Murder at the Happy Home for the Aged

by Bulbul Sharma

  Rosie gazed out of the window, turning her wheelchair so she could see the ocean. All she could make out was a tiny fragment of the water but it made her feel happy to know it was there, a massive waterbody with millions of creatures living in its depth. Suddenly, Rosie saw a small boy climbing up the wall. She was about to shout out to him but then she stopped. Let me see what he will do. The boy climbed up the garden wall, agile as a squirrel, and caught hold of one of the branches of the mango tree and swung himself on it. Rosie craned her neck but she could not see him any more. She waited, tapping her finger impatiently on the wheelchair, feeling frustrated with her lifeless legs.

  Rosie remembered that she had seen the same boy before. He had come and stood near her window the other day and she had called him in. He had written in the notepad that he always carried that the dead woman had visited the Happy Home the week before she became a corpse. As Rosie watched, wondering if she should call Leela, the boy’s face appeared, half hidden by the mango leaves.

  ‘Hey, come here,’ she shouted. The boy, startled, looked down at her, his large eyes full of fear.

  ‘I won’t scold you. Take the mangoes, they are green and sour, but first come here. You know I’m in a wheelchair. I cannot walk so I will not chase you. Come here, boy. I will give you potato chips. Look.’ Rosie waved a packet of chips she had taken out of her bag. ‘Come. We met that day, do you remember?’

  The boy hesitated and slowly climbed down from the tree. He wiped his hands on his shirt and came forward, not taking his eyes off the packet of chips in Rosie’s hands.

  ‘Here, take it,’ she said gently.

  The boy stood quietly and his face broke into a smile. It was as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds after a shower of rain. Rosie could not help smiling back at him. His face, streaked with mud and black dust, reminded her of a painting of a cherub she had seen in the church long ago. If he were dressed in white robes he could have been a little angel flying down from heaven.

  ‘Listen, you wait here. Eat the chips. I will call Leela. You know Leela, don’t you?’ asked Rosie.

  The boy nodded but did not take the chips. He pointed to a magnifying glass on her dressing table, the one she used to see the hairs on her chin.

  ‘You want to see this? Okay, just be careful.’ Rosie handed him the box with the magnifying glass. ‘Don’t break it. I need it for my make-up,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’ Prema appeared behind them. ‘Why have you let this thief into the garden? This is how things get stolen from the house. Get out, you dirty urchin,’ shouted Prema. ‘Look, he has pinched your magnifying glass. Give it back,’ she screamed, trying to snatch the box away, but the boy quickly moved back.

  ‘He is not a thief,’ said Leela, walking into the room. ‘I’m so glad he has come here because I was about to go out to look for him.’

  As they watched, Leela twisted her fingers into strange dancing gestures and the boy nodded. Rosie realized Leela was speaking to him in sign language and though she tried to follow what they were saying to each other she could not understand anything except that the boy was very excited and pleased.

  ‘What is going on here? This is all rubbish. I’m going to call Deven and get this boy thrown out right now. Rosie, you are a fool to let him into the garden. Next you will have the entire village camping here.’ Prema marched out of the room.

  Finally, after a few confusing nods and gestures, Leela stopped and turned to Rosie. ‘We should call the others. The boy saw the murderer, I think. I will ask him to write it out for us.’ But when they had turned around the boy had vanished. The path where he had stood just a minute ago was empty except for a pair of doves searching for seeds. The branches of the mango tree shook as a breeze swept through the garden, bringing in the scent of the sea, and then the leaves became so still it was as if they had never moved at all. The magnifying glass shone on the table by the window, winking at them like one large eye.

  CHAPTER NINE

  INSPECTOR CHAND LOOKED at Deven and frowned. These people from the Happy Home were driving him mad. Four of them had turned up at the police station early in the morning, including the old lady in the wheelchair, when he had not even had his first cup of tea. He had marched out of his house in a rage because his mother had insisted he visit Panjim again to see yet another girl, one more plain and rich girl. For once Inspector Chand had refused and had walked out, regretfully leaving the hot parathas she had just made. But he had to show her he wasn’t going to be bullied any more.

  Constable Robert had gone to fetch tea and samosas from the tea shop when this group arrived in their old van. The Russian was not with them. Must be sleeping his booze off. Why had they not brought Maria along? That would have been so much better. He could ask her questions all day long and offer her tea and samosas while the old people sat around watching.

  They were all above seventy but looked quite fit for their age. Rosie was glowing with her face all made up; Prema, despite her frown, looked sturdy; Deven was dapper as always in his neatly pressed white shirt and black pants while Cyrilo looked like a movie star in dark glasses and a smart denim jacket. Must have got it cheap at the flea market at Anjuna beach, thought Inspector Chand with a stab of envy.

  He narrowed his eyes, turned his mouth down and gave them all a stern look, a look he had once seen John Wayne give his opponent in an old Western movie. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked curtly, his stomach growling with hunger.

  ‘Yuri is missing. He has not come home for two days,’ said Deven.

  ‘He must be drinking somewhere. You know how these Russians are. They find a quiet beach shack and then spend a few days boozing happily. Drink, drink and drink; that is all they do. How they sent a man to the moon I don’t know,’ said Inspector Chand.

  ‘The Americans sent a man to the moon. The Russians sent only a dog,’ muttered Cyrilo.

  ‘Who was Yuri Gagarin then? A vet?’ asked Inspector Chand, giving Cyrilo an angry look.

  ‘Inspector, you are right. Yuri must be lying on the beach drunk. I said the same thing but this lot would not listen to me,’ muttered Prema, leaning on his table heavily. The paperweight slid off and landed on the floor near Rosie’s wheelchair.

  ‘Don’t worry. He will turn up soon.’ He bent down to pick up the paperweight. A sharp pain stabbed his back and he groaned as he tried to straighten up. All four watched him with sympathy in their old eyes.

  ‘You will become like us one day. Your bones will creak and your lungs will sound like an old engine,’ they seemed to be saying. Inspector Chand straightened his shoulders and pulled his stomach in.

  ‘Yoga. Do yoga, young man. At your age, you are really in very bad shape.’ Deven sounded so uncannily like his late father that Inspector Chand almost burst into tears. Suddenly he was a small, fat boy looking up at his father as he held a stolen laddu in his hand.

  ‘We would like you to file a missing person’s report. Please ask the police station in Panjim if they have seen a person who looks like Yuri,’ said Cyrilo, taking off his dark glasses.

  ‘I think we should wait a few more days. Then if he does not show up we will send out a notice. Though I already have at least twenty missing Russians on my list,’ said Inspector Chand with a loud sigh. He could smell the samosas and he knew the constable was already attacking his breakfast outside in the veranda. He would kill him if he forgot to leave at least two samosas for him along with chutney.

  ‘Okay. Come back tomorrow and we will file a report,’ said Inspector Chand quickly.

  ‘No. Please do it now. We must hurry because anything can happen to him. We think he was involved in some way with the woman’s murder at the Happy Home,’ said Rosie.

  ‘What? How do you know that? Where did you find that information? Why have you not told me this before?’ shouted Inspector Chand.

  ‘First you file that report and then we will tell you,’ said Deven.

  ‘Okay. You want
to bargain with me. But it’s a waste of our valuable police time. We have many other important tasks to perform. Our IG is visiting Trionim next week, you know.’ Inspector Chand pulled out a crumpled form from the drawer. A photograph of Maria fell out along with the paper and everyone stared at it. Rosie began to giggle as Inspector Chand quickly put it back in the drawer.

  ‘Love is in the air,’ hummed Cyrilo under his breath.

  ‘Why don’t you tell her you love her?’ asked Rosie. ‘You’re not getting any younger, you know. Tell her quickly otherwise that handsome Francis will marry her and take her off to Dubai any day now.’

  ‘Francis? Francis? Who is this Francis?’ asked Inspector Chand, coughing, his mouth agape as if he had swallowed a fish bone.

  ‘Yes, dear boy. Francis has been bringing her flowers and taking her out to dinner. You’d better get your act together, man, or you will miss the boat. You have to watch out for our Bobby too. He is second in line. You’d better hurry,’ said Cyrilo.

  ‘Listen. We are here to make a missing person’s report and not to discuss the inspector’s love life,’ said Deven coldly, frowning at everyone. Prema looked at him in awe. She liked men who asserted themselves. Deven was just the kind of man she would have married if she had met him when they were young. But now it is too late, she thought, and sighed.

  ‘Love is in the air,’ hummed Cyrilo once more, under his breath.

  Inspector Chand picked up a pen, shook it a few times and began to fill out the form slowly and laboriously, watched by four pairs of eyes. Suddenly Cyrilo raised his hand, stuck out his little finger and whispered, ‘Is there a toilet in the police station? I need to go urgently.’ He twisted his legs and pulled the seat of his tight denim jeans. Inspector Chand looked up. He pointed to the tin shed outside. He was sure this old man would take hours there. Old men always did. He knew his samosas would get stone cold.

  * * *

  The sea was calm except for a few waves that rose and fell together as if doing a coordinated dance. A faint line of white foam circled the bay like a moving fence and the fishing boats bobbed up and down next to it like toys. Children ran around on the rocks, trying to jump on the waves as the tide came in, and then ran back laughing as they missed the rush of water. The gulls hovered above them, unusually quiet this morning as if they could sense something was wrong.

  Something was very wrong, Yuri thought as he tried to open his eyes. He could see a faint light shimmering above his nose and nothing more. He put his hand on his arm and felt something warm and wet. It was blood. He must have cut himself when he fell but he couldn’t feel any pain. Yuri shut his eyes again and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he could remember was going to the villa where Olga was staying. He remembered standing at the gate and looking up to see if the light was on in her bedroom. It was dark, but a huge moon, large as a silver plate, hung in the sky. Someone called out his name and he turned his head. After that everything went blank.

  Yuri moved his feet and tried to get up slowly, holding the rocks for support. His hand slipped on the wet moss and he sank back on the sand once again. A tiny crab climbed on his foot and rolled down again, waving its pin-like claws in rage. Yuri wanted to laugh but his face hurt. He felt his jaw. It was swollen and wet with blood. He forced himself to get up, ignoring the pain that suddenly sliced through him like a knife, but he could not tell which part of his body was injured. He stood unsteadily for a few seconds and then began to walk slowly over the rocks, carefully, one step in front of the other, like he had seen very old people do. At least he could see a little better now, though things kept going out of focus.

  He was an old man, even though he did not feel it. He felt like a lovesick teen yearning for his sweetheart but Olga had told him he was an old fool. She had screamed at him, hit him with a glass ashtray and pushed him out of the villa. He had stood outside the gate, gazing up at her window like a besotted fool, and then someone had pounced on him.

  He really was a big fool. He should have realized that Olga was just using him. She wanted him to transfer money from his bank into some account in Dubai. She handed him large amounts of cash and then made him sign a cheque in her name. Yuri was not sure what was going on but he had agreed just to keep her happy. He desperately wanted Olga to be happy.

  He looked up and saw that he had reached the end of the rocky path and now the sand was smooth under his bare feet. He sat down and wiped his face with a piece of paper he found on the sand. The paper was stained red now and he quickly threw it away.

  ‘You fell down, sir?’ someone asked. Yuri tried to focus his eyes to follow the voice. A man was standing near him, holding a large crab tied with string. When the man moved, the crab moved too, trying to free itself.

  ‘Want to buy crab? I just caught it in the Zuari river. I will give it to you for Rs 600 only since you are an injured man.’ The man swung the imprisoned crab up and down like a baby.

  Yuri shook his head. ‘I have no money. Sorry,’ he muttered.

  ‘Sir, you can pay me later. I know where you live.’

  Yuri turned to look at him in surprise and suddenly remembered where he had seen him. ‘You were at the tea shop. You were with that boy who cannot speak,’ he said. His face was hurting.

  ‘Yes, sir. I am Alfie, or Alfonso. I will take you home. You have had a bad fall. Those rocks are very slippery. Come. I have my scooter here and it will not take long. The traffic is bad but I can take a shortcut through the paddy fields. My scooter is used to it,’ said the man. ‘Then you buy this crab and cook it for all those old people in the Happy Home. How happy they will be.’ The man roared with laughter.

  Yuri nodded and saw that the crab was no longer moving its claws as they made their way to the scooter. Alfie told him to sit straight and hold on to the crab tightly. ‘He is your dinner, sir. Do not let your dinner escape.’ Yuri did not want to ride on the scooter but he knew he had to get home somehow. He held the now-comatose crab in one hand and clutched Alfie’s shirt with the other as the scooter took off, its horn blaring loudly like a ship coming into the harbour.

  When he was a child in Russia, Yuri’s mother would often send him out to the river to catch fish. They had nothing to eat at home and survived on whatever Yuri could catch. He sometimes got tiny fish or, if he was lucky, a rare big one and they would all eat well that day. The war had ended long ago, taking his father and uncles in its cruel, bloodthirsty jaws, but the people of Russia were still starving.

  Yuri’s mother had brought him and his younger brother to the old hut that had once belonged to her parents, who were both dead—killed by bandits who had stormed the country, looting and murdering people. They thought they would starve to death, but suddenly everything became all right; they had food to eat and warm clothes to wear. Yuri had new shoes for the first time in his life. Every time he bought a new pair of shoes now, his younger brother’s face rose before his eyes. ‘Can I have your old ones?’ he seemed to be saying from the other world. He had died many years ago. Their mother, too, had gone.

  Yuri gazed at the green rice fields as Alfie drove past them. He hoped he would meet his dead mother and brother in his next life. His father was someone he could not remember at all. Yuri was not afraid of death any more. Living in India had taught him to face death with joy. ‘Mamushka, I will meet you soon but not too soon, I hope,’ he said, ignoring the pain creeping over his face and arms. Alfie shouted back, ‘Soon. We will be in Trionim soon and then you pay me for the crab. Okay? Scooter fare is extra.’

  Alfie parked the scooter and immediately went to the wall by the gate to relieve himself. Yuri, holding the crab in one hand, knocked on the door with the other. His head was reeling now. Leela came out and stared at him. Then she quickly ran back to call the others.

  ‘Where have you been? We went to the police station to report you, I mean about you,’ shouted Prema. Her voice pierced through his head like a sharp knife.

  ‘Please, someone pay this kin
d man who brought me home, and take this crab from my hands.’ Yuri sank down on the chair by the door.

  ‘Poor fellow. He is injured. Can’t you people see?’ said Leela, reaching her hand out to take the crab. ‘Wait here. I will get some water and Dettol to wash your face and hands.’

  ‘How did this happen? Where were you, Yuri? We were getting worried,’ said Maria, wiping his hands with a clean napkin. ‘Shall I get a doctor? I think I will call him. Your face looks badly cut.’ She reached for the telephone.

  Deven came out of his room and stared at Yuri. ‘The inspector was right. We should not have bothered to go to him. You have been on a drinking spree, I can see. I hope you enjoyed yourself while we were running around all over Goa looking for you,’ he said.

  ‘We didn’t go looking for him. We only told the policeman to. Leave him alone. He has hurt himself badly.’ Rosie came up to him, patted his arm and pulled her hand away when she saw the blood. ‘He’s bleeding. Did someone attack you?’

  Maria took the wet towel Leela had brought and gently wiped his face and hands. Then she poured a few drops of Dettol on a piece of cotton wool and dabbed his face. The sharp stinging felt better than the pain that was now flooding his head. Yuri closed his eyes. He was home and he was safe, he thought, but then a sudden dizzy spell made him gasp and he knocked away the bottle of Dettol from Maria’s hands.

  Deven and Cyrilo helped Yuri up to his room, changed his clothes and made him lie down. They came back and sat down in the veranda. They were all quite shaken to see Yuri in such a state.

  ‘Do you think someone has beaten him up? I wish he would tell us where he has been. Why would someone do this?’ asked Cyrilo.

  Prema looked at him and said, ‘You should know Yuri by now. He is always getting into fights after drinking on the beach with his Russian buddies. I wonder if we will get samosas today. Maria did promise me some,’ she said, looking at the kitchen door expectantly.