Authors: Kishore Modak
The bringing alive of
this fantasy was a possibility because I knew that the object of my
attention was given to a life of physical experiments.
Repression always
surfaces; it is the unrepressed that is easy to make dormant and
extinct.
That night I dreamt
well, while the dream lasted, it becoming instantly disgusting and
distasteful when I opened my eyes. I was alone in the one-room house,
along with an old man who struggled with his cough, trying to get
something unstuck and out of the way.
The sun had risen over
the sea, and I could see no boats on the beach. I became alarmed.
‘Mary, where is
the boatman? I was thinking of leaving this morning, since I don’t
want to be a burden on you,’ I said, seeing her stoke the fire
on which the large pot of water had reaffirmed its ground.
‘Why, what
happened? I thought you wanted to stay for a couple of days, if not
weeks. But I do understand it is very quiet and village-like here. I
can get a boat ride for you, but it will be only the day after, not
before that,’ she looked disappointed, and convinced that it
was the minimalist living and its boredom that was driving me away.
Later, I settled on the
beach in the sand, reading for a while, noticing tourists on the far
end, who were emerging from a resort that I had not noticed in the
dark, on the previous evening. After informing Mary, I walked up to
the resort slowly, taking the better part of an hour before settling
by the pool of the hotel, ordering drinks and charging my mobile
phone and my tablet, while I sipped and grew lazy.
On the beach in front,
children frolicked with their families, making plans for the day,
with eager sea- gypsies, who bargained like sailors do, with smiles.
When I returned, Rafael
was back from school, standing in slippers, uniformed raggedly in a
stain- white shirt and navy blue shorts. He was restless, eating
quick and leaving for an afternoon of fishing.
‘Rafael, why
don’t you stay at home and study, while we still have daylight.
I don’t want you to waste your time on the boats all the time,’
Mary advised our son, not forceful enough for the boy to listen.
Force, in commands, is the forte of fathers.
He replied in Cebuano,
went in and spoke to the old man before leaving. They must have
spoken of the fishing and the tackles and the tricks that were taught
by the old man to my son over the years.
Mary complained,
redirecting her tirade, meaninglessly, at the old man, while Rafael
answered in smiles and excuses, before leaving. The old man spoke to
Mary, siding my son, I thought, since I had not yet picked up their
tongue, but his tone was revealing, as regards siding with the young
is concerned.
I followed him,
watching him push his skiff into the waters with big sea arms, firing
up, leaving before long, skimming over the azure blue waters.
‘Do you want to
head out for dinner, maybe to the resort?’ I asked Mary, after
I had seen him turn around the rocks, out of sight.
‘We never go
there. It is for tourists. The staff will laugh at us if they see us
there,’ she was laughing.
The radiance of
happiness on any face makes it instantly attractive, and in this
case, immeasurably desirable.
I smiled, too, ‘I
just thought it might be a change, that is all,’ I said.
‘Let me do a
grill for you tonight. You will like it, of course, depending on what
Rafael brings in,’ she said.
Of course I knew I
would like it; I had always liked her cooking, when she was with me,
when I was a child.
‘That sounds
perfect. I will go and get some beers from the resort,’ I said,
becoming buoyant, with preparations of a party, which I had not had
for many months now.
‘Don’t
forget to carry some ice too, so the beer remains chilled,’ she
said, happy with my exuberance on being here.
I set back out on the
beach late in the afternoon, heading towards the resort, buying beer
along with the ice, as I was advised, and then ambled back leisurely
and unhurried, enjoying the breeze that had picked up by now.
Dinner was early, since
the dark made any activity tiresome in the absence of electric
lights.
Rafael had lit a pit
fire in the sand, and Mary was carrying a large bowl of rice, out,
onto the beach. I cracked beers, and settled by the fire.
The rice was spiced
with garlic oil, a taste that sent me back years in time. It remained
as tasty as it was then, in fact more, since time lends a variety of
flavour to the things that we like, forget and then rediscover.
The grill consisted of
fresh fish that Rafael had brought in; it was small fish, nothing
grand, but supremely fresh, tasting of the sea from which they had
been harvested only hours ago. There were some small shellfish, too,
grilled for only a few seconds, just warmed through and drizzled with
oil and lime juice, before we ate them. Washed down with the local
brew, the grill was a spectacular success.
‘This was such a
good suggestion. Beats sitting in the chairs of the restaurant, with
table linen,’ I said, ‘and it brings back such wonderful
memories of—’ your cooking, I almost blurted, checking
myself just in time, swallowing words midsentence.
‘Thank you. So
glad you like it,’ she smiled, thankfully not latching on to my
verbal slip.
My mood changed, and I
tied myself to a deeper resolve at remaining secretive as regards my
past was concerned. The alcohol does not help with such resolve and I
decided to simply become quiet for the rest of the evening—a
change, which she picked up, noticeably concerned with the gloom that
seemed to have descended upon me, like with a flash dark storm.
The need to either
escape from her or to simply have her, gripped me once again, but I
checked it, remaining silent.
‘Are you okay,
Eve, you seem to have become very quiet?’ she reached out and
touched my arm, moving closer before taking my hand in hers.
‘Yes, I am fine,
and have not been happier in many
days,’ I smiled,
gently taking her hand, and pulling myself closer to her.
In Cebuano, Mary asked
Rafael to carry a plate of rice and fish for the old man inside. He
did so with smiling obedience, without any juvenile complaints that
are expected from boys of his age, who are asked to run chores. He
was a good boy.
Through the evening
colours, a few tourists drifted onto the beach in front of us. I
offered them some beer, which by now was lying in the water left by
the ice. Best to give it away before things became tepid and the beer
undrinkable. Mary threw in some grilled fish and rice, making for an
unexpected feast for the tourists. With their company, the evening
livened up again. They offered fifty dollars before they left, which
I accepted and passed to Mary, who was shocked at having me accept
money from her guests. ‘Why, it is okay and it made them feel
good, which is why they left a small token. Just take it as a gift,
and forget about it,’ I said.
Fifty dollars is small
fortune, infinite buying power in places where most existence is off
the sea and the land.
Rafael and I helped her
clear up. In about half an hour, Rafael went in and got to bed, after
he had looked out for the old man inside, eventually lying beside
him. We lingered on the beach in the moonlight, finishing off the
warm beer before I took off my blouse and went for a swim in the
shallows, in my bra and beach shorts. She watched me from the
waterline as everything became quiet except for the surf. It was a
sea sky, awash with light from the heavens, like you can never
imagine in cities with land light.
‘Come in for a
swim,’ I reached for her hand, pulling her gently, inviting her
into my designs. She joined me, standing in the surf, with the water
up to her knees while I frolicked around her, in the water.
I was playful, wanting
to smile and laugh, on this last evening with them, the boatman would
be back tomorrow and I would be carried away, back to Cebu, where I
would be left to make new plans.
‘You know what
you should do, forget about working in London, just set up a
restaurant here, and I can promise you all the tourists from the
resort will end up having at least one meal everyday at your
restaurant,’ I said, still swimming around her.
‘No, I can’t
do that. Thanks to Mrs Kettlewood, I have now got some money that I
will use to educate Rafael. I can’t risk losing it all in any
business,’ she said, like a cautious investor.
‘Well, I think
the question is, would you want to do it, say, if someone else
invested the money along with you, or do you prefer working in the
big cities, leaving Rafael here to go fishing each day, in which case
he may never reach the University?’ I stood up, throwing my
hair behind me, letting the water run from my hair, down my back.
‘Yes and I worry
about that all the time. Maybe I will quit in about a year and come
back here to build his future,’ she said.
‘I really think a
restaurant here will grow to become a lot more than an eating place
and make a lot of money if you want it to grow. If not, it will
simply remain of a manageable size, making money each month, while we
all grow old,’ I said, as we walked back to the beach, and sat
down on the wet sand.
‘We, what do you
mean we?’ she asked, throwing me a bit off-guard.
‘You, me and
Rafael, our son. I would not mind investing in a place like this,
returning for a few months each year, like a secret holiday home and
a sound investment?’ I said, with honesty and a slight tremble
to my voice, which had crept in with the suspicion that was laden in
her question and the honesty steeped in my response.
‘You are the same
Eve, Eve Costello, from mum’s email, aren’t you?’
she finally tied things up, without any anger or hatred, knowing now
that she was with me, the female form of her male lover.
‘Have you read
her email?’ I asked, not knowing what to say, now that I had
been discovered.
‘Yes, and you?’
‘She wanted me to
look after you and Rafael after she was gone. She knew Jay would
never do that, so she entrusted me with helping you in the best way
possible,’ I answered, wanting to take her in my arms, wanting
to be with her.
‘You have
changed?’ she said.
I had moved close to
her, gently brushing her hair from her face, confident she could not
tell
hi
m
from
her
even at such close quarters.
The back of my fingers touched her cheeks and the tips of them gently
brushed past her lips. She did not recoil and neither did she
advance, simply remaining as we were, close and comfortable on the
sand. Her head bent low in submission.
‘Yes I have and I
shall be gone tomorrow, leaving a son and a woman behind, for whom I
will care all through my life,’ I kissed her gently on her lips
for a few seconds before we went inside the un-private single room of
hers.
We went to bed on the
floor; I did not turn away from her as I had done on the previous
night, I soaked in her moonlit image before falling asleep easily.
In the morning, things
were happening in Cebuano amongst the old man, Mary, Rafael and the
boatman, who had appeared as if through the morning mist. She filled
me in about her plans to come with me to Cebu for a few days, and see
me off before she returned to the village.
She told me later that
the gypsy had come in late at night while we were asleep and finding
rice, ate it and then slept on the beach, while we slept indoors all
the while.
I was happy to have her
to myself for a few days, hidden in crowded urban settings, free from
the singular un-private room.
Plans, and their
making, pulled us away in the water taxi on the seas, first towards
the yacht, and finally beyond, to Cebu city where we stayed at a
quiet hotel amidst the chaos of an Asian city, in separate rooms on
Mary’s insistence, creeping into one another’s bed well
after the night had left the corridors empty, and the city quiet.
On the yacht in, she
had remained inhibited, since she was sailing in her maritime
neighbourhood, but in bed, at the decrepit hotel, she shed what she
had repressed all day. She attacked with the claws of an untouched
panthress, using all of the five senses and the sixth, which I think
is misconstrued as psycho- mental-telepathic. In reality, it is
sexual, sewing all the other senses together.
In the morning, there
was no remorse, just a longing as we made love again with sour
morning mouths, before brushing and dressing for a breakfast of
bak-kuh-teh.
She had no questions;
she was happy in answers that her hands and tongue had explored all
night.
‘Try the vinegar
chilli with the pork ribs. It’s nice,’ she said.
‘I am Hindu,’
I replied. ‘So what?’
‘I have had
enough eating for one day, happy?’ I replied, pushing my tongue
between my fingers, like Jimi Hendrix’s, gesticulating to the
row of girls upfront at the wild concerts, while he performed the
wailing lead on
He
y
Jo
e
.
The male role, it had
to be me, because she was incapable of playing it, having never been
a male in her life, and given her soft feminine temperament, which
kept me taken in. Each time I saw or spoke to her, she remained
female. I assumed my new hidden maleness with a poise that was
surprising, since it did not bother me anymore. Our loving, too, was
unaided as regards objects are concerned; salvation simply lay in the
embracing and the devouring.
In the streets, we
browsed in shops, buying knick- knacks, before settling for beer at
the café near the hotel. We avoided any public display. It was
unnecessary and suicidal with respect to the new life that I had
found.