‘That's okay,’ Aaron shrugged. ‘We don't get to choose what we get.’
There was an uncomfortable silence at the end of which Darya said, ‘You're wrong. It doesn't matter to me who stays where.’
‘Okay,’ he said and continued to watch her as if expecting her to lead the conversation.
She obliged. ‘How long do you plan to stay?’
‘A few weeks,’ he replied.
‘That's it?’ she said, surprised.
‘Yeah, I'm thinking over a few things and Vidisha seems to have some plans for the place after that.’ He looked at her. ‘What about you? How long are you at Sea Swept?’
‘Two weeks at most,’ she replied, flashing him a wan smile. ‘So, we won't be around each other for long.’
A pause, then—‘I'm sorry about your uncle,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ Darya replied.
‘Were you two close?’ he asked.
‘We lost touch over the years.’ She did not want to talk about Farideh.
After a brief uncomfortable silence, he murmured, ‘Got to go. Have to unpack my things.’
‘And I’ve got to pack some,’ Darya replied, returning his nod as curtly.
They walked away from each other towards their respective temporary homes. Darya turned once to watch his figure disappear behind the door. She couldn't explain this... but he puzzled her. A few times he seemed friendly and interested and others, like today, disapproving. Worse was... when it was the latter, for some reason, she felt the need to change his mind.
Always. Doing. This. She gritted her teeth. No need to seek approval.
She brushed aside her thoughts. Brought herself back to the present.
A lot of work had to be done. The movers and packers were arriving at five for the first lot of things to be sent to her parent's house in Nagpur; her father could then decide what to do with them.
So, she spent the next few hours separating, packing and labelling and by afternoon was done. Exhausted, she stood back to admire her handiwork. She was not throwing away a lot, only those that were either beyond repair or too soiled to be used; clothes and furniture for now; papers and the photo album next; vessels and upholstery were to be discarded.
After a quick lunch, she decided to drop in at Casa De Primavera. About time she paid Zabel a visit.
As she crossed the street, her mind brought up an issue important for her survival. If she was going to be in Goa for another week, she ought to go to Panjim to buy some groceries. What's more, she could ask Francis to join in. Ah, that was an idea. The thought brought a flutter to her heart. Francis would know the markets better than she did. She could invite him over to Sea Swept, they would cook together, have wonderfully uplifting conversations and then... who knows... her head buzzed with excitement as she considered the possibilities.
She heard strains of music from Constellation, slowed down her steps to catch the song and was surprised to recognize Jackie Wilson. Not many people she knew listened to soul music, much less understood Jackie. Aaron might have some potential after all, she thought grudgingly. A curtain fluttered in the wind and afraid of being spotted, she hurried along.
It was two pm. Darya realized she needed to get to Panjim in the next hour to ensure she was back in time for the movers. She also wanted to catch Francis alone at the bookstore. Aaron was at home now but might decide to swing by to the bookstore later in the day and she didn't want him to be a party to her fledgling (and yet, uncertain) romantic pursuits with Francis.
Filip beamed when he saw Darya at the door.
‘Your aunt has been asking about you,’ he said.
‘How's she now?’ Darya asked, shutting the door behind her and following him inside.
‘Better. Rested. The doctor gave her more medicines,’ he replied. Darya noticed he was wearing a full sleeve shirt, in most likelihood to hide his bruises.
‘Did you go to the hospital?’ Darya asked.
Filip shook his head.
As they walked, Darya glanced around her. She remembered how as a child, visiting Casa De Primavera had been like a treat, a treasure hunt, a visit promised to her by her parents if she behaved well for a whole two days. Even now, after twenty years, she was as amazed by the vast expanse of the house and the opulence imitative of a colonial palace: the sweeping reception halls, the expensive mahogany furniture, the gilded framed prints, the ornamental pillars, the profusion of flowers on the upholstery, and the chapel with the red velvet furnishings, gold decoration and chandeliers.
‘Your aunt's upstairs,’ Filip murmured.
They climbed up the marble stairs. Darya did not remember ever having visited the upstairs bedrooms before. As children they usually kept to the bottom floor: the reception hall, the downstairs bedrooms or the chapel.
‘No pictures of the family on the walls, Uncle?’ Darya asked. ‘I would've liked to see how Anton looks now. It has been such a long time.’
Filip was quiet for a few minutes, his eyes fixed in front of him. Darya wondered if he had heard her.
He had. Because after a brief silence, he said, ‘We don't talk. Kids these days don't want anything to do with their old parents.’
‘That's not true,’ Darya protested.
‘Not you, Myna,’ he said, smiling down at her, ‘You are one of the good ones.’
Darya's father had never clearly explained why the Castelinos had fallen out with their son. It was something to do with money (wasn't it always?). Darya felt it impertinent to ask now. She'll bring it up with her father or Vidisha later.
‘Do not mention Anton to Zabel please. She gets very sad,’ Filip said.
Darya mumbled her acquiescence as Filip led her inside the bedroom.
At the centre of the plush, white bed, leaning against a stack of pillows and looking like an ageing gnome, was Zabel. Her knees were drawn up, and a blanket with pink and yellow roses covered her feet. Her skin was darker and more wrinkled than Darya remembered. Gauze bandages were wrapped across the wounds on her face, chest and hands. Her grey, greasy hair was tied back into a tight bun. She was skinny like her husband but with a wider midriff. Her frame was bent, and shoulders hunched as if her spine had given up. She was wearing a pastel pink blouse and a long black skirt.
The room was brightly lit in sunshine. A nurse sat next to her on the bed.
‘Aunty,’ Darya greeted, walking to her.
‘Darling Myna, now you come to see me, after four days?’ she complained.
‘I would've come sooner, Aunty, but I was sorting out Uncle Pari’s stuff. Vidisha was here too. Plus, you got unwell....so much has been happening,’ she said, flushing with the realization that Zabel was right. She should have come sooner.
But Zabel did not say anything else. Merely nodded. Then shifted to let the nurse adjust the pillows behind her.
Darya thought she heard bones creak. Gently, she asked, ‘How are you now?’
‘Hurts no darling, but what to do?’ she said. ‘Filip did not go to the hospital even. So stubborn he is.’ She waved a hand at him.
‘But how did this happen?’ Darya asked.
Zabel looked away, but not before Darya saw the tears in her eyes.
‘I should've been taking my medicines,’ she murmured.
‘How long have you been off them?’ Darya asked, sitting beside her.
‘Some time,’ she said, vaguely.
‘Well, no one expects to relapse,’ Darya soothed.
Zabel wrung her hands. A look of anguish crept over her face. Darya felt sorry for her.
Filip and Zabel used to be the most outgoing of the lot, as her mother had told her—game for everything, apologetic about nothing. Over the years, this was scraped away by the death of their first child, then Anton's moving away, followed by the passing of their friends and neighbours. And now they had been reduced to living an isolated life with no friends or family nearby. It couldn't have been easy.
‘But see how strong you are, Aunty,’ Darya said, gigg
ling. ‘You gave Filip Uncle a black eye.’
Zabel tried to smile. ‘Poor man,’ she muttered. ‘He tried his best to stop...’ her voice broke. She started to sob. Gnarly fingers covered her face.
The nurse glared at Darya who lowered her eyes to the floor. Waited for it to pass.
‘Maaf kor’ Zabel muttered through her fingers.
‘That's okay, Aunty. No need to say sorry. Take your time,’ Darya said.
But Zabel was inconsolable. ‘No end to our troubles only,’ she sobbed. ‘It started with Xavier's death. Brought ill omen to Heliconia Lane.’
‘You've had good times too,’ Darya said softly. ‘Close friends living next door. Parties by the sea, no less. Wonderful children.’
‘Even the children turned out to be rotten eggs. Ptchhah’ she said, a grimace on her face. But the tears had stopped.
‘Aunty,’ Darya murmured and patted her fingers. ‘You're fine now. So is Filip Uncle. That's what matters. Forget what happened. By the way,’ she paused and added playfully, ‘you have a new neighbour.’
Zabel said, ‘I saw him through the windows.’
‘Aaahh,’ Darya teased, ‘still at it I see.’
She swatted at her good-humouredly. ‘Even old women need pastime, no?’ she said.
‘He runs a bookstore in Panjim,’ Darya said.
Her eyes flickered with interest. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Why don't you... what's the phrase...’ She licked her lip. ‘Be friendly. Ah... ask him out?’
‘It's okay, Aunty. I've other interesting men to occupy my time with,’ Darya winked.
‘Who?’ Zabel asked and poked Darya's side with a bony elbow.
‘Nobody,’ giggled Darya acting coy.
‘What are you saying? Here? In Goa?’ Zabel asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise when she realized Darya was serious. ‘What man, tell me!’
‘Maybe,’ Darya said, with mock nonchalance.
‘Tell me,’ Zabel insisted. ‘It'll give this old woman such happiness to know...’ Her hand went to her heart.
‘Nothing, Aunty. I'm just fooling around. This one... our new neighbour I mean... Aaron... is not for me. Too stuffy and boring. Much older also.’
Zabel laughed. Then her face grew serious again.
‘Don't know how anyone can stay in that house after what happened,’ she said.
Darya looked at her curiously. ‘You mean after the accident?’
So, Vidisha was on to something after all...
‘Who knows what it was,’ Zabel said. She glanced down; her face sombre.
‘It wasn't?’ Darya asked.
‘I don't know... is all I'm saying,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Why did Varun and Rakhi go boating so late at night, that too drunk? Not like them at all,’ she said. A crease formed on her forehead.
‘What do you think happened?’ Darya asked.
...or had Vidisha gotten to Zabel too... put the seed of doubt in her head?
‘Daughter is blaming son, son is blaming daughter—who knows?’ Zabel murmured. ‘Filip and I talked, but we don't know what to believe. The police like calling everything an accident. Easy to close a case like that. Just like they did with Farideh.’
‘What did the police say?’ Darya asked.
‘That old people must not be stupid to drink and go out to the sea,’ she said, smacking the bed in annoyance. ‘Worse than drinking and driving, they said. They were amused by it. Amused!’ Her voice rose a few notches.
‘Nothing apart from that? About Vidisha or... err... Gaurav?’
‘They are also idiot children, squabbling in front of everyone. Gaurav was staying with them some days before. Naturally, Vidisha was suspicious. He's mixed up with bad people in Delhi. Being in and out of jail. Disgraceful behaviour,’ she hissed. ‘Idiot children.’
‘Do you think Gaurav was involved... that he had anything to do with his parents' death?’ Darya asked softly. The idea seemed bizarre to her even now. Gaurav was, after all, someone she had played with as a child. She couldn't imagine anyone she knew would harm their parents, much less kill them.
‘I've no idea, child. But he is a weird one, that boy,’ Zabel replied.
‘But he did not come back to claim any money, if that was the motive.’ Darya said thoughtfully.
‘Anger and spite can make you do bad things,’ Zabel murmured, tapping absentmindedly on the bed. ‘People change so much... even children you lovingly bring up with the right values. They go out into the world and bring back with them evil. The world is evil.’
They sat in silence for a while. The air between them grew heavy, as if they both wanted to speak, and yet did not know how to begin.
‘Do you talk to Anton?’ Darya said finally. She had considered Filip's request briefly before bringing up the question, but thought, probably to serve herself more than anything else, well... what the heck, it'd be impolite not to ask about her son when they'd talked of everyone else.
But Zabel was distracted and replied automatically, ‘No.’
‘I would've liked to see him,’ Darya said.
‘Me too,’ she said. Then closing her eyes, she rested her head on the pillow.
The nurse raised an eyebrow at Darya indicating it was time for her to go.
Darya leaned and kissed Zabel’s cheeks lightly. ‘It was good to see you, Aunty. Get well soon,’ she murmured.
‘Come see me again,’ Zabel whispered through a fog of medication.
As she walked out, Darya realized it was too late to go to Panjim. She decided to wait for the movers to arrive and head out once that task was done.
It was seven in the evening when she parked her jeep by the bookstore and stepped out. The road was packed with tourists and cars and Darya spent a minute on the road cursing and waving her fist at a motorist who had grazed past her—deliberately, she was quite sure.
But the annoyance she felt quickly turned to sweet anticipation as she swung the door open and entered the bookstore. Luckily for her, it was near closing time. The store was empty.
‘Your boss has shifted next to my house,’ she announced.
Francis was bent over a stack of books and was arranging them into shelves. Books were spread on the floor and overflowed from a cart next to him.
He looked up startled. Then recognizing her, grinned, ‘Hello, hello,’ he said. ‘Look who we have here.’
‘He's going to be staying in the house next to mine,’ she said.
‘Who? Do you mean Aaron?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, placing a book on a shelf. ‘I'd suggested he move. I needed a place to stay and his apartment was too tiny for him.’
‘Huh?’ Darya said. ‘Didn't get that. His, yours, what?’
Nudging aside the cart of books, Francis jumped up on his feet and walked to her.
Darya smelt him from a distance: bittersweet, citrusy, evening. As he came closer, she noticed the dark stubble on his chin. His hazel eye was lighter than she remembered, a scoop of caramel. The blue was the sea on a rainy day. She felt a flush rise on her cheeks, which heightened when he said—
‘Ah, you look good.’
Darya looked away to mask the mortification she was feeling. It had been a while since anyone had flirted with her and she'd forgotten how to play it cool.
Rebound or a crush?
Eh, what the hell.
‘Why the dress?’ Francis asked. Head cocked to one side, he watched her, a smile on his lips.
Darya had changed to an ankle length blue Aztec print kaftan, teaming it up with brown gladiators on her feet and a crown of blue buds in her hair. Summery and very Goan, she'd thought. Now under Francis's gaze, she wished she'd stuck to her usual garb of jeans and T-shirt.
‘I was running out of clothes,’ she replied, feeling shy.
‘Well, suits you,’ he said. ‘You look nice.’
She fidgeted. Observed the walls.
‘So, what's the story about the house?’ she asked.
&nb
sp; He shrugged.
‘My current landlord threw me out. I saw the ad for this place—Constellation—I think it is called,’ he paused for her to confirm. She nodded. He continued, ‘I told the boss he should take it and then I could move into his place.’
‘Why did your landlord throw you out?’ Darya said.
‘The usual shit.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Wanted to increase the rent, was upset at my irregular timings, how I kept the house, this and that. Dinner?’ He'd said it in the same breath. She'd almost missed it.
‘What?’ she asked to make sure.
‘Dinner?’ he said again, this time shifting his feet and moving a self-conscious hand through his hair.
She looked at him.
Play hard to get?
What? Now? Too late.
‘Are you hungry? Where have you been eating?’ he asked.
‘Street vendors, Maggi and the like,’ Darya replied, thinking furiously.
Francis had just asked her out. But was it too early? And what about giving time for her heart to heal? She'd planned to be alone for a while, cut off from everything and everyone. Also, Francis... sometimes she thought he was too much like Spandan... sometimes not... okay now if she was comparing, was it fair to him? It must be a rebound, right?
You cast the die. Now play along.
‘I'm hungry. Are you? Yes or no?’ Francis asked, leaning sideways, eyebrows raised. Now Darya was less sure that this was a date, and well... she was hungry.
‘Yeah, okay,’ she said finally. ‘But can we stop at a grocery store on the way? I've to buy some stuff to cook for a few days.’
‘You cook and all,’ he muttered, grabbing the store's keys from the billing counter.
‘Enough to be able to eat,’ Darya said, following him.
On their way to the grocery store and then to the restaurant, which Francis chose, Darya was pleased to note he was sufficiently impressed with both the Djinn and Darya's handling of it.
‘It does turn heads,’ she admitted. ‘That's why I started driving it, to be honest. But I get a lot of comments too. Unsolicited advice mostly.’
‘Who cares?’ he said. ‘Everybody has an opinion. They are easy and free.’
The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 8
