Broken Hug

The Walk Out

Come Saturday and Rohan felt special. He looked out at his favourite guava tree. A few new leaves had grown around the crest and the morning sunlight threw a slanting beam on it and, having filtered through a few leaves, the beam fell flat on the wall connecting his house with that of his neighbour’s. I hope a fresh sunbeam falls on Charoen today. Yes today, her day of moving out from her house and moving in to the second-floor flat of the condominium.

In no time Rohan reached school, completed his pending work and in one and a half hours was at Hunnie’s store. He fidgeted, his nerves having begun to tingle at the thought of a new life and adventure. Charoen will reside close to his house, and more so, will get enough time for rest she had been deprived of. While looking out from the balcony, he heared Hunnie saying hi to someone at the door. It was Charoen standing.

He helped her take out the few packets from the cab before they took the stairs. There already was a black leather double couch, a double bed in the centre with an appealing flowery bedcover. A small vase with a pair of gladioli on the study table looks radiated a smile; and next to this a steel cupboard with a poster of The Titanic. He smiled at the pair of garden chairs complete with a black tinted coffee table near the door leading to the balcony. Charoen beamed at the furniture. Rohan put the packets on the bed and set about arranging the books on the attached shelf of the study table while Charoen arranged the clothes in the cupboard. Once done, they looked at each other and all around the room.

Pulling a garden chair close to Rohan, Charoen slipped her arm into his. And when he patted at the space in his chair, she got up and sat there, leaning on his chest. He put his arms around her, resting his chin on her left shoulder, his hands around her stomach. He closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance in her hair. 

“Your hair is a bunch of marine flowers. Fragrance trapped into them.” The blend of surprise and calmness in his own voice surprised him. “If I were a merman,” he whispered in her ear, “I would lie cocooned in that fragrance.”

Her head sideways and up, she rested her eyes on him, her mouth close to his. Her lips stretch into a smile, her teeth peep out. Warmth flooded his brain and he took his mouth close to hers. Her hot breath fell on his face. Their mouths met, their tongues darted into each other’s mouth, like snakes in slow passion. She turned herself and sat on his thighs, her legs straddled across. His kisses rained on her like soft drizzle. Her arms tightened around him. By now his hand was inside her T-shirt and on her breast. He lifted her T-shirt and she helped him slip it out of her young and shapely body. Male hands unclasped her bra. Her neat little breasts flooded his mind. Getting up, she removed her shorts and he did the same with his trousers. Both naked, he lifted her and her legs wrapped around his waist. Holding her by her buttocks, he carried her to the bed, placing her gently on the flowery bedspread like an antique female figurine.

Her closed eyes and half open mouth flooded his brain further. But he rained down his charged passion in slow measures, sure and exact. Her quiet moans reached a rhythmic crescendo till his brain exploded. Her moans travelled down from the summit of her passion. When their movement subsided, he rested above her, positioned by his elbows. She opened her eyes in slow degrees, resting them on his face. A faint smile of satisfaction lighted her eyes and spread to her cheeks and finally rested around her mouth. His lips touched her neck and remained there for some time. Again the picture of the smoky beings and when he looked at the balcony, they were there, on the floor and in the same position as Rohan and Charoen.  

When he turned and lay next to her, she rested her hand on his chest. He cuddled her closer to him. Her fingers moved over his chest. During the long silence he once again became aware of the smell of freshness coming from her washed her.

“You know,” he whispered, “the fresh smell of love mingled with that of your hair is the real definition of freedom. Our joint freedom.” 

She looked about the room, smiled and nodded. She got up and took out something from her rucksack and gave it to him. It was a Chinese painting of a lady in purple traditional dress. Behind her were mountains, with snow-clad peaks. Strips of thin bamboo canes were attached and held together by cords around the four edges.

He smiled and went to the wall opposite the bed and hung it on the nail in the centre.

“It’s for you, Rohan. It will look nice in your room.”

He smiled. “I think it looks just as nice here, if not better.” 

She smiled.

“How about some coffee?” he asked after a while.

And before she could reciprocate, he had walked towards the fridge and taken out two cans of cold coffee. 

She sat up, placed the sheet on her thighs and took a sip. “Good,” and nodded at him. “Dee ma,” and gave him a thumbs-up.

“You sound like Fai. With this dee ma.”

“Oh… Would she say it too?”

“Yes. Whenever something good would happen. Like once we were at the Bayoke Tower and from its 84th floor we were looking at the evening sun setting down. The combination of colours were awesome to watch. And I exclaimed Oh My God! And Fai like, said you like it? I was still staring at the scene, and quietly nodded open-mouthed. She said Isn’t it dee ma? Thus there were little bits here and there which called for this term to be used by her as well as by me.”

“That’s nice to know. And here I’m your Fai. No. Fai-Charoen…”

But Rohan found himself at the tower, holding Fai’s hand.

“You are mine, Raw-han.

He was holding Fai’s hand and their heads touched. He sat at the couch and taking out his small notebook and a pen, began scribbling. His eyes narrowed and his forehead furrowed as he went deep into his thoughts and continued writing. “Fai, where are you? Please come. I haven’t seen you for eternity.”

Charoen came and sat next to him, and he looked at her, caught in a trance.

“Fai, where are you..?”

Charoen rested her hand on his arm.

“No, you are not Fai. You cannot be her. She stays in Bangkok.” And he turned his face and stared at the wall with the Chinese painting on the cane strips. “Why are you invading into her life? And even mine?”

Charoen only looked at Rohan, a clam expression resting on her face. 

            “Please leave me alone,” he continued. “I will not come to visit you.” He looked about in the room. “Fai where are you?” his voice was a whisper. And before he could complete his words, he was out of the door.

*

Charoen stared at the room. Her eyes drooped, and they rested on the floor. Her cell suddenly rang.

            “Everything’s ok?”

            “Yes dad.”

            “Umm, it doesn’t seem so, my girl. But of course I could be wrong. It’s just that your voice sounds down.”

            “No I’m fine.” She lied. “It’s just that I’m tired. Will sleep for a while in the afternoon. And that should pep me up.”

            “Ok sweetie. Call anytime you feel like. Bye. Love you.”

            “Bye dad.”     

            She locked the door and went down and out of the condo.

A few people were strolling about in the street, mostly marketers. A lady in an off white skirt holding a child’s hand was stepping into the general store, but the little girl was pulling her arm and pointing to the ice cream man and his red cart with pictures of chocolate and butterscotch cones. A monk wrapped in a saffron cloak stood on the corner of the road, near a little heap of debris, hands holding a bag and next to him a lady offering a food packet. 

            Charoen walked down the road and entered the small park. It lay at the corner of the street and mostly abandoned by the neighbourhood. The debdaru trees in the park had been standing tall and overspread since the previous second generation. The corporation had come down to fell down all of them about two decades ago but the residents had angrily protested. Even if the trees were poisonous, they had said, they housed bad spirits; and cutting down their abode would only invite their wrath.

            Charoen stepped into the park overgrown with weeds and headed to the last tree on the right far corner. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the yellow stone. Soon her purse vibrated with a soft grating noise, and placing the stone into her palm, she whispered: Amanee. The wrinkle-faced lady appeared.

            Lady: Rohan is your target.

            Charoen: But I love him.

            Lady: You will be breaking the family tradition, especially otherwise.

            Charoen: But he has a similar mark of half moon on his palm.

            Lady: That is more the reason why you have to finish him off.

            The lady began to murmur some strange words and Charoen’s eyes closed. She saw before her a snake. It uncoiled itself from its sleeping posture. Next it straightened up its spine and puffing its hood, struck Charoen on her palm where the half moon birthmark lay. Her head swayed from right to left several times till she opened her eyes. She shook her head. She opened her palm and kept the stone into her purse. The old lady had turned into a wisp of mist and rose to the debdaru tree. Charoen got up in slow measures and walked out of the abandoned park.

*

Rohan crossed the street and headed straight. “No. No. Nothing is alright. This is not my life, Fai. I mean here, with Charoen. I need to be with you. Have you written any mail?”

            Rohan stood in the corner of the street made by two walls of shops. Leaning against the moss-covered wall which he did not notice, he opened his email. Nothing. Next he scrolled down but all he found were mails from Pitch Boxers, Now And Then and from a student who needed some guidance in her speaking skills for a forthcoming grade at the end of the month. One mail from Poem Hunter. He opened it. And there, staring at him was, “Your poem, Daffodils Are Dahlias No More has been published in this month’s fortnightly. Please read and share the link in your f*******:, Twitter and i********: handle. Happy reading and submitting more poems. From Team Poem Hunter.”

            Rohan’s heart leapt up to a degree. But soon, Fai, you are nowhere to read it. I remember you would encourage me to continue writing. Hope wherever you are, you will see the poem.

            Let me board a bus. And he crossed the road sat at the bus stop seat, still scrolling on his phone.

An air-con bus arrived, its final destination Airport written on the board. It was quite empty and Rohan took the last seat. The entire seat was for him and he positioned himself at the window. A cricket match was being aired on the television, but its audio was muted. He looked to his left and saw Fai sitting at the other window seat. Th elight golden soft shirt rested on her body. She was looking at the tablet. Perhaps she is browsing through her sketches. He got up and sat next to her. Hi Fai. Where had you been all these years? It’s good to see you. See the latest poem I’ve written on you….

The jingling of coins reached his ears and the conductor arrived, shaking his ticket bag. Last stop, he told the conductor and paid the money. Once he was gone, Rohan looked at Fai. The slight hum of the air conditioner sounded louder and he read out the poem with his voice raised.

In an hour’s time the bus stopped at the airport bus terminus. Roahn got down. Fai is somewhere around, he murmured. There was the municipal market to the left and eateries huddled around it. But except a few people, the road and area was empty. He sat in one corner of a shop bench and ordered a half plate of Chicken Chow Mein. He had barely put a forkful of the food when he spied a little girl sitting at the pavement. Dust of the day had gathered on her face and dress; her hair was unwashed. He went up and handed her his food. He then stood at the gate of a children’s park and stared at the emptiness of it all. The trees seemed to speak to him with their loneliness.