“No, tell me the real reason,” she said. “Never mind, we will talk later, after you have rested. Poor Daddy, how much he missed you, and yet he never, ever complained. But I knew that inside it was eating him up.”
“So now you are blaming the cancer on me.”
“No! I didn’t mean it like that! I didn’t!” His mother held his face in her hands, repeating the denial till she was certain he believed her. “You know, Daddy once told me it was the worst day of his life when he let Brigadier Grewal persuade him that a job in the Gulf would be a good thing for you.”
They sat on the porch while she told him about the funeral arrangements for the next morning: dustoors were coming from the nearest fire-temple, which was still a considerable distance. It had been an effort to find two who were willing to perform the ceremony. Most had refused the assignment when they discovered the deceased was to be cremated, saying their services were available only to Zoroastrians bound for the Towers of Silence — never mind if it was a long trip by railway.
“How narrow-minded these people are,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course, we are cremating because it was Daddy’s wish, but what about people who cannot afford to transport the body? Would these priests deny them the prayers?”
It wasn’t going to be an open-air pyre, she explained. The electric crematorium had been booked in the valley — it would be more decorous. And Daddy wasn’t really specific on this point, so it didn’t matter.
The General Store had remained closed since his death. She meant to reopen it next week and continue as usual. “Are you planning to settle back here?” she ventured timidly, afraid of appearing to pry into his affairs.
“I haven’t thought about it yet.”
Daylight was starting to fade about them. He watched a lizard, motionless upon the stone wall. Every now and then, its thin body shot forward like an arrow to catch a fly.
“Are you happy in Dubai? Is your job interesting?”
“It’s okay.”
“Tell me more about it. You wrote that you are a manager now?”
“Supervisor. Looking after a maintenance team — central air-conditioning.”
She nodded. “And what is Dubai like?”
“It’s okay.” He searched his mind for things to add, and realized he did not know the place, didn’t want to. The people, their customs, the language — it was all as alien to him now as it had been when he had landed there eight years ago. His uprooting never seemed to end. “Lots of big hotels. And hundreds of shops selling gold jewellery and stereos and TVS.”
She nodded again. “Must be a very beautiful place.” His unhappiness afflicted her like something palpable. She felt the moment was right to talk again about his returning home. “The shop is yours, you know that. If you want to come back and run it, modernize it. Whatever you like. If you prefer to sell it and use the money to start your own refrigeration and air-conditioning business, that’s also possible.”
He heard the diffident note in her voice and felt miserable. A mother scared to talk to her own son — was he really so intimidating? “I haven’t thought about all that,” he repeated.
“Take your time, there is no rush. Whatever you wish.”
He winced at her efforts to mollify him. Why didn’t she say she was disgusted with his behaviour, with his long absence, his infrequent, superficial letters? And if she did say it — would he defend himself? Would he give reasons, try to explain how meaningless every endeavour seemed to him? No. For then she would start crying again, he would tell her to stop being silly, she would ask for details, and he would tell her to mind her own business.
“I was thinking,” said Mrs. Kohlah, shifting to a less risky subject. “Since you have come after so many years, maybe you should take the chance and visit our relatives. Everyone in the Sodawalla family is dying to see you again.”
“It’s too far to go, I don’t have time.”
“Not even two-three days? You could also say hello to the lady you lived with when you were in college. She would be so happy to see you.
“She’s forgotten me after all this time, for sure.”
“I don’t think so. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have finished your certificate. You didn’t like the college hostel, you wanted to come straight back home, remember? You owe your success to Dina Dalai and her accommodation.”
“Yes, I remember.” Hearing his mother say “success” made him cringe.
Dusk fell, and the lizard he had been watching began melting into the stone wall. When it moved, it became sharply visible again. But the creature’s appetite must have been sated, he thought, for it no longer darted at flies — its belly seemed distinctly bloated.
“Maneck.” She waited till he turned his head towards her. “Maneck, why are you so far away?”
He narrowed his eyes to examine her face — his mother was not usually given to such inanities. “It’s because my job is in Dubai.”
“I wasn’t referring to that distance, Maneck.”
Her answer made him feel foolish. Gently touching his shoulder, she said, “Time to start dinner,” and went inside.
He listened to the kitchen noises travelling to the porch, timid as his mother’s words. Pots and pans, and then the knife — a flurry of taps against the board while she chopped something. Water running in the sink. A thud, and a bolt rattling into place, as she shut the window to keep out the evening cold.
Maneck shifted uneasily in his chair. The cooking sounds, the twilight chill, the fog rising from the valley began escorting a host of memories through his troubled mind. Childhood mornings, waking, standing at the enormous picture window of his room, watching the snow-covered peaks as the sun rose and the mountain mists commenced their dance, while Mummy started breakfast and Daddy got ready to open the shop. Then the smell of toast and fried eggs made him hungry, so he pushed his warm feet into the cold slippers, enjoying the shiver that shot through him, brushed his teeth, and hurried downstairs, gave Mummy a good-morning hug and snuggled into his chair. Soon, Daddy came in rubbing his hands, and took great gulps of tea from his special cup while standing, gazing out upon the valley before sitting to eat his breakfast and drink more tea, and Mummy said…
“Maneck, it’s getting chilly outside. Do you want a pullover?”
The intrusion jolted the elbow of memory; his thoughts collapsed like a house of cards. “No, I’ll be in soon,” he called back, irritated by the interruption, as though he could have recaptured, reconstructed, redeemed those happy times if only he had been given long enough.
The lizard still clung to the stone wall, camouflaged within the stone colouring. Maneck decided he would go inside when the fading light made the creature disappear completely. He hated its shape, its colour, its ugly snout. The manner in which it flicked its evil tongue. Its ruthless way of swallowing flies. The way time swallowed human efforts and joy. Time, the ultimate grandmaster that could never be checkmated. There was no way out of its distended belly. He wanted to destroy the loathsome creature.
He took a walking-stick leaning in the corner of the porch, crept forward, and swung at the lizard. The stick made a flat thwack upon the stone. He stepped back quickly, examining the ground at his feet, ready to deliver a second blow if required. But there was nothing there. He looked at the wall. Nothing. He had swung at thin air.
Now he felt relief that he had not killed the lizard. He wondered at what point it had departed, leaving him to conjure up its saurian presence. He looked closely at the wall’s texture. He ran his fingers over the surface to find the spot. There must be some curious marking in the stone, a bump or crack or hollow that had tricked his eyes.