Coconut Dreams

by Derek Mascarenhas

  I managed to shake my head, but it wasn’t enough. The man rolled the bike toward us and grabbed me by the back of my neck. I tried to slip free, but he squeezed harder, and I froze. I wanted to tell him he had it wrong, that Ricky had convinced me to do it, that I wouldn’t have taken anything if I were alone, but I couldn’t.

  “What are you doing? Let him go!” Johnny shouted.

  The man held me tight. He must have been a chain-smoker; the filthy smell was in his shirt. “You kids should stay away from this boy, you hear?” he said. “These people, these people with permanent tans, they’re a bad influence on normal kids. A bad influence. They shouldn’t be allowed in our country, but the government lets them in, anyway. But that’s okay—once the courts hear what you did they’ll deport you, kid.”

  I heard a bark from the forest, but it was muffled and far away.

  “Let him go,” Johnny pleaded again. “You can take the bike.”

  The man held steady.

  Ricky stepped closer to us and said, “Okay, we get it. We did it, just let him go.”

  The man grinned. “Now, you tell me that this boy made you do what you did and you can go home.”

  Ricky paused for what seemed like a long time. He had an empty stare, as if he was looking straight through the man.

  “Well, kid, what’s it gonna be?”

  “Fuck you.”

  The man backhanded Ricky full in the face. Ricky stayed on his feet but brought his hand to his cheek and looked past us again. His eyes widened, but he didn’t have time to move.

  Chaos hit the man so hard, all three of us got knocked over. She clamped her teeth onto the man’s leg and shook him violently.

  It was not until Chaos took aim at the man’s throat that we shouted at her to stop. We tried to push and pull her off him but were knocked back each time.

  The man fought back, rolled and punched, kicked and cursed.

  Johnny said, “Let’s go,” and we were on our bikes, pedalling away. Ricky kept shouting for Chaos to come to him, but she didn’t listen and we kept getting farther away.

  Every so often, I ask Johnny if he remembers that day. “Of course,” he says, and we recount the events that led up to the fight again. I still remember the stack of leaves, and the man and dog we left beside them. Our town paper said the man had a wife and a son, but I can’t imagine him with either. I remember how he’d singled me out, how his eyes burned and his words cut. Ricky never talks about that day, of course. We still shoot hoops in the summer and play street hockey when it gets cold, but I have to be careful what I say to him. He seemed to grow up overnight when they put Chaos down. There was nothing else to do. I knew it wasn’t my fault, and yet I still felt guilty I didn’t tell him about Chaos. I now know how lucky I was, how lucky we all were, to be shown loyalty like that. But I remember that day well. I recall the colour of the leaves, and the soft, crunching sound they made beneath our feet as we raced up the pile.

  1997

  One Hundred Steps

  Most of the families attending the picnic were from the city, but some came from beyond, packed into cars with more passengers than seat belts. Children sat on laps, shifted from one car pool to the next, so everyone could fit. At the park, they gathered under a sign strung between two trees: Hamilton Goan Association. Long lines of picnic tables were adorned with plastic sheets and silver haandis, pots as large as witches’ cauldrons. Curries, cutlery, and chatter were shared by all. Triangle-cut chutney sandwiches—with fresh green coriander filling—went as quickly as the samosas wrapped in oil-spotted newspaper. The most desired dish of the day was Ally’s uncle Francis’s pork, spiced with a potent masala and heated on a three-legged grill so the smoky flavour could permeate the fatty meat. Francis and Ally’s father were lucky to still have their thick eyebrows, so thoroughly had they soaked the coals in lighter fluid before throwing in a match.

  Once everyone had served themselves, Ally and her uncle sat at the far end of the picnic tables, near the shallow stream where some younger kids were trying to catch crayfish. Francis wasn’t her blood uncle, but at picnics everyone became either an uncle, aunt, or cousin. Ally wore a yellow dress with white frills; Francis was underdressed, for him, in a sky-blue cotton dress shirt that didn’t hide his paunch, as well as his normal suit jacket.

  “One hundred steps,” Ally said, gazing at the hill that rose over the park.

  “That’s right, kiddo.”

  “What’s at the top?”

  “Well, some say a unicorn might live up there.”

  “A unicorn?” Ally said, with less enthusiasm.

  “That’s what I heard. Though the really smart people know that it’s a dragon.”

  “A dragon!” Ally’s face lit up again.

  “Yes, Rajesh has been there for years.”

  “Rajesh?”

  “Yes, the dragon.”

  “A dragon can’t be named Rajesh!”

  “I wouldn’t tell that to Rajesh. He’s got razor-sharp teeth, thick dry scales, and he could roast you and me both with one breath. But there’s really only one way to know for sure.”

  “Climb up?”

  “You got it, kiddo.”

  “Let’s go!” At school, Ally got in trouble for daydreaming and was often snapped back to reality by an angry teacher. But it felt different with Francis. “I have to tell Mom first,” she added.

  Francis stood, brushing his hands off on his pants. “Tell her we’re off on an adventure.”

  “Eighty-eight, two fat ladies, O-88,” called the bingo announcer, a man with thinning grey hair and thick glasses, from his place atop a picnic table. All of those who played sat on the tables and grass shaded by a giant maple tree. The adults had debated how old the tree was, but they could only agree that it must be over a century. The kids loved to throw its seeds in the air and watch them propeller down like little helicopters.

  “But bingo just started,” Ally’s mother told her and Francis. “Jaldi-five, I’ve got cards for you both.” She held five thin paper cards; instead of a pen she had a small stick to poke holes through the numbers as they were called.

  “Please, Mom, I never win at bingo, anyway,” said Ally. She had enjoyed the earlier games of Seven Tiles and the water-balloon toss, but, like the older kids with their Pink Floyd T-shirts and Reebok pumps, who had already escaped, she hoped she could get away before the adults started to sing.

  “She’ll be back in one piece, Clara,” promised Francis. He produced a maroon-and-gold pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ally’s mother.

  “Thank you, Francis. How were things at Bombay Jewel and Gem this trip?”

  “Gem and Jewel,” he said.

  “Oh yes, I’m sorry. I’ll never get that right.”

  “No problem… Business is fan-tastic. We’ve opened up a new storefront in Bandra and secured another contract from Germany. Busy, as always.”

  “My age,” said the caller. “Thirty, I-30.”

  Clara marked two cards and touched the bump of her belly.

  “Clara, you must forgive me. I’ve completely forgotten to say congratulations! How much time till the next one arrives?”

  “The baby is coming in February,” Ally piped up. She ran her hand through her mother’s long jet-black hair that fell just above her bum.

  “Clara, you are truly blessed.”

  “Three and a seven, N-37.”

  Clara thanked Francis and asked Ally where Aiden and her father were.

  “Aiden’s playing baseball with the new bat and glove Uncle bought him. Dad went, too.” Ally touched the thin gold cross that Francis had brought for her. She liked it but was annoyed that her dad wouldn’t let her play baseball because, he said, she was too young and might get hurt.

  “Honestly, Francis, you don’t need to bring the kids gifts every time.”

&nbs
p; “I missed Christmas this year. And besides, I’m happy to provide them a glimpse of the finer things in life.”

  “You mean spoil them,” Clara replied.

  “First place, number 1, B-1.”

  Ally pointed out the cards with ones and thirty-sevens, and her mom let her take the pen and go to work.

  Clara said to Francis, “If only you’d let me set you up with someone. How many times have I tried over the years?”

  “You know I wouldn’t have time for that.”

  “Yes, I remember. I recently heard a rumour, though, from some of the older ladies. According to them, you might now have a sweet jalebi back home you are friendly with.”

  “You know how they gossip. My only indulgence has been my business.”

  “How long has it been now?”

  “Eighteen years. To think it all started in that cramped Bombay second-floor apartment. You could hear the traffic most of the day. Do you remember that place? You used to meet me there and we’d go for falooda near the beach at Chaupati.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, before Felix left the priesthood, of course.” Francis placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Clara glanced at his hand, and he removed it.

  “O-72, my wife’s age.”

  Ally, bored of the adults’ talk, switched her attention to an upturned bee on the table. The bee tried twice to flip over. Once right side up, it did not fly away but dragged itself around like an injured soldier.

  “What have we got here?” asked Francis. “Poor guy’s struggling, ain’t he?”

  “Yeah, he looks hurt,” said Ally.

  “Careful! It’ll get up and sting you,” Clara said.

  “Oh, these guys are harmless if you don’t give them trouble,” said Francis. “Besides, this one looks pooped. Must be a scout.”

  He grabbed a sugar packet leftover from the thermos tea, pinched one side, gave it a shake, then ripped off a corner and poured a pimple-sized pile close to the struggling insect. Ally loved how Francis cared for all living creatures, big or small. Her parents didn’t have much appreciation for animals. When she had asked her mom if she could get a cat last year, she got a lecture on how filthy they were. Ally had had to settle for a purple Siamese fighting fish she named Cat.

  The bee crawled toward the sweet gift from the heavens and sucked down as much as he could; the rest, Ally knew, would be stored in the backpacks on his legs. Then he took off and flew high up and out of sight.

  “B-11, take me to heaven.”

  “So, can I go, Mom?”

  “Alright. But if you two aren’t back by three, I’m sending out the search party.”

  On the way to the one hundred steps, Ally and Francis stopped for ice cream. At the park’s lone building, a concession kiosk, Ally chose bubble-gum flavour, her favourite because it reminded her of rainbows, while Francis went with vanilla. He paid the additional seventy-five cents each for a waffle cone, and the girl at the shop gave Ally an extra scoop for free.

  The cold treat was extra satisfying on the sweltering summer afternoon as they made their way to the stairway, where branches hid the entrance from all but those who knew the way. Francis held back the branches and set foot on the first of the old steps, which were covered in green moss and rounded from wear. Ally couldn’t see the top as the stairs peaked and curved and faded into green.

  “One…two…three…four…five.” Ally counted the steps aloud as they climbed, but stopped when she felt a stream of melted ice cream on her hand. She lapped up the mix of blue, red, and purple. From then on, she counted the steps in her head, her mouth busy with ice cream; she finished it at step twenty-seven. Some steps were quite steep, but Ally, despite her skinny legs and flip-flops, powered ahead, while Francis was already struggling. At step forty, he stopped to catch his breath.

  “Oh, man. Your uncle hasn’t climbed one hundred steps…in a long time.” His breathing was heavy and laboured, his face red. “Let’s take a rest for a moment.”

  The trees all around shaded them from the sun, but Ally still wished she had another ice cream to cool off. She listened as the birds took turns singing solos.

  “So, what are they teaching you in school these days, kiddo?”

  “It’s summer vacation,” she said.

  “Oh yes. I mean, have they taught you how plants get energy yet?”

  “Photosynthesis, Uncle. Plants make energy from the sun and then only need water and soil. And then insects and animals eat the plants and then bigger animals eat them—it’s the food chain.” Ally bent her elbow back and forth while she spoke; she had a small blue Band-Aid with the Tasmanian Devil on it.

  “Smart cookie.” Francis started climbing again but stumbled and took the next couple of steps hastily.

  “I told Mom about the food chain,” Ally said, following him cautiously, “although she still gets mad at the rabbits for eating her tomatoes.”

  “Rabbits. Hmm, something tells me it could be a dragon.”

  “Dragons like tomatoes?”

  “Vegetarian dragons do.”

  “Dragons aren’t vegetarian.”

  “Some are, just like humans. They love tomatoes, and cauliflower, and strawberries.”

  “What about beets?”

  “Roasted beets are their favourite.”

  “Mine, too! Is the dragon at the top of the steps vegetarian?”

  “Rajesh? You know, I think he just might be.”

  Ally looked up at a small patch of sky visible between the trees. She pointed and said, “There he is!”

  “Who?”

  “Rajesh!”

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes, in between the clouds.”

  “Did he have a long tail and yellow eye?”

  “Yeah, he was flying fast.”

  “That’s Rajesh, all right.”

  “I hope he’s at the top when we get there. We should tell Rajesh a secret so he comes back. Dragons love secrets.”

  “They sure do.” Francis turned back and stared at Ally. “You know what? You have your mother’s eyes, exactly.”

  People had told Ally she looked like her mother before, but it felt like more of a compliment when Francis said it.

  “You make sure you don’t turn into an old fart like me who works and works and works.” He paused again—step fifty-two. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  “Sure,” said Ally, but she didn’t mention that she wasn’t the best person to tell secrets to because she let them out sometimes, but only by accident.

  “I’m going to sell my business.” Francis straightened his back and put his hands on his hips.

  “Yeah?”

  “No kidding. I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and it’s the right time. Bombay Gem and Jewel has taken up too much of my life.”

  They resumed their climb at a steady pace, as if Francis had gotten lighter after having shared his secret.

  “Will you live here the whole year round now like everyone else?”

  “That’s right, the whole year round.”

  “Will you come on my field trips next year?”

  “Of course I will,” Francis said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m going to put my time toward family. Including starting my own.”

  Ally was quiet as they climbed further. She had pocketed a sugar packet after what had happened with the bee in case they ran into another one. She held on to it tightly now.

  Francis continued: “I met a girl on my last trip. I’ve already had discussions with her family and know they’d accept a proposal. You see, starting a family is much like cutting stones. I start with something raw that needs to be shaped. I always have an end state in mind. I cut and polish, cut and polish. Step by step, I make the stone precious. Not just precious, but perfect.”


  Ally wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted him to go back to talking about the dragons.

  The sweat now made dark spots on the underarms of Francis’s shirt. The birds, Ally noticed, had gone silent.

  They were on step seventy-four when Francis stopped mid-stride and clutched his chest. He staggered forward and managed to brace his fall on a step that was nothing more than dirt and the root of a tree, and eased himself onto his back.

  “Uncle?” Ally pulled her hand out of her pocket, and the sugar packet fell to the ground, but she stepped closer to Francis. “Are you okay, Uncle?”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit of a struggle.” Francis clenched his teeth and took deep breaths.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine. Just very tired.”

  Except he cried out and buried his head in the crook of his elbow. Ally had to jump out of the way when he kicked his right leg out straight and bent it back slowly. From then on, she kept her distance.

  “I’m okay,” he wheezed. “Ally, why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Maybe I should wait with you?”

  “No, I just need a bit of time. Go ahead, sweetie. I’ll see you at the top.” Francis gestured up the hill with a half-raised arm.

  Ally didn’t move.

  Francis propped himself up and glared at her, shouting, “I’ll be right behind you!” His eyes were fierce.

  Ally turned and fled, taking steps two at a time.

  As she climbed, the sun began to emerge above the treeline. Ally looked back but could no longer see her uncle lying there just off the path. She kept going, all the way to the top.

  Then the path opened up. There was a park surrounded by trees, with an old playground. Ally, all alone, tried to turn the rusty merry-go-round, but it made an awful screeching noise. Across the playground was a tall, narrow slide and see-saw horses, with grins larger than any horse would make. She went over to the swing set and sat and waited, rocking on her heels, watching the clouds drift past slowly overhead.