Murder at the Happy Home for the Aged

by Bulbul Sharma

  ‘Why are you always thinking of food? At your age you must eat only one meal a day,’ said Rosie, fanning herself with her favourite red Chinese fan. It was already humid though it was quite early in the day. She felt beads of perspiration on her forehead and hoped her eyeliner would not get smudged.

  ‘If I’m alive next year I will apply for a US visa. They are giving it for ten years now,’ said Cyrilo.

  ‘At our age we should not plan so far ahead. You should apply for only a five-year visa,’ said Prema.

  ‘Life and death is all in god’s hands. Our life span is decided already,’ said Deven, pointing to the sky, and they all looked up as if they could see the extent of their lives written in bold letters.

  ‘It is important to keep fit at our age and not sit around moping. I’m doing those yoga exercises Maria showed us that day. I’ve also started doing some running on the spot,’ said Cyrilo.

  ‘Better be careful or you’ll drop dead running on the spot one day,’ said Prema.

  ‘Not a bad way to go. I would actually like to die playing the piano. You know, I wanted to be a pianist but my father insisted I mind the hardware shop we owned,’ said Cyrilo.

  ‘I wanted to be a dancer but my father said only women from disreputable families choose such a profession; so I became a teacher. My father was right because I was a hopeless dancer but I was a very good teacher. Some of my students still write such sweet letters to me,’ said Prema.

  Rosie had never seen Prema receive any letters but she kept quiet. Why shatter Prema’s false belief if it made her feel happy. What else was there for her?

  We all become invisible as we age. Everyone forgets that we are still alive, she thought. Aloud, she said, ‘If only we could choose our own deaths. I would like to die in my own bed, surrounded by my family. Unfortunately, my family members are all dead. People wish for a long life but it is not so wonderful to be the last pillar of your family standing all alone.’

  * * *

  Morjim beach stretched far and deep into the curve of the land, forming a graceful crescent, like a new moon emerging from the sea. It was a quiet beach, not as crowded as the more popular beaches in Candolim and Calangute filled with rubber-slippered and sun-hatted tourists. For some reason, people from outside Goa began to behave in a raucous manner as soon as they landed here. Mild-mannered accountants from Mumbai, sullen shopkeepers and their jolly wives from Delhi, and slick young techies from Bengaluru wired to their laptops—all turned into bawdy, loud holidaymakers in the blink of an eye. The locals would watch in dismay and some would even grumble. ‘These people bring money. We have to put up with them,’ they would say, shrugging their shoulders.

  The new houses on the hills near the Chapora river had made the people of Trionim unhappy but they had no choice. The builder from Delhi, Rana Hooda, was rich and powerful and he knew all the important people in the city.

  As Maria drove past the building site she suddenly remembered Francis talking about Rana. ‘He is really loaded; you should invite him to the Tip Top Cafe one day. He will bring all the other rich tourists with him,’ he had said. She was surprised that Francis knew him so well. She reached the cafe and parked in a small space under a tree. The cafe was crowded today with a lot of young college students and someone was playing a guitar. It was an old tune and Maria began to hum. The others looked at her in surprise and began to sing. Soon the cafe was alive with their voices and even the lone waiter stopped his service and joined in, drumming out a jaunty beat on a tin tray.

  This is how I want my cafe to be, thought Maria as she cleared tables. She did not want rich people to hang out here, complaining about the rickety tables and faded posters on the wall. The Tip Top Cafe was shabby, friendly, cheap and cosy and that was the way she was going to keep it. She did not want Rana Hooda and his type to come here.

  Baboo, the waiter who had been working with her for ten years, waved his hands when he saw her. ‘Good afternoon. We need some more peanut butter. All the cinnamon cakes you made are finished.’ He said this with a broad grin as he pointed to the empty shelf proudly.

  ‘Good. I will bake some more tonight,’ said Maria.

  ‘Bake at least four dozen. One lady came this morning and wanted two dozen cakes for a party. She kept nagging me to go and get some from the Happy Home right away. I refused,’ said Baboo, picking up a tray of empty glasses. Baboo hated any customer ordering him about and liked to take his own time to serve them. Most people who came to the cafe knew that and made sure they spoke to him very politely. Otherwise they would not get any food.

  ‘Who was she? How did she know the cinnamon cakes were made in the Happy Home? Did you tell her?’ asked Maria, picking up the rest of the empty beer glasses. How much these college students drank.

  ‘Why should I tell her? Was she my auntie? She seemed to know you too and asked when you were coming here. I said I don’t know. I didn’t like her. She looked very smart and rich and spoke to me only in English; as if I could not tell she was from here,’ muttered Baboo.

  Maria went into the kitchen and began setting out the food she had brought from the Happy Home. She only served very simple food at the cafe and most people seemed happy with it. Next month she was going to get a wood-fired oven and start making pizzas. Yuri had offered to set it up. He had once worked at a five-star hotel in Panjim as a kitchen helper but after his illness he had had to leave. Maria had never asked him about it but she assumed it was his alcohol problem. She recognized a fellow sufferer in him. Francis never drank at all. If she married him she would have to give up drinking totally. Suddenly the rosy picture of their future wedded life together began to be tinged with anxiety and worry.

  Maria went into the kitchen to arrange the sandwiches Baboo had made on a plate and suddenly thought about the strange woman who had been asking about her.

  ‘She said she was a very good friend of your friend Francis,’ said Baboo behind her, giving her a start.

  Maria turned to look at him. ‘She said she was Francis’s friend? What was her name?’ she asked, her voice shrill with anger.

  ‘How do I know? She didn’t introduce herself to me. I’m only a lowly waiter. Why don’t you ask your dear friend Francis?’ he muttered, giving her a sly glance.

  Maria finished the accounts, put the register away in the drawer and picked up her car keys. She was about to switch off the lights in the cafe when she saw the car. A red BMW with a Delhi number plate but no one inside was parked right behind her car and there was no way she could get out now. Baboo had already left. Maria grumbled angrily under her breath as she locked the cafe. What should I do now? she thought. There were a few young boys strolling on the road and she raised her hand to call them. Maybe they could help her push her car out.

  Then she saw the girl.

  The boys had seen her too and had stopped in their tracks. She was a tall blonde girl. Her golden hair seemed to make ripples in the breeze. She stood in the middle of the road looking like a mermaid who had just emerged from the sea in shiny blue Lycra pants and a loose transparent shirt. She was the most beautiful girl Maria had ever seen, like the golden-haired doll she had once seen in a toy shop, a very expensive doll with blue eyes and golden curls.

  ‘Excuse me. Are you Maria from the Happy Home?’ asked the girl, coming forward.

  ‘Yes, I am. Is this your car? It’s blocking my way.’ Maria suddenly felt irritated with the girl’s stunning looks. It was not fair to be so beautiful. I’m sure she’s very dumb and has bad breath. Maria gave the girl a cold, unfriendly look.

  ‘I am Olga. I am so happy to meet you at last. I am a very good friend of Yuri who is staying in your Happy Home.’ She smiled. Her blue eyes crinkled slightly and sparkled as she extended her hand to Maria. She had a squeaky, high-pitched voice and yellow, stained teeth. The ethereal mermaid vibe vanished as soon as she spoke and she looked like a pretty, young girl, but nothing more.

  Maria felt ashamed for feeling so jealous. Despite the l
arge baby-blue eyes and rosy cheeks, the girl’s smile was sly and cunning like a fox’s. She noticed that her hands were covered with red patches, as if someone had tried to scrub the skin off.

  ‘Yes. Yuri stays with us at the Happy Home. Sorry, but could you please move your car? I am in a bit of a hurry,’ said Maria.

  ‘I will just move the car. Please wait and I will come to the Happy Home. Or maybe you can give this packet to Yuri, please. If it’s not too much trouble for you?’ she asked, taking a small packet out of her handbag. Maria noticed it was a Louis Vuitton. She wondered if it was a genuine one or a copy from the Anjuna flea market.

  ‘Sure. I’ll give it to him.’ Maria put the packet in her own bag. It was a bit heavy and she wondered what it was.

  ‘Just some Russian stones he had asked me to bring him. Medicinal stones, you know, which you put in a sauna bath to heal pain in the back. Thank you and goodbye, Miss Maria. Take care,’ she said and quickly opened the car with a remote key and jumped in. She reversed so fast that two dogs sleeping in the shade of a tree yelped and leapt up in the air. The girl laughed, showing her bad teeth, and drove away at top speed. The boys stood in a line, frozen like statues, staring after her.

  Maria shrugged her shoulders and got into her own car. She hoped it would start without her having to push it. One day she would buy a new one. Maybe Francis would buy her a BMW as a wedding present.

  Maria drove home slowly, daydreaming about the wedding. She was quite sure that Francis would propose very soon. She must start saving money for her trousseau. The Happy Home roof needed repairs and the kitchen sink had to be replaced, but she would manage. The Tip Top Cafe was doing so well and she would work extra hard baking new things to sell. Maybe croissants and small quiches filled with mushrooms and cottage cheese.

  Rosie had given her a recipe for meat loaf. She would try and make that this weekend. Maria stopped at the traffic lights at the Trionim market crossing. It was quite busy today since it was market day. She was wondering if she should pick up some fruit for the Happy Home when she saw them.

  They were both standing near the road, holding hands, looking at a vegetable stall. The girl’s face was turned away, but Maria, her heart pounding with rage, knew it was Tina. Tina, the red-haired witch whom she hated so much that sometimes she felt she could kill her. Tina, who had been chasing Francis for years.

  Francis and Tina were shopping for vegetables. They looked like a married couple out doing household chores. Maria wanted to rush out and rain blows on both of them with her fists. Her car stalled and drivers behind her began to honk loudly. A man trying to cross the road shouted, and Maria rolled her window down and yelled back. ‘Learn to drive, lady, or stay at home,’ shouted a young boy on a scooter.

  Francis and Tina turned to look at the commotion on the road. Then they saw her.

  Maria stared at Tina and Tina stared back, a smug smile on her heavily made-up face. She was sweating but she still managed to look fresh and pretty. She was wearing the new kind of skinny jeans, ripped at the knees, and she was as slim as a teenage girl.

  Maria knew Francis was looking at her too but she couldn’t bear to meet his glance. She knew he would be looking sheepish and guilty and she hated that expression on his face; she had seen it so often.

  Maria drove blindly to the Happy Home, sobbing all the way. She parked her car and got out, hitting her foot on the stone near the gate. She cursed loudly and began to cry again as she hobbled into the house. She hoped no one was in the veranda because she couldn’t face any questions right now. She wanted to bring down that old sword and slice off Tina’s glossy, sleek-haired head. She paused for a brief moment to think about beheading Francis too but decided against it. ‘I hope she falls down and breaks her leg in the market. I hope she slips on a banana skin and breaks her head and goes into a coma,’ shouted Maria, throwing her bag on to the floor.

  The packet fell out of it and she remembered she had to give it to Yuri. Maria went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. She saw her reflection in the mirror and began to laugh. The rash from the new skin cream was worse than ever and she looked like an adolescent with spots and puffy eyes. Tina’s unblemished, beautiful face rose before her and she wanted to cry once more. Maria blew her nose and went out to look for Yuri. She needed a drink desperately and knew Yuri would join her happily though it wasn’t yet evening. Together they would sit under the coconut grove and curse everyone as they drank cheap wine to drown their sorrows.

  ‘What is the matter? You look very upset,’ said Yuri once they were both sitting with their drinks. His hands were shaking a bit. Maria had given him the packet but he hadn’t opened it yet. ‘Olga. You met Olga? Why did she not come here to give me this packet? What is it? I don’t care. I don’t care about anything in this world any more. I’m ready to die,’ he said gloomily and stared into his glass.

  Maria was regretting her decision to drink with Yuri. She had forgotten how depressing and morbid he got after a few drinks. He always sang melancholy Russian songs and moaned about long-lost loves. He had still not recovered fully from his injuries and had to walk unsteadily with the help of a stick. Drinking with him was a bad idea anyway, but today he seemed to be sad even before he took his first sip. He seemed genuinely upset about something; however, Maria was too distraught to care about anything except her own pain.

  ‘I saw Francis with that red-haired bitch, Tina. They were buying vegetables together,’ said Maria, tears welling up in her eyes.

  ‘Oh. Only buying vegetables? That’s not so bad. You didn’t find them kissing or something worse, did you?’ asked Yuri, suddenly looking happier, as if she had said something to cheer him up. Other’s troubles always made people happy.

  ‘I don’t care if they were kissing or buying potatoes. I’m fed up with this life. Francis is always playing cat-and-mouse games with me,’ said Maria, taking a big gulp. The wine was certainly off and tasted like sour vinegar, but that was the only alcohol in the house. Bloody Francis was supposed to bring her some from Panjim but he was busy buying pumpkins and carrots with that tart. How happy they looked, like an old, happily married couple. Maria shut her eyes and saw Francis and Tina strolling hand in hand followed by three small, neatly dressed children. She saw herself sitting all alone on a rocking chair in the Happy Home, knitting socks.

  ‘You know what my mother used to do when she was angry with someone?’ asked Yuri.

  ‘How do I know? I’ve never met your mother, Yuri,’ said Maria, feeling very irritated now.

  ‘She learnt this trick from a gypsy woman. She would write the name of the person she hated on a small piece of paper, roll it up, spit on it and burn it. She said it made her feel much better,’ said Yuri, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘Nothing like hatred to cheer a person up,’ muttered Maria. She mentally wrote out ‘Tina’ in bold letters and spat. It did make her feel slightly better, or maybe it was the bad wine, dulling the ache in her heart.

  They both sat silently staring at the crows picking up scraps of food from the floor outside the kitchen. They were not fighting over the pieces and took turns to pick them up like polite guests at a wedding feast. Then Yuri began to sing under his breath. His voice was so velvety smooth that even though he could not sing in tune the unfamiliar Russian words sounded beautiful and haunting. Maria let the tears fall from her eyes but she was not feeling that sad any more. Life was not so bad. She would bake hundreds of cinnamon cakes and sell them at the Tip Top Cafe and make a lot of money. She would buy a red BMW and drive all over Trionim dressed in tight Lycra shorts. Young boys would stare and whistle at her in admiration. She would go on a diet from tomorrow and become slim and sexy. Francis and Tina could go to hell in a vegetable cart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JUST THEN, THEY heard a car outside. It sounded like a jeep. Leela came out of the kitchen and after giving them both a stern, disapproving look went into the hall to open the door.

  Maria picked up t
he bottle and gave it to Yuri, who quickly hid it under the rose bush. ‘I think it’s the big policeman. Your admirer,’ he said as they heard Inspector Chand’s booming voice at the door.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, walking up to them. He was looking very smart in a khaki jacket and blue scarf and Maria nodded her head and smiled. He would not be bad-looking if he lost some weight. He could make a good replacement for that philandering Francis. Maybe she could marry him. It wouldn’t be so bad to be a policeman’s wife but Inspector Chand was so dull and boring. Maybe she was better off single instead of chained to this tedious man. Why did she have to get married to anyone? She was quite happy alone. She just needed a few weeks to get over Francis. She was an independent woman and quite capable of looking after herself.

  Inspector Chand stared at her, his eyes shining with joy. He looked like a golden retriever about to get a bone to munch. Maria did not dare speak because she knew he would smell the wine on her breath. She waved her hand weakly towards a chair and moved back, knocking over a table.

  ‘I hope you are not too busy,’ said Inspector Chand, staring at her suspiciously now. Why is her face so puffy? Has she been drinking this early in the day? Inspector Chand heard his mother’s shrill voice ring in his ears. ‘She drinks alcohol? You want to marry a girl who drinks alcohol? Over my dead body,’ his mother screamed in his mental image, her finger pointing as usual to the ceiling fan.

  ‘How nice to see you. Will you have some coffee, Inspector? We can sit outside. It’s so cool in the shade,’ said Rosie, coming out of her room. She moved her wheelchair slowly towards the veranda. Maria knew she was taking the inspector away to give her a chance to escape. She nodded a silent thanks to Rosie and quickly ran upstairs before the inspector could turn around.

  ‘Thanks so much, Mrs Rosie. I would love some coffee,’ replied Inspector Chand, wondering why Maria had vanished so suddenly.