Coconut Dreams

by Derek Mascarenhas

  From his wallet, Thomas took out a picture of him and Emma with their faces smooshed together. He’d held the camera as high and as far as his arm would allow, but you could still tell he’d taken the photo, and not someone else.

  “Lovely,” Clara remarked.

  Conversation came easily between them, flowing alongside the landscape that passed out the train window: rice paddies and palms, green hills, blue lakes, beige villages.

  Thomas was curious why she touched the cross around her neck from time to time, and eventually he felt comfortable enough to ask.

  “My trip is one of bereavement, for my father.” But when Thomas offered his condolences, she seemed almost dismissive: “This is life. Beginnings, endings.”

  They talked until it was late, then folded their respective sleeper beds down from the wall and retired to the clacking and steady chug of the train over the tracks. In the morning, they resumed their conversation.

  “So, what do you and Emma have planned for Goa?”

  “Probably just lying on the beach,” Thomas said with an embarrassed laugh, adding, “Emma hasn’t travelled much outside the UK. I’m a bit nervous, actually.”

  “Baptism by fire,” Clara joked. She then suggested a good place to take Emma might be the pavilion with the statue of Dona Paula. Goa’s Romeo and Juliet.

  As they approached their destination, they exchanged addresses, Clara including where she’d be staying in Goa, just in case he and Emma got tired of the beach. Colvale, Khursa Vaddo, she’d written, but instead of a house number it only said near St. Mary’s school, opposite the late Father Constantine’s nephew’s home.

  “All the addresses there are like that,” she clarified. “Just ask anyone and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

  Clara’s stop was one earlier than Thomas’s, and as the train slowed, she gave him some last-minute advice on the price of a rickshaw ride to the airport. “Never accept the first price. Whatever they offer, react like they’ve just asked for a fortune.”

  She waved goodbye, and Thomas continued his journey. He was looking forward to greeting Emma, and hoped she’d had a wonderful chance meeting like he’d just had.

  “How are you feeling?” Thomas asked Emma. They’d returned to their seats on the ship’s deck, though they were now the only ones aboard.

  “My stomach’s still not right,” she said. “Maybe we should have gotten off.” But it was too late; the island was receding as the ferry chugged through the ocean.

  “I promise I won’t make you eat any more pakoras with your pizza and banana fritters,” Thomas joked.

  “Ugh, please don’t remind me.” Emma recoiled. “You weren’t the one with your arse on the toilet and face in the rubbish bin for three days.”

  “Do I at least get credit for finding you ginger ale? It was an epic search.”

  Emma shook her head.

  “I still think it wouldn’t have been as bad if you’d agreed to see a doctor,” Thomas said. “Then we could have gone to another hotel or beach in Goa, instead of the other end of India.”

  “You know I don’t trust the medication. And that place just reminded me of being sick.” Emma shuddered and turned away from him.

  Thomas put his arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back. “You’re right. I guess it doesn’t make a difference if we get our beach time here instead.”

  But as he stared at the skyline, he wished he could have stayed in Goa longer. He had hoped to take Emma to visit Clara’s village, but it was too far from their hotel. Dona Paula, the site Clara had told him about, was close by and he went on his own the day before they left. Emma was feeling a bit better but didn’t want to come, and seeing all the couples there made Thomas wish she had, but he was glad he got to see at least one thing in Goa.

  Another island began to take shape on the horizon, and Emma said, “There it is. I hope this place is better.”

  Thomas eyed the island and promised, “It will be.”

  “Namaste,” the hotel’s proprietor greeted them at the reception desk. The man’s forehead shone, his hair in retreat. A few remaining strands danced in the breeze from a small fan pointed directly at his face.

  “Namaste, bhaiya.” Thomas had been practising.

  “Hello there, we need a room with air-con,” said Emma.

  “Of course, of course. You two will be very pleased here,” the man said.

  Thomas picked up a business card from the desk. The “o” in Sunrise Hotel was a cartoon sun with a smile, and the name Mr. Lakhani was printed in bold underneath.

  “How is the sunrise here?” Thomas asked.

  “The best,” the proprietor said, with a circular head bob. “You must see it to know.”

  “How much for a room?”

  “Three hundred rupees a night.”

  “Three hundred! That’s outrageous.” Thomas tried to use Clara’s technique. “I’ll give you one hundred.”

  “Oh, no no no. It cannot be done, I would go out of business if I gave you such a price. The least I can give you is two hundred and seventy-five rupees.”

  “How about two hundred?” The ferry crew said the next closest accommodation was a ten-minute walk from where they were dropped off. Thomas was sure Emma wouldn’t want to walk it.

  “Two-fifty, then. Yes?”

  Thomas nodded, with pride. Emma rolled her eyes.

  “Very good. It is a most special time you have come now; you have the whole hotel to yourselves.” Mr. Lakhani opened a wide logbook. “Passports?”

  They handed him their passports and he neatly recorded the details in the ledger. Thomas glanced at the “Nationality” column. The last guests were Indian citizens and they’d checked out a few days ago.

  “Visa expires October 2000?” said Mr. Lakhani. “I’ve never seen a five-year visa to India before. How did you get this?”

  “I just applied. It wasn’t much more than a one-year visa, so I figured I might as well.”

  “Planning on coming back, I think. How long will you be staying this trip?”

  “We’re not quite sure, maybe just over a week,” Thomas said.

  “Let’s not commit for so long, Thomas,” Emma said.

  “Why not?”

  Mr. Lakhani interjected, “I’m sorry, sir and madam, but the maximum time allowed for foreigners to stay is four days.”

  “But you just said we’re the only ones here,” Thomas said.

  “These are the hotel rules. If you like, you can take the ferry back to Port Blair, get a new stamp, then come back and stay another four days.” He handed back their passports.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Tom, let’s just take it day by day.” Emma handed over the 250 rupees and took the key in return.

  A woman in a pink sari stepped into the reception room. Atop her head, a woven basket seemed to balance by the radiance of her smile alone.

  “This is Jasmine.” Mr. Lakhani didn’t look up from counting his money. “Should you need anything at all, just let her know.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Emma said, as she picked up her bags. Jasmine gave a slight bow, careful not to topple the basket. Thomas felt struck when his eyes met Jasmine’s, as if they were alone in the room; not until Emma started to walk toward their room did he turn away. He picked up his bag and joined Emma.

  Once out of range of the desk, Emma said, “Tom, that man is clearly just trying to get us to pay more with that whole thing about only being able to stay four days.”

  “You think so?” Thomas still felt a bit dazed.

  “Isn’t that what everyone does in this country? It’s all about money. We should try to bribe him and see.”

  Room 101 was small but clean. A tall mirror sat on a table that held two sealed rolls of toilet paper, two small bars of soap wrapped in paper, and two b
ottles of spring water. Thomas and Emma tossed their bags on the bleached white sheets of the double bed. Thomas was relieved when he saw the Western-style toilet. He had forgotten to ask at the desk and didn’t know what they would have done if there wasn’t one; Emma refused to squat. Luckily her stomach had settled enough for them to go to the beach.

  They changed into their bathing suits, locked up, and followed the sound of the waves along an old wooden-plank path. Warm white sand filled the spaces between their toes, and the sun was bright and strong. Halfway down the empty beach they stopped to spread their towels, a wall of palm trees over their shoulders and the turquoise water beyond their feet. Thomas thought back to that annoying man on the ferry—if it wasn’t for him, they wouldn’t even be on this island, let alone this beach.

  “This is stunning!” Emma said.

  Relieved, Thomas leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “A beautiful beach, all to ourselves.”

  “Well, almost to ourselves.” Emma squinted, then pointed. “Look, there’s someone.”

  A man in cut-off jean shorts and a linen shirt was walking in their direction along the shore. As he got closer, Thomas could tell he wasn’t Indian, but couldn’t quite place him. The tanned skin and sunglasses didn’t help. On top of his head was a large pair of earmuff headphones connected to a portable CD player in his hand. He walked along the water’s edge so that the waves just barely wet his bare feet, and continued right past them, down the beach.

  “Huh, he didn’t even notice us,” said Emma.

  “Yeah. Off in his own world, I guess.”

  “Oh well. I am going for a swim.”

  Thomas watched her walk to the water like she was on a runway, wade in to her waist, then dive under. She re-emerged two body lengths away, chestnut hair slicked back.

  Meanwhile, the man with the headphones had become nothing more than a dark speck down the beach.

  “Are you going to join me?” Emma called from the water.

  Thomas got up and splashed his way toward her until their bodies met. She put her arms on his shoulders, hands clasped behind his neck. His hands cupped her buttocks underwater. Their lips wet with salt water, they kissed.

  But then Emma pulled away with a panicked look. She took her arms off his shoulders and held her hand in front of her.

  “Oh my god. Thomas. My ring, I’ve lost my ring!”

  “Where? Just now?”

  “I don’t know, I think so. It must’ve come off in the water.”

  They separated and began to look around. The shallow water was perfectly translucent, yet they saw nothing. The sun’s light dived in and danced underwater, but it failed to give glitter to the ring.

  “There’s so much sand.”

  “Emma, we’ll find it.”

  “You should have reminded me to take it off.”

  “How would I think to do that? Let’s just keep looking.”

  They searched for ten minutes before Emma said, “This is pointless. I’m going to check the room.”

  Thomas stayed in the sea looking, but the sun was making him thirsty and he wished he had brought those water bottles from their room. After a while, Jasmine appeared with two football-sized coconuts with straws poking out. They met at his towel, and she handed him one of the coconuts.

  “Dhanyavad. Thank you.” Thomas took a long sip through the straw and the sweet water cooled his throat.

  “Your lady friend?” Jasmine held up the other coconut. She had a tiny red bindi on her forehead that he hadn’t noticed the first time he’d seen her.

  “Oh, she went back to the room. She lost her ring in the sea.”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry. I look.”

  “No, no. You don’t have to do that. It’s okay. Thank you, though.”

  “I pray you find. No tell Mr. Lahkani. Many people search, and keep.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  Jasmine left to deliver the other drink to Emma. A vanilla fragrance lingered in the air as she walked away.

  Thomas woke up early the next day to a symphony of birds. Emma was still asleep, so he closed the door quietly and made his way to the beach to search for the ring. It would be expensive to have to buy another one. He arrived in those few minutes when it was still light out but the sun hadn’t yet shown its face.

  When he saw Jasmine bathing in the water, he froze. Her wet hair hung below her shoulders. Fully covered in a soaked orange sarong, she lathered herself with graceful strokes and sent controlled splashes from a small plastic bucket over each part of her body. It was beautiful. Just as the thought came to Thomas that he shouldn’t be watching her, she noticed him. She revealed that irresistible smile again and waved at him without a pinch of shame. Thomas managed to wave back before he fled to his room.

  He lay next to Emma and tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t get the image of Jasmine in the water out of his mind.

  He got out of bed to take a shower. As the steam rose around him, he thought back to something Clara had said to him about India on the train. They had just bought samosas and chai. Clara took a small bite from her samosa and blew inside to cool it.

  “Above all, India is a land that evokes emotion,” she told him. “We are surrounded by people here, many of them poor, yet rich in heart. And so many hearts close together have a way of bringing forth emotions like nothing else. Eventually, people’s true natures are revealed.”

  Thomas took a sip of his chai.

  “It’s a well-known fact that there are more gods than people here,” she continued. “But the emotions experienced on any one day far exceed the number of gods.”

  In the shower, Thomas was torn from his thoughts when the water ran cold and he had to jump out of its path.

  Emma was waking up as he came back into the bedroom.

  “Did you catch the sunrise?” she asked.

  “No, no. I missed it,” he mumbled, and watched her walk sleepily into the loo. “I think the hot water is broken.”

  “You used it all up?”

  “It just went cold. I wasn’t in there long.”

  The door shut, and Thomas heard a loud groan from inside the bathroom.

  Thomas was thinking about the ring during their omelette brunch, and again when he and Emma were back on their towels on the beach. Emma put on sunscreen and handed him the bottle. He’d hoped to get some more colour to his skin, so he put the sunscreen on the towel next to his Condensed History of India.

  Emma flipped through the glossy pages of a few fashion magazines she’d brought from home, including the one she edited.

  “I’m gonna go have another look for your ring.” Thomas stood up. “Care to join me?”

  Emma shielded her eyes from the sun and held her page with an index finger. “I’m over it, hon.”

  “Don’t get emotional or anything. I’d think you’d be a little bit more upset about losing your engagement ring.”

  “What do you want me to do, Tom? There’s no way we’ll find it in all that sand and water.” She let out a long breath. “I’m going to see if the phone is working so I can call home.”

  Thomas stood, his hands on his hips, and watched her walk away, then turned to the sea. He was about to head back when he saw the man with headphones walking along the shore, just like yesterday. As he passed right by again, Thomas chased the man and called out to him from behind. He didn’t respond, so Thomas swung around in front of him. The man looked up and gave Thomas a surprised frown that changed to a grin.

  He took off his headphones. “Hola.”

  “Sorry to surprise you like that,” Thomas said.

  “No problem. Was just listening to some music.” He held up the CD player, then shook Thomas’s hand and said his name was José.

  “What brings you to the Andamans?” Thomas asked.

  José raised
both hands and looked around. “This, my friend. You as well?”

  “It’s gorgeous. Don’t get weather like this in England. I just arrived yesterday with my fiancée. Though unfortunately she already lost her engagement ring in the water.”

  “Oh no, that’s terrible. She must be heartbroken.”

  Thomas agreed.

  José said he would keep his eyes open, and added, “If you two need cheering up, you should come to the other side of the island. I am playing the club there on Saturday night.”

  “You’re a DJ?”

  “Just for the next two weeks. Spain is home. Ibiza. I just finished recording and this was supposed to be a vacation. But I can’t get far from music. It is my life. And you, Thomas?”

  “Actually, I did a bit of DJing myself back in day.” Thomas had only ever messed around with a friend’s deck but he wanted to impress José.

  “That is perfect! My friend, can you do me a favour?”

  “What kind of favour?”

  “I’ve got a problem on this island, too. Four days I’ve walked these beaches trying to decide between two of my tracks. Could you listen and tell me which one you like better?”

  Thomas agreed, and José gave him the headphones; they covered his ears wholly. On the first track, a man sang, Hey oh oh, before a playful flute and an easy beat came in. The song kept getting faster and adding layers—a woman’s mmm, a few Spanish words—and Thomas bobbed his head with his eyes closed while the waves died softly at his feet. He enjoyed the second song, too, but it had more of an ambient feel.

  Thomas gave the headphones back. “You made these?”

  “Yes, yes, I made them. But which one do you prefer?”

  “If I had to pick one, it would be the first. I don’t know, it just has this…energy.”

  “Yes! Gracias, my friend.” He grabbed Thomas’s hand and pulled him in for a hug. “I think I was leaning toward that one but needed someone to say it. That one will go on the album.”