FLAWLESS

by Leena Varghese

  The morsel of the tempting feast Giana had generously brought him, clogged in his throat like sandpaper with his tears. He drained his mug of black coffee and packed everything away. Like a zombie he went up to shower and dress for work with the grim aspect of a man who had made a difficult decision.

  Five

  The Bay of Bengal glittered in the east, a rich Madonna-robe blue. The evening sun cast its final rays in the western horizon. The short shower of rain in the afternoon had cleansed the air and now the long shadows on the sandy beach merged with the black rocks and breakers.

  Max usually jogged an hour before sunrise. But today he had chosen a breezy evening for his routine run. He had slept all morning after giving final additions to an office complex design and he was off work for two days.

  The nook of the beach was deserted by late evening as usual except for the sand-caked mongrel that followed Max every day. He sprinted beside Max to the end of the stretch and back. A dog knew how to be happy! The abandoned, flea-infested cocker spaniel probably knew it better than anyone else, thought Max with a twisted smile. His annoyance at being followed by the furry friend had dissipated long back as it became a daily occurrence. On some days he would offer snacks to his jogging partner by bringing along bits of leftover food.

  “Come on, Mutt! Let’s see how fast you can jog,” called out Max, finishing the last round of push-ups.

  The dog pranced in anticipation, his limpid brown eyes gazing adoringly in expectation. His new master grinned down at him in challenge, which was reciprocated by a bout of yapping. Then Max charged along the beach, his long, muscled legs eating up stretches of squishy sand thrown up by his sneakers. The dog zipped at top speed in utter glee, racing close at his heels.

  Very soon the little, flying fur ball had launched way ahead. He reared to a halt, sniffing at the wet sand, distracted by the army of marching fiddler crabs. He changed direction and scattered the scurrying crustaceans in a comical bid to catch them. Quickly realizing that his master had been left behind, he came bounding back and ran alongside Max to keep the pace.

  “You obviously don’t know the meaning of a race, do you?” panted Max, laughing at the dog who bounced back and forth with him. “You are supposed to knock the opponent in a competition, and not encourage him to win the race.”

  There was some more excited scuffling about before they reached the boulders at the beginning of the pier. Max walked in a more relaxed pace towards the tip, surrounded by the glorious blue waters reflecting the purple sky.

  “That’s another day, huh, Mutt?” quipped Max, quirking a brow at his four-legged friend who wagged his grimy tail in acknowledgement.

  Max liked his new friend who didn’t demand anything more than bits of food and some good-natured, non-competitive jogging. Every day, when Max returned home after his run, the dog would stand at a distance watching him retreat. He never expected to be taken home. Maybe he did. But he never pressed the issue. It was a wonderful non-committal relationship. But Max always felt a twinge at leaving him behind. He had no choice. He didn’t want to keep a pet that would become a liability when it was time for him to leave this town. He had not thought of leaving yet. The house was a good investment. But it was empty like his life.

  Max returned, strolling at leisure with the dog wading alongside through the rolling surf. October had turned to November. The past one month had been pleasantly uneventful. His work schedule kept him busy. Busy and empty. Routine was good. It was good to be doing something positive.

  He had stopped drinking. It gave him a new perspective. He felt alert. In pain. But still alive. Even though grief still scoured him, sometimes so brutally that he lay awake all night. But he did not feel self-destructive anymore. He was grateful to Giana for that.

  Giana...How quickly he had given her a niche in his thoughts. In the past one month, Giana had pervaded his mind, sliding into every crevice and crack and gaping wound. He had not met her since she had brought her bountiful breakfast for him that morning a month ago. Nor had a conversation with her since he had been deluged by the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. She had known it too. Her eyes had glazed in helpless anticipation before her delicate features had become marred by guilt.

  Sometimes, he saw her rocking a wailing Toby to sleep late in the night. At other times as he returned from work, he had seen her flitting on the balcony above the garden. Now he knew where to look. He saw her occasionally when he looked across at the verdant garden that she floated in every Sunday.

  The garden was her haven. Her solitude was her shield.

  Some days Giana would notice him and smile serenely as though they were just neighbours. Her beautiful, bright eyes shining. She would smile at him...impersonal and aloof.

  However, one evening, when a packet of hot dinner arrived through her gardener, Max was convinced that Giana cared enough. She seemed to know when he was at home. Some days, a sumptuous breakfast would arrive in the morning on holidays. Some days it would be steaming soup and a divine dessert to conclude the meal. It brought him immense pleasure to open the packs to find something special for him. She never delivered it personally. There were no endearing notes. But the message was loud and clear. She cared deeply.

  Max had sent her a message enquiring about her injuries to which she had replied with her usual non-committal answer.

  “Thank you for the food!” he had texted.

  “Tell me if you need anything more. I will send it across,” she had replied.

  Max conjured up a long list of things that he wanted from her. None of them remotely related to her culinary talents.

  “Hope that man is not troubling you anymore?” he had texted back.

  “No trouble. I hardly see him.”

  She told him briefly that Benjamin had resigned from his post as the Parish Council president. Fr Da’Cunha had been vigilant about things after that. Giana was so grateful and relieved to be finally rid of the pest.

  There had been no more frivolous talk. Her replies were limited. Max refrained from calling her or texting. He had known then that she was avoiding him. He knew that if he went to the church he might find her there. He was, however, disinclined to go to church for that one reason.

  It was a graceful withdrawal. No glaring, reproving looks. Always pleasant and distant.

  He missed her.

  Max acknowledged the unvarnished truth with painful clarity, without whiskey addling his brains. It should have hurt him, her aloofness, and her apparent disinterest. Especially, when he knew the truth. However, he also understood the reason behind her detachment.

  Just one touch had told him that they were combustible. That Giana Francois would go up in flames, taking him along into the inferno of desire if they communicated again.

  She would never allow herself to fall though. Max knew her better now. She was not the type to fall so easily into that blazing inferno. She had more class and an amazing self-control that would do a nun proud. Max had understood without being told as to why she was nurturing a ring of thorns around her. It wouldn’t help her in anyway if he compounded her problems. Besides he wanted peace. He was working towards it.

  So Max had retreated, excruciatingly aware that Giana had left an indelible imprint on him.

  As he turned to go home, he paused in surprise at the vision that came into view a few meters ahead. Giana stood on the beach in a pair of cut-off denims and a loose white tee looking as glorious as ever. Thrilled to have seen her after a long parched spell, he stared, unable to take his eyes off her.

  Her hair was in a messy plait, the curls refusing to stay tamed, dancing in the salty breeze. She stood a little ahead of him near the water, trying to pull Toby before he could launch himself into the waves. The little varmint was right in the middle of a tantrum, throwing himself on the wet sand and promptly bursting into adamant wails. The imp looked at his hapless mother and made a weepy face. Giana stood with her hands on her hips and wagged her finger warningly, which
only resulted in the toddler rolling on the sand with some more sympathy-gaining tactics. Her cheeks were suffused with twin spots of colour and her eyes shone with indignation at Toby’s untimely outburst.

  She threw an exasperated glance around and froze when she found Max standing at a short distance with a wide grin on his face.

  She stared at him, caught somewhere in the middle of dismay and sheer joy. She didn’t want to face Max. But her heart raced so fast, galloping away in unbridled happiness at the sight of the man who had permeated her thoughts every second of the past month. He stood there smiling at her in a black tee that had seen better days and a muddy pair of track pants that moulded his taut thighs. She was sure he could hear her own heartbeat above the rush of waves and Toby’s incessant screeching.

  Max walked up to her and looked down at Toby who had his bum sticking up in the air.

  “Who is this ostrich with his head stuck in the sand?” Max addressed Toby in a pretentious booming tone.

  Toby raised his streaked face in alarm and whooped, “Mak favy!” He latched onto Max’s leg and did a little hop to be picked up.

  “No work today?” probed Max, fascinated by the late evening light on Giana’s face.

  “I came back home early to prepare for a wedding project. I need to get back urgently but he refuses to listen. He promised me that we would just take a walk and go home. Now he wants to bathe in the sea!”

  Max picked Toby, threw him up in the air, and caught him neatly against his chest. All tantrums were forgotten when Toby wrapped his hands around Max’s neck with absolute familiarity as though they belonged together. Giana couldn’t prevent the pang of longing that pierced through her. She wished Toby had a father to do that to him every day. There were some things only a father could do. She was aware of it more now because she had lost hers.

  Max was having similar thoughts when Toby broke into a warbled conversation that Max could only understand in parts. He pointed his tiny finger out into the sea and looked hopefully at his big benefactor. Max laughed at his sorry expression and waded obligingly into the shallow waves. He submerged Toby’s feet into the cool water. Hanging safely from strong hands supporting his little torso, Toby shrieked louder than before, thrilled with the adventure, and paddled his little legs like a tadpole. As Giana watched with her heart in her eyes, they returned, with Toby perched on Max’s shoulders, squelching water all over his broad back.

  “We could sit under the trees for a while,” offered Max tentatively.

  She looked uncertainly at him and nodded in agreement, not having the heart to refuse him.

  They walked to the shady copse beyond the cluster of fishing boats and sun-dried nets. The little mongrel followed them at a distance. The sand was cool under their feet and Giana’s face reflected the enjoyment of the surroundings and the towering presence of the man beside her. Toby ran ahead, fell and ran again, returning to them as they strolled quietly.

  He prattled non-stop to fill up the balmy silence between the adults, confident and secure in their presence. They sat under the swaying palms on a wooden bench and watched the silvery, crescent moon, rise over the Bay, bathing everything in its sublime light. In between, Giana would warn Toby not to go near the water. When he grew tired, he trundled back to where they sat and plonked down on his mother’s lap.

  “Are you tired?” asked Giana, gently. Toby rubbed his eyes with his little fists. “Let’s go home and have dinner. Then you can sleep.”

  Toby slid to one side and laid his head on his mother’s lap. “Mak seep.” He patted Giana’s thigh, offering Max a bit of space on his favourite perch.

  Giana didn’t know whether to chuckle or feel mortified. She gave up the effort and burst out laughing even as Max joined her.

  “Buddy, I’ve been there and done that!” muttered Max, suppressing his mirth. “You lucky guy!”

  Giana felt heat washing over her, remembering the night Max had laid his head on her lap and gone to sleep in a drunken stupor.

  Max ruffled Toby’s hair affectionately. “Come, let’s go for a ride.”

  Toby jumped up, sleep forgotten and was airborne again as Max lifted him and twirled him around. The shrieks of joy were music to Max’s ears. Soon Toby was clambering on his shoulders again.

  “Hmm...Now we go home?” asked Max, to which Toby nodded happily.

  As they began to walk away, the forlorn looking cocker spaniel followed them, hoping to be included in the fun.

  “Is that dog following you?” asked Giana.

  Max had forgotten his beachside companion. “Ah, that is my friend, Mutt.”

  Giana laughed at that. “Doesn’t he have a respectable name?”

  “We both like it,” said Max with an aggrieved air. “A stray dog by any other name is still a mutt! I thought of christening him Itchy Scratchy but that would have been insult to injury.”

  Mutt gave a disgruntled bark when Giana gurgled with laughter. “He seems very loyal to you.”

  Max grinned happily. “It’s Max and Mutt time of the day and we were having our man to man chat on all things perishable. Say hello to Mutt, Toby!”

  “Muth,” repeated Toby and lurched and toppled forward from Max’s shoulders.

  The mayhem reached noisy levels. Mutt leapt and barked joyously as Toby squealed to be let loose after the dog. Giana protested loudly between bursts of laughter that the dog was flea-infested and caked with sand.

  Max was enchanted to see her laugh for the first time. It was a melodious, happy sound without reservation. Her face glowed as she watched Toby dance within the circle of Max’s protective hold, imitating Mutt’s energized leaps and joyous yapping.

  “Does he come home with you?” asked Giana when Mutt followed them to the lane between the houses.

  “No. He follows me every day until here and meets me again for my next jog. He knows his boundaries. I think he was abandoned by his owner. His collar doesn’t show a name. He has some manners and is trained.”

  As they turned into the lane, Mutt gave a pathetic whine. Max set down Toby, holding him steady as the little one tried to run freely after the dog.

  “Maybe you should keep him,” said Giana, hoping that a pet would alleviate some of his loneliness.

  Max looked back at the dog with a grimace. “He deserves better than me.”

  “He needs a family,” said Giana, softly.

  Max gritted his teeth at the familiar pull at his guts. “I work late sometimes and travel a lot. Pets demand time and effort. My house is empty and the garden is thriving with thorns. Not really good for pets or humans.” He shrugged cynically.

  “Don’t you have someone to cook and clean for you yet?”

  “I didn’t think about it. I do a bit of cleaning and cooking on holidays.”

  The warm laughter was gone, Giana noted, and so was the relaxed man who had played with Toby a few moments ago.

  “I’ll send my gardener over to your place. His wife usually takes care of the kitchen and cleaning for us.”

  Max trained his gaze on her. For an instance she thought he was going to refuse. But he shrugged in acceptance.

  Mutt whined again as though waiting for the humans to decide his fate. One look at the despondent, floppy-eared, I-need-a-hug-please-take-me-home look and Max made up his mind. He called to Mutt who trotted uncertainly towards Max and sniffed at his hand, expectation writ large in his hopeful eyes.

  “Come on, boys, let’s go home.”

  Max picked up Toby and they all walked to the lane of houses. Toby clapped his hands perched on Max’s shoulders, looking back again to see Mutt trotting behind the group. When they reached Giana’s house, Toby let out a shrieking protest that he wanted to take Mutt home.

  “You can come and see him again,” soothed Max, tapping his button nose. “Mutt needs a bath. Toby also needs a bath.”

  “No bath!” wailed Toby. “Muth!”

  Giana rolled her eyes in exasperation. “We will see Mutt tomorrow,” she p
romised to pacify the wailing child.

  A lazy grin spread over Max’s countenance. Having a pet dog had its advantages. Even though it was against all his good intentions concerning Giana.

  “Bring him over whenever you are free,” he said without thinking further.

  Hasty goodbyes were delivered after Toby was consoled with a promise to see Mutt again soon. That night Max fed Mutt and brought out a large cardboard box from the garage for him to sleep in.

  The next morning, as promised by Giana, Venkaiyya and Rameshwari landed at Max’s doorstep. By afternoon, the garden was cleaned of weeds and watered. His kitchen was functional and meals were ready. Mutt was taken to a vet. He trotted jauntily around his new home where he was bathed and given a bowl of his own, a spiffy collar, and a brand new kennel.

  It was Max’s second day off and it had been good. He had acquired two new employees, earned a pet and spent the previous evening with Giana and Toby. He sat on the porch with Mutt, nursing a cup of coffee...at peace. Even though he waited, hopefully and half-heartedly for Giana to turn up with Toby to meet his new pet, he knew she would not come. Even though she had promised.

  A two-year-old’s promise could be discarded because he was too young to hold his mother to it. It was not Giana’s fault. She was bound by too many reservations and Max was not going to impinge himself upon her. His own emotional state was no better than hers.

  As darkness fell over the horizon, he sat talking to Mutt who proudly sported a freshly shampooed coat and a vaccinated rump. A rare melancholic peace stole over Max as night fell. It was bittersweet with disappointment and acceptance.

  *

  Junker Francois was stuck in the middle of the road again! It chugged fatally and simply dropped dead. The man from the garage had warned that it might be problematic after a few kilometres of mileage as it needed a complete overhauling. It had begun to eat more money than petrol. Giana was aware that it was only practical to sell it. But she wanted to wait until they had a bit more in the kitty to buy a new one. Not that she wanted to sell it. It had seen good days when her father had been alive. Giana had great memories of going on long drives and beach picnics with Michael playing ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ on his untuned guitar.