by Katy Gardner
I instinctively didn’t want to be seen. Dodging behind a large, tiger-painted truck, I gazed across the road. They’d moved slightly, the man’s companion stepping out from the side of the vehicle into the sun so that she was directly opposite me. At first it took me a moment to refocus my eyes; I blinked in the bright light, then suddenly stepped back. The man’s companion was Coral, I realized with a start. She was still draped in the sari but had taken the headgear off and was standing almost subserviently in front of him. As they talked, she kept glancing anxiously around, her fingers flicking restlessly by her sides.
They were in the middle of what appeared to be a passionate discussion or even an argument. Coral nodded then stepped back, as if on the verge of leaving. The man seemed to be imploring her to do something. He gripped her arm, his face serious, but she shook her head, said something more, and then he placed what looked like a small packet into her hands. It was hard to tell, for at that moment she turned away, but I thought I saw her tuck the parcel into the folds of her sari. Then, with a movement so swift and unexpected that it took me a second or so to work out what she was doing, she bent down and touched his feet, her eyes lowered in supplication. Suddenly she leaped up again, and was gone.
The man stepped from the sidewalk into the crowd. Shielding my eyes from the sun with my hands, I tried to follow his movements but a large bus piled high with people and luggage lurched across my view. Something was flickering at the edges of my mind, a faint memory or image I could not grasp. I pushed into the road, swearing at the rickshaws and pedestrians who milled in my way. Although in retrospect nothing had really happened, my hands were trembling and my mouth was dry. It wasn’t just a matter of Coral behaving oddly, I was thinking with growing panic; there were other people involved. I really had heard a vehicle in the night; it wasn’t my imagination, something odd was definitely going on. I glanced desperately at the traffic, willing for a lull so that I could cross the road, yet every time I stepped into the road another motorbike or car chugged past and I was forced back on the pavement. My skull was throbbing so violently that I thought I might throw up.
When I finally reached the other side of the road I hurried toward the jeep, which was parked haphazardly over the sidewalk, its front wheels bridging a broken gap in the drain. Unlike the other mud-splattered cars and rusty buses clogging the street, it had clearly been acquired at some expense from abroad; it was new, too, the bull bars gleaming, the silver paintwork unblemished. Standing on the tips of my toes I peeped through the front window. I was not searching for anything in particular; I just wanted to find out more.
There was not much to see: spread over the passenger’s seat was a regional map of Orissa; on the back seat a leather holdall, and scattered on the floor in the passenger’s footwell were a couple of empty water bottles and a scattering of orange peel.
“Hi.”
I gasped, my heart jolting, and leaped around. Standing behind me, his arms folded belligerently across his chest, was Coral’s man. I gulped, my face swamping red with embarrassment. My legs felt weak; my chest was pounding so hard I could hardly speak. I think I must have breathed “Hello” and tried to smile. He held out his hand and took mine for a few limp moments before dropping it.
“I’m Zak,” he said, staring at me closely.
My initial impression had been correct. He was European; under its freshly shaven stubble, the top of his head was pink, his thick eyebrows blond. His skin was unlined, but it was impossible to guess his age: he could have been anything from thirty to fifty. He had small, regular features which crowded into the center of his face, giving him the appearance of an intelligent dog, sniffing out a scent. Most strikingly, however, were his bright blue eyes, which were now focused closely upon my face as if trying to memorize it.
“Be at peace, and let me help you,” he said. His accent was hard to place: American with a touch of German or Dutch, perhaps. He cocked his head at me, the tips of his mouth curving in a slight smile.
“Possibly you are looking for something?”
I girned at him inanely, my mind stalling. My memory is that he was towering over me, but I know now that he was only a few inches taller. I remember noticing that thick blond hair grew on the backs of his hands and that his feet overhung his worn flip-flops.
“No,” I blurted, still trying to hold my ridiculous smile. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I was just being nosy . . .”
“Good. Yes, it’s good to meet you.”
The way he said this implied that he knew exactly who I was. His face arranged itself into a smile. Still those cold blue eyes held me in their gaze. As far as I can remember, I muttered something like “I’ve got to go,” gave a high-pitched giggle, and turned on my heels.
But what do I know? I’ve recalled the scene so many times that my memory has grown frayed; sometimes I fear I no longer know the difference between what actually happened and the pensive stitches I’ve sewn to keep the memory from falling apart. I’m doing my best to tell it as truthfully as I can, but like all our histories it’s just a story, and at times I’m no longer sure where it ends and I begin.
A while later I reached the path which led into the trees. By the time the bungalow was in sight I was slippy with sweat and my heart was battering violently against my ribs. It had started to spot with rain, a jungle shower which sprinkled my forehead and splashed my cheeks, but I hardly noticed. I rushed across the rubber lawn, leaped up the veranda steps, and burst through the door. I’d made up my mind, you see. I was determined that Gemma and I should leave Agun Mazir on the very next bus.
The first thing I heard as I opened the door was laughter. Taken aback, I peered across the room and saw that Coral was perched on the side of Gemma’s bed, a tropical bird of prey with ragged red and gold wings and thin dusty feet. They were giggling, their heads close together, their hands touching. Laid out on the bed was a large bottle of water, a bunch of bananas, and a couple of chapatis. As she heard me approach, Coral glanced over her shoulder and said in a voice I was convinced was filled with derision: “And here she comes!”
For perhaps a second or two I observed them laughing together in silence. Coral was pretending to be our friend, I suddenly thought, but although only I could see it, she was our enemy. Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps the unavoidable result of the nervous energy that had been contracting in my gut all morning, but for one crazy second I was overtaken by an image of her pushing Gemma into the pillows: not holding her hand but gripping it so tightly that she couldn’t move; not laughing, but grimacing as she held her down.
I could no longer control myself. Flying across the room I grabbed her arm and jerked her off the bed, pushing her aside with such force that she stumbled and slipped, landing hard on her bottom, the tinsely hem of her sari rising up to reveal thin mosquito-bitten legs and bony knees.
“Who’s that man you were with? What’s going on?”
She rolled over in the dust, then sprang to her feet, gazing at me in amazement. “You’re mad, girl!”
“No, I’m not! You’re up to something, I know you are!”
Still she stared at me, her eyes goggling. I swallowed, my mouth dry. I hadn’t meant to say anything so direct, and certainly not to knock her to the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Esther! What the fuck are you doing?”
From her bed Gemma was sitting up and glaring at me angrily. I bit my lip, already wishing bitterly that I could go back to the door and start again. Beside me Coral had closed her eyes and was taking deep, meditative breaths.
“I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Well, what the bollocksy hell did you mean to do?” Gemma said curtly. “What’s the matter with you?”
I stared at her. It was amazing how much she had improved since the morning. The fever had obviously gone, for despite the patches of inflamed skin where she had been scratching, her face was pallid and tired looking rather than puce. Her eyes were still hazy but her
hair had been brushed from her face and damp flannels placed across her bare arms and belly.
“There’s nothing the matter with me. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling tense, that’s all. Hey, Coral . . .” I swiveled round, trying to smile at her, but she was staring at the floor, her face rigid. “Look, what can I say? I don’t know what got into me . . .”
Gemma’s face puckered with what I could only read as distaste. Sitting on the edge of her bed, where Coral had been, I reached out and tried to take her hand.
“Look,” I said slowly. “I know you’ve been ill, but this place is seriously creeping me out and I really, really, really want to leave.”
She looked at me blankly. Her hand hung lifelessly between my fingers.
“Go on then,” she said.
“What, are you up for it?”
So slowly that it must have been deliberate, she shook her head. “I’m not coming.”
I leaned closer to her. I didn’t want Coral to hear. “Gem, I know you like Coral, but she’s been behaving really strangely. She keeps going on about burning and fires and all this bridal shit and there’s this bloke hanging around in the village . . .” I trailed off. “I just think something weird’s going on, that’s all . . .”
Gemma looked down at her hands, her forehead furrowed with irritation. “You can think what you like, but I want to stay here.”
I plowed on. I was becoming obsessed by my desire to leave. “. . . and because of this festival thing all the chemists are closed, too. I mean, why don’t we just get to the nearest town where we can get you some medicine? Please, Gem. This place is bad news . . .”
“Tough,” she said quietly. “You’ll have to leave alone.”
“But, Gem, I can’t leave you here with her.”
I glanced at Coral, who had now dropped cross-legged to the floor, her eyes closed.
“Why not?”
“She’s a nutcase.”
Gemma snorted and jerked her hand away.
“Listen, Esther,” she said quietly. “It’s quite simple. If you don’t like it, then go somewhere else. It’s you that’s behaving strangely, not Coral. To be honest we’d be relieved if you went.”
I stared at her, feeling myself turn hot and then cold.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s you who’s behaving weirdly, not Coral. You’re sending out bad vibes.”
“That’s Coral talking, not you!”
“Bollocks.” She sat up now, staring hard into my face. “The truth is, Little Miss Perfect, that you’re projecting all your crap onto her. We all know what’s really going on.”
My heart was now thumping so hard she must surely hear it. I tried to take a deep breath.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“Well, since you fuck up every relationship I have, I suppose even you must be feeling guilty.”
I felt as if she had poured freezing cold water over me. I gasped, shuddering with shock.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“Of course you understand. You’re the one with the wonderful degree in social fucking anthropology, aren’t you? It’s just a little thing about human relationships. When one girl steals the other’s boyfriend then it’s the custom for the first girl to feel guilty and the second to want her to fuck off. What do you expect?”
From her corner, Coral was silent. Gemma gazed across the bed at me, her mouth a small pink pout. I gazed back at her. I knew her face so well, had grown up with it, seen her whole history pass over it, but never had I seen her eyes so cold and so filled with dislike. I swallowed again. I felt sick.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .” My voice was small and faltering, like a little girl about to be punished.
“Yes, you do. I’m talking about Steve.”
She spoke his name with such vehemence, it was as if she had speared my chest with a seared knife. I was shaking my head in foolish denial, my face scarlet, but the same stinging row of words kept repeating in my mind, over and over: she has known all along.
“I didn’t steal him from you, Gemma,” I whispered. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh no? What was it like, then? It seems exactly like that to me.”
“We’re just friends . . .”
“Which is why you were snogging him.”
I stared at her, too stupefied with shock to speak. There was nothing I could do and nothing I could say. I was trapped in the irrefutable truth of it. All this time she had said nothing, and yet she had known all along. For the briefest moment I remembered the way Steve and I had been kissing, just before the doorbell rang and she came in. The memory made me want to puke. Still shaking my head I reached out and tried once more to take her hand, but she pulled it violently away.
“I couldn’t help it, Gem . . .” I muttered weakly.
She snorted, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Yeah, right.”
“I promise you, I . . .”
“Oh, come on, you were after him the moment I mentioned his name.” She was spitting the words at me now, her eyes dark with hatred, her cheeks flushed. “You couldn’t just leave it, could you? You have to take everything I want, just so you can prove how much better than me you are.”
This was suddenly too much. I jumped up.
“That isn’t true! You know it isn’t!”
But her face was set, the mixture of stubbornness and defiance she always assumed when she was sure that she was right.
“You do it all the time.”
“How can you say that?”
“You like to keep me in my place, you always have. You have to be the best and the prettiest and the one with the most boyfriends and be one hundred percent in control of everything, and when you’re not you can’t stand it so you trample over what someone else has got.”
“That’s not true!”
But she was no longer listening, for she’d turned her face to the wall, her role as the victim assured. And now, as I gazed at the martyred slope of her shoulders, a new emotion rose up and broke inside me like a wave. It was anger, my only defense.
“That’s just the version you want to believe!” I cried. “But it isn’t true! Jesus, you weren’t even going out with Steve! Nothing bloody happened between you!”
I took a deep breath. I knew what I was saying was deadly, but now that I’d started I couldn’t stop. Fuck it, a voice inside me was hissing, why don’t you just tell her the truth? I took a deep breath.
“Nothing ever bloody happens for you,” I heard myself say. “And you know why not? Because you never let it. Because deep down you think you’re too bloody perfect. That’s why you always choose men who are completely impossible. It’s you that’s the control freak, not me . . .”
I stopped. There was so much more I could say, things I had kept inside for years about how she never let people get close, or how she pretended to be superior when really she was just afraid, but I didn’t want to hurt her anymore than I already had. She was my best friend, you see. In spite of the tangle we were in, I still loved her.
There was a long, lethal silence, the room filling once more with the sound of birds and the click of the geckos which darted up and down the walls. I could hear the thudding of my chest, and from down the hill the distant ranting of the preacher. I turned away from Gemma’s bed, stunned at the enormity of what I’d just said, and found myself caught in Coral’s gaze.
“It’s time for you to go, sister,” she said softly. “Can’t you see? You’re messing everything up.”
I sniffed, dabbing at my eyes with my knuckles and stumbling around the bed. A part of me still couldn’t believe what was happening. I leaned over Gemma, desperate to take the whole thing back, to wipe the slate clean and start again.
“Is that what you want?” I said. I was pleading, I knew, but by now I was completely out of control.
“Please, Gem. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please . . .”
Very slowly, she rolled over. For the very
last time, our eyes met. Then, so quietly that it was almost a whisper, she said: “I don’t want you around anymore.”
“Gem, please, I can’t leave you here. Don’t make me.”
“Just fuck off.”
I gasped. I wanted to be sick, to expiate the terrible feelings inside me with one violent retch. Digging my nails into my palms I limped slowly toward my own bed and picked up my rucksack. My clothes were heaped in a pile on the floor. Bending down I stuffed them into my bag. My cash, passport, and locker key were tucked inside my wallet. The pressure in my chest was almost unbearable. I shouldn’t have said those things, but the situation had escalated out of my control and now she would never forgive me. If I tried to speak I knew I’d burst into tears. Pulling the pack over my shoulders I walked toward the door.
When I reached it I stopped. I wanted to turn round, but could only stand rigidly facing the handle, my shoulders stiff. There was so much more I needed to say, but the words wouldn’t form in my mind and my mouth refused to open. I tasted salt, the tears running down my cheeks and over my lips.
“I’ll leave a note for you in the locker,” I mumbled. “Telling you where I am.”
Then not turning to look back I opened the door and stumbled into the hot breath of the forest.
17
TO my surprise I only had to wait a few minutes before a coach en route for Bhubaneshwar roared around the corner. Waving frantically at it to stop, I grabbed the outstretched arms of the bus boys and jumped aboard, thanking God that at least one thing had gone right that day. I didn’t think I could spend another second standing by the side of the road; as I waited I’d attracted a small, jostling crowd, who stared at my red eyes and disheveled appearance with pitiless curiosity. A day earlier I’d have shouted at them to piss off, but now all I could do was sniff and gaze sorrowfully at my feet.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. I knew Gemma would be upset by what had happened between Steve and me, but each time I recalled the hatred in her eyes I was overcome by a fresh surge of shock and pain. It was as if she was a different person, I kept thinking; a stranger. And now, here I was, leaving Agun Mazir without her. It didn’t make sense.
