by Rea Thomas
Navin was somber as he shook his head. “I have never been outside of Kannur,” he told me.
“I guess you have never wanted to run away before.” I watched as he turned his head, peering through the doorway. Following his gaze, I saw two glorious lime-green parakeets perched on the edge of a palm tree. With a playful squawk, the birds spread their bright wings and took flight, disappearing into the brightening sky.
Navin did not reply.
“I suppose I will have to go home eventually,” I said. “I’ll have to face the music.” Navin frowned, his dark brows drawing together. I wished I could communicate in his language, wished I could speak those lovely, flowing words. “I mean I must go home and deal with the choices I have made.”
It surprised me when he leaned closer, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. The scent of him was one I knew I would never forget. Licorice eyes dropped to my lips, searching the smallest movement of my mouth, reading me in ways I could not explain. “I have wanted to run away many times,” he said. “Today I was able to run away with you, without leaving my home.”
I wasn’t sure why, but his words made my eyes fill with a wash of tears I had not expected. I realized then that Navin was as lost as I was, searching for some meaning in his life. If only for today, we had found kindred spirits in each other.
He kissed me then, a tentative kiss that was so unlike the fiery, passionate man he had been earlier.
“I must tend to the field,” Navin told me. I knew our brief encounter was drawing to a close. He had a job to do, a duty to complete and I had monopolized all his time today. As much as I wanted to lie upon his bed for the remainder of the day, luxuriating in the feel of his skin and the closeness of his body, I knew it was going to end.
Navin stood, his mundu falling down over his long legs.
“I can walk you back,” he said, kneeling to retrieve my strewn clothes.
“No, it’s all right,” I insisted, setting aside the empty teacup to redress. “I can find my way.”
I was clothed in a matter of moments, preparing to leave the comforting haven of Navin’s home. I swept my eyes across the single room, and all his belongings. I noticed the “Om” medallion on the wall again.
I reached for my satchel and crossed the room to the door. Navin took my wrist in his hand, his grasp firm. I paused, turning to face him. His gaze was imploring, searching my face as he sought for the words. He seemed to give up on articulating himself in English and instead spoke in rapid, lyrical Malayalam. The words became garbled, flowing in incomprehensible syllables. I wished desperately that I could understand him, for even in this foreign language, Navin’s words sounded like poetry. He stopped, bending his head to peer meaningfully into my eyes, urging me to understand. “Nanni,” he said at last.
I frowned. “You’re welcome,” I replied, not sure what he was thanking me for.
Navin kissed me again, hard and with an air of finality. Our union had officially come to a close.
Taking my hand, he led me down the wooden steps and into the paddy field. We crossed the strip of wet grass between the plantations, to the edge of the fields where the road led back into town. He stopped, his bare feet sinking into the marshy ground. I stood before him, thinking again that there was something inexplicably sexy about him.
“Goodbye, Navin.” I stepped off the grassy strip onto the road. The ground was wet, the potholes filled with muddy rainwater. The air was alive with renewed freshness, reflecting my mood. Still, there was something melancholy about the moment.
“Perhaps,” Navin replied. His smile was knowing, leaving me with some sense of hope I might one day meet the mysterious man again. Until then, I would have to rely upon my memories of the morning we spent in a paddy-field shack.
“Perhaps,” I agreed, smiling back.
“You must not go with anyone else in India,” Navin told me, his voice firm and admonishing. “It’s dangerous.” His kindness touched me. I felt more loved by this absolute stranger than I ever had by Jerald or any man before him.
“I won’t,” I promised.
Navin nodded and turned, retracing his steps across the field. I watched his back, willing myself to move. As I moved along the road, heading back toward the town I had left earlier, I longed to look back for a last glimpse of the man who had given me a sense of renewed hope. I reached an ancient, imposing banyan tree before giving in to my urge. Stopping beneath the cool oasis of the leafy canopy, I turned and shaded my eyes against the sunlight.
Navin was a silhouette in the field, tending to two brutish oxen I had not noticed before. He patted the thick hide of one, a beautiful and strong figure in the distance. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and forced myself to turn away.
As I walked along the lonely lane, I did not look back.
About Rea Thomas
Rea Thomas lives in Northern Ireland, and finds the myths and legends of her home country often fuel her wild imagination. She loves foreign film, travel, languages and cricket…and a really good cup of tea!
Rea welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Rea Thomas
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Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Claimed by the Native
ISBN 9781419946745
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Claimed by the Native Copyright © 2013 Rea Thomas
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover design by Syneca
Cover photography by shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication November 2013
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