm.   

Rohan did not know how long he sat on the roadside. When he realized where he was, the sky had cleared. A few vehicles passed by, otherwise the road was empty. Street lights shone over the pavements and the shops had all shuttered down. It was past ten-thirty when he hailed a cab.

The vehicle sped past through the by-pass and by about forty-eight minutes, he was outside his house.

Fai, Fai… I know you are at home, waiting for me.

He walked through the gate and did not notice Charoen standing in the corner, under the little shade of the guava tree like a shadowy figure, putting something back in her purse.

Fai, I love you. Rohan repeated the phrase like a mantra, his murmur sounding distinct in the moonlit night.  

            The click of the lock sounded in his ears and he pushed the door open.

Fai, you are not here. Perhaps upstairs. And he began moving towards the stairs. He suddenly heard a tap-tap behind him. He turned and there at the door stood a lady.

            “Fai, you have come. I knew you would. I know how much you love me.” He went closer to the door. He touched the lady. He looked into her eyes.

            “Fai. My Fai. When did you arrive? It must have been a long wait all the way from Bangkok. See I was next to the airport. If only you had told me of your coming I would have picked you. I was close to the airport, you know….”         

            Charoen held Rohan and helped him to the couch. She switched the lights. Rohan’s eyes were closed. His head on the back rest lay loose and tilted, as if the head would fall off like an over-ripe jack fruit from the tree.

            Charoen’s hand burned when she had held Rohan. His face looked drained. She smoothed his hair and quickly got a towel from the washroom and rubbed the water from his head. She rushed up the stairs and took out fresh night clothes from the cupboard and helped him remove his soggy clothes.

            Rohan opened his eyes now and then but his legs could not hold his body weight and he swayed every now and then. Charoen put her arms around his shoulders and helped him walk him towards the stairs.

            “No, I’ll be at the sitting room.” His voice was faint and drowned into a whisper’s whisper.

            Charoen placed his head on her lap and caressed it.

            “I’ll be back.”

            She went upstairs and opened this drawer and that and searched in his bedside table too. Finally going into the washroom cabinet, she found the thermometer. She came down. Temperature was 104 Celcius. In the kitchen she found chicken cubes, warmed three pieces into a bowl of water and fed him.

            His head on her lap and with his eyes closed, he fell into sleep. He breathed deep, Charoen noticed and his chest moved up and down. For a time, Charoen, her hand on his chest, thought she could not feel his breath. She took her fingers close to his nostrils. What? Not there? No,no. steady Charoen. Steady. Focus. Focus. After confirming and reconfirming for sometime, when her nerves had calmed and she was breathing slowly and in a steady manner, she felt his breath warming her fingers. Eyes filled with tears, she bent her head and kissed his head.

*

Charoen gave a slight jerk and opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep on the couch, sitting, head tilted on a cushion on her lap.

She lifted her head and found Rohan murmuring. He lay curled up on the couch looking calmer. Charoen touched his forehead. Temperature had come down, but the paleness still remained on his face. He stirred and opened his eyes.

“Where am I?” he said in a soft raspy voice.

“At home.” Charoen’s voice was soft.

 He looked at her. His eyes narrowed, then they relaxed their hold.

“What time is it?” he said and looked at his watch.

“2.30 AM,” she said and put her hand on his head.

“Why aren’t I upstairs?”

Charoen waited. “Last night? You remember?”

“No. Yes. Yes. I’m fine. But let’s go to your place.”

“Umm, sleep for a bit more time, and when dawn arrives, we’ll go to the condo.”

Rohan got up. “No let’s go. Now. I can sleep there.”

*

The street light threw a shaft of light into the yard and on the house across the glow fell like a blanket on the wall making the house look asleep.

The road was quiet with only the street lights awake like sentinels guarding the neighbourhood. The general store looked strange, draped in silence and the area around a graveyard of sorts. A dog lay curled on the pavement. It lifted its head and pricked its ears and finding the two beings harmless, put its head down on its paws and closed its eyes.

Charoen had her hand around Rohan’s shoulder as he walked a bit unsteadily at times. Coming to the main road, they turned left and at the end of the long stretch of around two kilometers was the condo across the street.

Rohan cleared his throat and began singing. Hey Mr. Tambourine Man play a song for me and his voice began to take a higher pitch. Ahead at the crossing a group of youths were sitting on the pavement. One of them was standing in the midst of some explanation. His hands moved, spelling his words. He pointed to the right and then the left. He then took his hand to his throat and made a sign of a s***h. The others nodded. Rohan and Charoen appeared closer and crossed them but they continued with their activities. One of them looked familiar.

Rohan turned to Charoen.

“Did you see what I saw?”

“You mean that girl…?”

“Yes. Blue frayed jeans and sleeveless sky blue top.”

“Yes. Samita.”

“Now that you say so…”

“Yes! And that one sitting on the left is the one whom I saw dead. Lying on the street, throat slashed.”

“The dead now alive.”

“And look.” Charoen pointed to a deserted balcony of a residence jutting out into the street.

The pair of smoky beings.             

*

 “These suicides among students,” Charoen said as she unlocked the door and they stepped into her room, “have been in the dailies since the last five months.”

Rohan was sitting on the couch. He nodded. “That’s the most surprising part. Something needs to be done. Someone has to wake up and do something.”

Charoen opened the fridge and took out two cold coffee cans. She looked at Rohan as she handed him one. He looked drained after the walk but would soon look fresh. The new room with its few furniture was a newly found spot for him, she calculated. He might imagine it to be a seabed which a mermaid had found for herself and he, the merman, would join in. Perhaps he would say, “This sea nymph, in love with solitude loves the sea in its entirety but had been quietly but frantically searching for its favourite corner. And now having found one is standing. To his eyes this water fairy is Fai nicknamed Charoen. To his eyes she is the world in its perfection but one flight of steps below. The broken flight. He needs me to accompany him up that flight.    

Rohan, finding her in deep thought and standing with her thumbs loosely hooked in the pockets of her jeans, urged his hands to gently run his fingers over the landscape of her hair. As he continued looking into her eyes, he found a speck of disturbance resting on her brow. For my behaviour? Or is it a permanent quietness? Yes, it seemed to have become part of her after her mother’s incident. But maybe, he analysed, this quietness has come after the news of the student’s suicide playing in every student’s mind. Or for what we have seen on the road? Unable to really fathom what is what, he dismissed the puzzle for the time being.

He lay on the bed. “I’ll sleep for a while. Should wake up by eight. And,” he paused, “if you think of anything, remember Hunnie’s suggestions are free of charge.” He smiled.

She nodded. Sitting by his side, he continued looking at him. How I love him. Though I want to destroy him, which I don’t know how, but love pours out for him. She got up and removed her dress and while donning a T-shirt, lay down next to him. The sound of hard rain battering on the balcony fibre shade fell as lullaby and took the two tired bodies into deep sleep. 

All they could see through the fogginess were the pair of smoky beings, the female and male pair of lovers, caressing their heads. And they did not hear the clink of cola bottles when the shadowy beings opened the fridge and sat on the couch, arms around each other, drinking and kissing each other every now and then.

*

When Rohan opened his eyes it was past nine. He looked at Charoen. Her hair was spread all over the pillow, her face a placid lake. Her black eyelashes and silky hair was an island. He took his hand to touch the black artwork created on the white background of the pillow, but he resisted, and took his hand away. Let the art work not be shamed with my touch.

            He was at the couch when she took a deep breath, stirred and opened her eyes. She felt the space next to her and finding it empty lifted her head. And there, from the couch, he smiled.

He prepared tea for two and spreading butter on toasts, he placed ham. She pulled the two single couches and they sat facing the little balcony. It had begun to rain again but fell gently this time. She glanced at him. He looked energized now and seemed to have forgotten about yesterday.

“I’ll go home and return later,” he said as the rain stopped. “Will catch up with some writing and meet you later.”

“Yes. That’s fine.” She smiled.

*

By the time Rohan covered the one-kilometre distance between his house and the condominium, the sun came up again. The brightness brought back his rap-song on her, and the song a smile on his lips. “She needs some time alone to mentally settle down.”

The only significant thing he did the whole day was thinking about Charoen. But Fai peeped into his mind, bringing a significant silence. Once he stood at the window, at other times his eyes fell at the painting. He went through Random Thoughts but gave up in several minutes. Should I tell Charoen that she should stop acting Fai and be her real self? How will she react to it when I tell her that I don’t want her to be in my life? I mean as a lover? She is sure to understand the reason?

No, telling her will complicate everything. Let me harbour it in my heart. Time will help me use my discretion.

By the time the day waned, he prepared to leave. He stood at his door, pondering for a while. Retracing his footsteps to his study, he opened the drawer and searched amidst the clutter of papers and files. His search rewarded him as his fingers touched something smooth. He pulled it out. It was the reproduction of the pencil sketch of the heritage building of Medical College. The fibre frame, golden in colour with the appearance of cracks on it gave an antique look to the building. Something was written on the brown plywood back. – the college constructed in 1910 and the sketch made by Samir Biswas in 1983.

He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Something tapped behind the washroom door, and he turned, tip toed the few steps, and resting his left hand on the kitchen table, put his ear close to the door. A soft murmur and a humming of Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne.

Rohan held his breath, counted ten and then released it ever so gently. Was it someone he knew? But why should that someone hide. Which intruder?

Was someone already in his house since the early morning he and Charoen had left. He looked around the kitchen. The containers on the shelf were in their place. He opened the cupboard. The packets inside were not tampered. What was that yellow line on the wall? A long oily path running diagonally from left to right and just above the gas stove? No, four paths, more or less running parallel down to the gas burner table. Lines with the fingers.

Then, as if reading his thoughts, the door creaked.