Last India Overland

by Craig Grant

  girl sticks around.

  But Kelly was cool, she didn’t seem to mind at all, and we went to sleep, woke up around about three to find her fingers on me, and she said, look at the stars, and yeah, they were frosty and bright, through that hole in the wall and we made love again, and even I was surprised, I didn’t expect it to be as good as it was, it was so good Kelly cried and even I got a tear in my eye, and Dave says that there’s a distinct possibility that Kelly’s tears weren’t thanks to my great sexual technique, and yeah, that’s true, the heartbreak and all that, but Kelly and I talked about it in whispers and she said she wasn’t sure but she hoped she was getting over it. This night, she said, was a big step in the right direction, and then I think we dozed off. Near dawn the light through the hole in the wall woke us up, and we made love again, but this time with her above me, and I remember what she said about not looking at her, but I snuck a peek, a quick peek, of her body above me, the way her boobs dropped down, perfect, yeah, suddenly just the perfect size. Where nipple meets skin, that’s my favourite area, it’s like crossing a border into new territory, and I said so to Kelly afterwards, and she looked at her nipple, traced a finger across the edge of the aureola—I think that’s what they call it, and so does Dave—they were just the right pink—if your girl friend doesn’t have the right nipples, you might as well look somewhere else, son, that’s what the old man once said to me, he was drunk on rye at the time. I told Kelly she had perfect nipples. Kelly said yeah? Then Rasheed came knocking and poked in his head before Kelly had a chance to hide herself. Kid was startled, speechless, might’ve been his first real live boobs besides his mother’s. I’ll never forget mine. Hockey Star’s sister, in the back seat of the old man’s Buick after a curling game. The old man even bet curli

  Dec. 6

  None of us aboard the H.B .Jewelbox got a lot of sleep last night. If it wasn’t Patrick snoring, it was the boat rocking in the well of some tidal swell, and if it wasn’t that, it was the sighs and moans of the Two-Backed Beast, as Willy the Shake called it. I’m as much for passion as the next person but there is such a thing as discretion. All I know is that I’m not impressed. Of course, I haven’t been impressed by much lately, though I am impressed by the cool blue of these children’s eyes. I’m also impressed by their kleptomania. Somehow I woke up this morning and discovered my stretch-knits missing along with a pair of my Afghani socks. I asked Rasheed if he might have seen them. He shook his head. Such innocence in those blue eyes.

  More from the Suzie School of Daybook Writing: I was not impressed by supper last night. Roast beef, baked potatoes and stewed prunes does not a feast make. Neither was I impressed with breakfast. Porridge has always reminded me of something I’d rather not think about, much less eat.

  See what happens when I don’t get a good night’s sleep? I’d just like to know when it was that Rasheed snuck in and rummaged through my suitcase. Since I was awake all night.

  Now that all that’s out of my system (and it did feel good, cracked seat and all), what’s on the agenda today?

  Mick

  After breakfast Sultan took us on a tour.

  You have to be real careful with a shikara, getting into it. I went last, because of this thing about heights, along this plank that’s kind of greasy thanks to the morning frost. Sultan took my hand and showed me where to put my foot in the shikara and I almost lost it once. That was a long plank, up to the houseboat porch.

  Down from the houseboat porch.

  Above all that sparkling blue sewage.

  It was a bright clear chilly morning. Sultan brought along 350

  blankets and a picnic basket and something called a firepot, small wicker basket full of coals and embers from the wood stove. He paddled us out into the middle of Lake Dal while me and Kelly put the firepot beneath our blanket.

  “Don’t you guys get up to any funny business under that blanket,” said Charole who was sitting next to Kelly. Across from us, Dana, Patrick, Suzie.

  Suzie said, “God, ya got sick, heard’ja, didja get sick?” She asked Charole this.

  “Just a little,” said Charole. She looked real pale. I don’t think there was much loving going on in that room the night before.

  Charole had what Kelly called a fragile physiology.

  So do I, I guess.

  That was a great day. Sultan took us to what he called the Garden of Pleasure for our picnic of roast beef sandwiches, with macaroons for dessert.

  There wasn’t enough mustard on the roast beef sandwiches but the macaroons were real tasty. Patrick asked Sultan when we were getting back on board the shikara if he knew how to make hash macaroons. Sultan didn’t ever say much. He said yes. Patrick wondered if there might be a possibility of having some of those for the evening repast.

  Sultan gave Patrick a scornful look, almost a sneer, and said yes, began to paddle.

  He took us to see some kids who made papier-mache bowls and stuff and Patrick whipped out his rupees, made all the kids smile and afterwards Sultan said to him, you are very generous, and tried to smile but couldn’t quite make it.

  Patrick gave us a bowl each. But he let Kelly have first pick.

  I lost that bowl somewhere along the way, don’t know where. I lost lots of things on the trip. Thing I miss most, though, is Kelly, and then my right hand, in maybe that order.

  Sultan took us to an empty, dusty mosque and then back to the Jewelbox, where he baked us some hash macaroons.

  Not even Kelly could resist the macaroons. She had one. So I had one. She had two. So I had two.

  I was chewing on my third macaroon and gazing into the fire when there was this knock on the window. Patrick went and opened it. Said hello, how are you, and a chirpy voice answered back in pidgin English, perfect pidgin English if there is such a thing, and said quite fine, quite fine, and you sir? Patrick said excellent at this point in time, quite excellent. You must be a happy man, sir, said the voice and Patrick said yes, I do have my moments. Not as many as I would like but I do have my moments. Kelly looks at me and smiles. Everybody smiles. We were all as Kelly once put it so amused by Patrick. I just didn’t realize exactly how amused she was by Patrick, that’s all.

  Patrick asked the guy what we could do for him and he said he had wondrous crafts to show us, so Patrick invited him in. When he stepped through the window this guy looked like Santa Claus. Only because he had this big brown sack hanging over his shoulder. He didn’t have a white beard or little reindeer behind him. Other than that he was, I don’t know, your typical East Indian gent dressed up warm for the night, wearing a smile as broad as Broadway.

  He had leather shirts and a miniature Taj Mahal that lit up red from the inside and Khyber knives and American cigarettes. I couldn’t believe it.

  I asked Kelly if I could borrow some money.

  She gave me this sad look.

  She said what for.

  I told her. Smokes.

  She said, “Those aren’t exactly essential for your health, are they?”

  I said no, they probably weren’t. Just a bit peeved. So I asked Patrick.

  Patrick said, “Most certainly. If the gentleman takes Chargex.”

  Much to Patrick’s surprise, and my surprise, and everyone’s surprise, the guy did take Chargex. He dug down deep into his sack and pulled out a Chargex machine and some of those papers.

  “Oh,” said Patrick. “Well, this does throw a different complexion upon your visit.”

  Patrick bent down and picked up one of the Khyber knives. Felt its edge.

  He ended up buying two leather shirts, a Khyber knife, just a small one, and four cartons of Camels for me.

  It’s really too bad the guy didn’t have any Marleys.

  The guy was wearing a smile broader than Broadway when

  he left.

  Which is about when I felt those hash macaroons starting to take effect. Just a little creeping up the back of my skull. I knew I shouldn’t have ate them. But I’ve never had hash macaroo
ns before.

  And Kelly did pick one up first.

  They were really tasty macaroons. But I think Sultan maybe put a lot of hash in those tasty macaroons.

  The room was starting to pulsate in and out like a heart and that fire looked really creepy. I kept thinking I could see little figures doing what tortured people do at the heart of flames. What people would do if they were stuck in hell.

  I looked at Patrick. He had one of his leather shirts on and he was slicing through paper with the blade of his Khyber knife. It was quite the Khyber knife. The most expensive one the guy had. It looked like there were rubies in the handle.

  Dana asked him what he bought a Khyber knife for, he’d never be able to get it through customs.

  Patrick said he bought it purely as a memento of the trip. He said he wasn’t too worried about borders, he didn’t have too many more to cross.

  So they went through how many more borders until he got to Bali where he was going to retire at the age of thirty-three. Think they came up with four.

  I looked at Kelly. She was staring at Rasheed who was sitting all by himself on one of the couches, colouring something in a colouring book. Suzie was reading the houseboat log. Charole was staring into the fire.

  Suzie said, “It says here in the log you have to watch out for these guys who come up to the houseboat selling stuff.”

  Patrick said, “Why is that?”

  Suzie said, “This guy here says it’s shoddy merchandise sometimes.”

  Patrick said, “Ms. Byrnes, that is the key word. Sometimes. Not all the time. Who wrote that?”

  Suzie said, “Tom Burnett, Christchurch, New Zealand.”

  “There’s a Christchurch in New Zealand too?” said Patrick.

  “I don’t know,” said Suzie. “I’ve never been there if there is.”

  Dave says I really don’t need to carry this conversation any

  further. Maybe so. Me and Kelly, he says. Yeah, Kelly started to freak out. She said she felt something evil in the room.

  “Merely the hash working its sublime magic,” said Patrick.

  “Hash?” said Kelly.

  “Or,” said Patrick, “ganja, as they call it here.”

  “There was hash in those macaroons?” said Kelly.

  Charole snapped out of herself, said, yeah, didn’t you hear Patrick ask about them out at that island?

  Kelly said no.

  Charole said, “Kelly’s always out past Pluto.” To Patrick more than anyone else.

  I looked at Kelly. Her chin dropped two or three inches easy. I did think it was kind of strange she was willing to eat those macaroons, given what she’d been talking about, staying away from drugs and all that.

  Kelly suddenly stood up.

  “I’m tired,” she said. Not looking at anybody. Then she said, “Goodnight,” to nobody in particular, and then she was walking down the hallway to our bedroom.

  Charole said, “I better go talk to her,” and she left.

  I looked at Patrick. He was back to feeling the edge of his Khyber knife. I looked at Suzie. She looked at me.

  She said to me, “I’m really sorry about that limerick I wrote about you, Mick.”

  I said, “Don’t worry about it, Suzie. But exactly how did it go?”

  I guess I was in the mood for playing games.

  She looked at me surprised. “You mean you don’t know how it went?”

  I said nope. Just to see if she’d tell me.

  She said, “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

  Her head nodded towards Patrick, who was throwing a sick grin her way. If Kelly was picking up on anything evil, I thought to myself, it’d have to be Patrick’s vibe.

  I said, “Nope.”

  Patrick said, “Though I did, I must confess, Ms. Byrnes, offer him the opportunity, on one occasion, of hearing your poetic style and nuance. Mr. McPherson, however, politely said no thanks.”

  Suzie looked at me. Said, “Really?”

  I said, “Yeah, so what did you write, Suzie? I’m kind of

  curious, actually.”

  The room was starting to breathe heavier. Rasheed roused himself from the couch and threw another log into the stove

  and it spit sparks at me.

  Suzie thought to herself for a minute. Then she looked at Patrick. Patrick just grinned at her and adjusted the collar on his new leather shirt.

  Suzie mumbled, “I forget.” Then there’s this long silence. Then Dana, sounding really stoned, said, “You look nice in that shirt, Patrick.”

  Patrick said thank you.

  I decided I’d had enough of this and so I got up, said goodnight. Dana said sleep tight but try not to rock the boat so much tonight, okay? Something smarmy like that. And Patrick said pleasant dreams, Mr. McPherson, this because I think it was two days after Malaria Monday which was always the worst night for nightmares. And Suzie said something real clever like don’t let the bedbugs bite and then I wobbled my way down that hallway with its little streaks of moonlight or starlight or lights from the houseboat right next to us coming through the cracks like laser beams, Darth Vader lasers. The houseboat was where Sultan and most of his kids slept, I think he maybe had five or six, which is why he was facing a financial crunch, as Dave put it, just like I was. And his in-laws, says Dave, still hadn’t come across with the dowry they said they were gonna come across with, this six kids after the fact, so to speak.

  I expected to find Charole in the room with Kelly but she wasn’t. Room was dark. Went to the can. Where I could smell soap in the air. Kelly had a shower. Wonder what that meant. With some women it means they want to have sex. I thought about it while I shot my load down into those Lake Dal waters. Came back. Waiting for Kelly to say something. But she didn’t.

  So I got into my own bed. A little light on quilts, thanks to the night before, but I didn’t go over and grab any from Kelly’s bed.

  And maybe that was what did it. Because I knew she was still awake, I could feel it, I didn’t need Dave to tell me.

  I lay there, looking at the stars through the cracks near the stovepipe that led outside. Two stars, three stars. Don’t know how long. Until the hot water bottle at the bottom of my bed turned lukewarm. Then I heard the quilts rustle and Kelly’s footstep on the floor and then her naked body was slipping in beside me.

  You didn’t know about the hash? she whispered.

  I knew about it, I said. I thought you knew about it.

  She thought about that. Finally she said it doesn’t matter and then she kissed me, first soft, no tongue, then hard, like she really hadn’t done before, and she began to grind her hip against mine, but I could barely feel it. And I couldn’t feel myself getting hard, started to worry. Which is never a good idea, worrying, because that just makes it worse. Then Kelly was crawling on top of me, I could see her face in the faint light from the cracks and just past her face, right side, I saw this shadow rear up and it had a face a lot like Rockstar’s. I tried to say something but before I could this thing like a sledgehammer came down flat on my face right below my nose felt like it squashed the bottom of my face flat flatter than a pancake and Dave says it was a ghost of a Sikh who’d had his right hand chopped off on the houseboat back in 1916 because he stole some firewood. Eastern justice. And then it came down again, that thing like a sledgehammer and I tried to say something but I couldn’t that hammer came down again and Kelly began to move. I couldn’t feel her but I could hear her. She said, close your eyes.

  I really didn’t want to close my eyes but I did it. And that’s when I saw it. This huge funnel open up above my head. Tornado funnel. I heard that Sgt. Pepper chord from somewhere, last piano chord. “Day in the Life.” I kind of laughed. Kelly said what. Just feels good, I wanted to say but couldn’t. I saw that funnel become the sledgehammer and it slammed itself down on my face again and I felt myself spiral up and out and suddenly I was looking down on Kelly moving above me I’m near the ceiling she’s moving and with every move I’m going fur
ther and further away outintothehallwhere IseeRasheedhe’sstokingthefire27 and I cruise past him and out above Lake Dal where I look back and I see the H.B.Jewelbox shining on the waters well actually it wasn’t shining, just kind of sitting there on the waters like a lump of shit but I float away from it away from the window but I can still see that fire burning in the window. I start to wonder where I’m going to end up. If I’m dying. I try to hang onto that fire. Get back closer to it near the window see in it another fire and near it I see Kelly naked and this other guy who’s taking pictures with a flash it might be a fireplace and in those flashbulbs bursting I see the pictures what they look like when they’re developed and I’m able to grab them Kelly smiling looking stupid sexy away from the camera some just of her boobs. I grab those and toss them into the fireplace except it’s the wood stove and I suddenly see Rasheed’s face looking scared and then I’m looking at another fire and I see Sultan’s face and it’s one pissed-off-looking face there’s something liquid flying in the air kerosene says Dave and a horrified woman screaming goes up in flames when I see this match strike all because of a dowry says Dave and then I’m back out above the lake and I see this houseboat go up in flames just like that and people rowing away from the boat in a hurry and a long shikara and I think this is maybe Patrick Dana Suzie Charole and Kelly leaving a sinking ship and maybe I’m still back on the Jewelbox unable to move speak do anything and I’m going to die unless I get back in my head, and so I claw my way back into the houseboat, some way, don’t know how and I find myself looking up at Kelly’s face and there’s no flames behind her or anything but there seems to be a flame in her eyes candle flame there’s light the colour of butter flickering across her face and she says to me, you’re looking, Mick, and I say to her, I burnt the pictures, Kelly. She says what. I tell her I burnt them, the pictures, but now we’ve gotta go, Sultan’s set fire to his wife next door and I am able to push her off and I can get out of the bed and I can go to that crack in the wall around where the stovepipe goes and I can look at the houseboat next to us, but it’s still there, no flames shooting up from it or anything, and Dave phones me up, says calm down, it’s just a rip in the time fabric, won’t happen for another year or two, and then I hear Kelly’s voice right beside me saying, Mick, drugs really don’t do you any favours.