Authors: Indira Ganesan
“But won’t everyone think if you agreed to one meeting, you’ll agree to more?”
“I don’t think so. It will get everyone off my back.”
“Or you could wind up with someone on yours.”
“Ha-ha.”
49
O
scar didn’t remember if the top half was white and the bottom painted green, or the other way around. Try as he might, the image wouldn’t come to him. He really wanted to make a picture of the ferry for Great-Grandmother. He wanted it to be a surprise, and frankly, he wasn’t confident if any of his cousins could keep a secret. They seemed to like talking a lot. His father had given him some coins for ice cream the other day, but they hadn’t gone because of the rain. The change was still in his pocket, so he wondered if he could just get to the dock and look at the ferry. He could even make a quick sketch.
Quietly, he slipped out the gate and headed for the bus stand down the road. He had to remember the name of the street, so he wouldn’t get lost on the way back. He hoped he had enough change. He was the only one waiting as it creaked to a stop. The sign said 50p, so he took out the coins and put them in a small iron box. The bus driver didn’t even look at him. He took a seat behind him, but an old man yelled at him. He didn’t understand, but then he noticed a cartoon demonstrating that the first seats were for the elderly, so with face red, he took another seat farther back, beside a woman holding a baby. The bus lumbered toward the stop they took to the art store, but the dock was nowhere in sight. He tried to ask the woman next to him.
“Boat? Ferry? Water?”
She stared at him, but a man turned around and told him the dock was only a few more stops away. The man kept looking
at him, and was about to ask him something, but Oscar hunkered down and studied the No Smoking or Spitting sign imprinted on the back of the seat, looking up every time the bus groaned to a stop. Many stops later, he arrived at the ferry terminal. He exited the bus, and headed determinedly for the water, ignoring the Kampa Kola sellers and peanut vendors. Finding an empty bench, he opened his notebook. The quay was busy, with sellers shouting out their wares, or arguing over traffic maneuvers. Passengers waited for the ferry to arrive in the terminal. Children ran about, some glancing at him curiously. He waited for a ferry, and when it finally did arrive, he took notes. The bottom was green. There were flags and decks and stairs. For two hours, Oscar was occupied. Finally, getting up and stretching, he realized he needed to use the bathroom. He looked around uneasily. He wondered if he could use the terminal’s bathrooms even though he wasn’t a passenger or waiting for one. His need proved greater than fairness, and he walked slowly into the building. He remembered where one was from last time, and entered. When he was washing up, a funny man with a mustache sidled up to him, making his hair prickle. Asha had told him that people sometimes stole children just like that. His father always told him, look for a policeman if you feel scared or get lost, but there wasn’t any he could see. Clutching his sketch pad, Oscar ran out, hoping he wasn’t being followed. The late-afternoon sun was comforting as he made his way to the stand and got on a bus.
The problem was that he forgot where to get off.
50
I
assumed he was in the garden, reading. Aunt Meterling might have thought the same, but it was nearly tiffin, and Oscar was always hungry for Bournvita and Amal biscuits. Uncle Simon casually said he’d just go have a look, and Ajay accompanied him, “to buy a paper and betel leaf.” Aunt Meterling was inside; otherwise, she would have started to panic. The benefit of having a large family was that if anyone got lost, a search party could easily be assembled and dispatched. Rasi, Sanjay, and I set off as well.
“Should we call the police?”
“No, that will just cause more chaos.”
“It’s not chaos yet.”
We thought he might have headed to the beach, so we went there. This is where our fear kicked in, because the bay was large, deep, and the water choppy.
“He’s a sensible kid,” said Sanjay.
“But what about the undertow?” Ever since I read
Garp
, I worried about undertows.
Rasi began to ask people if they’d seen a little boy, but she had no luck.
“I wonder if Meterling has told him about Archer,” said Sanjay.
I wondered as well. It seemed we had all agreed, almost implicitly, that no one would say anything. In England, it would be easy to keep it a secret, but on Pi, anyone might talk, let loose a comment.
“She’ll tell him when the time’s right,” said Rasi.
“But when is the right time? If I were in his place, I’d want to know,” said Sanjay.
“But why does it matter?”
“Seriously? It’s not so much that Simon isn’t his biological father, but that he wasn’t told.”
I didn’t reply.
“It’s not like Archer was a criminal. Oscar has the right to know,” said Rasi.
“Even if he were a criminal, Oscar still has the right to know,” said Sanjay.
“But what about the psychological damage, then? Imagine how haunted you might be if you knew your father was violent.”
“That’s nonsense. It’s still part of where you come from. It doesn’t determine anything, but—”
“Why are you two arguing? Archer wasn’t a criminal, Oscar can be proud of him, and it’s up to Simon and Meterling to decide.”
It looked like it was going to rain, and I hoped the uncles had found him by now. There were only a few people about, because of the darkening skies. Some were already taking shelter under thatched baskets overturned on their heads. Others raised umbrellas as the first drops hit, the skies opening to let out a steady downpour. Thunder rumbled, and the sky lit with a sudden flash of lightning.
51
H
e had sat on the driver’s side, to the port, but on the return trip, he forgot to switch sides. Still, if he could just recall his way, he should be in time for tiffin. If he got off the bus too soon, he could walk, but it would be harder if the bus overshot his street. It occurred to him that this was an Adventure, and aside from not knowing Tamil, he felt excited. He could Explore, Remember, Record, as they always said in school. He had counted six stops—oh! that’s what he might have done, counted stops, but it didn’t matter now, he was going to have an Adventure. And to do that, he needed to get off the bus.
He took a breath, and jumped off at the next stop. He thought he remembered those palm trees, but soon realized there were the same trees everywhere lining the road. A plump woman in a sari with a net bag in her hand hurried by him, glancing at him curiously. Adults never bothered with him in England. Here, how did people immediately sense he was a foreigner? The street was crowded, and he had to be alert to escape being pushed about too much. He felt in his pants pocket and discovered the few coins he had left were gone. There wasn’t a hole, so he must have been pickpocketed. Maybe when he had been jostled getting off the bus. The thief must be very cunning, he thought, but also disappointed with his spoils. Luckily, he had Asha’s pink quartz in his shirt pocket, which, considering the situation was probably a good thing.
What with keeping from bumping into people, and the noise
of the traffic whizzing by, there was hardly much to Explore or Remember. He was getting tired of walking and craning his head to see if he’d reached home yet. He wondered now if anyone was getting worried. He hoped his absence was still unnoticed. It had been a silly thing to do after all, venture out without telling anyone, and taking a bus. Raindrops hit the pavement before he noticed that he was also getting wet, and then the thunderstorm burst. He took shelter under a shop awning, but there were many people there. Lucky souls who remembered their umbrellas took no notice of the rain and continued on their business. A cache of children jumped into the muddy puddles, their legs now striped with dust and water. He looked at his rubber sandals, and without further thought, joined in. The water was not at all cold, and his feet created droplets as he lifted them up. His companions didn’t say anything—one girl smiled at him shyly. It was strange that while he was on holiday, island children had school. Their clothes looked very clean—children most likely from an orphanage, because schoolchildren would probably have stayed inside. He was fascinated with orphanages. But how had they got out—did they have day passes? He wasn’t sure how orphanages worked, but was sure it didn’t involve heedlessly and joyously jumping into puddles.
The rain stopped just as quickly as it started.
Very soon, too soon, there came a teacher rounding the children up, hitting their legs with a cane. He just shook his cane at Oscar, snapping at him to get in line. Oscar stood in a puddle, and then noticed a woman with an enormous toothless grin staring at him. Made uncomfortable with her attention, he ran after the group of children. Maybe they could direct him to his house. Just as he was reconsidering, thinking maybe that wasn’t really a good plan and he ought to find a policeman, the
teacher surprised him by pulling him roughly by the collar and giving him a push to walk faster.
They entered a courtyard, which was so different from the bustle of the street. Here, two low, whitewashed buildings abutted one another. Two women were doing the laundry by the side of an old palm, while scents of cooking came from a small shed farther away from the women. Oscar realized he was hungry, and wondered if it would be all right just to stay for lunch before he told the teacher about his mistake. He was certain he was not missed at Great-Grandmother’s house.
The students were made to queue up in two lines. Oscar hoped they weren’t going to do a head count, but it seemed they were just waiting to be addressed by the headmaster. He spoke rapidly in Tamil, and then more haltingly in English, announcing the sports schedule for the afternoon. Oscar was surprised how much there was planned. The headmaster then asked everyone to assemble quietly and orderly for lunch, at which point the lines erupted into pandemonium. The children noisily entered the building on the left, and sat down at long tables. Oscar was surprised at first, imagining everyone would sit on the floor. Quickly, stainless-steel plates were passed around, and several men and women went up and down the tables, efficiently serving rice, dal, a tangle of green vegetables, and yogurt. Gingerly, Oscar tasted the food, and discovered he was not just hungry but ravenous.
Finishing his plate, he put down his spoon, wondering if they would have seconds, when he saw the schoolmaster coming toward him. The other children stared at him. Would the police come for him now? Rising up quickly, he ran out of the building and into the street. It didn’t look as if the headmaster was pursuing, so, panting, Oscar caught his breath. Maybe the headmaster realized he could be in more trouble if it came out
that he’d mistakenly ushered a foreign child into the orphanage. Oscar walked on.
This side of the street started to seem a little more familiar, because wasn’t that mango stand the same his aunts and uncle took him to? He wasn’t allowed to drink any juices, but fruit was okay, as long as it was cut in front of him. The owner of the stand knew how to cut the mangoes into frog and turtle shapes, and served them with a toothpick. He realized he was still hungry. He wondered if they were already eating at Great-Grandmother’s house. For the first time, he thought about his mother. His clothes were still wet. He had been gone over four hours, he estimated, and she was certain to be furious. If he kept on this side and went farther, he should reach his street quickly, unless he had overshot it.
More and more buildings appeared familiar, but with slow-growing alarm, he recognized that he had gone the wrong way. The terminal was ahead. Could he have really walked all that way? He could not make out the ferry, so he must still be some distance away, he reasoned. He felt embarrassed just turning around, walking the other way again, and seeing everything and everyone all over again, so he thought he would first go down a side street. Cities were laid out in grids, he knew, so a side street should take him to a street that ran parallel to the main road. Bougainvillea and jasmine bloomed from the thick vines that dropped from gardens hugging the street, which inclined steeply. One side of the street burst with heat while the side he walked on was cool. Voices and laughter drifted from restaurants perched high on the third storeys of buildings that lined the street, and looking up, he could see waiters carrying plates of two-foot dosas, and skillfully streaming coffee from individual saucers to tumblers. The joke was,
Sanjay said, the waiters could pour a vertical length of liquid as wide as their arms, so you asked for a yard of coffee.
In the distance lay the sea.
If one street would take him to the parallel street, then three would take him to the beach. If he turned left at the beach, he would be walking in the right direction to Great-Grandmother’s house. He reminded himself he would need to climb up steeply at some point to rejoin the main road, but surely the water at the sea’s edge would refresh him. And he certainly needed more shells for his collection.
Splashing into the water, he discovered the waves were rougher than he expected. They were fast as well, as he darted in and out to grab the tiny shells that were uncovered on the wet sand. The bigger ones eluded him, though. There were only a few people about, and no one paid him any attention. Soon he was absorbed in filling his pockets, which grew damp and heavy. Beach fleas nipped his toes. Left, he told himself, he needed to turn left, and then left again, but by now his legs were tired. In fact, his whole body ached.
“Oscar!”
He turned.
It must have been the wind. There was no one there. He flopped down on the sand and fell asleep.
The fleas woke him up. He batted them away, wondering how long he had been asleep. Had the sun been as low as it was now when he first reached the beach?
He was supposed to turn right. No, it was left. A small panic rose in his stomach. By now, he knew his parents would be worrying, and if he was truthful, he too was just a little scared. He could hear men shouting to each other in the distance, and a woman’s voice rising to scold someone. What if he were never to find his way back? Would he wind up homeless, sleeping on
the beach? He saw a pack of dogs come in his direction. Island dogs tended to be short-haired, pointer-like, and sometimes painfully thin. Mina had told him they were wild, scavenging for food and sleeping on the beach. He wished she were here. He must have been daft to come by himself—that’s what his father would say. They might be really mad by now. It must be close to dinnertime. He knew that night fell quickly on the island, but the sun was not yet ready to make its descent into the water.