The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [122]
Draining her bottle, she laughed again. “I can understand that,” she said. “But that’s how it is in nature, you know: for a long time nothing happens, and then there’s a burst of explosive activity and it’s over in seconds. Very few people can adapt themselves to that kind of rhythm — one in a million, I’d say. That’s why it was so amazing to come across someone like Fokir.”
“Amazing? Why?”
“You saw how he spotted that dolphin back there, didn’t you?” said Piya. “It’s like he’s always watching the water — even without being aware of it. I’ve worked with many experienced fishermen before but I’ve never met anyone with such an incredible instinct. It’s as if he can see right into the river’s heart.”
Kanai took a moment to chew on this. “So do you think you’re going to go on working with him?”
“I certainly hope he’ll work with me again,” Piya said. “I think we could achieve a lot, working as a team.”
“It sounds as though you’ve got some kind of long-term plan.”
She nodded. “Yes, I do, actually. I’m thinking of a project that could keep me here for many years.”
“Right here? In this area?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Kanai had assumed Piya’s stay in India would be a brief one and he was surprised to learn she was already contemplating an extended stay — and not in a city, either, but of all places in the tide country, with all its discomforts and utter lack of amenities.
“Are you sure you’d be able to live in a place like this?” said Kanai.
“Sure.” She seemed puzzled he should think to ask this. “Why not?”
“And if you stayed, you’d be working with Fokir?”
She nodded. “I’d like to — but I guess it depends on him.”
“Is there anyone else you could work with?”
“It wouldn’t be the same, Kanai,” Piya said. “Fokir’s abilities as an observer are really extraordinary. I wish I could tell you what it was like to be with him these last few days — it was one of the most exciting experiences of my life.”
A sudden stab of envy provoked Kanai to make a mocking aside. “And all that while you couldn’t understand a word he was saying, could you?”
“No,” she said with a nod of acknowledgment. “But you know what? There was so much in common between us it didn’t matter.”
“Listen,” said Kanai in a flat, harsh voice. “You shouldn’t deceive yourself, Piya: there wasn’t anything in common between you then and there isn’t now. Nothing. He’s a fisherman and you’re a scientist. What you see as fauna he sees as food. He’s never sat in a chair, for heaven’s sake. Can you imagine what he’d do if he was taken on a plane?” Kanai burst out laughing at the thought of Fokir walking down the aisle of a jet in his lungi and vest. “Piya, there’s nothing in common between you at all. You’re from different worlds, different planets. If you were about to be struck by a bolt of lightning, he’d have no way of letting you know.”
Here, as if on cue, Fokir suddenly made himself heard again, shouting over the hammering of the bhotbhoti’s engine, “Kumir!”
“What was that?” Piya broke off and went running to the rear of the deck, and Kanai followed close on her heels.
Fokir was standing braced against his boat’s hood, pointing downriver. “Kumir!”
“What did he see?” said Piya, raising her binoculars.
“A crocodile.”
Kanai felt compelled to underline the moral of this interruption. “You see, Piya,” he said, “if I hadn’t been here to tell you, you’d have had no idea what he’d seen.”
Piya dropped her binoculars and turned to go back to the bow. “You’ve certainly made your point, Kanai,” she said frostily. “Thank you.”
“Wait,” Kanai called out after her. “Piya —” But she was gone and he had to swallow the apology that had come too late to his lips.
Minutes later, she was back in position with her binoculars fixed to her eyes, watching the water with a closeness of attention that reminded Kanai of a textual scholar poring over a yet undeciphered manuscript: it was as though she were puzzling over a codex that had been authored by the earth itself. He had almost forgotten what it meant to look at something so ardently — an immaterial