That Savage Water

by Matthew R. Loney

  I walked from the centre of town towards the statue of the bull wondering if Cassie had stopped crying yet and if she had figured out a way to make sense of everything despite it not getting any better. All last night she had been on the brink of tears, saying it was too much for her and for Christ’s sake none of it was fair.

  I said – No. Nothing’s fair – but we couldn’t do anything about it this day or the next or anytime soon if we expected to fix the whole goddamned thing.

  Goddamned is right – she blew her nose – Goddamned is right.

  This morning she stayed in bed as I went to find breakfast. She lay beneath the mosquito netting looking like some malarial sub-Saharan, though it was her mind not her body that had given up.

  I could hear everything you did in the bathroom – she lay curled on the bed.

  I said – It can’t be helped. I feel better now though. I’m going to eat breakfast and then walk to the river. Sure you don’t want to come?

  I can’t face it again – she said – Actually, I want to leave.

  We’re not leaving. You should get out of bed at least. Look around the shops or something.

  No – she said – I don’t want to see any more of it.

  Out towards the statue, children played cricket on the dry ground where the road disappeared into grass. Farther on, the cows stood and watched dumbly. The children batted and then ran in bare feet. I wanted to take my shoes off and run with them but their soles were worn thick as elephants’ and could tolerate the scalding earth. Beneath the stone pavilion, the weathered face of Nandi stared down the street to the towers of the far temple. Along the edges of the road, chickens darted from the shade; colourful racks of clothing and jewelry shimmered behind the heat, and there was no other movement except when a child would swing the cricket bat.

  Where the grass disappeared, the road forked left through the forest down towards the river. It was cooler in the shade. At the junction there were a few people sitting by the trees on old logs behind their ramshackle carts selling water or juice or biscuits. No one looked up as I passed except a young boy who stood next to his cart. I was glad to be out of Bangalore and into the countryside. There had been too many dishonest people and the men on the street had laughed and taunted Cassie when she’d worn her sari incorrectly. Bangalore was an old city that seemed to have been recently suctioned. Everything loose had disappeared.

  On the forest road ahead of me, three young men slowed and turned to watch me coming. They whispered to each other as I got closer and I wondered what it was about.

  I thought – What’s the worst that could happen? Robbery? Knives? Poison? – and kept walking without slowing down. As I passed them, one stuck out his hand to shake mine and told me I was from America.

  I said – Not from America – and the other two men shook my hand.

  Together we walked along the road beneath the trees and then down to the river.

  The tallest one said – You come here alone?

  I said – My wife is back at the hotel. She doesn’t feel like moving.

  A tired wife. So young to be married – he said.

  I said – Yes – and then – but Indians marry even younger.

  The three men smiled. The tall one said – We are not married. We’re students at the college of engineering.

  And I thought – Ah, India rising.

  As we came through the trees, the path opened out to a broad stone riverbank. Dozens of Indian families spread out along the flat rocks, their babies standing fat and naked, mothers adjusting saris that had shifted too far, the men looking stern and capable in dress pants and buttoned shirts. They were sitting in groups eating biscuits and drinking from thermoses. At the shore, several young men stood waist deep in the murky water with their longyis tied. They dipped their bodies up to the shoulders, stood, and then washed their faces vigorously with both hands. Around them, others splashed or dove out into the current and then swam back with quick strokes. Nearby, young women sat shyly with their parents and pretended not to look. Groups of Indians chatted noisily and I couldn’t help but feel I had interrupted. It was so hot standing on the rocks and the river looked cool.

  The three men waved for me to follow as they walked to a small gathering by the shore. They sat and pulled my arms down to sit with them and as I did, I took out some cigarettes and passed them around.

  The tall one pointed to a smiling man and said – This is my brother.

  The man took a cigarette, still smiling, and I smiled back.

  Then he pointed to a man sitting off by himself. He had a scarf tied around his neck and his face was brown and bumpy.

  He’s a thief – the tall one said, smiling.

  The man looked up at me as though it were true, like he wasn’t ashamed of it and was simply out of work, thanks to all the new police guarding the ruins. He picked up a stick and scratched it on the rock he was sitting on.

  I thought – So that’s a thief.

  Cassie had said on the train from Bangalore –You know, that place is crawling with thieves. They lure you behind the boulders and throw chili in your eyes. They’ll rape you twice if you scream for help. Even people in groups aren’t safe. They always roam in packs.

  I said – It will be fine.

  And she said – It’s just not fair. None of this is fair.

  I said – We’ll leave everything valuable in the hotel. That way they can’t take anything.

  What if that’s their plan? – she trembled – What if they know we leave our things behind and when we come back, it’ll all be gone?

  Nothing like that wil happen. Please stop saying things aren’t fair.

  Well, they’re not.

  There’s nothing we can do about it – I said – We’re here.

  After an hour or two, I said goodbye to the Indians and shook their hands since they had shared their food with me. I told them of my plans to study medicine, and they were pleased to see I had a wife and had all nodded when I said we wanted children. The thief had walked away long ago and there were more questions about what it was like to study in the West and if I drove a car and how many children did I want. The afternoon sun had tilted down above the hills, and across the muddy river it was shining orange against the boulders and everything seemed safe and familiar.

  I shook their hands again and walked back down the road, giving a few coins to a sadhu sitting cross-legged beneath a rock outcropping. He didn’t nod or acknowledge and I kept walking. At the junction to the main dirt road, the boy beside the cart had disappeared and there were families stopped to buy water or juice or biscuits. They had come for the day from Hospet, clean and nicely dressed, and were now driving home before the sun set. The children were still playing cricket on the sparse grass; the cows had moved farther up the hill or were lying with their bodies off to one side like dogs. Nandi hadn’t moved for twelve hundred years and the sun was going down for the millionth time in its presence.

  When I reached the hotel, I imagined walking into the room to find Cassie gone. I thought – I hope she went out to get some food or bought a necklace at least.

  Inside, Cassie was curled on the sheet beneath the mosquito net reading a book.

  She said – Did you have fun? Where did you go?

  I said – Down to the river. I met some Indians and sat with them. There was a thief too.

  Oh? – she put her book down.

  Did you go out?

  I didn’t move. I want to leave.

  We’re not leaving.

  Did you talk to the thief?

  He sat by himself. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  I’m not afraid.

  Will you at least try this? – I pulled a small bag from my pocket.

  Her eyes shifted from her book to the bag then brightened and I felt happy when I saw that.

  This morning at breakfast, I had asked the woman at the restaurant if she knew where I could buy some hash.


  You want hash brown? – she said.

  No – I said – Hash – I mimed smoking.

  Ashtray?

  Hash…hash…you know, dope?

  Ganja? – she said.

  Like ganja.

  Her face was fat and young. The brown skin around her waist doubled over the band of her sari. She turned and walked to the balcony without saying anything, then yelled something to someone below.

  She walked back to my table – I call my mother. You follow her.

  An old woman in a green sari came up to the restaurant. Her grey hair flew out from an old braid that stretched down her back.

  Follow my mother – the woman said.

  Cassie said – Where did you get it?

  This morning. I followed an old woman to someone’s house. The guy spoke English. Said he could have sold me anything I wanted. Will you at least try some of it?

  Yes – Cassie said – I don’t mind that. It must be dangerous to buy that here. I’ve heard stories of arrests for even small amounts. This is a holy town because of the ruins. They don’t tolerate it here.

  It’ll be fine – I said –There’s nothing bad could happen.

  I crawled under the mosquito net and pulled a small pipe from my pocket. When Cassie stared at it, I noticed she’d been crying. She lit the pipe and I could see her body inhale and then relax. Outside, the sun had painted the sky completely orange with edges of purple that glowed behind the roofs of the buildings beside us. We smoked until it was dark, lounging beneath the net in the warm, dusty air, and Cassie told me how she had never seen a thief before.

  I said – I hadn’t either. Until today.

  It must have been exciting. People who are thieves never admit it, which means he was rare.

  He didn’t admit it – I said – His friends did.

  How close were you to him?

  A couple of feet.

  I wish I had gone with you. I didn’t enjoy myself very much.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Yes, I’ll go out with you tomorrow. I want to climb up into those ruins. They look so pretty from down here. If we packed enough water…

  We can go to the ruins.

  A few minutes later, the electricity switched off and the room became as dark as the outside. On the street a dog was barking and both Cassie and I stayed silent. I could see the red embers glowing in the bowl of the pipe. We both smoked and watched them smolder.

  Then Cassie said – I have to use the toilet.

  She lifted the netting and crawled down from the bed and shut the thin wooden door to the bathroom. The lights were still out but my eyes were getting used to it and I could see from the window the light of the moon on the rooftops.

  Down the street a man started to yell. A door slammed and a woman began to yell. The dog barked again and the man and the woman yelled and then the woman screamed. The rest of the town was quiet. I don’t know why, perhaps because the noise came from the direction of the restaurant, but I couldn’t help but picture something awful happening.

  No one was in the restaurant – I thought – No one else could have known – The hash smoke had thickened the air and my face felt hot and coated. I ducked out from under the netting and lay flat out on the bare mattress. The air outside the net felt cool.

  Down the street, the dog barked again and my heartbeat raced as the shouting voices travelled closer. The woman was shouting the most, and the man would be silent for a while and then shout something back.

  I thought – What’s the worst that could happen? The police? Arrest? Execution?

  Cassie was taking so long in the bathroom, but I couldn’t hear anything from behind the thin door.

  Then it became clear there were two men and they both were speaking quietly but rapidly while the woman interjected with loud protests. The voices sounded no farther than ten feet away from the window. My heart started pounding and I could hear Cassie scooping water in the bathroom behind the door. The two men started to whisper but I could no longer hear the woman or the dog. Cassie came out of the bathroom and adjusted her shirt. The men suddenly stopped whispering, and in the distance I could hear the rush of the river behind the trees.

  Don’t you think we should go out tonight? – she said – Let’s take a walk around the town and see what’s going on. There’s no point in staying in, the lights won’t be on for a while. Don’t you think it would be exciting to walk around the town in the dark?

  No – I said – I want to stay in tonight.

  You should come out – she said.

  Cassie! – I whispered – This place is crawling with thieves!

  She looked at me blankly – Don’t be ridiculous. You said you had met one today and everything was fine. What’s the worst that could happen?

  The river rumbled in the distance, a constant rush of water dragged along the banks and reeds, smoothing the rocks and filling the water with silt.

  I’m not going anywhere tonight – I said – There’s no reason to go anywhere tonight.

  A FEAST OF BEAR

  Polar wind ripped through the near-empty cabin as the boy lifted the hatch of the King Air turbo prop. Twenty-three thousand feet below, the bright expanse of arctic snow spread out in all directions. The two attendants, forced into retreat by the bitter cold, had tried their best to restrain him but the boy had resisted, standing at the opening as contemplative as a hiker before a canyon, peering down through the rush of cloud. Perhaps he was taking in the view of the unbounded, ice-covered tundra. Perhaps he was reconsidering the drop. But in a moment, he was gone.

  Not a chance – Jan sat up against the headboard – You can’t open the door of a plane mid-flight.

  Our planes have safety features – said Connor – You’d need one hell of a grip to force it open, but you could do it. Not casually, but this guy was determined.

  One hell of a grip – Jan made a fist and flexed his forearm – You landed the plane though. Give yourself credit.

  Terry landed it. The co-pilot helps.

  Jan studied Connor’s grey-stubbled face. It had always interested him to watch another man in the moments following a disaster, when the thing was still raw and fibrous inside and you could watch the scene replay across the wets of his eyes. It was only then, once you’d seen that part of him, Jan felt you could know if a person was for real.

  Not many would have thought so quickly – Jan said – But you did. Always the champ.

  The cabin depressurized. It was hard to breathe.

  You still landed it.

  From what Connor could remember, the boy at the door was barely twenty. Almost a man but with the smooth features of someone freshly hatched into a world forever shy of his expectations of it. Connor remembered that disarming feeling from years earlier, the ache of something molten inside he would spend years trying to bury, that thing which gave a sad, disembodied quality even to his laughter.

  How are they looking for the body?

  Snow squalls have the west shore covered. They’ll send out a Cormorant when it clears. The kid jumped somewhere over the game sanctuary so it could take a while to search the area.

  Bears will get him by then – Jan stood up from the bed and pulled back the edge of the ochre curtain. His pickup truck was parked directly outside; an unopened pine freshener hung from the rear-view. In the windshield’s reflection, a V of geese zippered across the sky, then vanished where the eaves met the glass.

  One thing I’ve learned – Jan turned, scratching his bare shoulder – is that forgetting something isn’t any easier when you keep thinking about it. Don’t beat yourself up, hear me? Anyway, I’ve got to head out. A jeep’s ditched up on Pine Lake. I told dispatch I’d take it.

  Suit yourself – Connor said.

  He watched Jan get dressed. The dim margarine light of the motel room made Jan’s body look younger. He was still boyish and lean where it counted b
ut his face betrayed his age and heavy smoking. He buttoned his jeans over his crotch and slid the belt through its buckle. His chestnut pubic hair flashed through his fly as he did it up.

  I know it’s not polite to say… – Jan put on his coat, the fur of the collar circling his face – but lots of those native kids have serious kinds of problems. I don’t blame them for thinking up crazy ways to off themselves. It’s not the kid’s fault either, but you’ve got to be a little nuts to do it that way – Jan crossed the room and stood in front of Connor – I’ll go and come back if you’re still around.

  I don’t take off until the morning. Maybe I’ll just nap. Come by when you’re done.

  Sleep well, handsome.

  Wear your seat belt.

  Connor stood at the window warming his feet against the baseboard heater as Jan’s truck pulled back onto the snow-packed highway. Jan’s kiss dissolved on his lips in a memory of wet pressure.

  He’s forgot to clip his chain – Connor thought. The chain of the tow swung from the winch like a sail main loose from its rigging – He’ll get fined if a cruiser sees him. Not likely though. Not up here.

  According to airline protocol, he was supposed to be sleeping in preparation for his return flight to Winnipeg the next morning. He’d insisted he didn’t need stress leave but nonetheless he was kept awake by the image in his mind of the native boy lingering at the door of the plane. The wind at that altitude had been so cold he was certain he’d have ended up with frostbite if Terry hadn’t ordered him back into the cockpit. But the kid had stood there, the brown skin on his arms goosebumped, nearly white, the look on his face as though it had only been some May afternoon.