Ramesh! Ramesh! Come along now!
She doesn’t want to play. He takes the trail; she’s waiting for him up there with a Creole man, Say hello to Ronaldo…why are you sulking? If you don’t want to come, just say so, Ronaldo and I can do our own thing. Ram says so and says so again, but to no avail, nobody hears his words. She’s talking to the Creole guy, he’s telling her something, Where’s the Dino-Store warehouse, Ronaldo, why should we bother with the Dino-Store? Ronaldo Milanac points, and she stamps her foot impatiently. It’s not close by, though, the man says, it’s all the way up by Coromandel. She pouts. Oh, don’t be like that, Shakuntala, we’ve got all night, we’ll go nice and slow—the little guy will be able to keep up with us without any trouble, it’ll be fun for him. Come on, we can let him see the people breaking into the prison, then we’ll take him to the Dino-Store. But she’s already gone, so he swallows his thoughts. A few steps and the old stones of the Borstal are already coming into view. The entire road’s filled with people gathered in front of the black metal gate, Come on, Ramesh, come on, we’re going to miss it all if you don’t get a move on… I’m not going to bring you next time, I’ll leave you with Ma, you don’t want to be left with Ma, do you? So stop it with the whining, we’re going to see if we can get to the front. You can’t see anything from here, give me your hand, I don’t want to lose you again, we’re not going to waste the whole night looking for you. I said give me your hand, and she grabs it brusquely just as she herself is being pulled along by Ronaldo. Guys in uniforms are coming down a ladder set against the wall. The crowd shifts and a forklift makes its way through, honking loudly. The driver, a bare-chested teenager with a cigarette dangling from his lips and evidently proud to have this job, has driven the commandeered machine out of a garage nearby. Everyone is cheering him on; he waves to the crowd, heads toward the prison, reaches the gate, and maneuvers the forks under it. They know what they’re doing, they’re all construction workers at Makson & Co.—some still have their work overalls on—usually they install automatic gates, not destroy them, and they look downright gleeful in fact. The forklift groans; the door’s a solid one. Finally, rather than give way, it splits in two, from the bottom up it rips just like a canvas sheet, as if the forks were slicing through the metal. Ramesh has never heard steel tear before, it’s like the scream of an animal in pain, an execution, and the crowd starts clapping. Rails are inserted to pry apart the two sections of metal—they’re going to disembowel the prison. Everybody shoves to get inside. Are we going in? Her eyes gleam. He wants to tell his sister it would be madness; he doesn’t want to go into the Borstal, where one of his teachers told him he’d end up if he didn’t make more of an effort. He doesn’t want to wriggle between those two twisted sheets of metal, you don’t just walk into a prison. He’s gone past it many times, the entrance faces Royal Road, it’s a juvenile detention center. His sister hadn’t known that, and suddenly Ramesh doesn’t feel too sure of it himself, the freestone building doesn’t look like a jail. He sees women coming through the opening with arms full of office supplies, binders and computers, they’re having trouble getting through—the metal’s razor-sharp. She waits for them to make their way out, then leads them inside. He shudders as he slips between the blades; they could just snap shut, the monster might have been gutted but it isn’t dead. Security cameras are still tracking their movements, sweeping frenetically over the inner courtyard with a high-pitched screech. Marauders take them out with well-aimed stones. Teenagers in khaki uniforms emerge from the darkness. Motherly figures are waiting for them, holding babies. There’s a pounding on the door of a cell at the far end. She gets closer, dragging her guy along. It’s Augustin’s cell. Look, it’s Augustin’s cell. Everybody rushes over. When the lock finally gives way, Augustin steps out into the light.
He’s a short man, if he’s in the juvenile detention center he can’t be twenty yet. But his hair is graying and his features are those of a fifty-year-old man. Outside his cell, he looks at his liberators with all the dignity of a head of state. The others can’t stop apologizing for not having freed him sooner. He starts shaking everyone’s hands, a woman runs up to him and, sobbing wildly, clutches him. She shrieks his name hysterically. He’s too weak to shake her off, a guy pries Augustin from the woman’s grip then takes him by the shoulder and waves for the others to follow—they’re going to show everyone that Augustin’s been freed.
Ram has lost sight of his sister, he only hears: Hurry up, we’re going to miss the procession. When he sees her again, she’s right beside Augustin, who’s bent down to listen to her. Ram gets close. He can’t hear what she’s telling him, but Augustin responds, Tomorrow in Port-Louis! His smile is triumphant. Ronaldo Milanac comes up to them, he’d been looking for her in the crowd. He’s carrying a computer monitor on his shoulder. Ram wonders what he’ll do with it, somebody else must have taken the rest of the computer—there’s not enough for everyone. A young woman calls out from far off, asking for someone to bring Augustin to her place, where there’s fish curry on the stove. Santee drags Ronaldo and Ramesh into the procession as it moves onto Royal Road, and she tells the Creole: Augustin is that guy who stabbed his sister’s lover five years ago, he was in middle school then, everyone knows he did the right thing, his sister’s lover was beating her every night, but the court wasn’t going to put up with that story, that’s how it always goes, and Augustin was put away for fifteen years. They must have forgotten him in the Borstal, but it’s all right, he’s still young. Ramesh wonders where Santee picked up all this, wants to ask her about it, but Santee’s let go of his hand and he’s having trouble keeping up with them even though she stops every so often for him to catch up, which forces Milanac to stop as well. She’s still holding onto him, telling him things he listens to seriously, things that maybe Augustin had told her.
They follow the procession with less and less interest. Ramesh wants to tell them that they need to get a move on if they don’t want to lose track of the leaders—he wants to know where they’re going. There aren’t as many people around them now, the procession is thinning out, maybe Augustin has reached the woman’s house and is eating fish curry, while the rest of them are just ambling at a leisurely pace. Ram is sure that these people were with them at the prison. But where have all the others gone? Where? Neither Santee nor Ronaldo answer him. They’re still walking; she’s whispering as he listens attentively. On the side of the road is Augustin, sitting on a milestone. He’s pulled off the shirt of his khaki uniform because he’s hot, and his belly covered in gray hair is dripping. Ramesh would have liked to stop and ask him where everyone else was, and maybe he has other things to say, too, but his sister and her guy aren’t paying attention to Augustin. Clearly she knows everything about him, so they leave Augustin on the roadside, lost in his thoughts. Santee is talking, talking, the guy listens; what could she be telling him? He shouts: Where are we going now? She cuts him off: Can’t you see I’m talking? She’s jabbering about a house: Ma’s house isn’t worth the hassle of getting to, there’s not much to say about the Bienvenue place, it faces the highway and there’s an old barn out back. Ram’s hungry, nobody’s thought about food or drink for ages. They’re headed toward the warehouses, there’s nothing that way, just the stark outlines of industrial-zone hangars and the raw glare of searchlights. There’s definitely nothing to eat. How would you know, you’ve never been there, she’s saying to the guy, telling him about the kitchen. Ma wouldn’t have been too pleased if her daughter brought Ronaldo Milanac home; and now Santee’s talking about the bed and the armoire. He listens as they walk, walk down streets he doesn’t know. No fair, the armoire is Pa’s, Ma said I could have it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He has to wait for her to stop chattering on. Where did this Ronaldo Milanac come from who’s listening to every single thing Santee says? This isn’t someone Ma would know; Ma’s met with all the nice families that Santee would do well to marry into—nobody has told Ram as much, but he knows, e
ven though these are the sorts of things Ma and Santee never told him.
They have to go down the side of the road to get around a blockade of cars on fire. There’s a Toyota, No, that can’t be a Toyota, it’s a Nissan, But I thought there weren’t any of that model, he wants them to stop so they can figure it out. In Bienvenue he’d have known immediately, it would have taken her hours, but here…if only she’d give him a second, it’s hard to identify a car that doesn’t have a normal shape, there’s barely any nickel plating left, and say: Oh, Santee, this one’s kogs are gone, look, it doesn’t have any left, Santee, did you see? Santee! Santee!
Shakuntala!
She turns around without a word. The cars are all unfamiliar makes that he doesn’t recognize, it’s too late to tell her, the whole heap has already collapsed. In Bienvenue the owners wouldn’t have abandoned their cars, wouldn’t leave them to burn like piles of junk. Cars were their pride and joy, and if they got into accidents, they could be found standing next to their dinged cars crying their eyes out and telling their sob stories to anyone who’d listen. These disposable things couldn’t be worth a rupee—they just fell apart when they weren’t needed anymore and nobody cared.
And besides, nobody needs cars in her town where everybody’s on foot, where she never feels tired, where there’s plenty of time and people just stroll, and if they run it’s not necessarily because there’s some rush. It’s odd, everyone seems to know each other, they shout out each other’s names, tell each other the latest news. There are people asking Ronaldo Milanac where he got the monitor that’s on his shoulder, he doesn’t answer, he’s wary, but she’s happy to pipe up: We just came from the prison. The prison? Yes, they set Augustin free. Augustin? Seriously? Yes, he was freed and led a procession away. Augustin was freed, and anyone can go check it out, it’s really saying something that they were able to free Augustin. Ramesh wants to chime in, to have his say, especially about Augustin, but he can’t get a word in edgewise.
Straight ahead of them is the Dino-Store warehouse. There’s no question they’ve reached their destination. It’s clear because Santee and Ronaldo Milanac finally stop. In front of the warehouse is a fiberglass model of a tyrannosaurus, as tall as the three-story-high building it guards. She pulls away from him and gawks at the monster, which Ronaldo Milanac says was a relic of the company’s twenty-fifth anniversary celebration. He’s talking to Ram because she’s not listening. The dinosaur seems to stand a bit stiffly because it was reinforced with an aluminum prosthesis after the unrelenting heat and the weight of its jaw had caused it to start bending over backward. The reptile couldn’t have shown up at a better moment—they can catch their breaths, take it all in, and then they’ll see about the rest of the night. Ramesh wonders if the easiest thing wouldn’t be to go back to the prison even though one of the rules of the game is to never retrace his steps. He can’t stop thinking about the riverbed, even though he knows that the night in the sky over the gorges has submerged it in total darkness and the same night here, all around them, is smoldering.
He follows Santee and Ronaldo who have started running toward the warehouse, hand in hand, laughing, as others come out carrying fridges, garden benches, pressure cookers. Wait, wait, he shouts, but his voice is weak now. They’ve reached the entrance, there’s the Dino-Store tyrannosaurus jumping, laughing loudly, encouraging them with its tiny forearms: Hurry up, Don’t wait, Everything must go. There are too many people, he tries not to lose track of her long hair, he can’t see Ronaldo Milanac anymore, but he knows from the way his sister’s running that she’s following him. Ram walks, looking all around, trips, and gets overrun by the crowd. Pulls himself up, he’s got to get moving before…before what, Ram doesn’t know. He doesn’t see what the rush is, all he sees is that nobody’s laughing anymore, they’re all in a frenzy. So he decides he’ll wait for his sister and Ronaldo at the empty end of the parking lot. He sits right on the asphalt, he feels better on that harsh surface. If he weren’t at risk of getting trampled, even here where there’s almost nobody, he’d lie down, stretch out all his limbs, and press his back to the rough ground. He’d look at the bare sky and his spirit would soar up in search of the way to Bienvenue. And he has a feeling that even up there nothing would guide him, that the conflagrations springing up as violently as lava flows everywhere to mark Kaya’s death would immediately lead him astray.
Hey there, Shakuntala’s brother! comes the voice of Santee’s guy. But what appears is a creature with an oversized head like a dark tadpole’s, staggering across the Dino-Store parking lot. Ram gets up. It’s Ronaldo Milanac blindly lurching forward, carrying a huge, padded armchair, a massive piece of furniture, and his entire upper half is hidden between the armrests. It’s like he’s trying to fight off a hulking monster set on chomping down on his head and chest. If Ram hadn’t been sitting on the ground, Ronaldo never would have seen him. Where’s my sister? In the Dino, Ronaldo barks out. He bends over double, unloading his burden, and pulls himself away. His T-shirt is torn and his face is bruised. Ramesh imagines that he’s narrowly escaped a nasty end in the armchair’s belly. Ronaldo Milanac’s won this fight and laid his prize before Ramesh like an offering. It’s an odd gift, Ramesh would have liked something else, like a mountain bike. He’s seen a few going past still in their plastic wrapping, but of course the best things have disappeared the fastest. Ram should acknowledge the sign of respect, Ronaldo Milanac has been perfectly nice this whole time and he carried the armchair so Ram wouldn’t be uncomfortable, he must have forgotten that he said earlier that they’d go nice and slow and they still haven’t found anything to eat or drink. Watch this until we come back, will you? Okay, Shakuntala’s little brother? Ramesh says yes automatically, but he’s not just somebody’s little brother, especially not when Santee’s lost her head and decided to go prancing around in the Dino-Store. He’s Ram, but come to think of it he’s not so sure about that. Some sort of transformation happened at some point and he actually might not be the same anymore. Shakuntala wants you to wait there, right where you are. Don’t go running off without giving us a heads-up again. Just be good and sit in this armchair, that’s not so hard, right? Sit your ass in there and I’ll bring over some other things from Shakuntala for you to watch. Watch? Yeah, would it kill you to help? Seriously, keep your eyes open so nobody nicks them. You know, this Dino-Store stuff is worth real money. Watch this chair, it’s pleather, you got any idea how much that would cost over in Rose-Hill? Ramesh doesn’t understand why his sister is looking for furniture, what’s in Bienvenue is good enough, Ma bought some new stuff not that long ago, although that furniture wasn’t as impressive as this. And where would this even fit in Ma’s place? Okay, good, I’m going now, Shakuntala’s waiting for me. Ronaldo Milanac wipes away a trickle of blood from a gash below his eye. Just don’t move, or your sister’s going to give me an earful, you hear me? Ramesh watches him head back so Shakuntala won’t get mad. Why hadn’t his sister come herself? Why is she asking this guy to do things for her? Ramesh puts his hand on the chair’s back unthinkingly—it’s a rather tall Executive, the fabric is a nice texture, soft to the touch. The armrests could swell up like cows’ udders, Ramesh can see why it was so hard for Ronaldo Milanac to pull himself free. He can’t really see anyone stealing it; it’s a very heavy chair and he wonders where Milanac found the strength to lug it all the way out to the parking lot. It must have been one of the labors Ronaldo undertook to win his sister’s love.
Why aren’t you sitting in it, you gogot? This time Ronaldo is furious. He’s back, towering over Ram, dripping with sweat and blood, his shirt gone and his body covered in bruises. He’s survived the second tussle. I’m working my ass off and I tell you what to do, but you can’t be bothered to do it? What’s wrong with your head? I think Shakuntala was right not to trust you, you don’t care. Ramesh flinches at those words. He decides Ronaldo Milanac has to be exaggerating. Santee couldn’t have said something like that, she ought to be here to set this man stra
ight. This time, Ronaldo’s brought back a mahogany table with carved legs like a giant octopus’s tentacles. He’s so exhausted that he throws it on the asphalt rather than setting it down. The table lands with a dull thud. Ram is perched on the armchair… What about the table? If you’re on the chair, what are you going to tell Shakuntala if the table gets stolen? That you were just catching a quick nap? You think she’ll buy that? Some other men walk past, carrying an armoire with its doors swinging back and forth, squeaking with every step. You sons of bitches, don’t you think for a second that you can make off with our chair or table, we want them both, get it? Get a move on, then, go grab yourself a bed too, they snickered. And don’t forget your girl if you give two shits about her.
You think it’s funny to fight over furniture and then see it all get stolen? Ram doesn’t know what to say so Ronaldo will trust him. Suddenly, the man makes up his mind: I’ve got it, I’ll put the chair on the table, it’ll be safer, and if one of those thugs comes back, you yell, or at least hold them off, I don’t care as long as you don’t just lie there dead as a mummy. With a forceful grunt, Ronaldo Milanac lifts the chair and sets it on the table. Your turn now, and he grabs Ramesh under the arms to put him on the table, but it’s a struggle, he doesn’t really have it in him anymore, he’s worked so hard to make Shakuntala happy, All right now, no excuses, you’re going to stay put right there, I’ve got more to do. Ramesh doesn’t have a choice, so he sinks into the chair with its soft new upholstery. This wouldn’t be such a bad way to go: he’d lose consciousness before he felt the chair’s jaws closing on him, and once it had digested him, he’d climb down from the table and crawl away. He can just hear Ronaldo’s voice: I’m going back to Shakuntala, she’s found us a sleigh bed, I don’t know how I’m hauling it out, but she won’t be happy with anything else, even if she has to stay there forever so those idiots don’t take it. I’m going to go see Shakuntala, she’s waiting for me, I’m coming back… His words fade as he runs, the tyrannosaurus bows down to the hero heading into his third labor. Ronaldo Milanac has an iron will. A gust of heat buffets Ram’s cheeks, glimmers flicker over the dinosaur’s scales. Sitting in his chair atop the table in the middle of the parking lot, Ram watches people going past. Everyone in the lot can see him, some people look up at him fearfully, this time, there’s no risk he’ll get trampled. He’d like this parking lot better if it were empty—people are running and yelling that the police are coming, but there aren’t any riot squads or firemen, just the tyrannosaurus plunging slowly toward the asphalt. Ram wonders what Ronaldo Milanac and his sister are doing, it’d be nice if he were with them, maybe he’d come across them in a big bed under rumpled sheets, having made their peace with the armoire being stolen already, and maybe even the chair and table that they’d entrusted to him. They might be asleep. But Ramesh can’t go, the chair’s got him trapped among the bunches of grapes sculpted in the mahogany of its arms, it’s rocking him so that he’ll fall asleep like the dinosaur. His sister does have good taste in furniture, even if Ma’s so practical that she’ll turn down the table with carved legs strong enough to support an armchair.
Kaya Days Page 7