Coconut Dreams

by Derek Mascarenhas

  And then her line wiggled. She pulled up slowly. Gave it a little tug.

  “Probably a boot,” Cassius teased, but Delilah kept her concentration.

  A second later her line ran sharply to the right, knocking her off-balance. “Arrey!” Delilah shouted. She regained her footing and turned the stick sideways with a hand on each end, like she was water-skiing behind a fast boat.

  We cheered her on, not wanting the fish to get away. To reel it in, she rolled the stick in her hands. I was worried it might break, but she had clearly done this many times. The line became shorter and shorter, until she yanked the fish out of the water like a stubborn weed from the ground. The smile on her face when she pulled it out was pure joy.

  It was the biggest, ugliest fish I had ever seen. Dark grey, the fish had a flat head, small eyes, and whiskers on its face like a dirty old man.

  Delilah still held the stick with both hands. The fish didn’t fight at all once out of the water—it stayed so still that it spun slowly as the line untwisted.

  “You should throw that thing back,” Cassius said.

  “Throw it back? Why?” Delilah asked.

  “It’s a catfish.”

  “So? We’ll fry this one as well.”

  “You don’t want to eat that. If you had caught a salmon or trout, I’d say keep it. But a catfish?”

  “You’re just jealous it’s bigger than your fish.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want that thing.” Cassius took out his Swiss Army knife. He grabbed the line with one hand and put the knife against it with the other. Making a loop, he forced the knife sideways and the line cut. The catfish fell, bounced off the edge of the dock, and plunked back into the water.

  “Idiot,” said Delilah and, before any of us knew what was happening, she pushed Cassius off the dock.

  He hit the water with a splash a hundred times larger than the catfish’s. Delilah threw her fishing stick in after him, too, and it bobbed near his head when he came up. Cassius’s eyes were wide. He pulled himself up onto the dock, clothes dripping water. He stood there for a moment, then said, “My knife!” and jumped back into the lake.

  All of us except Delilah moved to the edge of the dock to help search for the knife. But the light was too dim and the water too deep and murky to see anything.

  “Cassius, I’m sorry,” Dad said.

  “Delilah, what were you thinking?” Mom asked.

  Delilah had already put her sandals back on and was sitting in a chair at the base of the dock with her orange. She peeled the rest, throwing the skin in the water, and ate it one slice at a time.

  Cassius climbed out of the water and trudged back along the dock, wetting the wood as he walked. He continued past the beach and back into his cottage without saying a word.

  Mom turned to Delilah with angry eyes. But a bang sounded across the lake and a lone firecracker exploded high above. A string of explosions followed—like big spiders, the yellows, reds, and blues reflected on the rippling water.

  The display continued long enough for Cassius to rejoin us in dry clothes.

  Then it was over. I kept expecting another firecracker, and when it didn’t come, the lake looked so dark. Somewhere in there was Delilah’s fish.

  Dad decided we should get going and turned to Cassius. In a low voice, but not so low that we couldn’t hear, he said, “Thanks for having us. And sorry again about Delilah.”

  “Yes, and I hope you find your knife,” Mom added.

  As we were getting in our car, Cassius ran up with the fish he’d caught in a grocery bag. He placed the bag between my feet in the back seat of the car, ruffled my hair, and said, “Take care of this one.”

  I didn’t smile back at him before he shut the door. And Delilah just sat there, staring out the windshield, saying nothing.

  The street lamps were far apart on the country road—as we drove between them, it felt like only the car’s headlights were defending us from the darkness all around.

  “You shouldn’t have pushed him in,” Mom said.

  “He cut my line,” Delilah said.

  “Regardless, you don’t go to someone’s place and push them in the lake.”

  “Cassius isn’t likely to invite us there again,” Dad added, looking in the rear-view mirror. “You had a shot.”

  “I wouldn’t want to marry that gunda,” said Delilah.

  The plastic bag at my feet rustled and went still. The whole ride home I kept picturing the fish flopping on the dock, trying to swim and breathe out of water.

  The next morning, Delilah cleaned and cut the fish for lunch. She did it so quickly and easily that I thought she enjoyed it at first. But once the fillets were cooked and we sat down to eat, she refused to taste even one bite. She just sat there as she had in the back of the car, staring into the distance, not saying a word.

  Shortly after Ally and I started the new school year, Delilah flew back to Mumbai.

  “I thought it would be the winter that would give her trouble,” Mom said. “But she didn’t even get to see the snow.”

  Ally moved back into her old room again, taking the top bunk with her and making my bed a normal one. At night, it felt strange to not hear Delilah’s snoring in the next room. Ally and I tried playing the games Delilah had taught us, but it wasn’t the same without her stories and riddles.

  “Will Delilah ever come back?” I asked Mom.

  “I don’t know,” Mom said. “Maybe you can go visit her when you’re older.”

  “I will, one day,” I said. “I’ll climb the coconut trees in Goa and ride all around on Uncle Quinton’s scooter. Is Xavier still there, too?”

  “Xavier?” Mom’s face turned sour almost immediately. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Did Delilah tell you about Xavier?”

  I remembered then that Delilah had said not to mention Xavier to Mom, but I didn’t think she would get in trouble after all these years for skipping her tuitions to go fishing. I nodded to my mom.

  “She should not have told you.” She clicked her tongue once and shook her head back and forth. “But you shouldn’t worry, he’s not there anymore to hurt children. They chased that Devil out of our village long back.”

  I felt like something I’d eaten had gone rotten, but only after it was inside me. I tried my best to bury that feeling, as deep down as I could, but from time to time it showed its ugly head. And yet I still kept hoping that, one day, I would have the courage to go to a place so different, and so far away.

  Fallen Leaves

  Ricky’s dog Chaos was as big as a lion and as dumb as a turkey. She was a black Russian terrier, taller while on all fours than any of us standing, and weighing more than Ricky, me, and Johnny put together. When we rang Ricky’s doorbell, we’d hear Chaos run down the hallway, barking like a banshee, her nails clicking on the tiles. She would jump up with such force that the door moved in its frame. But as soon as she recognized our scents, she went back to her gentle ways, and when the door was opened she often begged to be scratched behind her ears or on the forehead. I always wondered how she could see with so much shaggy hair over her eyes—maybe that’s why she was so clumsy.

  One fall day, Ricky rang my doorbell early for a Saturday morning. I was halfway done my bowl of Cheerios with a banana sliced in, but scarfed down the rest when he promised a surprise. The last time Ricky said he had a surprise, he led us to a giant trampoline in his backyard—a friend of his father’s had loaned it to them for a week while he was away. We jumped on that thing for two whole days straight. I’m pretty sure we were jumping in our dreams as well. On the third day, Johnny got double-bounced too high and broke his collarbone on the way down. We weren’t allowed on the trampoline after that; it sat unused for the rest of the week and a faded patch of grass was left when it was taken away.

  On this Saturday morning, I was less excited when I saw
Ricky was bringing Chaos with us, but I didn’t say anything. We called on Johnny and grabbed our bikes.

  Ricky led the way on a forest trail not far from our homes. I rode behind him, and Johnny followed me. As we pedalled, Chaos galloped alongside us and we tried not to get bumped as she slowed down to sniff the ground and trees, then ran hard to catch up to Ricky.

  Johnny kept calling out, asking what surprise Ricky had in store. But Ricky wouldn’t say.

  I squeezed my bike brakes gently as Ricky came to a stop. I was riding Johnny’s old bike and only the front brake worked, so I had to be careful or I’d get thrown forward. Johnny had just gotten a new eighteen-speed for his birthday at the start of the school year; only his tiptoes touched the ground if he took his feet off the pedals.

  “Chaos! Where you going?” shouted Ricky after the dog, who had run off the path and into the forest. She stopped and shook her head back and forth.

  A few seconds passed before we realized she had got hold of something. We jumped off our bikes and ran, shouting at Chaos to put down whatever she had, but we arrived too late. She dropped a grey squirrel, torn to tufts of bloody fur, its insides outside.

  “Poor thing’s finished,” I said, and turned away from the small corpse.

  “Yeah, she mangled it,” said Johnny. “Was probably just out hiding nuts before it gets cold.”

  “Bad girl! What got into ya?” Ricky shouted, and attached a leash to her collar. Chaos lowered her head and gave us an almost shameful look. “I’ve never seen her do anything like that. Something must have spooked her.” Ricky spooked me when he said this, and I wondered if Chaos sensed what I’d found out the night before about her from Ricky’s father.

  We left the squirrel lying there and walked our bikes the rest of the trail until we reached a clearing. When we got to the nice baseball diamonds, Johnny got off his bike and pretended to crank a game-winning home run. These fields had green grass, painted lines, and lights for night games, while the field near our house was mostly dirt, and before playing we had to draw the bases with the heels of our shoes.

  Ricky pedalled a bit farther, staring at a small stall that sold candy and refreshments during the games. A moment later I noticed what he was staring at. The window had a locked metal cover, but the back door stood slightly ajar. I watched him tie Chaos to his bike and walk toward the door. He peeked in, then swung the door wide open and entered the stall. Johnny and I exchanged looks and followed him.

  There for the taking was every kid’s dream: chocolate bars, chips, gum, and candy—soft candy, hard candy, sweet, sour, and salty candy.

  “When did you find out about this?” asked Johnny.

  “Right now. This isn’t what I wanted to show you guys, but it’s even better!” Ricky smiled, grabbing a fistful of gumball packets and shoving them into his jean pocket. Johnny and I looked at each other. I peeked out the door again to see if anyone was around; Chaos still sat tied to Ricky’s bike, but I saw no one else. Johnny popped a purple jawbreaker into his mouth, but it was too big and his cheek bulged out like a squirrel’s.

  “I don’t know if we should, Ricky,” I said.

  “C’mon, man, nothing’s gonna happen. We gotta hurry up, though,” said Ricky, as he stuffed chocolate bars into his pockets. I had never stolen something so big. The only thing I ever took was bracelet beads at summer day camp, and that wasn’t really stealing. My sister and I were making bracelets and didn’t finish in time. We wanted to take some beads home but didn’t want to ask for them, so we poured handfuls into our socks so no one would see. The beads started off around our ankles but soon leaked down beneath our feet. Our dad picked us up that day, although instead of going home he took us along to buy groceries. As Dad put items into the cart, my sister and I tried to walk down the aisles normally, but the beads were pressing against our feet and rolling between our toes. Dad didn’t notice. When we got home we went to my room, covered the floor with paper, and carefully pulled our socks off and brushed the beads from our feet. We’d felt so smart that day, yet for some reason taking candy felt different.

  Still, I picked up a box of Smarties and put it in my right pocket. After that it was easier to take more. We each grabbed one more bag of chips than our arms could carry, and we kept having to stop and pick them up on our way out the door. We folded our shirts up to hold everything, picked up our bikes with our free hand, and ran alongside them as best we could. I could feel the box of Smarties in my pocket rattle, but I joined my friends’ laughter because we’d gotten away with it.

  Johnny and I had been so busy opening packages and eating that we didn’t notice Ricky’s surprise until we were right in front of it. He pointed ahead and we saw the leaves. Lots and lots of leaves—piled as high as a house and a mix of red, yellow, and orange. In our neighbourhood, the townhouses didn’t have many tall trees. Our front yard had only a single skinny tree that stood alone like an upside-down broomstick. Mom always joked that “a witch must have crash-landed there.” She didn’t like that tree—“No shade, no fruit, no nice flowers,” she’d say. Dad liked it because it was the first one he had bought in Canada.

  The leaves piled up here must have come from the houses by the lake. There, they had giant houses with giant trees that no one sat under or climbed.

  We dropped our haul of stolen candy and climbed, jumping and pushing one another in the rich people’s leaves. We laughed at the wealth they were unaware they had thrown away, and tossed their leaves in the air like lottery money. We were drunk off the cool air, fallen leaves, and sugar, yet kept returning to the bottom of the leaf pile to eat more candy, throwing the wrappers in the rusted garbage can with no bag.

  Ricky got Chaos to climb the leaf mountain and had the idea to set a trap for her. As much as he loved his dog, he teased her mercilessly. Every time we’d take her out to do her business on the hill behind Ricky’s house, we’d play a trick on her. For some reason, Chaos would only crap at the bottom of the hill, right beside the creek. We’d wait until she started going down the hill and then run away as fast as we could and hide from her. After she was finished, she used her nose to find us, no matter where we hid.

  Now we dug a hole in the leaf pile the size of a grave. The leaves on top were dry, but they got damper the deeper we dug. When we finished the hole, we lay branches across it, then covered the branches over with leaves. Chaos had seen us dig the hole and cover it up, but when we called her over from the other side, she still came barrelling over and fell right in. After she jumped out, Chaos ran back down the hill and straight into the woods. Ricky said she’d come back, so we let her go, but I wasn’t so sure.

  The night before, I’d overhead Ricky’s dad and my parents talk in our living room over a cup of tea in that tone adults take on when they’re making tough decisions. Ricky’s older sister had been home from school since she’d gotten pregnant a while back. I could tell my parents still didn’t approve of her and her “situation,” but they sent over a dish of butter chicken the day the new baby girl, Serena, was born. Ricky’s dad explained to my parents, “With the baby, our small house has suddenly become too small, and Chaos, suddenly too big.” He told them how he tried to give Chaos away but no one would take a dog of her size. She wasn’t always this large; they’d rescued her as a puppy, and she’d been growing ever since. She definitely stood out in the neighbourhood; all the other families had less distinct dogs. Ricky had tried to teach her tricks since the day they got her, but she only mastered a few. I often saw him in his backyard still trying to get her to play dead or roll over, without success. I wanted to tell Ricky what his father had told my parents but hadn’t been able to yet.

  “Chaos!” Ricky called from the top of the leaf pile, but she wasn’t coming back from the woods. We were about to go look for her, when Johnny spotted a man in the distance walking in our direction. His stride suggested that he had a purpose, but it wasn’t until the man got closer an
d looked down into the garbage can that I knew he knew.

  When he glanced up at us, Ricky said, “Hide!” We scrambled over the other side of the heap of leaves so he couldn’t see us. But when we peeked over, he was making his way to our bikes. He picked up Johnny’s new bike by the handlebars and started to walk it away.

  “Hey!” Johnny shouted to the man, but he continued walking.

  We climbed over the top and ran down the mound of leaves to go after him.

  “What are you doing?” Johnny asked the man when we had almost caught up.

  The man stopped and turned to us. He wore a red flannel shirt and blue jeans; his brown hair was slicked back and he had a thick moustache that didn’t look right on his skinny face.

  “What am I doing? I thought I’d take something that wasn’t mine, just like you kids did.”

  “What are you talking about? Give me back my bike, you asshole.” Johnny surprised me—he almost never swore.

  “Call me that again, kid.” The man stared Johnny down.

  When Johnny didn’t repeat his insult, he said, “That’s right.” The man then looked at me when he said, “You’re not getting anything back until you admit what you did.”

  “What do you care?” Ricky asked.

  The man’s one fist was clenched tight and there was a vein on his forehead.

  “Let’s just go, guys,” I said to Johnny and Ricky.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my bike,” Johnny said to me, but also to the man.

  “How do you even know it was us?” Ricky added. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Well, why don’t I just call the police? See what they think about your little theft.”

  “You call the cops and we’ll tell them you tried to steal Johnny’s bike,” said Ricky.

  I could tell the man was stumped but didn’t want to let us get away. I hadn’t said anything to him yet, but he turned to me and said, “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” His eyes held so much hate.