* * *
Second, Madam Coates. She was a thin British woman with yellow cheeks that had flares of red, and she wore elaborate hoop skirts in bright colors, as if she wished to change into a fat green parrot. Her eyes would flit from person to person, perhaps in hopes that she would find an interesting subject.
Mister Coates, in contrast, was large and rectangular. He reminded me of a brick stove, because his face would often turn red from frustration. His hair was white, and he often snuffled. He often talked about game, and he was fascinated by the game that Papillon’s Jungle offered.
“A knack it is, to catch a Viceroy,” he would repeat. “You want to keep the wings intact, but these large specimens will smother you to death if they get half the chance. They have no patience for silly little nets and chloroform. You have to use a large honey lure, ideally a pit of sticky substance, and wait for them to be trapped. Like seeing buffalos getting trapped in golden tar...”
I was sweeping the dining room that evening, combing the corners with a short brush. My outfit was brown and orange, so that it didn’t appear dirty. Madam Coates followed me with her eyes.
“Oh come now, dear,” she said. “It’s not that much of a knack with the new guns and all. It’s just “bang-bang” these days and the wings can easily be restored.”
I made a strong effort to not shake my head. To go after a large butterfly fresh in its prime was suicide; every local knew that, especially with the legends of extraordinary hunting failures. Their wings were strong, up until they started to lay eggs on large tree leaves and life started to depart the great colorful bodies. Often we would find the dead butterflies at the bottoms of deep gorges, often in piles.
The hotel concierge found it in his best interests to give the guests a sporting chance, and lead them to the butterflies that had just laid eggs and were nearing the end of their lives, without telling the guests that they were hunting corpses.
“I look forward to trying out my new rifle on one of the Viceroys,” Mister Coates went on, as if he had not heard his wife. “The Black Viceroy beauties are said to be elusive, for they blend into the darkest night and are said to blot out the moon when they fly together.”
Madam pouted, and she sipped her coffee. Mister and Madam Greatfall were also dining that evening in the main room; they had visited before.
“I want to see the Sand Raksha,” she said, in a loud voice. “I want to see that large caterpillar that never grew wings.”
“Why, dear?” Mister Greatfall prodded. “Most of the time you only see sand anyway in that dry old hole of his.”
“Imagine how it would look on the trophy wall,” Madam Coates gushed to her husband. “A large beast with a Papillon’s mane and jaws.”
Pure discipline kept me from dropping my broom, since I had heard these words dozens of times; the hotel concierges expressly forbade shooting Mahesh the Sand Raksha; he was a legend, an untouchable beast. We told the guests that Mahesh was a giant worm, with no limbs apart from his giant pincers, but he was vengeful, clever and ruthless. That did not stop them from discussing the matter, or attempting to bribe us to start a hunting expedition.
Madam Coates caught my startled gaze and raised her voice. A smile appeared on her face.
“We would have to take the head, of course, and have it packed specially for delivery home. I imagine the taxidermist would have a field day with him-”
I closed my eyes to not think of taxidermists in the elusive west, breathed in the smell of sweat, spices and stale tea, and continued sweeping. Back and forth, thick hairs gathered dead leaves and stray grains of salt in a pile.
Another sound, clicking. I looked up. Madam Coates had dropped her shawl. Given the way she clicked her fingers, she wanted me to pick it up. I placed the broom against the wall, wiped my fingers on a cleaning rag, and returned the colorful red cloth to her. It was fringed with gold thread and had black flecks.
“We could do with coffee later in my room,” she suggested, wrapping the shawl around her neck, and gesturing to me. “Ronnie old boy, would you like to bring it?”
I had enough experience to not correct her about my name, but to merely nod and continue sweeping.
“Come now, dear,” Mister Coates said. “We tip this boy enough for his recitals of Romeo and Juliet. Why don’t you give us that instead, Ronnie boy?”
Again my old name. I hadn’t heard it in ages. Madam Coates saw the surprise, and she kept smiling.
“How about some Hamlet instead, Ronnie?” she asked. “I could do with some tragedy.”
Hands shaking, I fetched the book from its place beside the wax fruit bowl. As I did so, I heard her order, whispered to me.
“Coffee, Ronnie. In the late afternoon tomorrow.”
I read out the Yorick monologue perfectly, without a trace of a Tamil accent. The four Europeans stared at me, as if the dancing bear had suddenly learned a delicate waltz. Then I stumbled on Ophelia’s funeral, on Gertrude wanting Ophelia as a daughter-in-law, and all was well. They laughed, and I collected rupee coins.
* * *
I knocked on Madam Coates’s door. My other hand balanced a tray of two coffees, foaming in silver cups, as well as cream and a sugar bowl. I had changed into the red servant’s tunic and white dhoti, meant to be kept clean.
The door opened. I entered, placing the tray on a nearby table. The lights were dim, and incense burned. Store-bought cinnamon entwined with vanilla.
“Ronnie.” Madam Coates sat on her lounger in her white dressing gown and a pair of blue, silken pajama pants with a lace pattern. “It is good to see you, boy. How do you take coffee?”
“Where is Mister Coates?”
“Talking to the jungle guide, to arrange to hunt for the Sand Raksha for me.” She stood up, her tone becoming sarcastic. “Such a sweet man. He gives me everything I want. He won’t be back for a few hours.”
I felt very much like the girl with the red cape, encountering the wolf dressed in a grandmother’s clothes. My mouth went dry, and I hurried to mix the cream and milk in Madam Coates’s coffee.
“Why do you turn so red, Ronnie?” Madam Coates came over, and ran a hand over my arm, plucking at stray hairs. “Surely you have many admirers?”
I muttered a refusal in Tamil and tried to brush her hand away. She instead clamped on my arm, so that I could not move from the coffee table.
“Is it that I’m not attractive?”
“Oh no, Madam!” The words burst from my mouth. “It is... I’m not...”
If my life were a traditional novel, Mister Coates would walk in, release a bellow that would echo into the distant mountains, and shoot me three times through the heart. Worse, he could rip the decorative bayonet off the wall and stab me, denying me the merciful release of a musket. If I lived, Madam Coates would accuse me of seducing her, and I would lose my job that helped send my brother to school.
Trapped in the worries of my mind, I froze, and Madam Coates explored my torso with her hands. I tried to keep her away from my shirt, but she pinned me against the table. The coffee cups rattled, and brown liquid splattered.
“Hold still,” she whispered, “or I will scream.”
Her fingers dug under my shirt, and untucked it from my dhoti. They felt warm and creased, and my heart threatened to stop beating when they came to my breasts.
“Please,” I mouthed.
She didn’t realize, not at first. My breasts still hadn’t grown. Perhaps it is something that women realize first, that men and women’s chests feel differently. Her hands then went to my groin and cupped something. I gasped and tried to fend her off, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Madam Coates! Please,” I repeated, becoming hot all over with embarrassment.
It took her a few minutes, with my prying her fingers off and backing away. She stared at me with confusion, disappointment and frustration. Then she shoved me towards the door, leaving me to refasten my dhoti and shirt.
I kept to the hotel’s more remote buildings that day, h
iding and sweeping with fear. What would happen if she told the hotel concierge? Or if she told her husband? Would I lose my job? Would I be able to pay for my family? By the time Neelanth found me, as I was going over the same corner with a broom, I was on edge.
“Mister Coates has arranged for a hunting expedition,” he barked at me. Then he noticed that I was shaking. “What happened, Ram?”
I shook my head, continuing to sweep. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny flask, as well as a tiny metal cup. Then he offered it to me. I downed it in one gulp and coughed.
“Mister Coates is an idiot for wanting to hunt the Sand Raksha,” he said, “but if he insists, he may as well see for himself that Mahesh is not a hunting trophy. Oh, and Madam Coates wants you along as well, perhaps as entertainment.”
It was a good thing I was still coughing, or I would have squeaked something out. Still, the stricken expression on my face must have told him something.
“Did she do something to you? You look like a cobra spooked you.”
I couldn’t respond. The drink, bittersweet and sharp, lay on my tongue.
“Take care, Ram. They are hunters, both of them. She tried to take a pass at me,”
“She did?” I was surprised. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Women are a mystery. Did she do the same to you?”
I started at the metal cup. He nodded, and poured another shot.
“During the expedition, sit with me in the back. I’ll stay between you in case she tries again. Such immorality!”
“Thank you,” I said. The second shot went down more easily.
* * *
The hotel concierge gave me the day off for the jungle safari; Madam Coates had packed a tome of a Shakespeare play I hadn’t known, Henry IV. My stumbling over the words as we waited for the horse-drawn carriage to be prepared led to more amusement from the others.
We had no mosquito nets on the carriage, and the brown-haired horses did not like the rough paths. They nickered and keened as we drove closer towards Mahesh’s sandy lair, past the cluster of large trees that already contained bulging butterfly eggs.
I sat in the back while Bhadri, the carriage driver, carried on forward; Mister and Madam Coates sat in the middle. Mister Coates had taken care to not load his musket, but he cleaned every part. Madam Coates leaned against him, giving the illusion of devotion. She kept stealing glances at me, sometimes coy, sometimes curious.
The grass became sandy, and the trees, thick, massive trunks with huge leaves, vanished one by one. Patches of dirt appeared, and the clouds began to open up to a pale blue sky. Bhadri had to steer the nervous horses and keep them from bolting. A herd of goats scurried past, loping with nervous glee.
We started to enter the land where few wild cattle and goats roamed, unless drought forced them to the sparse green patches. I could never figure out how Mahesh got enough to eat before the hotel started to offer him chickens. Neelanth had once guessed that Mahesh offered a croon, as the Greek sirens did, to lure the fattest cattle to his large sand pit.
At last, we approached the pit. Only a few patches of grass surrounded it, and the sandy soil crumbled beneath our feet. We heard no birdsong, or goats bleating in the distance.
Bhadri stopped the carriage sixty feet away from the edge, at a safe distance. We dismounted, and he placated the horses with large sugar cubes. They shied away from the sand. I helped Bhadri calm them. Madam Coates’s eyes followed me as my hands shook.
“So,” Mister Coates said. “So. This is the beast’s lair, out in the open.”
“As I have said before, I advise you to abandon this hunt, sir, and merely observe Mahesh,” Neelanth said. “If you get hurt, the hotel is not responsible for your actions. Mahesh is not like the butterflies. He is wily, and hungry.”
“All the better to hunt him.” Mister Coates started to load his musket. “Most likely the vibrations will drive him deeper into the pit, so he must be lured out.”
The pit was as large and deep as a lake, and yet it was not a steep drop. There were holes and crevices within the pit. The very bottom, however, appeared flat. Sand glistened like diamonds there, along with various bones, feathers, and animal hides.
“We need bait, if you insist,” Neelanth said. “Do you have the lure?”
Mister Coates produced the large hook, one that the hotel had bought to install the piano in the lobby. It had been soaked in chicken grease, and dangled on a thick string. We prepared to suspend it over the edge.
I lowered the lure with care. Neelanth and I had to swing the large hook, while Mister Coates got into position with his musket.
Minutes passed. The sun rose towards midday. The sand at the bottom of the pit did not move.
“The smell isn’t attracting it,” Madam Coates said. “Maybe it’s not in the hole.”
“Nonsense,” Neelanth said. “There are no birds around here, or goats grazing. If Mahesh had moved, the animals would have come back.”
“We would have to get closer then. Or we need a better lure.”
Neelanth’s mouth was set into a line. “That would be suicide. It would be best to leave things as they are, and not risk your lives.”
Mister Coates considered this. He eyed Neelanth, and then Bhadri and me. “Ronnie, old boy, why don’t you go in the pit?”
“Don’t be foolish,” Neelanth told him. “No one survives if they go into the pit.”
“Well, it’s not like Ronnie is so useful to the hotel,” Mister Coates said.
Everyone stared at me. Madam Coates stopped smiling. I wasn’t surprised, however.
“You are needed to manage the horses, and you have to guide them back,” I told Bhadri and Neelanth. “I’m only a servant boy. I can handle this.”
“I must protest-” Madam Coates started, but her husband interrupted.
“Excellent!” he said. “Get that rope around your waist, Ronnie, the one we used for the hook, and we’ll lure the beast out.”
Neelanth untied the rope, but he refused to tie it around my waist. “You’re going to get killed, Ram,” he whispered. “It’s not worth it.”
“I’m not going to anger Mahesh,” I said. “I’m just going to let them see him and get scared off.”
“Mister Coates doesn’t scare easily.”
“Mahesh doesn’t either.”
“Then we may as well do this right,” he said with irritation. ”You idiot boy. The nearest tree will have to do; let’s wrap the rope around it so we can belay it slowly.”
He and Bhadri walked to the thickest tree in the distance and looped the rope around its middle to steadily slide around it. After tying the other end around my waist, I stood on the edge, facing backwards as I started to lower myself down into the pit, abseiling down; Neelanth held onto the other end, letting it slide around the small of his back, to give more rope for my descent. Bhadri and Neelanth looked concerned as I lowered below their line of sight. The rope was light and felt like it would fray.
Forgive me Mahesh, I whispered to him, as I went lower. Forgive me.
My foot dislodged a stray rock, and it traveled to the bottom of the pit. I watched the rock skitter slowly, making my heart rattle. Dread filled me. When it landed, the sand began to shudder. The ground rumbled.
Above, I didn’t see Neelanth or Bhadri; they must have retreated. Madam and Mister Coates leaned over the edge, watching with eager anticipation.
“Get back! Don’t be stupid!” I tried to shout to them, but the words came out low and raspy. They didn’t seem to hear.
A blast of sand shot from the bottom. I shied away into the nearest crevice, shielding my face. The pit’s edge crumbled like flour; someone screamed. Dust coated my hands, and I choked. When I caught my breath and lifted my head, I saw two bodies falling...
“Ronnie!” Madam Coates shrieked. “Help me!”
She had wedged her sun parasol into the remains of the pit edge, about ten feet above me, and had tried to pull herself up with the rope that tet
hered me to the distant tree. Her arms were too small, however, and I could see the edge slowly crumbling. Her feet scurried and dangled in the air. Mister Coates groaned from another crevice below, where he had landed on his leg. The leg stood out at an odd angle.
Perhaps I could have estimated the distance between her and me so as to make the climb and boost her to safety, to where Bhadri and Neelanth waited. I even prepared to do so as the rope around my waist went tight. But something older than my thirst for knowledge emerged, a sense that this was not my fight, and it hadn’t been my fight ever since Mister Coates had insisted on hunting Mahesh and Madam Coates had put her hands under my shirt.
“Ronnie! Please!”
My hand reached upward, and my foot dug into the dirt wall so as to climb, but I knew it would do nothing. Neelanth had warned them.
Another coat of dust followed, pricking my eyes and making them water. The screams stretched over the dusty air. Mister Coates, groaning and yelping as he tried to move his leg, started to yell as something large skittered upwards. Wiping my eyes and coughing, I heard the nasty sound of bones crunching.
In time, the screams stopped. The dust settled. I coughed, and peered out the crevice.
Madam and Mister Coates were gone; the sun parasol jutted out of the cliff, caked in dirt.
There was a swooping sound, and a black shape rose. The shape swirled and dropped several objects on the ground; from a distance they looked like bones. Then I stared into Mahesh’s face as he leveled his gaze at me.
His eyes were as large as the twin suns. His pincers were coated with blood and hair, and I swore that I saw pieces of fingernail as well. I cowered as a booming voice echoed in my head
WHAT A SACRIFICE! WHAT OFFERINGS!
I recoiled. More sand collapsed above me, crumbling into my hair. The air was silent except for the sand, as well as Neelanth and Bhadri calling, but the voice rang through my ears. It was the sound of thunder hitting a mountain, of a thousand rocks shattering to dirt, the roar of a triumphant lion standing over his kill. My head threatened to shatter as well, but I clamped my hands to my ears and steadied myself.
I AM SATISFIED. I HAVE NEVER TASTED SO RICH A MEAT.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #214 Page 4
